The aftermath of Sun-Ho's duel rippled across the Assembly grounds like a stone cast into still water.
By noon, whispers had evolved into wild proclamations.
"He didn't even draw his full strength—"
"His lightning didn't burn, it judged—"
"I heard he once fought a hundred men using only his shadow."
And in one corner of the camp, a pair of swordsmen debated furiously whether his robe was enchanted or simply well-ironed.
---
Within Sun-Ho's tent, the air was much quieter.
So-Ri applied balm to a shallow cut across his forearm—likely caused more by fabric friction than any real strike. "You didn't have to let him hit you."
"I needed the impact," Sun-Ho replied calmly. "I wanted the crowd to feel the difference between reaction and intent."
Yul-Rin raised an eyebrow from her seat. "So philosophical for someone who fried a man's confidence."
Ji-Mun leaned in through the flap, holding a meat skewer. "They've updated the betting board. You're now favored to beat every heir except one."
Sun-Ho didn't look up. "Who?"
Ji-Mun smirked. "You."
Sun-Ho blinked. "...What?"
"They listed the masked sovereign separately." Ji-Mun chomped the skewer dramatically. "Your alter ego has better odds."
Even Ma-Rok cracked a grin. "I bet on the sovereign. Safer bet."
Sun-Ho groaned.
Yeon held up a note: Vote split. Democracy at work.
---
Assembly Courtyard – Later That Day
As afternoon turned golden, the Trial Circle was cleared for the second round of duels. But the crowd remained focused on one tent—Sun-Ho's.
Representatives from several neutral sects began quietly inquiring after him. Messengers came bearing letters sealed in lacquer, offering alliances or invitations for dinner.
One even offered a marriage proposal, wrapped in silk and perfumed scrollwork.
So-Ri incinerated that one midair with a casual flick of her fan.
"Oops," she said sweetly. "Butterfingers."
Master Jang Cheol-Oh observed from a shaded bench. "You're building not just fear, Sun-Ho… but gravity. The others are adjusting their orbit to match yours."
"I just want to finish my tea," Sun-Ho muttered, eyeing the newest batch of parchment offerings.
---
Elsewhere – The Other Heirs
Beneath a pavilion draped in gold, a handsome youth with twin curved blades watched the tournament board with narrowed eyes. His name: Seo Jun-Woon, heir to the Celestial Flow Sect.
"So… the Dustcloud boy made his move."
Beside him, a silent monk sipped water and said nothing.
Jun-Woon's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Let him have his moment. Lightning burns bright. But wind never forgets the direction."
---
Farther north, inside the steel-disciplined camp of the Iron Root Sect, a girl with black gauntlets broke a training dummy in half with one punch.
Jang Hwa-Yeon, clad in crimson and iron, snorted. "He's too clean. Let me crack him once. We'll see if thunder still echoes when the bones ache."
---
And in a shaded forest glade not far from the ruins, where shadows writhed unnaturally, another figure murmured beneath a hood.
"…He's getting too close."
A voice answered from nowhere. "Should we accelerate?"
A pause. Then:
"No. Let him climb. It makes the fall more interesting."
---
That Evening – Campfire at the Ridge
Laughter carried through the twilight as the party relaxed. Ji-Mun taught Yeon a half-true campfire song involving a goat, three bowls of rice wine, and a grudge that lasted seven years.
Yeon nodded solemnly like it was scripture.
Ma-Rok roasted wild mushrooms and hummed to himself. Yul-Rin sprinkled something "harmless" into Ji-Mun's rice for testing purposes. So-Ri sharpened her fan edges with quiet precision.
Sun-Ho sat slightly apart, hands over a glowing formation disk. Not for training this time—but for memory.
His cultivation had stabilized. Lightning danced beneath his skin now. A second element embraced.
But… it wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He needed to touch earth next—firm, unyielding. And after that, wind.
And finally… water.
He exhaled slowly, eyes flickering open.
So-Ri sat beside him. "You'll master them. One by one."
"I'm not trying to master them," Sun-Ho murmured. "I'm trying to balance them."
She tilted her head. "What's the difference?"
"Mastery is control. Balance is trust. Each element responds differently. Fire listens to will. Lightning respects clarity. But the others…" He paused. "They'll only come when I stop trying to force them."
She watched him a moment longer, then smiled. "Then it's a good thing you're the least forceful war-god I've ever met."
They both laughed.
Yeon handed him a sketch of the party—everyone distorted, exaggerated, Ji-Mun drawn with antlers for some reason.
Sun-Ho chuckled. "Thank you."
Yeon wrote: Your face was hardest. Too normal.
---
Distant Hills – Watching Eyes
From the western ridgeline, an old man in tattered robes knelt behind a tree.
His beard was long. His eyes were bright with recognition.
"So it is him," he whispered. "The one from the whispers. The one from the fire."
He vanished into the trees without a sound.
---
End of Chapter 68 – Ripples of Thunder