Volume 5 – Embers in the Storm
The sun burned overhead, pale and toothless compared to the blazing tension gripping the valley beneath the Skyfold Mountains. Hundreds of martial artists stood along the stone terraces carved into the arena's cliffs, their sect robes fluttering in the wind. Flags of competing factions flapped—
Whomp-whomp-whomp
—under the eyes of Murim's elite.
This was not just a tournament—it was the opening gambit of a war cloaked in ceremony.
Baek Sun-Ho stood at the edge of the arena, arms folded. His plain robe did little to disguise the quiet authority in his stance. A few spectators leaned forward, drawn to his stillness. His companions gathered behind him—So-Ri with her glaive strapped across her back, Ma-Rok fanning himself with an entire slab of bark, and Yul-Rin swishing her herbal concoction in a gourd like it might hex the competition.
Behind them, Master Jang Cheol-Oh yawned thunderously.
Hwaaaah—crack!
"Events like these were more exciting back when people weren't afraid to cheat openly."
"Can't wait to see how they rig it," So-Ri muttered. "Wanna bet someone 'accidentally' sets the ring on fire?"
"Already happened in the last qualifying round," said Ji-Mun cheerfully, scribbling notes. "It was water-based fire, though. Burned logic."
Sun-Ho exhaled through his nose.
Wheee...
The wind slipped past him, carrying the scent of sweat, stone, and ambition.
A gong sounded.
DOOOONG
The crowd hushed.
From the far gate, the announcer bellowed, "The first round of the Jade Lotus Tournament begins! This is a tradition as old as Murim itself! Only the finest young warriors shall move forward!"
The contestants were already walking into the center ring.
Sun-Ho wasn't among them. Not yet.
Let the others reveal themselves first.
---
Elsewhere in the upper gallery, an elder from the Jinrok Clan watched from behind a fan. "So he didn't enter directly. Clever. Or cowardly."
Beside him, a middle-aged swordsman in pure white snorted. "Either way, he's being watched. Our people are already in the lower bracket."
---
Back in the temporary camp, the party discussed their plan.
"Do we fight under our own name, or use the masked identity to sneak through the back end?" Yul-Rin asked.
Sun-Ho leaned against a tree. "Neither. I'll let some of you enter first. The factions need a glimpse of what we can do… but not too much. Ji-Mun, Ma-Rok, you're up."
Ma-Rok blinked. "Me? But I only brought my good sandals."
"I poisoned your sandals," Yul-Rin said helpfully. "You'll be fine."
Ji-Mun adjusted his sleeves, hiding several knives. "Do I act like an amateur or a genius today?"
"Somewhere in between. Just unpredictable enough to get noticed, not targeted," Sun-Ho replied.
Master Jang grinned at the interplay. "The boy's learning. He's baiting the fish without even casting the line."
---
The Tournament Commences
Ma-Rok's bout was over in under a minute. He tripped, rolled by accident, and somehow crushed his opponent's weapon by landing on it.
THUD—Crack!
The audience burst into laughter.
"Is… is that allowed?" one elder asked.
"No rule against falling with style," another grumbled.
Ji-Mun's duel lasted longer. He fought like a nervous scholar—until the last moment, when his footwork abruptly inverted and sent his opponent spinning. Murim elites began whispering.
Who are they?
What style is that?
No sect mark, no clan banner…
Sun-Ho smiled from behind his tea cup.
---
That night, the party gathered around a small fire in their tented camp.
"They're already paying attention," So-Ri noted, watching shadows move outside. "Jinrok spies. Maybe others too."
"We need a name," Ji-Mun said. "Something vague and heroic. Like Mist-Born Saints."
"Sounds like indigestion," Ma-Rok said.
"How about 'Fractured Blade Sect'?" Yul-Rin offered.
Sun-Ho chuckled. "No names. Not yet. We're not a sect. We're a storm no one saw coming."
Yeon stared at the flames. "Then I'll be lightning."
Everyone paused. He hadn't spoken all day.
"…And I'll be thunder," Ma-Rok said dramatically. "Mostly because I'm loud."
"Can I be poison fog?" Yul-Rin added. "I like fog."
So-Ri rolled her eyes. "Just don't name yourself after your worst habits."
"Too late," Ji-Mun said, scribbling notes again.
---
Later that night, the fire had dimmed to quiet embers.
So-Ri stretched out on a thick blanket and looked at the night sky. "Do you think the stars look different in other regions?"
"They're the same," Ji-Mun said without looking up. "But the heavens above your enemies always look closer."
"…Why do you say such ominous things when we're relaxing?" So-Ri frowned.
"It's a gift."
Nearby, Ma-Rok was trying to roast a skewer of mushrooms. They'd been picked earlier by Yeon, who had an unnervingly accurate sense of what was edible and what would cause hallucinations.
"These'll be good, right?" Ma-Rok asked, turning the skewer.
Yul-Rin sniffed them. "Good for revealing repressed trauma."
"What?"
"Nothing. Eat quickly."
Master Jang, who had been snoozing upright with a straw in his mouth, stirred. "It's good," he muttered. "Laugh while you can. These kinds of nights don't come often when power starts chasing you."
Sun-Ho met his eyes.
The fire popped.
Tsk-tsk.
---
As the flames died down and the wind began to settle, Sun-Ho rose, brushing off his robe.
Far in the distance, under veils of starlight, five banners swayed in isolated mountain camps. The other contenders—unseen, unheard—were waiting.
The real tournament hadn't even started.
---
End of Chapter 48