Danmok Fortress, originally constructed as a jagged stone tooth to deter the mounted northern tribes, had softened in times of peace to become a bustling trade hub. But war has a way of stripping away the veneer of commerce to reveal the bone beneath. Today, the fortress had reverted to its primal purpose: a deadly machine of combat.

The Suksin army appeared on the horizon, a dark stain against the pale earth, and surprised the defenders not with a cavalry charge, but with a thunderous roar.

Thoom, ka-boom!

Cannons.

It wasn’t entirely illogical; the Imperial Army utilized the Heaven-Shaking Thunder, and where there is gunpowder, artillery follows. Yet, these weapons had been absent from previous skirmishes for a simple reason: the metallurgy of the era was crude. These were primitive beasts, akin to the bombards of 14th-century Earth—heavy, temperamental, and better suited for a slow siege than a pitched battle. They fired solid iron spheres rather than explosive shells, meaning the walls would have to be hammered down inch by agonizing inch. Misfires were frequent, and it was not uncommon for a cannon to burst, killing its own crew.

Despite these limitations, a cannon remained a weapon of terror. It signified that the Suksin had captured Imperial artisans and forced them to cast these iron monsters, a fact that sent a chill through Great General Yuk Heon and his command staff.

However, the General remained remarkably composed. The northern nomadic tribes were masters of the saddle, not the siege. Usually, when they gathered in numbers to invade, they relied on speed and overwhelming cavalry charges. They knew their weakness against stone walls.

This is the unfortunate part, Jin Cheon-hee thought, observing the distant smoke. Our invaders are ruthless, looting and using civilians as shields. Yet, they possess a terrifying capacity for self-reflection.

They knew their weaknesses and filled the gaps with slaves. They must have raided the Selim Theocratic State or crossed the borders specifically to hunt for engineers and smiths.

“So, it is a siege battle after all.”

From the high ramparts, Jin Cheon-hee gazed down at the battlefield alongside His Highness Eun. Every time the enemy artillery roared, stone chipped and dust plumed, but the walls, crafted by the finest masons of the age, held firm. The Imperial forces returned fire, the range of the cannons roughly equal on both sides.

Jin Cheon-hee drew a slow, calming drag from a herbal cigarette. He wasn’t sure if the herbs actually worked or if it was a placebo, but amidst the scent of sulfur and blood, he needed the distraction. Martial artists scuttled along the walkways, mobilizing for defense. Through the haze, he spotted the towering figure of Cheon Woo standing among the Wudang Sect disciples.

Cheon Woo’s gaze shifted, locking onto Jin Cheon-hee.

With a slight, acknowledging nod, Jin turned to locate the Hao Sect contingent. Finding Sama Hyeon was effortless; even while attempting to blend into the shadows in black attire, the man’s penchant for flashy accessories gave him away like a beacon. Sama Hyeon, too, was already watching him.

Jin nodded once—a silent prayer for their mutual survival—and turned his attention back to the field.

“So, the Suksin possess cannons,” Jin murmured.

“Do you suppose they are unaware that siege warfare is their Achilles’ heel?” Prince Eun replied, his voice tight. “A hundred years ago, before black powder ruled the battlefield, they stole the blueprints for Thunder Throwing Carts and constructed them themselves.”

“Thunder Throwing Carts… The trebuchets used during the Three Kingdoms period?”

“Precisely. Until a century ago, they were formidable. Cannons have rendered them obsolete, of course, which is why our walls were reinforced to withstand exactly this kind of bombardment.”

So, there was a history to this arms race.

Whiiiirrrr—

While Jin was internally admiring the historical context, a high-pitched shriek cut through the air. A stray cannonball, having overshot the lower ramparts, hurtled directly toward His Highness Eun and Jin Cheon-hee.

“Your Highness! Dodge swiftly!”

The surrounding officers screamed, their faces pale as they threw themselves forward to use their bodies as meat shields.

“It’s too late—block it!” Eun shouted, bracing for impact.

In that fraction of a second, Jin Cheon-hee stepped forward.

He extended a pale hand, moving at a speed that rendered it invisible to the naked eye. He didn’t try to stop the crushing weight of the iron ball; instead, he met it softly. His palm caught the sphere, spun it to bleed its momentum, and then, with a surge of internal energy, slapped it back.

It was a display of profound martial principles—softness overcoming hardness, redirection over resistance—though few present had the eyes to understand it.

Paaang—!

The cannonball rocketed back faster than it had arrived. It drew a flat line across the battlefield and slammed squarely into one of the Suksin artillery batteries.

Craaack-boom!

Wood splintered and iron twisted in a catastrophic detonation.

“Taiji Fist?” His Highness Eun muttered, staring in disbelief. He was the only one who recognized the technique immediately.

The Essence of Taiji!

Even for a royal accustomed to high-level martial arts, the sight was shocking. The surrounding officers and soldiers stood with mouths agape, their brains struggling to process the miracle they had just witnessed. Then, the silence broke.

“Waaaaah!”

“Wooooaaaaah!”

“The Blue-Eyed Mad Physician! It’s the Blue-Eyed Mad Physician!”

“A Martial God! A Martial God is with us!”

Slightly flustered by the sudden roar of adulation, Jin Cheon-hee scratched his cheek and offered a broad, self-deprecating smile. “War is definitely a messy business. Blind iron balls flying around everywhere, isn’t it?”

“Ha… How is that even possible?” Eun asked, still looking at the smoking crater in the distance.

“I am a Transformation Realm master, Your Highness; I wouldn’t fall to a mere lump of iron. It barely even explodes.”

A slow, solid projectile couldn’t kill a master of his caliber. Unless it exploded at point-blank range, it was just a heavy rock. Of course, the technique of Grafting Flowers to Trees—borrowing the enemy’s force to destroy them—was not a trick just any Transformation Realm master could pull off.

Huh, come to think of it…

Jin Cheon-hee rolled his eyes in thought. It reminded him of the novels he used to read back in Korea. Specifically, the “Realistic Murim” genre, where characters couldn’t shoot laser beams from their swords. In a novel called Meteor Bomb of the Flying Bandits, a master of Lightness Arts named Void God Thief had performed a similar feat during a siege—leaping off the wall, dunking a bomb into a catapult, and bounding back.

Ah, I really want to reread that.

Even in the face of death, his otaku spirit remained unbroken. Perhaps it was the nicotine from the herbal cigarette.

“Is there such a novel?” Eun asked after Jin gave a rough, localized summary of the plot. “Popular novels are quite intriguing. However, the protagonist in such a story must be frustrated. Wasn’t what you just demonstrated the technique of Grafting Flowers to Trees?”

What do you know! What do you know about the gritty taste of Realistic Murim novels!

Jin stifled the urge to scream. This is exactly why the genre was ruined by Regressor-Possessor-Reincarnator tropes. Everyone wanted easy power.

But hypocrisy is my prerogative.

Jin Cheon-hee, the stubborn old martial arts fan, raged internally, but he had to live in reality. His life was too precious to lecture the Emperor’s brother on literary nuances. He was accustomed to bowing to power; the angry fanboy within him was an expert at anger management.

“By the way,” His Highness Eun continued, breaking Jin’s internal rant. “I haven’t seen the technique of Grafting Flowers to Trees you just demonstrated performed by other Transformation Realm masters.”

“Cheon Woo… he will likely be able to do it later. The Wudang Sect is the authority on that technique. The Elder Fist Emperor would naturally excel at it, likely far better than me.”

“The Fist Emperor… we should have brought him to the battlefield.”

“Bringing someone of that caliber from the Wudang Sect isn’t easy. He’s eccentric; he might just flee if the mood strikes him.”

It was better to give up on Sect Leader-level figures. Even the Deputy Sect Leaders were notoriously difficult to wrangle. Come to think of it, where was Tang Ah? Since she was from Sichuan, was she deployed with the second main army? Finding an acquaintance in this chaos was like picking a specific star from the Milky Way.

“By the way, Your Highness.”

“What is it?”

“If the Thieving Phantom were here, she could actually accomplish the task you mentioned. The story I just shared.”

“You mean she could leap off the wall, destroy the cannon by hand, and return? Hmm. Indeed, the Thieving Phantom, one of the Ten Greatest Masters, might be capable of such feats.”

“Unfortunately, she couldn’t be conscripted.”

Having evaded the Imperial Conscription Order for years, she certainly wasn’t going to show up now. It made Jin Cheon-hee realize just how peculiar his own master was—a Pavilion Master personally stepping onto the battlefield just to safeguard a disciple. It was why everyone looked at them with such strange expressions.

“Anyway, let’s return to the subject at hand: Thieving Phantom Gong Ya-geon.”

She claimed to possess speed that even the Heavenly Demon in the Profound Realm couldn’t match. She was a human jet fighter. In a world where humans could punch mountains into dust, why couldn’t they break the sound barrier?

His Highness Eun stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“Hmm… Is there truly no such master currently residing within this fortress?”