He was bleeding from the corners of his mouth, and every time he placed a stone, the blood trickling from his arm soaked into the white stones, turning them into bloodstones. “...Around fifty moves. That’s how long he might last.” Seol Jungcheon remained silent. “...Lord of the Palace, forgive me for saying this twice, but... shouldn’t you intervene?” “There are times when a man must never back down. Do you know when that is?” “...Is it when he’s fighting a life-or-death duel?” Seol Jungcheon shook his head. “That applies to a warrior, not a man. The path of a man lies deeper than that.” “As a man, one must never retreat from the path he believes is right. Right now, Unhwi is being crushed by Kang Cheonwoo’s aura, bleeding as he goes, yet he continues walking the path of Go that he himself chose to the very end.” His eyes grew heavier, deeper. “Just like each stone on the board, every choice in life has meaning. If someone tries to shake that choice, it’s not mere interference—it’s a denial of one’s very existence. Unhwi knows that. That’s why he doesn’t step back.” Hyunshim bowed his head. “Others stepping in would be no different. It would lack respect.” “There are moments when a man must protect his path, even if it means bleeding. What Unhwi is showing now—this is exactly that.” A quiet pride gleamed in Seol Jungcheon’s eyes. Hyunshim said nothing more. Because he wanted to watch. He wanted to see what kind of man Unhwi would show himself to be in front of Kang Cheonwoo, the Overlord of Sichuan and the one who leads the mighty Martial Alliance of Sichuan. The Go board set in the center of the training arena was being crushed under an overwhelming force. Each time a stone was placed, an invisible force distorted the space, and three sections of the arena’s outer walls had already collapsed. Fragments of the shattered hall doors now covered the ground, and debris drifted in the air. Unhwi’s long robe was already soaked in blood. And yet, his gaze remained clear and composed. Not a hint of wavering in his concentration. Kang Cheonwoo didn’t show it outwardly, but he was deeply shocked. His opponent’s insides had to be in turmoil from the aura pressing down on them, his mental stamina surely draining by the second—yet he looked like that. He couldn’t understand it. Eventually, Kang Cheonwoo placed a black stone. A crack of force ripped through the air with a booming paaang—striking Unhwi’s right shoulder. His white robe tore, and a splash of crimson burst out. Unhwi only furrowed his brow slightly. His eyes never left the board. “...You don’t retreat, do you?” The thought slipped from Kang Cheonwoo’s lips. He couldn’t hide it anymore. His eyes were filled with admiration. Unhwi, who had been staring at the board, slowly raised his head and looked at him. In his gaze, there was less pain than serenity. “Is there any reason I should retreat?” Kang Cheonwoo laughed at the question. “That’s right. If you’re the one who swallowed Red Eyes, who slaughtered the warriors of my Sichuan Alliance... then you’d need at least that much nerve.” Unhwi casually wiped the blood from his hand and placed a white stone—a counterattack against Kang Cheonwoo’s offensive. “The term ‘slaughter’ isn’t quite accurate. I had reason to kill, and they raised their blades against me first. I simply responded in kind.” “Sure. Maybe so. But even if there was reason, I can’t explain you with any logic I know. How can a seventeen-year-old rise to the Tri-Harmony Purification Realm, control four regions, and face off against the Martial Alliance, the Sichuan Alliance, and the Yang Empire all at once?” Kang Cheonwoo placed another stone. Energy exploded outward, ripping a tree from its roots. Blood trickled from the corner of Unhwi’s mouth, but he answered without a flicker. “If I can withstand your pressure, senior, how could I not have endured their blades?” Kang Cheonwoo’s eyes gleamed. “Oh-ho! So in the end, it all comes down to ‘endurance’?” “It’s endurance—and movement. I knew exactly when they let their guard down, and I had absolute certainty that I could exploit that opening. As a result, the board tilted in my favor, and in the end, I took everything I set out to take.” “...Easier said than done. No one else could’ve actually done it. That mind of yours, your decisiveness, your °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° boldness, your spirit... You’ve long surpassed the realm of a mere ‘promising talent.’” Unhwi only smiled, his attention still on the board. The white stone in his hand had turned red with blood. Unhwi, having gathered his thoughts, placed the bloodstone. That was the turning point. Kang Cheonwoo responded with a move, and Unhwi followed. Kang Cheonwoo’s brow knit slightly. At some point, his territory had begun to shrink. “Leader Kang, Go is just like the battlefield.” Unhwi’s calm voice landed like a blade in the air as he placed another stone. “Sometimes, you must sacrifice small pieces for a greater victory. And sometimes, a loss in one area secures triumph in another.” Kang Cheonwoo stroked his chin and nodded. “You’re right. And your Go... truly is astonishing.” Their conversation tapered off as the match passed the fifty-move mark. Now, only the stones and the board remained between them. Kang Cheonwoo’s aura surged even more violently, and the arena was ravaged to the point of ruin. Wonyang and Han Murin clenched their fists. They wanted to rush forward—tear in and crush Kang Cheonwoo’s damn face. To hell with Grand Void Formless or whatever—this was too much. Unhwi’s robes were once white. Now, they were dyed red. He was bleeding so much that even wiping his mouth was meaningless. At that moment, a hand lightly caught both of their shoulders. It was Commander Seong. “If you truly believe in the young master, then the right choice... is to keep watching.” His gaze slid toward Ju Soa. She hadn’t known Unhwi for long, but her trust in him hadn’t wavered. Googlᴇ search NovєlFіre.net And someone like her—she understood what this was. The final reckoning with the Sichuan Alliance. This... was a stage where one must watch. Ju Soa was biting her lip hard, clearly anxious—but not as much as the other two. Commander Seong exhaled, lifting his head to look at Unhwi. This wasn’t an ordinary game of Go. No tactician alive could play properly under these conditions. But he believed. In Unhwi. Kang Cheonwoo and Unhwi no longer exchanged words. A deadly life-and-death match was unfolding on the Go board. Kang Cheonwoo’s black stones, launched from the upper left corner, formed massive territory and pushed toward the center, while Unhwi’s white stones, entrenched in the lower right, built an unbreakable wall. The two forces clashed in the center, where countless stones tangled together, creating a complex battlefield. At this level, each move spawns infinite possibilities. You have to see and foresee them all to gain the advantage. A bloodstone from Unhwi dropped onto the center—flanking five black stones. Kang Cheonwoo’s gaze wavered. He hadn’t predicted that spot. Placing a stone there completely defied standard play, and yet the effect was shocking. The fate of those five black stones flipped in an instant. Unhwi’s body was covered in wounds, but his mind was focused entirely on the game. His eyes sparkled—again and again. The entire layout of the board was drawn in his mind. The paths made by white and black stones. The possibilities hidden in the empty spaces. Even the unseen lines linking distant points. Three white stones sacrificed in the center served as bait, drawing the black stones’ attention. In that time, Unhwi solidified a formation in the upper right corner. At a glance, it seemed like a small area—but the potential hidden inside was immense. If black attacked, it would become a trap. If they didn’t, it would swell and overturn the entire board. When the black stones surrounded a lone white piece in the lower left, Unhwi didn’t defend. Instead, he placed a new stone in the upper center. That single move shifted the entire current of the game like a dam rerouting a river. White’s influence began penetrating deep into black territory. Every time Kang Cheonwoo desperately placed a stone in the center, explosive energy struck Unhwi’s body. But his eyes were already seeing the next move, the move after, and even further beyond. Blood flowed from his lips with each move, but his hands didn’t tremble once. One white stone placed between two black stones—it looked reckless, but it became a bridge linking the left and right centers. Now the white stones sliced through the center like a flowing river, splitting the black army in two. When Kang Cheonwoo attacked the upper right, surrounding five white stones, Unhwi, as if expecting it, linked a hidden stone from the lower left to the center. It had been lying in wait all along—an ambush planned long ago. He sacrificed five stones, but in return, disabled thirteen black ones. White stones surged like living waves into black’s territory. The board began to turn white, bit by bit. The black army was being separated, isolated, and finally, surrounded. The white stone in Unhwi’s hand was soaked red with blood, but when he placed it, it radiated the power of a flag marking victory. Each stone wasn’t just a stone—it was a calculated piece of an elegant strategy, a masterstroke of art. Like water slowly carving through stone—soft, subtle wisdom had overwhelmed brute force. The pain in his flesh felt like something far off, in another world. Unhwi had entered a state of complete no-self, even the blood dripping from his fingers becoming part of the game. He could see the road to victory. A white stone landed. Another followed, and another. The arena was completely devastated by Kang Cheonwoo’s aura. The last of the standing pavilions had collapsed. And yet, on the Go board, a new world was unfolding. Kang Cheonwoo’s black stones were gradually surrounded, his territory breaking apart, piece by piece.