The fortress square buzzed with quiet tension. Not the noise of chaos or open combat, but that of tightly coiled ambition—five sect banners stood at rest, and yet every disciple stationed beneath them looked ready to draw blood over a glare.
Baek Sun-Ho stood at the northern edge of the square, his cloak fluttering gently in the rising wind. No mask. No alias. Just himself.
And still… he was watched with more caution than any masked figure.
So-Ri adjusted her sleeves behind him. "Everyone's pretending to stretch. Or polish weapons. Or breathe. But they're watching."
Ji-Mun nodded toward the side. "Except those two. They're just outright pointing."
"Let them," Sun-Ho said calmly. "Better they see me than chase phantoms."
Ma-Rok cracked his knuckles. "I still think we should've sent a warning punch."
"We did," Yul-Rin said, eyes flicking toward the fading scorch marks in the center of the training yard. "She just didn't fall."
"Because he let her," So-Ri muttered under her breath, loud enough only for the group to hear.
Yeon stood quietly beside them, clutching a small wooden tablet. On it, he had drawn an updated map of faction locations, arrows marking patrol shifts and hidden watch posts. Despite his silence, his sharp eyes noticed things even Sun-Ho occasionally missed.
"Any movement from Kang Mu-Jin?" Sun-Ho asked, not taking his eyes off the square.
Ji-Mun shrugged. "If he breathes, it's probably through his shoulder plates. Nothing but silent stares and more drills."
"Then he's waiting."
Master Jang joined them with a sip of chilled tea, as casual as ever. "Waiting for someone to draw first blood, most likely. Conservative sects do love their moral high ground."
Sun-Ho inhaled deeply. The air shimmered with faint heat—and within it, a subtle crackle. Fire and lightning both answered his mood now. Not violently, but like loyal companions ready to be unleashed.
Just then—
Boom.
A sharp pulse of qi echoed across the square, and all attention turned southward.
From beneath a red-lantern arch stepped a tall woman in embroidered robes. Jin Ye-Hwa.
Her long sleeves trailed behind her like smoke, and her hair shimmered in silken waves. But her eyes—sharp, calculating, and cold—moved like blades across the field.
She didn't look at Sun-Ho right away. She let the tension thicken, let it spread.
Then, her gaze landed on him.
She smiled.
"Baek Sun-Ho," she said, voice clear and sweet. "Or should I call you Sovereign?"
Gasps stirred.
Sun-Ho didn't flinch. "Just Sun-Ho."
"Shame," she said. "Sovereign sounds more poetic."
Ji-Mun whispered, "Why do I feel like she just slapped us with silk?"
Yeon quickly wrote: She knows more than she says.
Yul-Rin murmured, "Or she wants others to think she does."
Jin Ye-Hwa took another step forward. "A duel's been requested. Not by me, of course. I prefer diplomacy… unless poetry fails."
"Requested by whom?" Sun-Ho asked evenly.
She gestured with a flick of her fan. "The Iron Wall's proud child."
Kang Mu-Jin.
Sun-Ho's jaw flexed. Not in surprise—but in readiness.
So-Ri's fingers twitched beside him. "He's trying to assert dominance. Force the decision early."
"Let him," Sun-Ho said. "But on my terms."
He stepped forward, voice clear across the square. "Kang Mu-Jin, if you wish a duel—name the time and ground."
The air thickened again.
From the far side of the square, like a statue carved from ancient granite, the massive figure of Kang Mu-Jin appeared. His iron-gray robes bore no decoration—only his sheer presence made people step aside.
He didn't speak at first. He just looked. Then nodded.
"Dawn," Mu-Jin said. "Central platform."
A collective murmur passed through the square. Dawn duels were traditional. And final.
Sun-Ho nodded once. "Accepted."
And with that, the stage was set.
---
That Night – Before the Storm
They made camp just outside the arena wall. The rest of the fortress gave them distance—not out of respect, but anticipation.
Ji-Mun tried to lighten the mood. "So if we win tomorrow, does that make us officially terrifying?"
"No," So-Ri said. "We're already terrifying. That'll just confirm it."
Yul-Rin handed out tea without comment. Her hands were steady. Her eyes weren't.
Ma-Rok sat in silence, sharpening the edge of his hammer. Not because it needed it—but because it was how he focused.
Yeon stood beside Sun-Ho, watching lightning flicker faintly across his knuckles.
"You're not afraid?" So-Ri asked gently, when the others were quiet.
"I was," he said. "Before I had all of you."
She smiled, and for a moment, no tension remained.
Only the wind.
---
Bonus Scene – The Philosophy of Socks
Later that night, with everyone tucked near the fire, Ji-Mun stared into the flames like a sage on the edge of enlightenment.
"I've decided," he said solemnly, "that socks are the greatest invention in Murim history."
Ma-Rok blinked. "What?"
"Socks," Ji-Mun repeated, holding one up like a sacred scroll. "They protect your feet, hide holes in your shoes, and—this is key—make you feel emotionally stable."
"You're deranged," Yul-Rin muttered, tossing a dried fruit at him. "You just discovered dry socks after five days of marching through mud."
"They changed me," Ji-Mun said with mock gravity, hugging them. "I'm not who I was."
So-Ri sighed. "We're preparing for a life-threatening duel at dawn, and you're monologuing to footwear."
"They understand me."
Sun-Ho chuckled. "Do they offer tactical insight?"
Ji-Mun turned to him, deadly serious. "Warm socks equal warm morale. That's the secret to Murim dominance."
Yeon scribbled something and held up a sign: Should we get him checked?
Master Jang, sipping his tea as always, added quietly, "I once met a man who claimed his socks could talk. Turns out, he'd been inhaling lotus glue."
Ji-Mun gasped. "You mean… they don't?"
Everyone groaned.
---
End of Chapter 78 – Thunder's Invitation