Volume 6: Ashes of the Crownless Flame
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The rain had passed, but the scent of lightning still clung to the air.
Baek Sun-Ho walked ahead of the party, boots pressing into the damp trail. Moist leaves whispered beneath his feet as the southern ridge opened before them. The sky above had the bruised purple of an old wound—clouds dragging red sunlight like a blade across the heavens.
Behind him came the footsteps of friends, laughter tucked just under the weight of the journey.
Ma-Rok adjusted his war hammer with a grunt. "This is either the calm before a storm… or the storm pretending to be calm."
"Could be both," So-Ri said, adjusting the twin fans at her belt. "Murim's favorite flavor is misdirection."
Ji-Mun walked with hands behind his head, whistling a melody that annoyed a few birds. "You're all too gloomy. Let's just assume destiny wants us to nap today."
"You snore," Yul-Rin replied, flicking a small dart from one hand to the other.
Yeon lagged a few steps behind, tracing runes in the air with a stick. They vanished quickly, like dreams escaping before sunrise.
Sun-Ho smiled faintly. The bickering, the ease—they were his anchor.
But his gaze drifted to the clouds again. Something stirred there. Static teased his skin.
He had never truly bonded with the Lightning Element. In his past life, it was elusive—too fast, too proud. But now…
A subtle thrum echoed inside him. Like the sky whispering a challenge.
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They crested the final hill, and the forest thinned out. Below, nestled in the basin of two jagged ridgelines, was a half-ruined fortress. Crumbled battlements clawed the sky like broken teeth. And gathered within its cracked walls…
Tents.
Flags.
Banners of sects both grand and forgotten.
Four major Murim factions had arrived. Rival heirs were staking claim. Their colors fluttered like territorial wolves daring each other to blink.
So-Ri squinted. "So this is the Assembly of Heirs."
"Or a tea party," Ji-Mun added. "With swords."
"Not enough swords," Ma-Rok said, shouldering his hammer with a grin.
Yul-Rin narrowed her eyes. "No one notices us yet. Either they're arrogant… or they've already noticed."
Sun-Ho crouched low and studied the terrain. "We'll make camp up here tonight. Tomorrow, I'll enter as myself. No mask. No mystique."
Ji-Mun raised an eyebrow. "Just Baek Sun-Ho? Murim heir candidate, traveling scholar, part-time flame wielder, part-time myth?"
"That's the one."
"Sounds boring. Can we vote for the masked version?"
Sun-Ho chuckled. "Not yet. The myth needs to wait."
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That Night…
The campfire flickered with a warmth they hadn't felt in weeks. Yul-Rin brewed something medicinal in a bubbling pot. Ma-Rok leaned against a boulder, gently carving runes into his hammer's handle.
Yeon lay curled in his blanket, sketching something with charcoal—spirals and lines that seemed almost too precise.
So-Ri sat close to Sun-Ho. "You're thinking of tomorrow."
He nodded. "And beyond."
"You're strong enough to win."
"I'm not sure that's enough."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Then you'll have to be stronger."
Nearby, Ji-Mun recited haiku he claimed to have invented. Master Jang Cheol-Oh sipped tea and ignored him completely.
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Late that Night – Alone with the Storm
Baek Sun-Ho stood alone on the ridge.
His qi began to circulate—not for battle, not for control, but for resonance. A call.
He opened his palm to the sky. The air above trembled faintly.
A single streak of lightning cracked somewhere behind the clouds.
His qi flared in response.
Fire danced, yes. But something sharper, colder, surged alongside it. He felt it snap through his veins. Not destruction—clarity.
A jolt of understanding.
His body tensed, and for a heartbeat, his vision filled with blinding white. Not firelight.
Lightning.
He staggered back a step, laughing under his breath. "So… you finally answer."
In his past life, lightning had rejected him—too rigid, too impulsive. But now he was balanced. Fire was no longer a rage within him. It was a tool.
And lightning—swift, surgical, righteous—seemed to welcome him now.
"Two of five," he whispered. "Soon, the rest."
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Dawn
Ji-Mun poked the fire awake with a stick. "You alive, Leader?"
Sun-Ho stepped into the camp with fresh wind trailing behind him. "Better than alive."
Yul-Rin blinked. "You look like you slept with a thundercloud."
He glanced at his palm—lightning qi flickered faintly.
"I might have."
Master Jang raised a brow. "So. Your second element has answered."
"You knew?"
"I hoped. You're not truly you until your arrogance sparks the sky."
Sun-Ho grinned.
Then, he turned to the others. "Today, we walk into the Assembly. I'm not wearing the mask. I'm not hiding."
Silence.
Then So-Ri nodded. "About time."
Ma-Rok stretched. "So… punch or talk first?"
"Depends who draws their sword."
Yul-Rin unslung her satchel. "Let's dazzle them."
Yeon held up a sign: Try not to set anyone on fire.
Ji-Mun yawned. "Try."
They walked toward the Assembly. Together.
Thunder rumbled distantly.
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End of Chapter 63 – The Scent of Thunder
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