The air around the courtyard felt heavier, like a summer storm had slipped into the skin of evening. Even the chickens, usually immune to all drama, had vanished into the herb shed.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The stranger's footsteps echoed like war drums—slow, deliberate, uncaring.
He was tall. His dark jade cloak fluttered behind him like a split banner. His boots were crusted with red dirt from the western provinces, and his sheathed sword was wrapped in a faded temple prayer cloth.
"Which one of you is Baek Sun-Ho?" he asked again, as calm as a man ordering noodles.
Silence.
One of the junior disciples pointed without hesitation.
"H-Him. The cabbage guy. He's Sun-Ho."
Baek Sun-Ho stepped forward.
Tap.
The dust shifted under his foot.
"I'm Baek Sun-Ho."
The stranger's gaze swept over him, then paused.
Then he grinned.
---
An Unorthodox Greeting
"You look disappointingly normal," the man said.
Then, without warning—
Thwack!
He slapped Sun-Ho across the chest with his palm.
A shockwave burst outward. Dust exploded from the ground.
BOOM.
Disciples were flung backward like leaves.
Yeon So-Ri barely held her stance, sliding back across the stone.
"What the hell!?" she shouted.
Sun-Ho didn't move.
Smoke curled off his robes. His feet were anchored, unshaken.
The stranger's grin widened.
"There it is," he said.
> "The root doesn't lie. That body's been trained a thousand times over."
---
The Name of the Storm
Yeon So-Ri lunged in, blades half-drawn.
Shff.
"You want to explain why you just attacked my friend in the middle of dinner!?"
The man held up a palm in mock surrender.
"Relax. Just checking his spirit."
Baek Sun-Ho narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man pulled back his hood. His hair was silver-white, but he looked young—thirties, maybe. His eyes shimmered like bronze coin edges. Sharp. Tired.
"Name's Jang Cheol-Oh. Some call me 'North Peak Madman.' Others prefer 'Sword Monk Who Owes No One.'"
He looked at So-Ri and winked.
"Your sect's too small to have heard of me."
Yeon So-Ri's mouth opened. Closed.
Then, very softly:
"…He punched a river once."
---
Flashback – One Week Ago
In a floating tea house above the cliffs of Windveil, Jang Cheol-Oh drank bitter liquor by the cup, ignoring the trembling elder across the table.
"I don't take disciples," he said. "They whine, they cry, they get eaten by giant frogs. No thanks."
"But this boy—" the elder stammered, "—he's different. Word says he completed a broken trial on foot and corrected half his sect's politics in one week."
Cheol-Oh raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
The elder pulled a slip of paper from his sleeve.
"Name: Baek Sun-Ho."
For the first time, Jang Cheol-Oh sat forward.
"…That name again."
He finished his drink, stood, and left without another word.
The mountains rumbled three hours later.
---
Present – Dustcloud Sect
Jang Cheol-Oh looked Baek Sun-Ho up and down again.
"You've got the eyes of a man who's seen too many endings. That means you're either delusional, haunted, or cursed."
"I'll take cursed," Sun-Ho said.
Jang laughed, loud and unashamed.
HA!
"Good answer! I like cursed people. They work harder."
He pulled a folded slip of paper from his robe and held it out.
"This is a martial recognition token. Sign it and you become my disciple. I'll train you in any art I know—so long as you don't die before the Proving Assembly."
Sun-Ho didn't take the paper right away.
"Why me?"
Jang Cheol-Oh's smile faded. Just a little.
"Because the last man I met with your presence tried to kill the Alliance to fix it."
Yeon So-Ri blinked. "And… you want to train the next one?"
He shrugged. "Only way to stop a storm is to raise one of your own."
---
Eyes of the Sect
From the shadows, disciples whispered.
"Did he say 'North Peak Madman'!?"
"He once burned down an entire bandit valley and charged them for firewood."
"Wait—he wants to train our senior?"
"Sun-Ho… really is that strong?"
Baek Sun-Ho exhaled slowly.
Hfff...
The aura around him was changing. Thickening. Not flaring like arrogance, but deepening like roots beneath the surface. And everyone could feel it now—even those who didn't understand why.
Not a cabbage carrier.
Not a broken trialist.
A storm, sleeping in calm clothes.
---
Decision
Sun-Ho finally took the slip of paper.
"I'll sign it."
"Excellent," Jang Cheol-Oh said.
Then he leaned in.
"But we're not doing ceremony. And no bowing. You want tradition? Go marry a scroll."
Yeon So-Ri smirked behind her hand.
Sun-Ho nodded. "Agreed."
Jang turned and strode toward the inner quarters like he owned the place.
"First lesson starts at dawn. Bring tea. And don't poison it."
---
[End of Chapter 7]