The morning sun broke over the jagged peaks, casting the heir camps in fractured light. Banners flapped like restless thoughts. Sect disciples moved like currents—silent, coiled with tension. The air was different now. Heavier.
Baek Sun-Ho stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the central grounds. From this height, he could see everything: the alliance tents, the training circles, the dueling stones worn smooth from generations of challenge.
His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade, not in preparation, but in thought.
So-Ri approached quietly. "You're not smiling."
"I will," he said. "When the last mask drops."
"Yours or theirs?"
"Both."
Below, word was spreading fast. A new challenger had arrived at dawn. The final heir—the one backed by a shadow sect long whispered of, but never formally acknowledged. His name: No-Yong, and his sect—if it could be called that—carried no sigil.
Only scars.
---
Later – Arena Grounds
A circle of flattened stone marked the central duel zone, reserved only for formal heir challenges. Around it, disciples, elders, and spies disguised as scholars began to gather.
Kang Mu-Jin stood at one end, arms folded, armor glinting like an iron promise.
Jin Ye-Hwa sat gracefully on a raised cushion under a pavilion, sipping flower tea as if the arena were a stage built solely for her amusement. Her eyes, however, remained sharp—calculating. She had already won two duels through disqualification, never once unsheathing her blade. Her mind was her sharpest weapon.
On the other side of the circle stood No-Yong—tall, silent, face obscured beneath a dark veil. He bore no emblem, no crest, and no greetings. But the moment he stepped into the arena, even seasoned elders leaned forward.
His presence felt… wrong. Not dark, but foreign to Murim's structured flow.
Yul-Rin muttered to Sun-Ho from their upper vantage. "He's not channeling qi like the others. He's… distorting it. Bending it without using it."
So-Ri frowned. "Like Yeon?"
Sun-Ho's jaw tightened. "No. Yeon adapts. This man… suppresses."
Ji-Mun was busy drawing squiggly comparisons on a scroll. "If Yeon is a stone in a river, this guy is a black hole in a lake."
Master Jang leaned in, squinting. "The rumors about Shadowroot Sect weren't just stories, it seems."
"Shadowroot?" So-Ri repeated, eyes narrowing.
"An offshoot of ancient martial lineages who didn't just reject the sect system," the master replied quietly, "but tried to erase it. Their arts weren't banned—they were buried."
---
The Duel Begins
Kang Mu-Jin stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Name yourself."
No-Yong did not answer. Instead, he dropped into a low stance—shoulders loose, hands open, feet still.
The signal bell chimed.
Mu-Jin struck first.
A massive palm thrust, backed by earth qi, surged forward—thundering with the weight of boulders.
No-Yong moved only an inch. A flicker of black qi pulsed from his heel—
Whump.
Mu-Jin's strike halted midair, as if his qi had collapsed inward. His feet skidded back two paces, the ground beneath him cracking.
Gasps echoed through the audience.
Sun-Ho's eyes widened. "He's not deflecting… he's deleting."
"He… erased that qi," So-Ri whispered.
---
Aftermath
The duel ended seconds later. No-Yong never made a strike.
Kang Mu-Jin lowered his arms, breathing hard. "You're no martial artist."
No-Yong gave no reply. He bowed once, turned, and walked away.
The elders argued amongst themselves. Was it a valid duel? Did suppression count as combat?
In the crowd, whispers grew.
Sun-Ho said nothing. His hand, however, curled slowly into a fist.
"Not yet," Master Jang said.
Sun-Ho looked over.
"Your turn will come. But beware—he may not want the Murim seat. He may want to burn the whole table."
---
That Night – Private Campfire Scene
The party huddled close around the campfire, tension still hanging like smoke.
Ji-Mun tossed another twig into the flames. "You ever fight someone like that before?"
"Once," Sun-Ho said quietly. "In my past life. They used an unfinished version of the same technique. It took me a year to rebuild my meridians."
Yeon tilted his head, writing on his slate:
He's dangerous.
So-Ri added, "He didn't move like a man. He moved like a hole in the world."
Yul-Rin shuddered. "It felt like watching a void walk on legs."
"Then we should challenge him first," Ma-Rok declared, voice low. "Better we see what he's hiding than wait for him to cut the ground out from under us."
Sun-Ho didn't respond.
But deep in his chest, the fire element pulsed—and lightning answered.
There was no fear.
Only certainty.
---
Bonus – Ji-Mun's "Secret Technique"
Later that night, long after the fire had died down and most of the group had turned in, Ji-Mun sat cross-legged on a smooth rock near the edge of the hilltop camp, facing the moon.
He took a deep breath, held it dramatically, then exhaled through pursed lips like a flute player.
Yul-Rin, passing by with her herbal pouch, paused. "What... are you doing?"
"Training."
"For what? Sound-based cultivation?"
He grinned. "No. I'm refining my secret technique."
"…The one where you nearly set your eyebrows on fire?"
"That was version one. This is version four-point-two. It involves moonlight absorption, chi breathing, and philosophical humming."
She blinked. "You made that up just now."
"Maybe. But the real technique is this—" Ji-Mun suddenly stood, struck a crane-like pose with one leg in the air and fingers outstretched. "It's called the Floating Rooster Ascends the Dawn."
A pebble hit him in the back of the head.
So-Ri was nearby, lounging on a log with Soju in hand. "Please stop. I'd like to fall asleep without secondhand embarrassment."
"Art is rarely understood in its own time," Ji-Mun muttered, rubbing his head.
From inside the tent, Ma-Rok mumbled, "If that's art, I'm a flying squirrel."
Yeon walked past them all, paused, then mimicked Ji-Mun's ridiculous pose with uncanny precision—before calmly walking on as if nothing had happened.
Sun-Ho chuckled quietly to himself from the shadows. The storm ahead would be brutal—but for now, his family was intact.
And sometimes, the laughter mattered just as much as the training.
---
End of Chapter 75 – Blades Behind Banners