The sky over the Assembly grounds had turned an eerie grey—clouds clustered like silent judges, watching from above. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled faintly, as if echoing a name yet to be spoken aloud.
Sun-Ho stood beside the dueling arena, arms folded as the next match was announced. His name was not on the roster today. But his presence alone made ripples.
Ji-Mun leaned over, squinting at the paper. "Next up… Iron Root Sect's gauntlet girl. And… oof. Poor guy. He looks like he's still learning which end of a sword is which."
So-Ri peered toward the arena. "That's Jang Hwa-Yeon. Rumor says she cracked a bear's jaw during her initiation."
Ma-Rok muttered, "The bear was luckier."
In the ring, the opponent was a tall disciple from the Cloud Wall Sect—graceful, but visibly nervous. He bowed. She didn't. Instead, she rolled her shoulders once, took a single breath, and launched forward.
CRACK.
The match was over in four heartbeats. Not because she struck recklessly—but because every movement she made was honed like steel dancing.
Sun-Ho's eyes narrowed. "She's not reckless. She's testing reactions. Reading everything."
Yul-Rin adjusted her satchel, unimpressed. "She's blunt, but smart. Dangerous mix."
Hwa-Yeon turned toward the audience, scanned the crowd—and her gaze paused.
Right on Sun-Ho.
A single smirk tugged at her lip.
She didn't need to say it. The message was clear.
Soon.
---
A Walk Between Tents
That afternoon, Sun-Ho wandered through the Assembly grounds with So-Ri and Yeon. Ji-Mun had gone off to "investigate the dessert stall," which suspiciously involved no currency. Ma-Rok was sharpening rocks again. Yul-Rin vanished to "source ingredients," which meant poisons, probably.
The tents were colorful—banners and philosophies flapping together like contradictory prayers. Even now, students from different sects dueled for sport or insult.
"Does it bother you?" So-Ri asked.
"What?"
"That this is how Murim chooses its leaders."
Sun-Ho paused, watching a duel where one fighter clearly had more technique, but less arrogance. The arrogant one won.
He nodded slightly. "It bothers me."
Yeon held up a sign: You should break it. Then rebuild it.
Sun-Ho smiled. "One step at a time."
---
The Midnight Duel Request
Later that evening, as the camp settled into half-suspicious rest, a scroll arrived.
Neatly folded.
Sealed in wax.
Carried by a young courier with trembling hands.
Sun-Ho broke it open.
The message was short.
"Duel. Midnight. West Circle. No audience. No titles. Just strength."
— Jang Hwa-Yeon
Yul-Rin raised an eyebrow. "She likes moonlight and breaking bones. Romantic."
So-Ri's eyes narrowed. "It could be a trap."
Master Jang just sipped tea. "Or it could be a test. Some people trust strength more than politics."
Sun-Ho said nothing. He folded the letter.
"I'll go."
---
A Moment With the Master
After Sun-Ho folded the scroll, he sat by the flickering campfire. The others were speaking in hushed tones, but Master Jang Cheol-Oh simply sat on a log, sipping his tea like a sage pretending not to notice.
"You're going, aren't you?" the old man asked without looking up.
"Yes."
"You're not worried it's a trap?"
Sun-Ho shook his head. "She could have challenged me in public if she wanted to humiliate me. No… This is personal. She wants truth."
Master Jang nodded. "Truth in fists. The oldest dialect of Murim."
There was silence, filled only by the crackle of wood.
"Master," Sun-Ho said quietly. "What if I win… and still lose everything?"
The old man's eyes finally met his. "Then you stand back up. Again and again. You're not chasing a crown, boy. You're chasing the right to change what the crown means."
Sun-Ho hesitated. "And if Murim never accepts that change?"
Jang Cheol-Oh sipped his tea, then smiled. "Then you become something Murim can't ignore. Fire is noticed. Lightning is feared. But balance… balance is followed."
The fire popped.
Sun-Ho breathed out slowly.
Then he rose, the night wind brushing against his cloak.
"Time to speak that dialect."
---
Midnight – West Circle Clearing
The clearing was cold. Mist clung to the grass, and the moonlight cut long silver shadows between the old stones.
Sun-Ho stood at one end, cloak billowing gently.
Jang Hwa-Yeon arrived without flourish. No entourage. No pretense. Just iron gauntlets glinting under the moon.
"I wanted to see if you were real," she said.
"And?"
"We're about to find out."
She rushed forward.
No drawn-out banter. No posing. Just two figures meeting in silence and sparks.
Her fists struck like war drums—each movement practiced, forged in discipline. Sun-Ho blocked, parried, moved with flowing precision. He didn't strike back yet.
"You're holding back," she growled.
"I'm learning."
Lightning danced across his fingertips.
She grinned. "Good."
Their clash shook the stones. Wind burst outward from each blocked blow. Sparks flared as metal kissed elemental qi.
One gauntlet struck his ribs. He spun with the impact and redirected the force, grounding lightning through the air between them.
Her foot came up—fast.
He ducked, stepped inside her guard.
Bam— his palm tapped her shoulder with a precise jolt of qi.
Not enough to wound.
Enough to end the fight.
She froze, eyes wide. Then, slowly… stepped back.
Nodded once.
"You're not just strong. You're dangerous."
Sun-Ho smiled slightly. "Thank you."
She turned away, voice quieter. "Be careful, Baek Sun-Ho. Some of us want to fix Murim. Others want to burn it… and they wear smiles too."
Then she vanished into the mist.
---
Back at Camp
Sun-Ho returned before dawn. Only So-Ri was awake, sitting by the fire, waiting.
She looked up. "Well?"
"She's not an enemy."
So-Ri tossed him a warm roll. "Good. Eat. You'll need strength. Everyone's watching now."
"Watching for what?"
"For when you stop walking… and start rising."
Thunder rumbled softly on the horizon.
---
End of Chapter 69 – The Iron Waltz