> "A sheathed sword is still a blade. Only fools mistake silence for weakness."
— Ryu Seok-jin
---
The mountain winds roared like restless spirits, sweeping through the vast plains of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion. Above, banners of the Ten Major Sects snapped in the air—red, azure, gold—symbols of power, pride, and legacy fluttering beneath the morning sun.
The assembly ground overflowed with disciples, elders, and spectators. Tens of thousands. Their murmurs blended into a hum of tension and ambition.
Here, reputations were made. And shattered.
> "The Ten Major Sect Martial Exchange…"
"The crucible where the weak are humiliated… and the strong ascend."
At the farthest edge of the field, a small group stood—cloaked in plain navy robes. Modest. Forgettable.
The Iron Vow Saber Sect.
> "Hah… even this scrap-metal sect dares show its face?"
"Look at them. Like rats wandering into a feast meant for lions."
Mockery followed them like shadows.
Yet one among the group walked differently.
Calm. Unhurried.
Not cowed. Not proud.
Simply… still.
Ryu Seok-jin.
His eyes scanned the grounds—not hurried, not searching. Just… observing. Cataloging. Measuring.
> "The more things change... the more this rotten world stays the same."
To the north—Crimson Lotus Sect. Masters of aggression and flame.
To the west—Shadow Serpent Hall. Assassins in silk.
To the east…
A splash of pale blue. Graceful silhouettes wielding slender blades.
Azure Sky Sect.
His gaze froze.
There. Amidst the sea of blue, her figure stood. Her robe fluttered in the breeze. Her eyes—sharp, yet gentle.
Seo Hana.
No. Not her. Not truly. But fate… fate was cruel. Her face—nearly identical to the girl whose death once hollowed him from the inside out.
For a fleeting moment—his breath caught. His fingers clenched.
But then—he crushed the emotion. Forced it beneath an ocean of discipline.
> "It's not her. It never was."
"The dead don't return. Only memories do."
---
✦ Across the Field — A Sudden Pull
Seo Hana's gaze wandered idly—until it met his.
The world… thinned.
The laughter of her sisters, the hum of voices—all faded to distant noise.
> "It's him…"
"The boy from the cliff. The boy who… saved me."
Her breath faltered. Her heartbeat raced for reasons she couldn't name.
> "But… why is he…?"
Her sharp instincts whispered danger. Her Qi trembled—not from threat, but something… unknown.
> "His posture… that's not a disciple's stance."
"His breathing… no. That's someone who's walked through death… many times."
Her rational mind screamed: "Sword Disciple—Middle Stage."
But every inch of her martial soul rejected it.
> "Impossible. Either I've gone mad… or he's hiding something."
> "Hana?" A sister nudged her. "You're staring."
> "N-Nothing," she muttered, tearing her gaze away—but her hands trembled beneath her sleeves.
---
✦ The Ceremony Begins
A surge of Qi silenced the field as a Pavilion elder stepped onto the main platform. His robe shimmered, embroidered with sword clouds and golden lotuses.
> "Welcome, disciples of the Ten Sects," his voice echoed, layered with inner force.
"The Martial Exchange begins now. As tradition commands—three stages decide your worth."
He raised a hand.
> "First—Solo Duels. A test of personal mastery."
"Second—Tactical Skirmishes. Three versus three."
"Third—The Grand Melee. Survival until one remains."
A pause.
> "Victory earns glory, resources, and status. But heed this…" His voice darkened.
"Death is forbidden. But crippling injuries… are not punished."
A ripple of tension flooded the air.
> "Murim law… brutal, but fair." Ryu scoffed silently.
---
✦ The Weight of Weakness
As groups were assigned, mockery turned sharper.
A disciple from Crimson Lotus Sect smirked.
> "A saber sect? Still teaching lumberjack sword arts?"
Another from Heavenly Sword Pavilion sneered.
> "Iron Vow sent him?" His eyes locked on Ryu. "Didn't they say you were half-dead last year, Nam Cheon?"
Laughter followed. Some openly. Some behind polite hands.
Baek Jin-ho, the senior disciple beside Ryu, ground his teeth but stayed silent. The others lowered their heads—shame heavy on their backs.
But Ryu…
Did not flinch.
Did not blink.
Did not even spare them the grace of annoyance.
> "Fools mistake the absence of thunder for the absence of a storm."
Yet from the east, Seo Hana watched. Her hands curled tightly, fingernails pressing crescents into her palms.
> "Why does it bother me… seeing him mocked?"
"Why do I care?"
---
✦ A Sword Wrapped in Cloth
Ryu glanced at the badge on his waist.
Sword Disciple — Middle Stage.
> "A convenient lie."
> "The truth…?
A blade that could end this entire assembly before the next breath falls."
> "But that would be… boring."
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite scorn.
> "No… I'll let them entertain the illusion a little longer."
---
✦ Nightfall — Unspoken Threads
As tents rose and fires crackled, sects settled into their camps. The sky was painted in deep indigo, stars gleaming like cold steel.
Seo Hana sat alone by her sect's campfire. Her sisters laughed, shared wine, polished blades. But her gaze remained distant—locked on the direction where the Iron Vow tents stood beyond the trees.
> "Who… are you?"
"Why does my heart… tremble when I see you?"
She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them—confused. Frustrated.
> "It makes no sense… but…"
Her thoughts wandered—back to the cliff. To his tears. His blade. His eyes that carried the weight of lifetimes.
> "No. This isn't over. We will meet again."
---
✦ Above It All — A Shadow Watches
From the highest pine overlooking the field, Ryu sat—half-shadowed, cross-legged. His eyes half-lidded but unblinking.
His thumb brushed the hilt of his saber.
> "Hana…" His voice was barely a whisper.
"No. You're not her. But fate… you really do enjoy spitting on me."
His gaze dropped to the flickering Azure Sky campfires.
> "But this time…" His grip tightened.
"It won't end the same."
As the moon hung cold and merciless, the winds of Murim stirred. Carrying promises. Carrying curses. Carrying blades yet unsheathed.
> "Let it begin."