The Pavilion of Fallen Petals lived up to its name.
Blossoms rained down from a ring of ancient cherry trees, their pink-white bloom drifting like snow under the morning sun. The arena had no walls—only the reverence of those gathered. Murim elders, disciples, and rival heirs ringed the perimeter, cloaked in silence.
At the center stood Jin Ye-Hwa.
She wore robes of dusk-purple and silver trim, a ribbon of red tied tightly around her wrist. Her sword was sheathed but hummed with energy—polished obsidian engraved with faint lotus motifs.
Baek Sun-Ho entered the clearing with his cloak billowing behind him. No mask. No title.
Only purpose.
Yeon, So-Ri, and the others stood among the spectators, their expressions tight. Even Master Jang had ceased his tea-sipping.
Yul-Rin leaned over to Ji-Mun. "Tell me she won't flirt mid-fight."
Ji-Mun whispered, "Honestly, I'm more worried he might."
So-Ri's fan snapped open once. "Quiet. This isn't about banter. It's about balance."
---
The Duel Begins
The officiant raised a hand. "By the rites of neutral ground, this is a contest of skill and conviction. Until yield is declared or disarmament is achieved. Begin!"
A gust of wind carried the petals skyward.
Ye-Hwa struck first—silent and sudden.
Her blade danced like poetry: a high arc twisted mid-air, trailing afterimages of petals made of light. She moved with the grace of water and the intent of a guillotine.
Sun-Ho answered without drawing.
He stepped forward—one foot, two—then turned his body with the elegance of a reed bowing to the breeze. The attack slid past, grazing only fabric.
Ye-Hwa's eyes narrowed. "Still holding back?"
Sun-Ho replied, "I'm just listening."
"To what?"
"To the part of your sword that isn't trying to kill me."
She smiled faintly. "Then let's see what it says when I stop holding back."
She spun, and suddenly the arena was filled with strikes—blade arcs layered like calligraphy, each more complex than the last. Petals followed her motion like a storm summoned through elegance.
Sun-Ho's fingers twitched. A line of flame traced across the ground—then vanished. His footwork changed.
Now he moved through her patterns, not around them.
He flowed with her rhythm.
And when her final strike fell—sharp, spiraling like a whirl of wind through blossoms—
CRACK—
His sheath intercepted it.
Flames surged beneath her, licking the stone. But then, crackling above—
Lightning descended in a radiant arc, coiling around Sun-Ho like a dragon's breath.
The crowd gasped.
Ye-Hwa staggered back, eyes wide. Her blade trembled.
"You… mastered another element."
Sun-Ho gave a small nod. "Lightning and fire. They move differently. But they can dance."
He stepped forward.
Ye-Hwa raised her sword again—but not to strike.
To salute.
"I yield."
The officiant blinked, stunned, but raised his hand. "The duel is complete. Yield declared."
---
Aftermath – Petals and Shadows
Silence.
Then murmurs erupted through the arena.
Whispers of lightning and balance. Of strength and restraint. Of a flame that did not consume—but guided.
Sun-Ho extended a hand to Ye-Hwa. "Thank you for showing me grace within blades."
She took it. "And thank you for proving strength without cruelty."
As they walked off together, Ji-Mun muttered, "So… is this the part where they fall in love or try to kill each other again later?"
Yul-Rin rolled her eyes. "Both. Obviously."
Master Jang exhaled. "Two heirs down. Two remain. The storm gathers pace."
---
Later – Quiet Talks, Quiet Eyes
That evening, Ye-Hwa approached Sun-Ho alone beneath the lantern trees.
She bowed. "You could've beaten me easily."
Sun-Ho's gaze was steady. "I didn't come to humiliate anyone. I came to show them that power doesn't have to destroy."
Ye-Hwa hesitated. "I wasn't trained to believe that. Our sect... we measure victory in precision. But today... I felt more like a student than a rival."
"You're still a rival," Sun-Ho said gently. "But now, one who understands what's at stake."
She held his gaze. "If we meet again—without rules—don't expect me to yield."
"I wouldn't want you to."
She smiled and vanished into the trees.
---
Back at Camp
Yeon was sketching duel stances in the dirt while Ma-Rok practiced swings with his war hammer, carving shallow dents into tree trunks.
Ji-Mun sat cross-legged, eyes closed in mock meditation.
Yul-Rin passed So-Ri a bowl of warming tea. "Two down. But the next two…?"
"They won't yield," So-Ri said. "We're done with dancers and courtiers. Now come the iron fists."
---
Far Side of the Fortress – A Brewing Storm
In the shadows of the fortress' abandoned west watchtower, two figures watched the duel's aftermath.
One was cloaked in gray, fingers tapping a steel ring around his wrist. His face bore an intricate scar running from chin to temple.
The other figure—tall, feminine, shrouded in silk—watched with narrowed eyes.
"So," she said, "the Sovereign is walking without his mask."
"And two heirs are out," the scarred man muttered. "The Board narrows."
"The Grand Order won't wait forever," she warned. "You need to provoke him soon."
"I will," he said, turning. "And when I do, I won't stop at provoking. I'll end the myth."
---
End of Chapter 84 – Duel of Petals and Thunder