CHAPTER 17: CHAPTER 16: BENEATH THE BLADE’S SHADOW

The stars hung low above Mugang Martial Pavilion, their faint light filtering through the clouds like whispers over steel. Silent as a drifting shadow, Jinmu clung to the roof’s edge, not a whisper of wind stirring his robes. His fingers, gloved and steady, found grip on a narrow beam, and in one smooth movement, he hoisted himself onto the tiled spine of the pavilion.

It’s strange how easy this feels now, Jinmu mused as his gaze scanned the layers of walls and watch posts below. When I first started cultivating ki, I couldn’t even stand on a rooftop without trembling. Now...

He let the thought fade. This wasn’t the time for pride.

He crouched lower, his body wrapped in a loose gray robe stitched with thin strips of softened beast-hide—the same material as his mask and blade sheath. The way the material absorbed sound was uncanny, and it was perfect for what he was doing tonight.

Infiltrating the Mugang Martial Pavilion.

It’s not like I want to be a thief, he exhaled silently, adjusting his position behind a stone guardian statue. But if I don’t move first, this place will be swallowed by its own blades. Do Giseon’s influence is already spreading.

His technique, GHOST BLOOM STEP, rendered his presence as little more than a shimmer in the night—a petal caught on a breeze, barely perceptible to anyone below the level of Master.

As he passed the outer defense wall, a group of patrolling disciples turned their heads in unison. For a heartbeat, Jinmu thought someone had noticed—but they just murmured amongst themselves and kept walking.

They’re tense. Which means whatever’s going on inside, it’s spreading even to the lowest ranks, he noted. So much for discipline in the Pavilion.

Moving swiftly between the tiled roofs and inner pavilions, Jinmu navigated the terrain like a spider weaving between leaves. Each building bore the characteristic Mugang architecture—steel-gray tiles, black wooden panels, and the twin-blade insignia embossed above every doorway.

He landed soundlessly on the highest structure—the roof of the Grand Pavilion’s topmost floor.

And that’s when he felt it.

A faint pulse of ki—aged, weathered, but steady like an old mountain. His hand went to the hilt of Yeomhwa, instinctively. The presence wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t passive either. It was simply... there.

"Not bad," came a low voice behind him. "To step here undetected. Even the Twelve Blades themselves can’t manage that easily."

Jinmu turned, mask hiding the twitch of his brows.

There, seated on a bench carved into the rooftop’s edge, was an old man dressed in loose silver and indigo robes. His hair was tied up with a wooden pin, and his beard ran down in two thin braids that touched his collarbone. His eyes, though half-lidded, gleamed with sharpness, like twin swords dulled not by age, but by restraint.

"...You’re the Pavilion Master," Jinmu said, not as a question but a quiet acknowledgment.

The old man chuckled softly. "That obvious?"

Jinmu didn’t reply.

The man stood slowly, placing his hands behind his back. "Hyeon Ryu. Grandmaster of Mugang Martial Pavilion. You may as well know my name. I have a feeling you’ll find your way into many stories soon enough."

Jinmu remained silent, but his thoughts churned.

So this is him. The one they say stood against three Grandmasters and held the line. The one they say forged the Pavilion from the ashes of the Blade Rebellion twenty years ago...

"I’ve been poisoned," Hyeon Ryu said suddenly, without any preamble.

"That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"

"Not exactly," Jinmu replied. "I was planning to understand the situation first. Not intervene. Not yet."

"Good," the Grandmaster said, his voice like grinding gravel. "You’re careful. That will keep you alive longer than your sword will."

Jinmu stepped forward slowly. "Why haven’t you acted? You’re still conscious. Still strong enough to stand."

"Strong enough to speak," Hyeon Ryu corrected. "And barely that. My cultivation has been sealed at critical points. Not all at once—cleverly, subtly. And when the poison finally came, my body was already compromised. Ki pathways blocked, Danjeon suppressed. I can feel it all crumbling inside, like a fortress riddled with termites."

Jinmu narrowed his eyes. "And you allowed this?"

The old master laughed. "Allowed? No. But I saw it coming. And I chose not to stop it."

That made Jinmu pause.

"You chose," he repeated slowly. "To let the First Blade do this?"

"He didn’t do it alone," Hyeon Ryu said, his tone quieter now. "The Twelve Blades are not puppets. Each of them holds their own will, their own path. But Do Giseon... yes, he is the most ambitious. He believes the Pavilion has grown weak under my guidance. Too peaceful. Too stagnant."

"And you just let him try to seize control?" Jinmu’s tone sharpened. "You’re the Pavilion Master."

Hyeon Ryu’s gaze turned to the clouds overhead.

"There are enemies far worse than Do Giseon," he said after a long silence. "The demonic path. The blood sects. The Eyes of the Abyss. I’ve been preparing for those enemies all my life. But I never prepared for betrayal from within."

He turned back to Jinmu.

"Tell me," he asked softly, "how would you kill a poisonous snake that’s already inside your own house, curled beneath your bed?"

Jinmu didn’t answer. His hand flexed around the hilt of his sword.

"I’m not dead yet," Hyeon Ryu said. "And as long as I’m alive, I can still guide the Pavilion. Even from the shadows."

"You trust Do Giseon won’t kill you outright?"

Hyeon Ryu snorted. "No. He’s not that stupid. If I die now, the other Blades will fracture. Some still follow me. Others only tolerate him. Killing me would ignite a war."

"So he keeps you alive to hold legitimacy," Jinmu said.

"Exactly," the Grandmaster nodded. "But he doesn’t realize—every moment I live is a moment he risks losing it all."

Jinmu folded his arms.

"So you want me to do something about him?"

"No," Hyeon Ryu said. "You’ll do it regardless. That’s who you are, isn’t it?"

Jinmu fell into silence again. The night wind swept across the rooftop, rustling his robe.

He’s watching, but he’s not pleading. He’s laying the pieces on the board. Waiting to see how I move.

"I didn’t climb up here for politics," Jinmu finally said.

"I know. But now you’re involved."

Hyeon Ryu gestured toward the stairwell that led downward into the Pavilion.

"The Blades below are growing restless. They think power is what will keep us strong. But power without direction only breaks things. You’ve already crossed swords with Do Giseon’s men. That’s enough to put a target on your back."

Jinmu nodded once. "Good. Let them come."

Hyeon Ryu smiled, thin and tired.

"You remind me of someone. Young. Hungry. Full of fire. But don’t let it burn you from the inside out."

"Do what you will," the Pavilion Master said as he descended. "But if you choose to fight, then do it not for revenge. Do it to fix what was broken."

So the Pavilion Master let himself fall... And now he’s betting on me?

Jinmu pulled his mask tighter over his face.

I don’t care about his bet. But this Pavilion... It’s where the tournament will be held. Where my name will rise. I can’t let it fall apart before then.

"...So it’s not just betrayal, but something far more intricate," Jinmu muttered under his breath as he glanced at Hyeon Ryu, the Pavilion Master of Mugang Martial Pavilion. The man sat slumped on the edge of the pavilion’s rooftop, his breathing shallow, yet his gaze oddly composed for someone who had been poisoned and betrayed by his own blades.

Hyeon Ryu’s earlier words still echoed in Jinmu’s mind. About the other Twelve Blades, about how some sided with Do Giseon, while others didn’t interfere—not out of agreement, but out of necessity. Out of fear. Out of calculation.

Even in the highest seat, you’re not free. Even a Grandmaster can be bound, not by ropes, but by reasons... That’s Murim. That’s power. That’s the consequence of wielding too much and still not enough.

Jinmu stood a short distance away from the old man, arms folded across his chest, his expression unusually grim beneath the shadow of the mask he hadn’t yet removed. The Pavilion Master had explained everything with startling clarity. The circumstances, the politics, the betrayals... and the poison. A slow-acting toxin designed to paralyze a Grandmaster’s ability to circulate ki—something only someone as deeply connected to Mugang’s internal structure as Do Giseon could’ve orchestrated.

"You didn’t even try to resist," Jinmu finally said, his tone low. "Not when you saw what he was doing. You just watched."

"I did," Hyeon Ryu replied, neither defensive nor remorseful. "Because it wasn’t yet the right time to stop him. I needed him to show his cards. I needed to know how far the rot had gone."

"That kind of gamble could’ve killed you."

"Perhaps," Hyeon Ryu admitted, his tone faint but steady. "But if I had moved too early, I would’ve only driven the rot deeper underground. At least this way, it’s exposed. Now... it can be cut out."

Jinmu said nothing for a long while, only listening to the night wind brushing past the rooftop tiles.

I should’ve copied his technique. That was the whole point of coming here in the first place... But I can’t. Not now. Not in this state.

He narrowed his eyes.

The poison isn’t just suppressing his ki. It’s interfering with his meridian resonance. Even if I tried to copy anything from him right now, I’d just get a broken version—something incomplete. That’s worse than useless. That’s dangerous.

Jinmu glanced toward the far edge of the pavilion. The glow of lanterns still flickered faintly from the lower levels. From a distance, the Mugang Martial Pavilion still looked majestic. Untouched. Regal. But up here, high above the core of its power, things were unraveling at the seams.

He turned back toward Hyeon Ryu, his voice unusually calm. "I know your ki is sealed, and you’re not in any state to fight. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to clean this mess up just because you told me a sad story."

"I didn’t expect you to," Hyeon Ryu said, a faint hint of a smile on his lips. "But you’re here anyway."

Jinmu snorted softly. "Curiosity. That’s all."

"Curiosity about the Twelve Blades? Or about Do Giseon?" the old man asked.

Jinmu didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped back and leaned against the stone outcropping that jutted near the rooftop railing. His eyes swept the darkness, as if trying to grasp the larger shape of things unfolding beneath the surface.

If I move too early, I’ll expose myself. If I move too late, the damage might be irreversible. I still don’t even know how many of the Twelve Blades are involved. Killing the Pavilion Master wasn’t the final aim. They wanted him alive—but crippled. That’s more dangerous. That means control.

"Why are you telling me all this, Pavilion Master?" Jinmu asked at last. "You don’t know who I am. I could be with the Crimson Flow Blade Union for all you know."

Hyeon Ryu’s answer came quickly. "If you were, I’d already be dead."

"Bold assumption."

"No," Hyeon Ryu murmured, "just experience.You infiltrated quietly, rather than openly. And you didn’t run away after discovering me. That tells me everything I need to know."

"...And what’s that?" Jinmu asked.

"That you’re here to change something. Whether for yourself or for someone else... doesn’t matter. But you’re not the type to watch things crumble and do nothing."

Jinmu let out a quiet breath.

Changing things... huh. That’s not wrong. But I’m not doing this out of righteousness. I just don’t like the way the game is being played.

"I need to think. There are too many moving parts in this situation. Do Giseon isn’t someone I can just walk up to and kill—not without knowing what cards he’s holding. And I’m not going to fight a war inside someone else’s sect without knowing who’s really behind him."

"You’re not wrong," Hyeon Ryu replied. "And you’ll need allies. But they’ll only listen if they understand what’s at stake."

"Right," Jinmu muttered. "Which means I need to talk to the other party involved."

"You mean the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace," the Pavilion Master said.

Jinmu didn’t answer right away. But his silence confirmed everything.

They were the target of the Crimson Flow Blade Union’s operation. And that female martial artist from their palace died because of it.. And I still haven’t figured out what their role is in all of this. But they have a right to know.

He sighed and stared at the dark sky above the pavilion.

If I go to them, I’ll have to show my face eventually. I’ll have to talk. I’ll have to explain why I got involved at all. That’s not something I wanted to do so soon. But maybe... maybe it’s necessary.

"You’re thinking of going to them now?" Hyeon Ryu asked.

"No," Jinmu replied. "Not yet. If I appear out of nowhere and start talking about betrayal inside Mugang, they’ll think I’m trying to manipulate them. Especially since I was there the night Haria was ambushed."

Hyeon Ryu gave a low chuckle. "You’re smart for your age. Paranoid. But smart."

"I have to be," Jinmu muttered. "Murim doesn’t care about youth. It only respects power and precision."

He looked down at his hands. The ki within him still surged, unrestrained. His techniques—his BLOSSOM FLOW REQUIEM—were honed enough to rival Peak Masters. But that wasn’t the point anymore. Power was only useful if you knew where and how to apply it.

"Timing. That’s what this is about now," Jinmu murmured to himself. "Not strength. Not courage. Just timing."

He turned away from the Pavilion Master and started walking toward the edge of the rooftop. The wind picked up, catching the edge of his robe and sending it fluttering.

"I’ll come back," he said without looking back. "Once I’ve figured out who the real enemies are."

"Don’t wait too long," Hyeon Ryu said softly. "Murim doesn’t give second chances."

Jinmu didn’t answer.

I don’t need a second chance. I just need the right moment.

And with that thought, he leapt silently into the night, his figure vanishing into the shadows below, already thinking of the path ahead.

Jinmu sat quietly beneath the gnarled branches of a pine tree overlooking the eastern hills. The path below stretched toward the mist-covered ridges of Mt. Yeonhwa, where the faint silhouette of the Lotus Palace’s gate shimmered in the moonlight.

He didn’t move. He had been watching for an hour now.

The palace lights were dim, but a faint ki barrier surrounded the place—an alert system. Even from this distance, he could feel it: subtle, elegant, defensive rather than offensive. It was designed to protect the disciples inside, not repel invaders. That made it more complicated.

So that’s what they’ve put up after the attack. Haria’s probably behind it. It’s cautious... but not paranoid. That makes sense.

He tilted his head slightly and traced the barrier’s rhythm with his senses.

It pulses evenly. The formation isn’t aggressive unless disturbed. Which means I can get in—if I move carefully. The problem isn’t entering. It’s who I’ll meet once I do.

His thoughts lingered on the memory of Eun Haria.

He exhaled softly.

I need to see her. Not to explain everything. Just enough. Enough so they don’t see me as an enemy the next time I intervene.

He didn’t intend to walk through the front gate. That would draw attention. Haria wasn’t the only one in that sect. Some of the elders would react first, question later. And if they saw Jinmu—an unknown, masked martial artist carrying traces of both orthodox and unorthodox ki—they wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say.

That’s why it has to be her. Only her. If I talk to the others, they’ll see a threat. But if I speak to her, maybe I can shift this entire thing before it spirals.

He stood up slowly and turned his gaze toward the shadowed edge of the mountain.

I’ll enter through the rear ridge. Less patrol. The terrain is tricky, but manageable. I’ll wait until the inner guard shifts. Then I’ll move. I only need one conversation.

His expression remained calm, but his eyes were sharp now—focused.

Just me and Haria. No masks. No lies.

He turned, vanishing into the trees without a sound. The decision had been made.

Now it was only a matter of time.