The scent of morning dew still lingered in the air as the tension from the sparring match slowly settled. The courtyard that had once pulsed with anticipation was now filled with low murmurs and careful glances, especially toward the young man who had managed to stand toe-to-toe with Grandmaster Daohye Yeoryeong. Jinmu didn’t pay them much attention. His thoughts were already elsewhere, locked on the conversation he knew was coming.
Not long after the match, a private chamber was prepared near the sanctum of the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace—an elegantly minimalist room perfud faintly with lotus incense. Jinmu stood inside, hands behind his back, his wooden sword resting against the wall nearby. Across from him sat the palace master, her posture composed, though a sharp light still flickered in her gaze. Eun Haria stood slightly behind her, her expression quiet but intense.
Daohye Yeoryeong was the one to break the silence first.
"You held back," she said, her voice neither accusatory nor pleased. Just observant.
Jinmu didn’t deny it. "Yes."
Yeoryeong’s brow lifted. "Why?"
Jinmu exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t here to impress anyone. Not now. "Because this isn’t a fight I ca to win. It was a request for permission, not a challenge."
The master’s lips curved in the faintest smirk. "A respectful warrior. You’re rare."
Behind her, Haria looked down, seemingly suppressing a smile.
Jinmu turned toward her slightly. "You knew, didn’t you? That I was holding back."
Haria nodded. "If that was your full strength, I’d be worried for the Pavilion Master."
He didn’t smile, but his expression softened. "You won’t have to worry. Not once we act."
The light tone dissolved then, and the room thickened with a more serious weight. Daohye Yeoryeong leaned forward, her fingers folding over her lap.
"Tell everything again, Jinmu Yeon," she said, voice even.
And so, he did. Calmly and clearly, Jinmu laid out everything he had uncovered. From the mont he infiltrated the Mugang Martial Pavilion to the state in which he found Pavilion Master Hyeon Ryu—poisoned, weakened, and imprisoned within his own halls.
He recounted how the Pavilion Master, in his fading strength, confessed the sches of Do Gigeon—the First Blade who sought to usurp him. Gigeon’s plan was simple and cunning: collaborate with the Crimson Flow Blade Union to provoke Yeonhwa Lotus Palace. By harming its successor, they would elicit retaliation. A conflict would follow. The Palace would be frad as aggressors, and in the chaos, Gigeon would rise as the new Pavilion Master.
It was a strategy built on tension and assumption. Built on the very reputation of their sects.
When Jinmu finally fell silent, the room stayed quiet for several heartbeats.
Yeoryeong closed her eyes briefly. "Hyeon Ryu... I never expected him to fall prey to poison. He was always cautious."
"It must’ve been soone close to him," Haria murmured. "For the poison to go unnoticed... it had to be gradual. Hidden."
"It was," Jinmu said. "And according to him, Gigeon didn’t act alone. The Crimson Flow Blade Union helped provide the poison. It’s a slow-acting ki disruptor. Almost impossible to trace unless you’re specifically looking for it."
The master opened her eyes again and looked directly at Jinmu. "So, what do you plan to do next?"
Jinmu didn’t hesitate. "We move as if we know nothing. Haria and I will participate in the Grand Open Tournant. Publicly, it will seem like Yeonhwa Lotus Palace still follows procedure. There’s no better way to catch Gigeon off guard than by pretending we’re unaware of his trap."
Haria stepped forward, her tone decisive. "He hurt . He almost got what he wanted. If we back out now, it confirms everything. We’d be giving him the reaction he wants."
Yeoryeong gave a slow nod. "True. And if we don’t appear at the tournant, the Pavilion’s narrative will spread unchallenged. He’ll get the political support he needs."
Jinmu continued. "During the tournant, I’ll win. No exceptions. That will give the right to challenge Do Gigeon openly. At the sa ti, while everyone’s focused on that match, you, Palace Master... you’ll use the distraction to reach Hyeon Ryu."
The master tilted her head slightly. "Do you think it will be that easy?"
"No," Jinmu said. "But it will be possible."
There was a long pause. Then Daohye Yeoryeong leaned back.
"You’re asking to put the future of my palace in your hands, Jinmu Yeon. In both of your hands."
Jinmu t her gaze without flinching. "We already placed our lives in each other’s hands, Palace Master. The rest is just a matter of follow-through."
She chuckled at that. A rare sound. "And you’re confident enough to say you’ll win?"
"I wouldn’t challenge Gigeon if I wasn’t."
Haria spoke up, her voice softer but full of conviction. "I’ve seen him fight. Not all of it, but enough. If he says he can win, I believe him."
Yeoryeong regarded both of them in silence, then stood. "Very well. You have my blessing. The Yeonhwa Lotus Palace will move as planned. I’ll send two of our covert practitioners to scout the Pavilion’s security tonight. If there’s a way in, I’ll find it."
Jinmu bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Palace Master."
"Don’t thank ," she said, her voice turning sharp again. "If this fails, the entire balance between sects will collapse. They’ll call us traitors and radicals. The Crimson Flow Blade Union will gain legitimacy through proximity to a Grand Pavilion. The chaos will spread beyond Hwagok City."
"I understand."
Yeoryeong walked to the window, looking out at the distant mountain ridges. "Then tomorrow... we act. When the Grand Open Tournant begins, we move forward—together. Let Gigeon think he’s already won."
Jinmu felt sothing stir within him. Not nerves. Not fear. But the edge of sothing more primal.
Let him think he’s already won. That’s always when n like him fall.
Haria turned to Jinmu once they were excused from the chamber. Her eyes scanned his face as they walked through the inner halls together.
"You said that so calmly," she said quietly.
"What?"
"That you’ll win."
He gave a faint shrug. "Confidence helps."
"But you do know Gigeon isn’t just so fraud. He’s strong. That’s why he was First Blade in the first place."
"I know."
"And?"
Jinmu’s steps didn’t slow. "And I’ve fought stronger."
She looked at him for a long mont, then broke into a soft laugh. "You’re a lunatic."
"Only when necessary."
They reached the courtyard again, where the last rays of sunlight cast a warm golden hue across the tiled roofs. A light breeze swirled the loose petals of fallen blossoms around them.
Haria’s voice grew serious again. "You’ll protect the Pavilion Master?"
"Your master will handle the rescue," Jinmu said. "I’ll handle the rest. Giseon won’t see it coming. He thinks he knows who I am. But he doesn’t."
She nodded slowly. "Good. I’ve waited too long for justice. If it cos through you, then I’ll accept it."
There was silence between them again. Comfortable. Like sothing had shifted since the first ti they t—like the lines between stranger, ally, and sothing else entirely had started to blur.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
The sun slipped below the horizon.
And tomorrow, the tournant would begin.
In the depths of the Mangang Martial Pavilion, where the high sun poured down the central hall’s skylights like molten glass, a man sat unmoving beneath its heat, his spine straight, his fingers steepled over his chest. His robes, dark crimson edged in black, seed to flicker faintly under the light, as if stained with an unseen fla.
Do Giseon. The First Blade of Mugang. A na uttered by disciples in the Pavilion with awe—or in so corners, with dread.
Before him, kneeling on both knees with head bowed low, was a scout dressed in loose grey robes, dusty from the road and still catching his breath.
"...Confird, First Blade. Eun Haria will be participating in the Grand Open Tournant."
Do Giseon’s eyes remained closed, his breath slow, as if he hadn’t even heard it. The scout waited, unmoving, sweat forming across his forehead.
Then, slowly, Gigeon’s lips pulled into the faintest smile. Not a smirk. Sothing more asured—more assured.
"She survived," he said quietly. "Of course she did."
The scout dared not lift his head. His voice remained cautious, careful. "There is... more, First Blade."
"Oh?"
"She is not entering alone." The scout swallowed. "A man will be competing beside her. Identity unknown. Records do not match anyone affiliated with Yeonhwa Lotus Palace."
That made Giseon’s eyes open.
Like cold steel peeling back a sheath, his gaze cut toward the man without moving his head. "Describe him."
"Tall. Early twenties. Wore plain robes, dark gray."
There was a long pause.
The air in the great hall thinned. Not from heat or pressure—but from the silence that Do Giseon allowed to stretch. It coiled like a blade being drawn without sound.
"And strength?" he asked.
"...There is no confirmation, but the informant claid... he stood toe-to-toe with Daohye Yeoryeong."
The scout flinched, expecting a flash of temper. Expecting a strike to the throat or a blade to the ribs for bringing such an outrageous report.
But Do Gigeon only leaned back in his seat.
His voice turned to silk—silk hiding razors. "A naless face. Able to stand against the Grandmaster of the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace?"
"No confirmation, First Blade. Only rumor among the palace guards and spectators."
"I see." He paused. "And what about Haria herself? She was injured. No reports of recovery?"
"She appeared in good health, First Blade. Her movent showed no lingering weakness."
Do Giseon’s smile deepened.
"So, the little flower is blooming again." His fingers tapped the arm of his chair, slow and deliberate. "This... is better than I expected."
He stood.
It wasn’t a sudden movent, but it made the scout stiffen. Because when Do Gigeon stood, the room seed to shrink—like the walls feared him just enough to draw back.
He walked across the jade-tiled floor, hands behind his back, boots echoing against the stone. The banners of the Pavilion, emblazoned with black calligraphy for strength and supremacy, swayed gently behind him.
"She participates," he murmured, more to himself than to the scout. "Despite our efforts. Despite the loss of her guards. Despite the poison in the Pavilion Master’s veins."
His eyes narrowed.
"That ans she has help."
The scout dared a question. "The man?"
"Not just him. This reeks of Yeoryeong’s hand. She’s moving now, not just posturing from her mountain."
"Should we... act?"
Gigeon smiled again.
"No," he said softly. "Let them co."
He turned, facing the wide-open terrace that overlooked the training courtyards of the Pavilion. Below, disciples practiced formations with spear and fist, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind their leader’s smile.
"We don’t need to stop them. Not now."
He raised his hand slightly. One finger pointed outward.
"Let the girl walk into the tournant. Let her drag her mysterious hero with her. Let Yeonhwa Lotus Palace cling to hope."
"First Blade..."
"Because when the clash happens—when the chaos begins—it will be on my terms." His voice lowered to a murmur. "They’ll think they’re stepping into a duel."
He turned to the scout, smile now gone, replaced with calm resolve.
"But what they’ll find is the stage for a coup."
The scout’s head dropped lower. "Understood."
"I want more eyes. Find out who the man is. I don’t care what you have to bribe or steal—get a na."
"Yes, First Blade."
"And have the Pavilion prepared. If this tournant goes the way I predict, we will need to act fast once the commotion begins."
He turned back to the window. His gaze wasn’t on the training disciples anymore. It was fixed far beyond the Pavilion grounds—out toward the martial capital.
The Grand Open Tournant. The future of Jeongang Province.
He could see it already.
The crowd erupting in shock. Yeonhwa disciples clashing with Mangang guards. The Pavilion Master suddenly gone—missing, or dead. The stage descending into chaos.
And from the ashes of that chaos—his na rising.
Do Giseon.
The new Pavilion Master.
"Soon," he whispered.
Then he raised his hand, palm opening toward the sky.
"Begin the final preparations."
The scout bowed low, then vanished from the hall like mist dissolving in the heat.
Monts later, another figure appeared behind Giseon’s shoulder.
Clad in dark red robes with a crimson sash, face hidden beneath a thin veil, her voice low.
"The Crimson Flow Blade Union confirms their presence. They await your signal."
"Good," he said without turning. "Tell them to wait one more day."
"A single day?"
"That’s all we’ll need. Once the opening rounds begin, everything will fall into place."
He exhaled, the breath slow and calculated. Then he lifted his head, eyes like curved blades.
"By this ti tomorrow, the tournant will begin."
And under that bright sky, among thousands of spectators, cheering clans, and watching sects...
So will the war.
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