CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER 31: STORM BREAKS

The aftermath of the battle in the Chamber of Blades left an eerie silence that seemed to press against the carved stone walls like a living thing. Jinmu stood among the unconscious and wounded forms of the Twelve Blades, his mind already working through the tactical implications of what had just occurred. Eight traitors lay defeated, but they represented knowledge and capabilities that couldn’t simply be discarded. And three loyalists remained alive, their survival crucial to any hope of legitimizing whatever came after Do Giseon’s conspiracy was finally exposed.

The wounded first, he decided, kneeling beside Yoo Jinhwan, the Fourth Blade who had managed to survive the impossible odds. Then secure the traitors. Then extract whatever intelligence I can from both groups before moving on to the next phase.

"I need four of you to handle prisoner transport," he said to his copies, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had become second nature during this long day of crisis. "Take all eleven of them to the carved stone pavilion. The loyal Blades get medical treatment and protection. The traitors get secure detention."

The copies nodded in unison, their understanding perfect and immediate. They had access to all of his tactical knowledge, which meant they understood not just what needed to be done, but why it needed to be done in a specific sequence.

Yoo Jinhwan needs immediate medical attention, Jinmu thought, examining the Fourth Blade’s wounds more carefully. But Hyeon Namgung and Jang Mudeok might still be alive despite the poison and trauma. If I can get them to the carved pavilion, the disguised copies there can provide treatment while maintaining the security deception.

"The Second and Third Blades," he said, checking the pulse of the silver-haired woman who had fallen first. "Are they still alive?"

One of the copies was already examining Hyeon Namgung, his hands moving with the precision of someone trained in battlefield medicine. "Weak pulse, but stable. The poison was designed to incapacitate rather than kill. She should recover with proper treatment."

Another copy had moved to Jang Mudeok, the flame-wreathed martial artist whose techniques had been so brutally overwhelmed. "Similar condition. Unconscious from ki exhaustion and trauma, but no immediately life-threatening injuries. He’ll need time to recover his strength."

Good, Jinmu thought with relief. Three surviving loyalists means we have legitimate authority figures who can testify to Do Giseon’s treachery. That could be crucial for preventing a complete collapse of the pavilion’s political structure once this is all over.

"Transport them carefully," he instructed the copies who would be handling the evacuation. "The disguised copies at the carved pavilion know to expect you. Tell them to prioritize medical treatment for the loyalists while keeping the traitors secure but alive. We may need information from both groups."

The copies began the delicate process of moving the wounded, their movements coordinated with the kind of precision that only shared consciousness could provide. Watching them work, Jinmu felt a moment of satisfaction at how seamlessly the operation was unfolding. Every copy knew exactly what the others were doing, which eliminated the confusion and redundancy that plagued most rescue operations.

But before they leave, he realized, looking at the eight unconscious traitors, I have an opportunity that I can’t afford to waste. Each of these Blades represents decades of advanced martial training. Their techniques, their knowledge, their combat experience—all of it could be invaluable.

He moved to the nearest of the fallen traitors, Ma Jinsung the Fifth Blade, and placed his hand on the man’s chest. The process of copying martial techniques from an unconscious subject was more difficult than copying from someone actively demonstrating their abilities, but it was still possible if he focused carefully.

"HEAVENLY COPY-PASTE TECHNIQUE," he whispered, extending his consciousness into the Fifth Blade’s meridian system. "COPY."

The sensation was like reading a book written in a language he didn’t quite understand, but gradually patterns began to emerge. Ma Jinsung’s martial foundation was built around the twin hook swords he carried, but beneath that weapon specialization lay something deeper and more fundamental—a core technique that seemed to be shared among all the Twelve Blades.

Interesting, Jinmu thought as the information flowed into his consciousness. It’s not just individual techniques. There’s an underlying system that connects all of their fighting styles, a foundational art that gets expressed differently depending on the practitioner’s preferences and weapons.

He moved from one unconscious traitor to the next, using the copying technique to analyze their martial foundations. The Sixth Blade’s hammer techniques, the Seventh Blade’s illusion arts, the Eighth Blade’s poison methods—all of them were built on the same core system, adapted and modified but fundamentally connected.

The Mugang Martial Pavilion’s secret technique, he realized as the pattern became clear. Not something they teach to ordinary disciples, but the advanced art that’s reserved for the highest levels of leadership. No wonder they call themselves the Twelve Blades—they’re all variations on the same underlying sword philosophy.

The technique that emerged from his analysis was called the Sevenfold Steel Dominion (칠강검패 | Chilgang Geompae), and it was unlike anything he had encountered before. Instead of being a sequence of individual forms like the Blossom Flow Requiem or the Phantom Rain Death Arts, it was a systematic approach to martial excellence that could be adapted to any weapon or fighting style.

Unity of Purpose - The first principle, aligning all techniques toward a single strategic objective.

Adaptive Fluidity - The second principle, modifying techniques in real-time to counter unexpected situations.

Overwhelming Pressure - The third principle, maintaining relentless offensive momentum that prevents opponents from regrouping.

Perfect Timing

- The fourth principle, striking at the precise moment when maximum damage can be achieved.

Tactical Integration - The fifth principle, combining multiple techniques into seamless combinations that exceed the sum of their parts.

Absolute Control - The sixth principle, maintaining perfect mastery over one’s own capabilities while disrupting the opponent’s control.

Victory Through Dominance - The seventh principle, achieving victory not just through defeat of the opponent, but through complete establishment of martial superiority.

This is why the Twelve Blades were so feared, Jinmu thought as the technique settled into his consciousness alongside his other copied arts. It’s not just about individual strength or skill. It’s about approaching combat as a science, with principles that can be applied universally regardless of the specific techniques being used.

The copying process had taken longer than he had anticipated, but the results were worth the time investment. The Sevenfold Steel Dominion wouldn’t just give him new techniques—it would provide a framework for optimizing all of his existing abilities.

But I won’t integrate it yet, he decided, feeling the weight of the new knowledge alongside the Blossom Flow Requiem and Phantom Rain Death Arts. Like the shadow techniques, this needs to remain separate until I have time to properly understand how it interacts with my existing foundation. Rushing the integration could destabilize everything I’ve built so far.

The copies had finished securing the Twelve Blades and were preparing to transport them to the carved stone pavilion. The operation would leave Jinmu with six copies for the assault on the Supreme Chamber, but that should be sufficient given the tactical advantages they had accumulated.

Six copies plus the element of surprise plus comprehensive knowledge of three different martial systems, he calculated. Against twenty Expert-level guards who are expecting a conventional rescue attempt. The odds are still challenging, but manageable.

"Transport complete in sixty seconds," reported the lead copy who would be coordinating the prisoner movement. "The loyalists will receive immediate medical attention, and the traitors will be secured pending further interrogation."

"Acknowledged," Jinmu replied, then turned his attention to the six copies who would be accompanying him to the Supreme Chamber. "Final equipment check. We’re moving into the most dangerous phase of the entire operation."

The copies performed synchronized inspections of their gear, their movements reflecting the shared understanding that came from identical training and experience. Swords, emergency medical supplies, tools for dealing with locks and barriers—everything they might need for a rescue mission against overwhelming odds.

The Supreme Chamber is where this all ends, Jinmu thought as they prepared to leave the Chamber of Blades behind. Either we succeed in rescuing Hyeon Ryu and exposing Do Giseon’s conspiracy, or we fail and the orthodox martial world falls into chaos. There’s no middle ground anymore.

"Movement begins now," he announced, and the seven figures disappeared into the shadows of Mount Mugang like wraiths seeking justice.

The path to the Supreme Chamber led through the oldest sections of the pavilion complex, where the architecture spoke of an era when martial strength was the only law that mattered. The corridors were narrower here, carved directly from the living rock of the mountain itself, and the air carried a weight that had nothing to do with altitude.

Perfect terrain for an ambush, Jinmu observed as they moved through passages that offered dozens of concealment opportunities. But also perfect terrain for the kind of coordinated assault we’re planning. The narrow spaces will limit how many guards can engage us simultaneously.

They were still several hundred meters from their destination when the first signs of the enemy presence became apparent. Not visual contact, but the subtle variations in air pressure and temperature that indicated large numbers of martial artists maintaining ready stances in defensive positions.

"Contact ahead," whispered one of the copies, his enhanced senses detecting the ki signatures of at least twenty individuals arranged in what appeared to be multiple defensive layers. "They’re not trying to hide their presence. This is definitely a prepared position."

Which means they know we’re coming, Jinmu realized grimly. The question is whether they know what we’re actually capable of, or if they’re just preparing for a conventional rescue attempt.

They reached a final observation point where the passage opened into a wider chamber, and what Jinmu saw confirmed both his hopes and his fears. The Supreme Chamber lay ahead, a circular room carved from black marble with a single entrance that was currently blocked by a formation of twenty Crimson Flow Blade Union martial artists.

All Expert level or higher, just as Yoo Jinhwan warned, Jinmu analyzed, studying their equipment and positioning. But they’re arranged for a defensive battle, not an offensive one. They expect us to come through that entrance like conventional attackers, which gives us options they probably haven’t considered.

At the center of the defensive formation, barely visible through the gaps between guards, Jinmu could see a figure sitting in meditation posture on a simple stone platform. Even at this distance, even weakened by poison and captivity, Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu retained the presence that had made him legendary throughout the orthodox world.

He’s alive, Jinmu thought with relief. Weakened, probably barely conscious, but alive. Which means the rescue is still possible if we can break through their defenses.

"Coordination pattern seven," he said quietly to his copies, referencing a tactical plan they had developed during their approach. "Multiple insertion points, maximum surprise, focus on rapid elimination rather than prolonged engagement."

The copies nodded and began moving into position, their forms flickering as the Phantom Rain Death Arts took effect. Within moments, six shadows had dispersed throughout the chamber, each one positioned to strike from a different angle when the signal came.

The Crimson Flow Blade Union thinks they understand what they’re facing, Jinmu thought as he prepared for what might be the most crucial battle of the entire operation. They’re about to discover that understanding and preparation are two very different things.

The silence before death had its own weight.

Jinmu crouched in the shadow of a stone pillar, watching twenty Crimson Flow guards hold their formation around Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu. Their stances were professional, their ki controlled, their weapons ready. They looked like men who had done this before and expected to survive.

They’re thinking like bodyguards, he realized, studying their positioning. Defensive minded. Waiting for us to charge through that entrance like desperate rescuers. They don’t understand that we’re not here to rescue—we’re here to eliminate.

His copies had taken their positions throughout the chamber, invisible presences that the guards couldn’t detect. Six shadows against twenty fighters. The math should have been impossible, but math didn’t account for perfect coordination or the advantage of moving first.

Don’t think about numbers. Think about timing. Seven heartbeats to reach the closest targets. Three breaths to eliminate the outer ring. Then chaos, and in chaos, we thrive.

Jinmu rose from his crouch, sword held low against his leg. Not yet drawn, not yet threatening. Just a man stepping into the light.

The nearest guard spotted him immediately. "Contact! Single target at the north entrance!"

Perfect. Eyes on me means eyes off everything else.

The guard’s curved blade came up in a defensive position, his body shifting into the flowing stance of the Crimson Flow Blade Union. His feet found their rhythm, his breathing steadied, his ki began to build toward CRIMSON FANG DRAW.

That was when Jinmu’s copy materialized behind him.

The wooden sword slid between the guard’s ribs like a whisper of inevitability. No struggle, no cry, just the soft sound of a body hitting stone. The man died before he realized he wasn’t fighting just one opponent.

One down. Nineteen to go.

"What—" another guard started to say, turning toward the sound of his comrade’s fall.

He never finished the word.

SILENT DEATH STEP had carried another copy across twenty feet of open stone without a sound. The guard’s head snapped back, his neck broken by a palm strike that contained all the refined force of a Master-level martial artist concentrated into a single point.

Two down. They’re starting to understand.

The remaining guards erupted into motion, but they were reacting to an attack they didn’t comprehend. Shouts filled the chamber as eighteen fighters tried to defend against enemies who seemed to appear from nowhere.

"Formation! Defensive formation!" bellowed their leader, a scarred veteran whose quick thinking might have saved them if he’d had more time.

But time was the one thing Jinmu wasn’t giving them.

PHANTOM BLADE DANCE brought death from impossible angles. A copy struck from above, his sword somehow cutting downward through a guard’s raised blade as if steel were paper. Another copy attacked from below, his low thrust punching through leather and flesh to find the heart beneath.

The Sevenfold Steel Dominion principles are working even without formal integration. Unity of Purpose—every strike aimed at elimination. Perfect Timing—attacking when they’re off-balance. Overwhelming Pressure—never letting them recover their rhythm.

"They’re all around us!" screamed a guard as his FLOOD EDGE RUSH carried him straight into empty air. The copy he’d been targeting had vanished with MIST WALKING ESCAPE, reappearing behind him with a blade aimed at his spine.

Fear is spreading faster than technique. Good. Frightened fighters make mistakes.

The veteran leader tried to rally his men with SCATTERING BLADE RAIN, his sword creating a storm of diagonal cuts that should have forced the attackers into defensive positions. But the copies didn’t defend—they flowed through the gaps like water through a net, their movements guided by shared awareness of exactly where each blade would fall.

He’s skilled, but he’s thinking like an individual. We think like a force of nature.

One guard managed to land a blow, his SEVERING TORRENT catching a copy across the chest. The sword bit deep, drawing blood, staggering the copy backward.

Pain. Good. Pain keeps me focused. Pain reminds me that this isn’t a game.

But even wounded, the copy continued fighting. CRIMSON CURTAIN DANCE created a circular barrier of blade and palm that turned the guard’s follow-up attacks aside while HEART OF THE LAST BLOOM concentrated all available ki into a single thrust that punched through the man’s sternum and into his heart.

The guard fell with a look of surprise, as if he couldn’t believe that wounding his opponent hadn’t been enough to save him.

In this kind of fight, there’s no such thing as ’enough.’ You win or you die.

By now, the chamber floor was slick with blood. Bodies lay scattered across the black marble like broken dolls, their Crimson Flow techniques silenced forever. The remaining guards—perhaps six or seven—had clustered around their leader in a desperate defensive circle.

"What are you?" the veteran demanded, his voice steady despite the carnage surrounding him. "What kind of martial art allows one person to be in seven places at once?"

He still thinks it’s one person using some kind of illusion technique. Better to let him keep thinking that.

"You’ve asked the wrong question," Jinmu replied, his voice echoing strangely in the blood-soaked chamber. "The question isn’t what I am. The question is whether you have anything left that can stop me."

The veteran’s answer came in the form of CRIMSON LAST BREATH, the Crimson Flow’s most desperate technique. A reckless all-out strike that sacrificed defense for overwhelming offense, meant to end battles by spilling blood.

He’s committed everything to this attack. If I can counter it, the rest will break.

But Jinmu didn’t counter it. Instead, he let the strike pass through empty space as GHOST BLOOM STEP carried him out of the path of destruction. The veteran’s blade carved a groove in the stone wall, sparks flying from the impact.

And while the man was still committed to his attack, still unable to defend himself, three copies struck from three different angles.

The veteran fell without another word.

The remaining guards lasted perhaps ten more seconds. Leaderless, demoralized, facing enemies they couldn’t understand, they died with the efficiency of sheep being culled by wolves.

Twenty Expert-level guards. Dead in less than five minutes. The Crimson Flow Blade Union trained them well, but they never prepared them for this.

The chamber fell silent except for the drip of blood hitting stone and the labored breathing of Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu. Jinmu approached the platform where the legendary Grandmaster sat, noting the pallor of his skin and the way his ki flickered like a candle in a storm.

The poison has been eating at him for weeks. It’s a miracle he’s still conscious.

"Pavilion Master," Jinmu said respectfully, kneeling beside the platform. "I’m here to take you."

Hyeon Ryu’s eyes opened slowly, focusing on Jinmu’s masked face with effort that spoke of will overcoming weakness. "I know you," he said softly. "The shadow who warned me. You came back."

He remembers. Despite everything they’ve done to him, he remembers.

"Yes," Jinmu confirmed. "But we need to move quickly. Do Giseon has prepared something for the tournament. An attack that will kill hundreds of people."

Hyeon Ryu attempted to stand but lacked the strength. "Help me up. If my people are in danger..."

His cultivation is shattered, but his spirit is intact. That’s what’s kept him alive.

Jinmu was helping the Pavilion Master to his feet when slow, deliberate applause echoed through the chamber. Both men turned toward the entrance, and what Jinmu saw made his blood freeze.

A figure stood in the doorway—tall, elegant, dressed in robes that seemed to drink light rather than reflect it. The newcomer’s presence filled the chamber like a storm front, pressing against Jinmu’s senses with power that rivaled anything he had ever encountered.

Grandmaster level. Not just any Grandmaster—this one might be stronger than Hyeon Ryu ever was.

"Magnificent," the figure said, his cultured voice carrying genuine appreciation as he surveyed the carnage. "Twenty of my best guards, eliminated by what appears to be a single opponent. Your reputation doesn’t do you justice."

The man stepped into the chamber, and Jinmu could see his face clearly now. Middle-aged, aristocratic features, eyes like winter ice. On his chest, the emblem of the Crimson Flow Blade Union was embroidered in silver, but with additional markings that spoke of absolute authority.

Their leader. The one who made this alliance possible. And he’s here, blocking our escape, with power that could kill us all.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said with a bow that managed to be both polite and mocking. "I am Crimson, Sect Leader of the Crimson Flow Blade Union. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the young man who has caused so much disruption to our plans."