The Assembly grounds buzzed with tension barely veiled by courtesy.
Flags flapped like warning signs. Dozens of inner court disciples, minor sect champions, and elder attendants moved with poised arrogance. Their gazes swept the area like knives—measuring, judging, dismissing.
As Baek Sun-Ho walked down from the northern ridge, clad in a plain traveler's robe with no sigils or clan colors, conversations began to fade. His companions flanked him like mismatched stars in a constellation: the iron mountain Ma-Rok, the sharp-tongued Yul-Rin, the silently watchful Yeon, the overly cheerful Ji-Mun, and So-Ri—still as a drawn bow.
Master Jang sipped from his teacup as they entered, as if they were strolling into a flower market instead of a viper's den.
"That's Baek Sun-Ho," someone muttered from the crowd.
"Candidate from the Dustcloud Sect? Thought he was dead."
"No, just missing. Didn't he... wasn't he that kid who—?"
"They say he beat Twin Fang Jin in open duel last month. With fire."
"And saved a village. Or burned one. Depends who you ask."
The rumors were louder than swords.
Sun-Ho ignored them.
He stepped into the open courtyard at the center of the fortress grounds, stopping before the ceremonial stone platform. Four other figures were already there—each standing beside a different standard of power. Each a rival.
Heir Candidates.
The first wore shimmering sky-blue robes, eyes cold and imperious: Yu Hwa-Rang of the Azure Star Pavilion. Known for his swordplay so fluid it seemed to ripple through air like silk.
The second, dark-haired and armored in obsidian-dyed leather: Namgoong Sae-Jin, descendant of the Namgoong clan, famed for their indestructible body technique and brutal directness.
A girl stood near the third flag—barefoot, with painted nails and a lazy smile: Seol Min-Ah of the Whispering Lotus Hall. Illusions. Venoms. Beauty sharpened into blades.
The final was a silent man clad in muted green—eyes shut, as if asleep. Do Cheon, monk of the Verdant Bell Monastery, said to speak only through action.
Four different paths.
One crown.
As Sun-Ho approached, all eyes turned to him.
Yu Hwa-Rang was the first to speak. "You're late."
"Time flows strangely on real journeys," Sun-Ho replied evenly. "But I'm here now."
Namgoong Sae-Jin scoffed. "You walk in without backers, banners, or clan armor—and still think you belong?"
Ji-Mun muttered behind him, "We left the armor because it didn't match his shoes."
Sun-Ho kept his expression flat. "I walk with truth. If that's not enough, let me know now."
Yul-Rin smirked. "He means 'test him if you dare,' but he's too polite to say it."
Master Jang raised his cup. "So far, the only people who've failed in this competition are the ones who underestimated him."
So-Ri stepped forward. "Enough."
She spoke not as a follower, but as someone equal in flame and will. "This Assembly is not for egos. It's for Murim."
Seol Min-Ah tilted her head. "You've got fire, girl. I like that."
She eyed So-Ri with a little too much interest, which made Sun-Ho subtly position himself between them.
The air turned heavy.
Then, an old man descended from the central pavilion, robes embroidered with all five sect emblems. The Alliance Grand Recorder. He banged his staff once, and the gathered sects fell silent.
"The heirs are gathered," he said. "Tomorrow begins the Trials of Accord. Until then—peace holds. No duels without sanction. No sect provocations."
His eyes scanned the candidates, and he lingered a moment on Sun-Ho's plain robe.
"Tonight," he said, "choose your words with care. For tomorrow, your fists may speak in their place."
He turned, and with a final beat of his staff, retreated into the main tent.
The candidates dispersed, but the tension clung to the air like smoke.
---
That Evening – Beneath the Watching Eyes
The party had found a modest place near the outer camp walls—a worn-out hut left from the original fortress guard barracks.
Inside, Ji-Mun spread out a crude map. "They'll test formation breaking tomorrow, I'd bet my last hairpin."
"I'd bet your last hairpin too," Ma-Rok said, flexing his arms. "It's ugly."
Yul-Rin sat cross-legged, sorting her vials by color and effect. "We'll have to be careful of Seol Min-Ah. Her illusions are subtle. She once made a man eat his own scrolls."
"Sun-Ho won't be tricked," So-Ri said. "But we'll keep her attention split regardless."
Yeon, sitting in the corner, raised a sign: We're being watched.
Sun-Ho nodded. "They'll test me before the trial even begins."
He stood, walking toward the door.
"I'll make it clear."
---
Outside the Hut – Alone Again
A faint rustle near the treeline.
Sun-Ho walked alone, slowly, hands loose at his sides. Three shadowed figures emerged—cloaked, hooded, daggers hidden poorly under their sleeves.
"You are Baek Sun-Ho?"
"Yes."
"You're warned. The Assembly will not tolerate frauds."
He smiled. "Good. I don't tolerate bad manners."
The attackers moved as one—fast, trained, ruthless.
But the moment they crossed into his range—
Crack!
Lightning leapt from his palm like a snake striking. One attacker screamed as his body convulsed and fell unconscious.
The second's blade was caught mid-swing by a swirl of fire.
Fwoosh!
The blade melted before it reached cloth.
Sun-Ho stepped behind the third without a sound and tapped his shoulder.
"Tell your master," he said softly, "that I'll earn my crown with open eyes and steady hands."
The man fled without a word.
---
Back at the camp, So-Ri raised an eyebrow as he returned.
"Trouble?"
He smiled. "Lightning practice."
Master Jang sipped his tea. "They'll try harder tomorrow."
Sun-Ho looked out over the encampment. "Then I'll rise higher."
---
End of Chapter 64 – Teeth Beneath the Crown