The fortress no longer buzzed—it throbbed.
After Kang Mu-Jin's surrender, the Assembly's mood had shifted. Disciples spoke in hushed voices, glancing nervously toward Sun-Ho's camp. Sect elders exchanged wary looks, weighing not just power, but inevitability. One more rival had knelt. Only two remained.
Inside the party's secluded pavilion, the air was heavier than usual—not with tension, but anticipation.
So-Ri was oiling the hinges of her fans, each movement precise. "The others are going to move soon."
"They'd be foolish not to," Yul-Rin said, adding herbs to her bandolier. "Two strong heirs down. If they wait longer, it becomes a coronation, not a competition."
Ji-Mun was flipping through notes from eavesdropped conversations. "One of them—the Velvet Thorn—she's been quiet. Too quiet. Either she's gathering leverage or planning something poisonous."
Ma-Rok looked up from hammer polishing. "Can I smash either of those options?"
"No," Sun-Ho said, stepping into the tent. "At least not yet."
His robe hung loose around his shoulders, his qi calm—but underneath, a new resonance pulsed. Lightning crackled faintly around his fingers, flickering like restless thoughts.
So-Ri tilted her head. "Another breakthrough?"
"Near one," he admitted. "The lightning is… guiding me now. Less resistance. More understanding."
Master Jang, lounging against the back post of the tent, sipped tea. "Your pace will attract attention."
"I want it to," Sun-Ho replied. "But I also want control. Which is why we move first."
Everyone looked at him.
"Tonight, we infiltrate the Velvet Thorn's camp."
Yul-Rin narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to challenge her?"
"No. I'm going to speak with her. Alone."
So-Ri stood. "That's dangerous. She's manipulative—known for using words sharper than swords."
"I know," he said. "But if I'm to lead Murim, I need to win more than fights. I need to win minds."
Ji-Mun gave a dramatic sigh. "Boring. But noble."
Ma-Rok snorted. "I still say we go in swinging."
Sun-Ho grinned. "And that's why you're not in charge."
---
Later That Night – Inner Courtyard of the Blossom Pavilion Camp
Petals drifted through the air, even without wind. The camp was far more elegant than others—stone lanterns, silk partitions, soft music playing somewhere in the distance. Even the guards walked with grace, their movements part of a rehearsed dance.
Sun-Ho moved without his mask, his presence cloaked but unmistakable. He stood before the central tent, where two guards blocked the entrance.
"I'm here to speak with Jin Ye-Hwa."
The guards exchanged glances, then parted without a word.
Inside, the scent of plum blossoms greeted him. And at the heart of the chamber, dressed in pale crimson robes, sat Jin Ye-Hwa—one leg crossed over the other, sword laid neatly across her lap.
"I wondered when you'd arrive," she said, not looking up from her cup of wine. "Most men prefer to send challenges. You bring conversation."
"I don't need to prove myself through theatrics," Sun-Ho said, standing with quiet confidence.
"Then why the lightning?" she smiled, eyes lifting to meet his. "Theatrics are inescapable when one becomes legend."
He remained standing. "I came to ask where you stand."
"I stand," she said, slowly rising, "where flowers bloom between blades. I want a Murim with grace, not just strength. With order, not just war."
He studied her. "And yet you support the old elite. The same ones who built the chaos we suffer."
"I support what works." Her voice hardened. "And change only works when it is beautiful."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Sun-Ho said, "You want elegance. I want justice. Maybe we're not so different."
She approached slowly, stopping inches away. "You're not like the others. That worries me."
"It should."
She tilted her head. "And yet, here you are… talking instead of striking."
"I only fight when words fail."
Jin Ye-Hwa smirked, stepping back. "Then let us talk. Just know, Baek Sun-Ho… if I deem you unworthy, I will strike first."
He nodded. "I would expect nothing less."
---
Elsewhere – That Same Hour
The rest of the party sat around the fire, unsure whether to be worried or impressed.
Ma-Rok finally broke the silence. "He's probably being polite. Politely terrifying."
"He's walking into a nest of spies and strategists," Yul-Rin muttered, stirring her tea. "I'd feel better if we had a signal."
So-Ri traced a sigil into the dirt. "We do. If his lightning flares twice in the sky, we go in."
Ji-Mun blinked. "That's… kind of poetic."
"It's also highly visible," Master Jang commented. "But theatrics do have their charm."
Yeon handed around honey-glazed rice balls while keeping his gaze fixed to the north.
---
End of Chapter 80 – The Eye of the Maelstrom