CHAPTER 11: CHAPTER 10: DANCE IN THE INFERNO

The earth was still rumbling when the last scream faded into the smoke.

A blackened saber clattered uselessly across the scorched ground, its edge melted and warped.

Charred limbs, cracked bones, and crimson robes torn beyond recognition lay scattered around the crater.

None of them moved.

Not even the leader, whose twin blades had once torn through gangs and beasts alike. His body now hung halfway over a rock, face burnt beyond flesh, and a hole the size of a fist smoldering in his chest where the Bulbore’s flame had pierced straight through him.

Silence.

Then came the slow, grating exhale of the monster — heat rippling from its molten body like a wall of air.

Jinmu remained crouched behind a jagged boulder, his cloak fluttering from the furnace-like wind.

His eyes lingered on the battlefield.

Five Crimson Flow Blade Union martial artists.

All dead.

They were strong.

Each of them at least in the Expert realm, their leader likely at Peak Expert or even initial Master.

Didn’t stand a chance.

He exhaled softly.

"...So that’s what Peak Master looks like in the form of a beast," he muttered.

The Bulbore’s body had changed. Its already immense form now glowed brighter, like iron pulled straight from the forge. The ground around it steamed and hissed. Lava seeped from cracks in the earth with every step it took.

It wasn’t tired.

If anything, it looked... eager.

It turned slightly, the massive horns on its head scraping against a scorched tree trunk, reducing it to splinters.

It sniffed the air.

And its gaze turned—toward him.

Jinmu’s entire body tensed.

It sensed me.

He had no time to run.

The Bulbore let out a low rumble, then charged.

Its hooves shattered stone. Its breath roared like an erupting volcano. In seconds, it crossed the distance—faster than it had any right to move for its size.

Jinmu dashed sideways, narrowly avoiding the first blow.

The shockwave blasted behind him, flinging rocks and ash skyward.

He didn’t hesitate.

"Blossom Vein Arts — Twin Lotus Coils!"

His hands flowed like water, spinning around the beast’s leg in a tight circle, redirecting the massive weight to the side.

The Bulbore stumbled—but didn’t fall.

Its tail whipped toward him, and he ducked just in time, the heat from it blistering the air over his head.

Too slow to dodge everything. Too strong to block head-on.

He retreated five steps, keeping his stance fluid, misty, moving like vapor between solid blows.

The monster stomped toward him again, unrelenting.

Jinmu gritted his teeth.

"Vein-Pulse Bloom!"

A burst of ki exploded from his palm, aimed directly at the Bulbore’s chest.

It struck — and cracked some of the molten scales.

But the beast didn’t even flinch.

Instead, it opened its jaws.

And the light inside its throat began to glow.

Jinmu’s eyes widened.

"Sh—!"

A column of fire exploded outward.

Jinmu launched himself into a side roll, tucking his body behind a fallen stone. The flames seared past him, turning the ridge into slag.

He panted, heart hammering.

One hit... and I’m ash.

I can’t take it head-on. Not even for a second.

Its core must be inside the chest... the weak spot. But even getting close is suicidal.

The Bulbore turned its head, stalking forward slowly now. Watching. Waiting.

Jinmu didn’t run.

He stood again, cloak torn at the edge, mask half-melted.

He reached deep into his core.

The ki churned like a river crashing against rocks.

This is the difference between Master and Peak Master.

This is the line...

He lowered his stance.

"Petal Curtain Dance."

His palms moved, flowing like drifting flower petals in a gust.

He struck the Bulbore’s front leg five times—fast.

Each strike sent ki into the pressure points.

The beast roared and tried to stomp—but its foreleg trembled.

Not enough to break it... but enough to numb it.

Jinmu lunged.

This time, he didn’t aim for the front.

He spun underneath the beast, hand slicing in an arc—

"Misting Blade Fingers!"

A ki-enhanced strike aimed at the inner joint near the underbelly.

A soft crack echoed.

The Bulbore reeled, stumbling two steps.

Its roar turned shrill.

Then its leg came up—and slammed down like a hammer.

Jinmu had no time to dodge.

The impact caught his shoulder.

He grunted, tumbling across the dirt, his entire left arm going numb.

Blood dripped from his lips.

He groaned, dragging himself up with one arm.

One mistake. Just one...

And I’m done.

The Bulbore came again.

But this time slower—cautious.

It had begun to recognize him as a threat.

Jinmu adjusted his stance.

Despite the blood.

Despite the pain.

Despite the difference in strength—

He smiled.

"...Alright."

He raised his right arm again, the only one that still worked.

"Let’s see if a Master can cut down a Peak."

The wind howled like a dying flame as Jinmu’s body rolled across the scorched dirt.

Blood painted a trail behind him, and his left arm refused to move—completely crushed from the last impact. He tried to push up with one hand but dropped back down.

The Bulbore stood tall, molten steam hissing from its maw.

It looked... victorious.

Its claws scraped against the ground, its eyes glowing with heat, ready to end it.

Jinmu’s chest heaved.

But his eyes didn’t close.

Not yet...

He stared up at the sky, darkened by ash and flickering sparks.

So this is how far the Blossom Vein Arts brought me...?

...No. I’ve been fighting like it’s just a set of techniques. Movements. Stances. But it’s more than that.

His fingers twitched.

The internal ki, though nearly drained, stirred within his Danjeon.

I’ve only been using it like a martial art. But this isn’t just a style...

It’s a vein. A flow. A root system connecting life and death in every movement.

He coughed, then smiled faintly.

The flowers bloom even through blood.

A single breath.

And the ki within him pulsed.

Not a surge—no storm or explosion.

Just a perfect stillness.

And in that stillness, something clicked.

Jinmu’s ki rotated differently—deeper. His body trembled as his meridians expanded, his senses sharpened, and the pressure around him changed.

The scorched air bent slightly at the edge of his aura.

He stood.

The Bulbore hesitated for the first time.

Jinmu’s cloak fluttered, though there was no wind.

And when he raised his arm again—both arms now responding—his gaze was different.

Unshaken.

Focused.

"Blossom Vein Arts — Heart of Blooming Death."

He vanished.

The monster’s body tensed, then turned—but too late.

From the side—

Strike.

The Bulbore’s shoulder cracked.

From below—

Strike.

Its hind legs buckled as ki rushed through its tendons.

From above—

Strike.

A crushing blow landed at the base of its neck.

Jinmu’s movements flowed like water but hit like a collapsing mountain.

Every form merged. Every technique sharpened.

It wasn’t just a fight—it was a blooming of martial understanding.

Each strike stole breath. Each step carved the battlefield into a flower’s pattern.

And then—

His palm landed dead center on the monster’s glowing chest.

His voice calm.

"Sink.

"

BOOM.

A surge of pure internal ki erupted.

The monster screamed, limbs flailing, fire spewing from every pore—only to flicker out midair.

It collapsed seconds later with a thunderous crash, its body twitching... and then going still.

Jinmu exhaled, blood dripping down his chin.

He fell to one knee, gasping.

But he was alive.

And victorious.

Peak Master.

I broke through...

Not because of pressure. Not because of danger. But because I understood it.

His gaze moved to the monster’s remains.

The heart’s core. That horn. And the spine. Enough material for at least three swords.

But I only need one.

He reached out and placed his hand on the glowing, still-hot hide of the Bulbore.

"COPY."

A stream of information surged into him—material properties, structural patterns, elemental compatibility, internal ki resistance.

His lips curled slightly.

Which means... unlimited.

I can paste this again. Forge what I want, when I want. No more searching for rare beast parts.

I have what I need.

But he didn’t notice the slight glint from the hilltop above.

A pair of sharp eyes hidden in the shadows narrowed, watching him silently.

No movement. No sound.

Just quiet observation.

And when Jinmu disappeared from the battlefield, fading into the mist with practiced fluidity—

The watcher remained unmoving.

Only when Jinmu was long gone did the figure finally whisper.

"...Blossom Vein Arts? But... wasn’t that from Yeonhwa?"

The wind scattered the words.

Far away—within the black stone halls of Mugang Martial Pavilion, a man in violet sat beneath a wall of swords.

Twelve blades rested above him—each one bearing the sigil of a master.

He held a crimson scroll in one hand.

The other hand was resting on a blade that shimmered with a faint red hue.

Opposite him stood a robed man wearing the attire of the Crimson Flow Blade Union.

"The Bulbore has fallen," the blade master said coldly.

"But you said it was too strong for anyone below Grandmaster."

The Crimson Flow agent lowered his head.

"It... it was. Our entire hunting squad was killed."

"Then who killed it?"

"...We don’t know."

The man raised a brow.

"Don’t know?"

"The survivor said... he saw a masked figure. Alone. Used flowing palm strikes. No sect markings."

The blade master leaned back in his seat.

Silence.

Then a slow smile crept across his lips.

"So someone wants to play under a mask."

He tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest.

"Well then."

His voice was cold.

"Let’s peel it off."