CHAPTER 30: CHAPTER 29: CLONES

The shadows beneath the ancient pine grove where Jinmu had retreated felt different now, charged with a possibility that hadn’t existed just hours before. He sat cross-legged on the forest floor, his back against the rough bark of a centuries-old tree, staring at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. The success of creating his first copy had opened doors in his mind that he hadn’t even known existed, revealing potentials within the Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique that staggered him with their implications.

One copy was just the beginning, he thought, feeling the power flowing through his meridians like liquid starlight. If I can create one perfect duplicate of myself, if the technique can map and replicate every aspect of my existence down to the cellular level, then why stop at one? Why limit myself to a single backup when the Palace Master and her people are being held by dozens of professional assassins?

The carved stone pavilion where Danhye Yeoryeong was imprisoned rose in his memory like a fortress built of nightmares. The dozen guards he had sensed, all Expert level or higher, positioned with professional precision to prevent exactly the kind of rescue attempt he was contemplating. Under normal circumstances, a single martial artist—even one at his Peak Master level—would have no realistic chance of fighting through such opposition while protecting prisoners who couldn’t defend themselves.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. And he wasn’t limited to being just a single martial artist anymore.

Twenty copies, he decided, the number feeling right in ways that transcended mere calculation. Each one at Master level, each one possessing all of my techniques and tactical knowledge. That would give us numerical superiority over the guards, plus the element of surprise when they realize they’re not facing one intruder but an entire coordinated assault force.

The audacity of the plan should have been terrifying. Creating a single copy had been exhausting, requiring him to map and replicate every aspect of his own existence. Attempting to create twenty simultaneously would be like trying to hold twenty conversations while solving twenty puzzles and fighting twenty battles, all at the same time. The mental strain alone might be enough to kill him.

But the alternative was unacceptable. The Palace Master was depending on him. The captured Yeonhwa disciples were counting on rescue. And somewhere in the background, Do Giseon was undoubtedly preparing whatever final moves he planned to make in his conspiracy to reshape the orthodox martial world.

I’ve been thinking too small, Jinmu realized, standing and beginning to pace in the small clearing. Ever since I discovered this ability, I’ve been using it cautiously, carefully, always worried about the risks and limitations. But what if the real limitation isn’t the technique itself? What if it’s my own fear of what I might be capable of?

He stopped pacing and extended his consciousness inward, feeling for the pattern of his own existence that he had mapped earlier. It was still there, stored within the technique’s vast capacity like a blueprint waiting to be used. But instead of simply accessing it once more, he began to examine it from new angles, looking for ways to optimize and improve the replication process.

The power distribution problem, he thought, analyzing the energy flows that would be required. When I created the first copy, my Peak Master strength was divided between two forms, leaving each at Master level. But what if that’s not actually a limitation? What if that’s the optimal configuration?

The more he considered it, the more sense it made. A single Peak Master fighter was certainly powerful, but Peak Masters were rare enough that most martial artists had experience dealing with them, at least in theory. Master level fighters, on the other hand, were common enough to be overlooked but still formidable enough to be dangerous. Twenty Master level duplicates moving in perfect coordination would be far more effective than a single Peak Master trying to handle multiple opponents simultaneously.

And there’s another advantage, he realized. If something goes wrong, if some of the copies are destroyed or detected, I’m not losing my full strength. Each copy that falls only represents a fraction of my total capability. I can afford to take risks with them that I couldn’t take with my original form.

He settled back into meditation position, but this time his preparation was different. Instead of the careful, tentative approach he had used before, he reached for the technique with confidence and certainty. The Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique responded eagerly, flowing through his meridians like water finding its natural course.

"HEAVENLY COPY-PASTE TECHNIQUE," he said aloud, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "PASTE"

The sensation that followed was beyond description. It was as if his consciousness exploded outward in twenty different directions simultaneously, each fragment carrying the complete pattern of his existence. The mental strain was enormous, like trying to think twenty different thoughts while maintaining twenty different conversations while solving twenty different puzzles, all at the exact same moment.

Hold it together, he told himself, feeling his awareness stretching to its absolute limits. Don’t let the patterns collapse. Each copy needs to be perfect, complete, capable of independent action. If even one of them is flawed, the entire plan could fail.

The air around him began to thicken and shimmer, reality bending under the weight of what he was attempting. Light coalesced in twenty different locations, each point of radiance growing brighter and more substantial as the copying process continued. The strain on his consciousness was incredible, but he held on through sheer force of will, refusing to let the technique collapse under the magnitude of what he was asking it to accomplish.

And then, with a sound like thunder made of whispers, it was done.

Twenty perfect duplicates of himself sat in a circle around the original, each one identical down to the position of the mask and the way their robes fell around their bodies. Twenty pairs of eyes opened simultaneously, all looking at him with expressions of amazed recognition.

It worked, the original Jinmu thought, staring around the circle at his own face reflected twenty times over. I actually managed to create twenty copies without any of them collapsing or degrading. Each one is a complete, independent entity with my full memories and capabilities.

One of the copies spoke, its voice carrying the same inflections and cadence as his own. "The power distribution is exactly as calculated. We can feel the Master level strength flowing through our meridians. Reduced from your Peak Master capabilities, but still formidable."

Another copy stood and moved through a series of test stances, checking its physical coordination and balance. "All motor functions are normal. Muscle memory is intact. We have full access to the Blossom Flow Requiem and all other copied techniques."

A third copy drew the wooden practice sword from its back and made a few experimental cuts through the air. "Weapon familiarity is perfect. We could begin combat operations immediately if necessary."

Twenty voices, but all of them are mine, the original thought, fascinated by the strange experience of hearing his own thoughts expressed by other versions of himself. Twenty minds, all working from the same knowledge base and tactical framework. We can coordinate perfectly because we all understand exactly what the others are thinking.

"The rescue plan," said another copy, its attention already focused on the practical challenges ahead. "We know the location of the prison, the approximate number of guards, and the layout of the approach routes. But we need to coordinate our assault to maximize surprise and minimize the risk to the prisoners."

The original Jinmu nodded, his mind already working through the tactical possibilities that twenty coordinated fighters would provide. "Multiple simultaneous approaches. Some of us create diversions to draw guards away from critical positions. Others focus on neutralizing sentries before they can raise alarms. A few concentrate on reaching the prisoners and ensuring their safety while the rest handle combat operations."

"Time is a factor," observed another copy, glancing toward the distant pavilion complex where the tournament was continuing. "The copy maintaining our deception can’t sustain the performance indefinitely. And Do Giseon might decide to move the prisoners if he becomes suspicious."

True, the original thought. But now we have the capability to act decisively. Twenty Master level fighters working in perfect coordination can accomplish things that would be impossible for a single individual, no matter how skilled.

He stood and addressed the circle of copies, feeling the strange weight of commanding versions of himself. "We move immediately. The approach will be divided into four groups of five, each taking a different route to the target. Group One will handle the perimeter guards. Group Two will create diversions to draw attention away from the main assault. Group Three will focus on reaching and securing the prisoners. Group Four will serve as backup and handle any unexpected complications."

The copies nodded in unison, their expressions reflecting the same determined focus that he felt. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing his own face repeated so many times, all looking back at him with identical resolve, but also something profoundly reassuring. For the first time since this entire crisis began, he felt like he had sufficient resources to handle whatever challenges lay ahead.

Each group knows exactly what the others are planning because we all have the same tactical knowledge, he realized. We can coordinate without signals or communication because we all understand the underlying strategy. It’s like having a single mind distributed across twenty bodies.

"Weapons check," he ordered, and twenty hands reached for twenty identical swords.

"Movement patterns," he continued, and the copies began spreading out into their assigned formations. Each group took a slightly different stance, preparing for their specific role in the assault. The coordination was flawless, each copy knowing exactly where it needed to be and what it needed to do.

This is what it means to have true power, the original thought, watching his duplicates prepare for battle with professional efficiency. Not just individual strength, but the ability to be everywhere at once, to handle multiple objectives simultaneously, to overwhelm opponents not just with skill but with sheer numerical superiority.

But even as the tactical part of his mind reveled in the possibilities, another part remained focused on the larger implications. The Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique was revealing capabilities that went far beyond anything he had imagined when he first discovered it. If he could create twenty copies of himself, what else might be possible? Could he copy other people in the same way? Could he replicate entire armies? Could he fundamentally alter the balance of power in the martial world simply by refusing to accept the limitations that others took for granted?

Questions for later, he decided, pushing the speculative thoughts aside. Right now, the only thing that matters is rescuing the Palace Master and her people. Everything else can wait until after we’ve completed that mission.

"Final equipment check," he called, and twenty copies performed simultaneous inspections of their gear. Swords, masks, emergency medical supplies, signal devices for coordination—everything was in perfect order, exactly as it should be when you were preparing to assault a fortress held by professional assassins.

"Movement begins in sixty seconds," he announced. "Remember, the primary objective is prisoner rescue, not enemy elimination. We use whatever force is necessary to complete the mission, but we don’t take unnecessary risks or engage in combat for its own sake."

Although, he added to himself, if the Night Drizzle Sect has techniques worth copying, it would be wasteful to pass up the opportunity. Some of those assassins might have abilities that could prove useful in future operations.

The copies began moving toward their assigned positions, spreading out through the forest with the fluid coordination of a military unit that had trained together for years. Watching them go, the original Jinmu felt a moment of profound satisfaction. The helpless frustration that had plagued him throughout the morning was gone, replaced by the certainty that came from having sufficient resources to handle the challenges ahead.

Do Giseon thinks he holds all the advantages, he thought, beginning his own movement toward the carved stone pavilion. He has political connections, numerical superiority, control of the terrain, and prisoners to use as leverage. What he doesn’t have is any understanding of what he’s actually facing.

The sun was climbing higher now, marking the passage of time that he couldn’t afford to waste. Somewhere in the tournament arena, his first copy was maintaining the deception that kept their enemies focused on the wrong threats. Somewhere in the carved pavilion, the Palace Master was waiting for rescue that she probably didn’t expect to come.

But it is coming, the original Jinmu promised, disappearing into the shadows of Mount Mugang with deadly purpose. And when it arrives, Do Giseon is going to learn that some opponents can’t be defeated through conventional tactics.

Behind him, twenty copies moved through the forest like ghosts given form, each one carrying the same determination and the same deadly capabilities. The assault was about to begin, and its outcome would determine far more than just the fate of a few prisoners.

It would determine whether the orthodox martial world continued to exist as it had for centuries, or whether it was transformed by the emergence of power that transcended all traditional limitations.

The carved stone pavilion waited in the distance, unaware that its period of impregnability was about to come to an end.

The attack began at precisely the moment when the morning mist was thickest around the carved stone pavilion, providing natural concealment for what was about to unfold. Twenty figures moved through the shadows with the coordinated precision of a single mind distributed across multiple bodies, each group executing their assigned role in perfect synchronization with the others.

Group One struck first, targeting the outer perimeter guards who had positioned themselves to watch the approach routes. The Night Drizzle Sect assassins never saw them coming. One moment they were maintaining their professional vigilance, scanning the forest for signs of intruders, and the next moment swords were sliding between their ribs with surgical precision, delivered by opponents who seemed to materialize from the mist itself like vengeful spirits.

Their concealment techniques are impressive, thought one of the copies as he lowered an unconscious assassin to the ground, but they’re designed to hide from conventional observation. They can’t account for attackers who know exactly where they’re positioned because we scouted their locations hours ago.

The kills were silent, efficient, and utterly professional. Each assassin was neutralized before he could cry out or signal for help, their bodies carefully positioned to avoid detection during casual patrols. Within minutes, the outer defensive ring had been completely eliminated without raising any kind of alarm.

Group Two began their diversionary tactics immediately afterward, creating the kind of disturbances that would draw attention away from the main assault without appearing obviously coordinated. One copy triggered a small landslide on the far side of the pavilion complex, sending rocks tumbling down the mountainside with enough noise to suggest a possible infiltration attempt. Another copy set off a series of small fires in the forest, using techniques that would make them appear natural rather than deliberately set.

The key to effective misdirection, thought the copy coordinating the diversions, is making your enemies think they understand what’s happening while actually leading them in completely the wrong direction. Let them think they’re facing a conventional assault from multiple angles, and they’ll never realize the real attack is coming from where they least expect it.

The guards inside reacted exactly as predicted, redirecting personnel to investigate the apparent threats while maintaining what they thought was adequate security around the prisoners. But adequate security against a conventional rescue attempt was completely insufficient against what they were actually facing.

Group Three moved in while the guards were distracted, approaching the pavilion from the one direction that the defensive plan hadn’t fully accounted for: directly through the stone walls themselves. Using techniques from the Blossom Flow Requiem, the copies flowed through gaps in the stonework that shouldn’t have been large enough to accommodate human passage, their bodies becoming as insubstantial as morning mist when necessary.

GHOST BLOOM STEP, thought the lead copy of Group Three as he materialized inside the central chamber. The afterimage effect works even better when you’re actually multiple people creating multiple afterimages simultaneously. The guards don’t know where to look because we’re coming from everywhere at once.

The interior of the carved pavilion was exactly as they had expected: a series of interconnected chambers carved directly from the living rock, with prison cells arranged around a central guard station. But what they hadn’t expected was the condition of the prisoners.

Palace Master Danhye Yeoryeong sat in meditation posture in the largest cell, her composure intact despite the circumstances. But the other Yeonhwa disciples were clearly suffering from prolonged captivity, their faces gaunt and their movements listless. Worse, they were all wearing restraints designed to suppress ki cultivation, keeping them weak and unable to defend themselves.

They’ve been drugged, realized one of the copies, analyzing the prisoners’ conditions with the medical knowledge that came from years of martial training. Not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to keep them compliant and prevent any attempt at escape or resistance.

"Palace Master," whispered the lead copy, kneeling beside Yeoryeong’s cell. "We’re here to rescue you."

Her eyes opened immediately, focusing on his masked face with the sharp intelligence that had made her legendary throughout the orthodox world. "You came," she said simply, her voice carrying neither surprise nor relief, just quiet acknowledgment.

"Can you and your people move quickly once I free you?"

"Give us sixty seconds to counteract the drugs in our systems," Yeoryeong said, already beginning to circulate her ki in patterns designed to purge foreign substances from her bloodstream. "We won’t be at full strength, but we’ll be functional."

Sixty seconds, the copy thought, calculating the timing of the assault. That should be sufficient. The guards are still investigating the diversions, and Group Four is in position to handle any complications that arise.

But even as he worked to free the prisoners, sounds of combat began echoing from the outer chambers of the pavilion. The remaining guards had realized that the diversions were converging on the actual rescue attempt with professional speed and coordination.

"Contact!" called one of the Group Three copies, his sword already moving in the flowing patterns of CRIMSON CURTAIN DANCE as he engaged three assassins simultaneously. "Multiple hostiles, Expert level or higher. They know we’re here."

The battle that followed was unlike anything the carved stone pavilion had ever witnessed. Twenty copies of the same martial artist, all fighting with identical technique but perfect coordination, faced off against a dozen Night Drizzle Sect assassins who had trained for years to handle conventional opponents.

Their techniques are fascinating, thought one copy as he parried a strike from a curved assassin’s blade. Shadow-based movement, ki suppression methods, techniques designed to confuse and disorient opponents. Definitely worth copying if we get the opportunity.

FLAME PETAL DRAW! The opening form of the Blossom Flow Requiem cut through the dim interior of the pavilion like liquid fire, the sword leaving trails of ki-flame in its wake. The assassin who had been targeted barely managed to dodge, his own blade coming up in a defensive pattern that spoke of extensive training in countering sword techniques.

But he hadn’t trained to counter sword techniques executed by multiple opponents simultaneously. While he focused on the copy directly in front of him, another copy struck from the side with WINDING PULSE DASH, the evasive redirection merging with a brutal side thrust that penetrated his guard completely.

This is what perfect coordination looks like, thought the original Jinmu as he felt the battle through his connection to the copies. Every attack supported by other attacks, every defense creating opportunities for offense, every movement part of a larger pattern that no conventional opponent can counter.

The Night Drizzle Sect assassins were skilled, but they were facing something beyond their experience or training. How do you fight twenty opponents who think with the same mind, who coordinate with perfect precision, who can predict each other’s movements because they share the same tactical knowledge?

"SHADOW MIST WALKER!" called one of the assassins, disappearing into a technique that should have made him invisible to normal observation. But the copies weren’t using normal observation—they were using the enhanced senses that came from Peak Master cultivation, distributed across twenty sets of eyes and ears.

"COILED VEIN RAIN!" responded three copies simultaneously, their swords creating a flurry that mixed acupuncture strikes with violent cuts. The assassin’s concealment technique protected him from direct attack, but it couldn’t protect him from area-effect techniques that covered every possible hiding spot.

Their shadow techniques are based on misdirection and stealth, analyzed one of the copies as it engaged another assassin. But misdirection only works when your opponents don’t know where you really are. And stealth becomes meaningless when there are too many observers to fool simultaneously.

The assassin fell back, blood streaming from multiple wounds, and attempted another technique. "NIGHT DRIZZLE FALLING!" His blade split into what appeared to be a dozen different attacks, each one aimed at a different copy, creating the illusion of simultaneous strikes from all directions.

But illusions were useless against opponents who could see through them from twenty different perspectives at once. The copies moved in perfect coordination, each one countering the real attacks while ignoring the false ones, their wooden swords weaving patterns of defense and offense that no single opponent could penetrate.

I need to copy their techniques before they’re all defeated, realized the original Jinmu, focusing his attention on the assassin who seemed to be the most skilled. Some of these shadow arts could be extremely useful in future operations.

He extended his consciousness toward the assassin, activating the HEAVENLY COPY-PASTE TECHNIQUE while the battle continued around them. The copying process was more difficult during active combat, requiring him to maintain focus while his copies fought for their lives, but gradually the patterns of the Night Drizzle techniques began to imprint themselves in his memory.

Eight forms, he catalogued as the information flowed into his mind. A complete shadow arts system designed for assassination and infiltration. The name... Phantom Rain Death Arts (환우살법 | Hwanu Salbeop). Fascinating. Each form builds on the previous one, creating layers of deception and misdirection that would be nearly impossible for conventional opponents to counter.

SHADOW MIST WALKER - The first form, creating false presence while concealing true location.

NIGHT DRIZZLE FALLING - The second form, splitting attacks into multiple simultaneous strikes.

SILENT DEATH STEP - The third form, movement that leaves no sound or trace.

PHANTOM BLADE DANCE - The fourth form, weapon techniques that attack from impossible angles.

MIST WALKING ESCAPE - The fifth form, evasion that makes the user seem to vanish completely.

SHADOW BIND TECHNIQUE - The sixth form, restraining opponents with constructs of pure darkness.

RAIN OF HIDDEN BLADES - The seventh form, projectile attacks that seem to come from everywhere at once.

DEATH MIST DISSOLUTION - The eighth and final form, a finishing technique that dissolves the opponent’s ki circulation.

Perfect, thought the original as the copying process completed. These techniques will complement the Blossom Flow Requiem beautifully. The combination of elegant sword work with shadow-based infiltration arts should be devastatingly effective.

But even as he absorbed the new techniques, the battle was reaching its conclusion. The Night Drizzle Sect assassins, for all their skill and training, simply couldn’t cope with twenty coordinated opponents who fought with perfect tactical unity. One by one, they fell to swords that struck with the precision of surgical instruments and the force of sledgehammers.

The last assassin, blood streaming from wounds across his chest and arms, made one final desperate attempt to complete his mission. Instead of attacking the copies, he turned toward the prisoners, his blade aimed at Palace Master Yeoryeong’s heart.

He never reached her.

HEART OF THE LAST BLOOM! The eighth form of the Blossom Flow Requiem, executed by three copies simultaneously, focused all available ki into piercing strikes that stopped the assassin’s charge dead. He collapsed to the stone floor, his weapon clattering away into the darkness.

It’s over, realized the original Jinmu, feeling the sudden quiet that descended over the carved pavilion. All the guards are neutralized, the prisoners are free, and we’ve accomplished the rescue without losing a single copy. Better than I dared hope.

Palace Master Yeoryeong stood slowly, testing her balance as the drug suppressants finished purging from her system. "Impressive," she said, looking around at the copies with obvious appreciation. "I don’t know what technique allows you to be in twenty places at once, but it’s certainly effective."

She suspects something, thought one of the copies, but she’s not pressing for details. Probably understands that some secrets are better left unexamined, at least for now.

"Can you and your people travel?" asked the lead copy, already planning the evacuation route that would get them safely away from the pavilion complex.

"We can travel," Yeoryeong confirmed, helping one of her disciples to his feet. "But slowly, and not far without rest. The drugs they used were designed to prevent exactly this kind of escape attempt."

That complicates things, thought the original. We need to get them to safety, but we also need to maintain the deception at the tournament. And there’s still the question of what to do about Do Giseon’s larger conspiracy.

As if reading his thoughts, Palace Master Yeoryeong spoke again. "This rescue is impressive, but it’s only the beginning. Do Giseon won’t simply accept the loss of his hostages and abandon his plans. If anything, this will force him to accelerate whatever timeline he was working with."

"What do you mean?" asked one of the copies.

"I mean," Yeoryeong said grimly, "that we may have just started a war."

A war, thought the original Jinmu, feeling the weight of that possibility settling over him like a heavy cloak. But if that’s what it takes to stop Do Giseon’s conspiracy and protect the people I care about, then perhaps war is exactly what we need.