The morning mist hadn't lifted, but the murmur of warriors filled the air like a storm waiting for its cue.
Inside the Assembly courtyard, a wide stone ring had been marked with talismans and drawn formations. Elder arbiters from neutral sects stood in a loose circle, wearing masks of impartiality and robes devoid of clan symbols.
The Grand Recorder's voice rang out, amplified by qi. "Let the First Trial of Accord begin! A display of martial philosophy—not mere strength, but the ability to overcome with harmony."
Murmurs spread.
"Martial philosophy?" Ji-Mun asked, half-yawning. "Why not just call it what it is—trial by punching."
Yul-Rin folded her arms. "No killing. No internal destruction. The trial rewards clarity, not carnage."
So-Ri added quietly, "It's a test of restraint. Power that serves the greater balance."
Ma-Rok groaned. "Why do all these events punish fun?"
Sun-Ho stepped forward, voice level. "Because balance is what Murim lacks."
He wore no armor, no weapons, just his robe and a sash of deep indigo—marking him officially as an heir candidate.
The Grand Recorder raised a hand. "The candidates will fight one-on-one, under observation. No fatal attacks. Retreat is surrender. The victor will be judged on technique, clarity, and adaptability."
Sun-Ho nodded. "Understood."
His first opponent stepped forward.
Namgoong Sae-Jin.
The courtyard stilled.
The Namgoong heir cracked his neck. "I volunteered to test the runt. Hope you don't fold on first contact."
"I'm here to be tested," Sun-Ho said calmly. "Are you here to learn or to fall?"
Sae-Jin growled and rushed forward—no flourish, just sheer speed and power. His fists shimmered with iron qi, each blow capable of breaking stone.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Sun-Ho parried the first, ducked the second, and redirected the third into a half-turn that spun Sae-Jin off balance.
Crack!
A low bolt of lightning flicked across Sae-Jin's leg—not damaging, but enough to stagger.
He recovered quickly and came again—more brutal, more desperate. His punches echoed like war drums.
Sun-Ho matched them without anger. His footwork was surgical, his palm strikes clean. He didn't overpower—he flowed.
Then he pivoted, ducked low, and unleashed a thin arc of fire across Sae-Jin's path.
The elder arbiters tensed—expecting injury.
But Sun-Ho's control was exact. The flame parted at the final moment, brushing just close enough to make Sae-Jin flinch.
Too wide. Too obvious. That was the message.
The bigger man faltered. For a heartbeat, he hesitated.
And in that moment, Sun-Ho stepped in, tapped his shoulder, and said, "That was the end."
Sae-Jin's face twisted. "What?"
He realized too late—Sun-Ho had positioned him at the very edge of the circle.
One more step—
Thud.
Sae-Jin stumbled backward out of bounds.
The match ended.
The elder arbiters exchanged impressed looks.
The Grand Recorder raised his hand. "Victory: Baek Sun-Ho."
No cheers. Only whispers.
Ji-Mun leaned in to So-Ri. "He didn't even use ten percent of his strength."
She smirked. "He used philosophy. That's rarer."
---
Between Matches
The courtyard grew louder. Factions began whispering in corners. Some looked nervous. Some looked intrigued.
Seol Min-Ah approached Sun-Ho, eyes playful. "You humiliated the Namgoong with a dance. Are you always this elegant?"
"Only when my opponent deserves it."
"Mm. I'd like to see how you handle… fog."
She walked away with a grin.
Yul-Rin muttered, "That one's going to be trouble."
Master Jang sipped tea under a paper umbrella. "The only thing more dangerous than a clever enemy is a bored one."
---
Second Round
"Next match: Baek Sun-Ho versus Seol Min-Ah of Whispering Lotus Hall."
She entered with a single ribbon swirling around her hands. No blades. No armor. No stance.
Sun-Ho raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you underdressed for battle?"
She smiled sweetly. "I find too many weapons get in the way of charm."
The gong rang.
Immediately, petals scattered in the air.
Illusion.
Sun-Ho closed his eyes.
Whump!
A fake impact.
He didn't move.
He let the petals land and burn away on his qi barrier. Then he spun, narrowly avoiding a real needle.
So-Ri called from the edge, "Stay calm! Her illusions get stronger if you react too early."
Min-Ah was everywhere and nowhere—her body phasing through veils of scent, color, and misdirection.
Sun-Ho didn't try to chase her. Instead, he grounded himself. Drew his breath deep.
And whispered a phrase in his mind.
Clarity is faster than sight.
Lightning flickered around his feet—low, steady, humming.
It pulsed out in small waves—like sonar.
Suddenly, Min-Ah's illusions broke apart, her real body exposed for a heartbeat.
Sun-Ho moved.
His palm struck just beside her shoulder—not harming, but pinning her stance.
A single lock of her hair drifted down, singed by heat.
She stopped moving.
Eyes wide.
Then she grinned. "I like you."
The arbiters clapped once.
"Victory: Baek Sun-Ho."
---
After the Trial
Two wins.
Not through destruction.
But with exact precision.
As Sun-Ho stepped away from the ring, several envoys from minor sects bowed lightly in acknowledgment.
Ji-Mun handed him a canteen. "Look at you. Two for two. You're either earning fans or enemies."
Sun-Ho drank and replied, "Both is better. Keeps things honest."
Ma-Rok chuckled. "I vote for more enemies. They're easier to punch."
Yul-Rin pointed out a cluster of disciples watching from the outer ring. "That's a faction from Eastern Shade Sect. Strong, but neutral. They're watching you like hawks."
So-Ri whispered, "They're planning something."
Master Jang said nothing, simply refilled his teacup.
Yeon handed Sun-Ho a piece of folded paper.
It read:
> You made lightning dance today.
The sky remembers those who walk without shadow.
Sun-Ho folded it silently.
Tomorrow would bring harder trials.
But for now, he had proven something.
Not just that he could win.
But that he deserved to be here.
---
End of Chapter 65 – The Trial of Accord