Dawn rose over the improvised arena. Excited shouts echoed from the stands, mingling with the snapping of banners in the wind.
The disciples lined up according to their numbers. Jin Woo, clutching token 218 in his hand, took his place in silence. Around him, muffled laughter and whispers spread.
— That's the clanless one.
— He already looks like he's trembling.
His opponent stepped onto the fighting circle: a disciple of the Purple Lotus Sect, sabre at his waist, muscles tense, a predatory smile on his lips.
— You don't belong here. Give up, outsider, and at least keep your dignity.
Jin Woo didn't reply. His heart pounded too fast, but his gaze remained steady.
The gong struck.
The disciple lunged instantly. The sabre whistled through the air, aiming for Jin Woo's throat. He barely dodged, breath caught by the speed of the strike. The second blow came before he regained balance, slashing his shoulder.
Pain seared through him.
*Too fast… too strong.*
He staggered back, almost stumbling. The crowd roared, some cheering for the Purple Lotus disciple, others already laughing at the "clanless" one's defeat.
The sabre pressed on, relentless, every movement sharp and precise. Jin Woo blocked clumsily, raising his arms, slipping into shaky dodges. His breathing grew heavy. The ground shook under his unsteady steps.
Then, in the middle of an exchange, the blade brushed his palm. Blood welled.
And in that pain, a deep throb stirred in his chest.
A heartbeat.
The shadow within him awakened.
Without meaning to, the dark energy surged through his veins. The air seemed to thicken. His opponent slowed, just for a moment, eyes widening as if under an unseen weight.
Jin Woo gritted his teeth. Each time he called on this force, his body screamed in return: muscles spasmed, breath grew ragged, as if the power burned him from within.
But he had no choice.
He twisted, seized his opponent's weapon hand, and with a desperate effort, channeled the shadow's strength. The disciple faltered, his face paling as though his vitality was draining away.
Taking advantage of that fleeting opening, Jin Woo hurled him out of the circle—then collapsed to one knee, chest aflame.
Silence. Then the gong rang again.
— Winner: Number 218!
The crowd erupted in confused cries. Some mocked:
— He just got lucky!
— Look at him, he can barely stand!
Others, more attentive, had noticed.
On the dais, a masked master tapped his fan, intrigued. And in the crowd, a young woman dressed in white frowned. She alone had sensed the strange energy… and the toll it took on Jin Woo as much as on his opponent.
As laughter rippled through the disciples, Jin Woo left the circle with heavy steps. His shoulder bled, his hands trembled, his breath came in ragged bursts.
This was only the first match.
And already, he understood a terrifying truth: every victory would cost him almost as much as a defeat.