A low fog rolled across the lower hills like spilled milk. Dustcloud Sect woke slowly that morning—disciples stretched stiff limbs, plum blossoms unfurled toward pale light, and the chickens, for once, behaved.
Baek Sun-Ho didn't sleep.
He stood atop the eastern cliff, back to the rising sun, eyes closed, breath steady.
Hhhhhh...
Within, his spirit coiled like a ribboned serpent—power tightly folded, flowing without leaking.
Below him, Jang Cheol-Oh leaned against a boulder, chewing on a stalk of wild onion.
"That's the walk of a blade that forgot it was sharp," the master muttered. "Good. You're nearly invisible."
Sun-Ho opened one eye.
"Nearly?"
Cheol-Oh grinned.
"When you can walk into a room of tigers and make them yawn, then we'll talk."
---
A Map of Rivals
Yeon So-Ri strolled up the hill, scroll in hand.
"News from the Alliance courier hawks."
She passed it to Sun-Ho.
The wax seal bore the Silver Lotus Crest—the Murim Alliance's mark of diplomacy and bureaucracy… and subtle threats.
Sun-Ho unrolled it.
Fwsh.
Seven names glared back at him—official leader candidates for the upcoming Proving Assembly.
So-Ri tapped two in particular.
"This one's from the Verdant Rain Pavilion. Their elder owns half the grain trade west of the Jade Sea. Bought votes, probably."
She pointed to another.
"And that one's the Thousand Fist Temple's war heir. Broke a master's ribs during a sparring exam and was praised for it."
Sun-Ho nodded slowly. "They're stacking the competition."
"Of course," she said. "They don't think Dustcloud has a real chance. Which is good."
He raised an eyebrow.
So-Ri smiled slyly.
"Because it makes underestimation a weapon."
---
Meditation and Quiet Progress
That afternoon, Sun-Ho meditated at the edge of the reservoir behind the sect—an ancient, cracked basin that barely held water anymore.
Yeon So-Ri sat nearby, sketching something into a leather-bound notebook.
"Why don't you use better paper?" Sun-Ho asked, eyes still closed.
She glanced up. "This one's got character. I like things that feel worn. Like they've survived something."
He opened one eye and looked at her.
"That's the most indirect compliment I've heard today."
She shrugged. "I didn't say it was about you."
He smirked.
She quickly looked back down, but a corner of her mouth twitched.
---
A Subtle Invitation
That evening, Master Jang called them both to the main courtyard. The torches were lit, casting long shadows, and the stone tiles glowed faintly from the day's heat.
"I've decided," he said, slicing a plum with a thumb-blade and flicking it into his mouth.
"We're leaving."
Yeon So-Ri blinked. "Leaving?"
"Dustcloud's too small for what needs teaching. And people talk too much."
He glanced at Sun-Ho.
"If you want to survive this Proving Assembly and the swamp that follows it, you'll need more than power. You'll need perspective."
He pulled a scroll from his robes—a hand-drawn map marked with red circles.
"Three locations. Old friends, bitter enemies, hidden texts. We're visiting all three."
Sun-Ho studied the map.
"This... journey will take weeks."
Cheol-Oh nodded.
"Exactly. Which gives you two time to learn how to travel without stabbing each other."
So-Ri rolled her eyes. "We don't stab each other."
"Yet," the master added.
---
That Night – Unspoken Threads
Later, under the cool blue of a half-moon sky, Sun-Ho found Yeon So-Ri sitting alone on the training platform. Her daggers were beside her, unsheathed but untouched.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "Just thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated.
"…My father once said the Murim Alliance was like a house full of cats pretending to be dragons. I didn't understand it then."
"And now?"
She finally looked at him.
"Now I think he meant that they claw everything they can't control."
Sun-Ho sat beside her.
"You think I'll be clawed?"
"I think you already have been," she said quietly. "But you're still here."
He smiled faintly.
"So are you."
For a long time, they just sat in silence. The wind blew gently.
Wheee...
---
Meanwhile – Far Beyond the Mountains
A mist-draped temple sat hidden in the Valley of Wraiths, where no bird sang.
Inside, a man cloaked in robes of bleached silk knelt before an obsidian mirror.
"The old blood returns," he whispered.
He pressed his thumb to the mirror. It hissed and drank the touch.
"The blade that vanished will rise again."
The reflection rippled.
And the first to welcome him... shall fall.
---
[End of Chapter 9]