CHAPTER 21: CHAPTER 20: GRAND OPEN TOURNAMENT

The morning air of the Mugang Martial Pavilion felt heavy—not with humidity, but with tension, excitement, and anticipation that saturated every inch of space around the Grand Arena. Perched atop a sweeping plateau east of the Pavilion, the vast martial coliseum overlooked the sprawling buildings below like a slumbering beast of stone and steel. From the break of dawn, the streets leading to it flooded with thousands of spectators—merchants, martial artists, wandering cultivators, noble clans, and the ever-present disciples of the Five Great Mountain Sects.

This was no ordinary gathering.

It was the day of the Grand Open Tournament—an event that occurred only once every four years, drawing the most promising young talents of the Jeonghwa martial world under one arena. Warriors from the snow-clad halls of Mt. Baekrin, flame-hewn temples of Mt. Hwagyeong, the thunder-soaked caves of Mt. Cheongjin, the dueling ruins of Mt. Mugang, and the mist-wreathed palaces of Mt. Yeonhwa—all had sent their finest.

From atop the highest balcony of the arena, Jinmu stood in silence, his gaze sweeping over the sea of spectators below. The sounds were deafening—cheering voices, clashing cymbals, gongs resounding with every announcement. The vast stone coliseum, large enough to hold over fifty thousand people, buzzed like a hive about to explode.

So this is what a world stage looks like, he thought, slowly exhaling. A place where names are forgotten or immortalized in a single moment.

He tightened the bandages around his wooden practice sword strapped to his back—Yeomhwa remained in its sheath, sealed tightly. He wasn’t allowed to use real blades in the first round, and that suited him just fine.

"Looks like we drew quite a crowd."

Jinmu turned to see Eun Haria step beside him, her white and violet robes fluttering softly under the morning breeze. A thin silk veil still covered the lower half of her face, though her eyes remained clear, calm, and bright. She wore the uniform of the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace proudly now—its sigil of twin blooming petals shining at the center of her chest.

"They’re not here for us," Jinmu replied, folding his arms.

"Not yet."

She gave him a look, one corner of her eye crinkling in amusement.

"Your confidence is growing, Jinmu Yeon."

"Not confidence. Just awareness. Most of them expect someone else to win." His gaze fell toward the center of the arena, where stone platforms were being wheeled in and arranged. "Or rather... one of the Five to win."

As if on cue, the crowd began to murmur—and then cheer—as several groups descended the main staircase toward the waiting lounge below the coliseum. Each group was led by a distinct figure, each carrying the air of inherited prestige and lethal capability.

The Five Young Masters of the Five Great Mountains.

At the forefront strode Juhwa Gyeongcheol of Mt. Hwagyeong Sword Sect—bare-chested under his red battle robes, two long flame-patterned swords strapped to his back. His hair was tied in a topknot, and his every step radiated molten intensity. Known as the "Twin Blaze Scion," he had reached Master level at only twenty-three.

Beside him, Seoryeon Baekho, the White Tiger of Mt. Baekrin, walked with shoulders broad and silent dignity. Clad in thick fur-lined robes and carrying no visible weapon, he was rumored to be a Pure Body Cultivator with the strength of ten men. A cold mist followed in his wake, and his stare never lingered long—too focused on something far deeper.

Trailing behind was Eunwon Jinseong from the Azure Thunder Hall of Mt. Cheongjin—blue robed and wiry, his arms bore glowing tattoos said to conduct ki like lightning rods. He smiled often, almost too easily, but that smile never reached his eyes. Among all the young masters, Jinseong was the most unpredictable. He too was Master level.

From Mt. Mugang came Do Sangin, scion of the Mugang Martial Pavilion and cousin to Do Giseon. Shorter than the others but visibly bulkier, he carried an iron fan on one side and a twin-edged saber on the other. Though more reserved than his cousin, his name still carried weight—he was known for his ability to copy techniques mid-battle.

And finally, from the misted heights of Mt. Yeonhwa—

"She’s coming," someone whispered.

The crowd hushed as Eun Haria descended alongside Jinmu, the emblem of Yeonhwa Lotus Palace on full display. Despite her covered face, murmurs of recognition spread like wildfire.

"That’s the successor of Yeonhwa Palace, right?"

"Isn’t she only an Expert?"

"Yeah... no way she wins against those four."

"Especially with Juhwa Gyeongcheol here. Didn’t he defeat a rogue Grandmaster last year?"

"They say she’s good with poison and counters... but she’s still too weak."

"I heard she was injured recently. Maybe she’s just here for show."

The wave of doubt rolled through the stands like a ripple in still water. Jinmu could hear every voice. But more than that—he felt the slight tightening in Haria’s posture beside him.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. But she heard it all.

They don’t know. They can’t. She’s doing this not to win their approval, but to bait the blade waiting in the dark.

Jinmu said nothing. He just walked with her.

They moved down the stone corridor leading to the waiting area, passing by a few other participants—some familiar, others not. Many of them turned to stare.

Some nodded with subtle respect. Others scoffed.

The same murmurs followed them there.

"That guy with her... who is he?"

"Never seen him before. Maybe a bodyguard?"

"No weapons? Is he even registered?"

"Looks too calm. Either he’s strong... or stupid."

Inside the main hall for participants, the tension only thickened.

Juhwa Gyeongcheol was already seated on the far left, his arms crossed as he leaned back with closed eyes. His two swords were placed across his lap. A few others had gathered around him—members of minor sects eager to attach themselves to a rising star.

Seoryeon Baekho stood in a far corner, arms folded, eyes scanning the walls. No expression. No words. He looked like a statue.

Eunwon Jinseong laughed at a joke one of his lackeys made—his grin as bright and false as the sun behind a stormcloud.

Do Sangin briefly met Jinmu’s eyes and gave the smallest nod.

The moment Haria and Jinmu entered, a silence fell over the space.

They sat apart from the others, choosing the far end of the room. Haria closed her eyes to meditate, gathering her internal energy slowly.

Jinmu leaned forward on his knees and watched the shadows shift across the tiled floor.

Let them talk. Let them doubt. It’s better this way. The more they dismiss her, the more they’ll be unprepared when I strike. And when that happens... Giseon will have no escape.

"Participants, please prepare. The opening speech will commence shortly."

A bell rang outside.

Jinmu stood and turned to Haria.

"Remember what we planned," he said quietly. "Don’t push too hard in the early rounds. Let me take the heat."

She nodded. "I can endure the whispers. Can you endure the spotlight?"

He smirked. "Watch me."

The two stepped out into the blinding sunlight as the arena roared back to life.

From the high northern balcony, a richly-dressed announcer stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Esteemed martial clans, sects, warriors, nobles, and honored guests from all across Jeonghwa—welcome to the Grand Open Tournament!"

Thunderous cheers shook the ground.

Jinmu scanned the upper stands—and found them. The golden-robed figure of Do Giseon, First Blade of Mugang Martial Pavilion, sat at the Pavilion Master’s seat, smiling like a king already crowned.

And just as expected, the crowd began to murmur.

"Wait... where’s the Pavilion Master?"

"Why is Do Giseon giving the speech?"

"Isn’t that seat reserved?"

"What happened to Hyeon Ryu?"

But those questions dissolved as quickly as they appeared.

Because the next moment, Do Giseon stood.

And raised his hand.

A wave of silence fell like a command from heaven.

"Respected warriors," Giseon’s voice boomed across the arena, smooth and charismatic. "I bring greetings in place of Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu, who has taken ill and entrusted me to oversee this sacred event. Let us honor his wishes by ensuring this tournament unfolds with brilliance, discipline, and the flame of martial excellence!"

The crowd roared once more.

None questioned further.

None dared.

Jinmu’s hands clenched behind his back.

Taken ill, huh? How convenient.

Beside him, Haria narrowed her eyes.

He didn’t need to look to know what she was thinking.

Do Giseon had laid the stage perfectly. The Pavilion Master was gone, silenced behind curtains of "illness." He now stood in his place, commanding the attention of every sect, every eye.

The Grand Open Tournament had officially begun.

And behind the cheers, beneath the praise, the clock had started ticking.

The sun hovered high now, casting a molten gleam across the vast arena nestled. The Grand Open Tournament

, hosted once every four years under the auspices of the Five Great Mountain Sects, had finally begun.

Martial artists—young, fierce, and overflowing with ambition—filed into the arena from all corners of Jeonghwa. They numbered exactly one hundred, the very best of their respective sects, schools, clans, and families. Some bore the symbols of legacy sects with pride; others had earned their place through raw power, bitter duels, and ruthless trials. There were disciples from isolated mountaintop halls, body cultivators from the cold North, spear-wielders raised in the riverlands, and even cloaked wanderers whose names the crowd did not yet know—but all stood as equals now, drawn into the eye of this storm called the tournament.

The outer stands were overflowing with spectators. Warriors, merchants, traveling scholars, and officials of the martial world had arrived days in advance, securing seats and setting up tents. Shouts clashed with laughter. Rumors churned with wagers. Silk fans waved, paper slips fluttered, roasted meats smoked in the air. This wasn’t just a battle of martial prowess—it was an event that would tilt the power balance of the Five Mountains for the next generation.

And at the heart of the arena stood the elevated stone stage, where the judges’ platform awaited.

A hush fell over the audience as a single man strode forward toward the high platform, flanked by two pavilion guards in ash-gray robes.

"That’s... that’s the First Blade."

"Why is Do Giseon presiding instead of Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu?"

The murmurs rippled like wind over grass.

From a distance, Do Giseon cut a striking figure. Tall and unflinching. His hair was tied in a high warrior’s knot, and his robes shimmered faintly . He exuded the calm cruelty of a man used to commanding blood with a glance. And while he bowed toward the crowd with precise courtesy, there was an unmistakable smirk on his lips.

He’s really standing in that spot like it belongs to him, Jinmu thought from where he stood among the participants, his gaze narrowing beneath the brim of his headband. And they’re letting him. Just like that.

He stood beside Eun Haria, who was quiet. Though she wore her ceremonial white-and-crimson robes of Yeonhwa Lotus Palace, her expression was unreadable. No hesitation. No fear. Just the poised stillness of someone who had already made her decision.

"Where’s the Pavilion Master?"

"I heard he’s sick."

"No, I heard he was injured in a duel..."

"Maybe he’s just old. The Pavilion has been silent lately."

The murmurs continued, but they were half-hearted. The tension was quickly swallowed by the atmosphere of anticipation.

Because when Do Giseon raised his voice, the crowd responded like thunder meeting earth.

"Warriors of Jeonghwa!" he called, his voice resonating with ki. "Today marks the beginning of our future. The Five Great Mountains, the heart of martial strength in this land, shall witness the rise of its next generation of pillars. One hundred fighters—one dream. Prove yourself worthy not just in strength, but in resolve."

The crowd roared in approval.

"In this era where the demonic path looms once again in the shadows, we do not need blind violence. We need wisdom, discipline, and flame that burns true."

He’s setting himself up as the righteous voice now, Jinmu noted coldly. Every word carefully chosen. And no one here will question it... because the stage is already lit, and they all came to see fire.

"Let the battles begin."

With a slow gesture, he raised a ceremonial sword into the air—its blade reflecting the sun in a bright arc—then sheathed it into a scabbard made of blackwood and silver. That marked the signal.

And just like that, the first battle began.

Well, almost.

The announcer—a man in jade scholar robes—stepped up with a scroll and a flourish of energy.

"The First Round will be a battle royale. One hundred martial artists on the stage at once. Those who fall or are thrown off the ring will be eliminated. When only fifty remain, the round ends."

Another wave of cheers.

Jinmu’s eyes flicked toward the center of the arena where the stage was being prepared—its size magically expanded using sect array techniques, reinforced to handle the chaos that would follow.

He took a breath, feeling the low hum of his danjeon tighten. Around him, other martial artists were preparing as well, checking their weapons, breathing slowly, or gathering themselves with muttered mantras.

Among the crowd, the names of the frontrunners were already being shouted:

"Juhwa Gyeongcheol of the Mount Hwagyeong Sword Sect!"

"Seoryeon Baekho from Baekrin White Tiger Hall!"

"Eunwon Jinseong of Azure Thunder Hall!"

"Eun Haria of Yeonhwa Lotus Palace!"

"Do Sangin from Mugang Martial Pavilion!"

"Place your bets, who makes it past round one?!"

"Ten silver on Seoryeon! His body technique is unbeatable!"

"Eunwon Jinseong lightning palm broke a boulder clean through—did you hear that?!"

"Wait—what about that guy next to Eun Haria?"

"You mean the one without a sect emblem? The one with the wooden sword?"

"I don’t even know his name."

"No way he’s getting far. Looks like a bodyguard they let tag along."

Eun Haria flicked a glance toward Jinmu at that, lips quirking ever so slightly.

"I heard that," he muttered under his breath.

"Good," she murmured, "It’ll help with appearances."

He didn’t need to ask what she meant. For the plan to work, Do Giseon had to believe Haria was the key piece—the bait, the threat, and the symbol. Jinmu’s presence, unknown and seemingly unimpressive, was the shadow in her corner. Let them dismiss him. Let them overlook him.

They’ll regret that the moment I step on the stage.

He glanced toward the far edge of the arena, where sect elders, masters, and envoys from different factions sat in rows of raised seats. And near the center, sitting in a place of prominence reserved for the Pavilion’s ruling body, sat Do Giseon. Smiling. Watching.

The man had no idea his time was already running out.

Back in the crowd, speculation ran rampant.

"You think Eun Haria can make it past the first round?"

"She’s only an Expert, right? The others are already Masters."

"She’s elegant, sure, but this tournament won’t be won with elegance."

"Still, the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace wouldn’t have sent her if they weren’t confident."

"But do you really think she’s the strongest they’ve got?"

"Maybe not—but she’s the successor. That means something."

Others weren’t so kind.

"The Palace is only sending her for appearance."

"She won’t last ten seconds when the real fighting starts."

"She’s here for diplomacy, not domination."

"Such a shame. She’s beautiful... but too fragile for this stage."

Jinmu heard every word.

Not because he was trying to, but because the weight of their underestimation filled the air like fog.

Perfect, he thought. Keep your eyes on her. Keep talking about who you think will win.

Because when I finally draw my blade, the only name you’ll remember... will be mine.

And as the final preparations for the ring were completed, the last of the participants called to position, and the officials moved to their seats—

The storm finally began to form.

Tomorrow, the stage would erupt.

Fifty would fall.

And one name would rise.