The Assembly's courtyard, once filled with bristling challenges and ceremonial duels, had changed overnight.
Now, whispers ruled where swords once clashed. And glances held more danger than blades.
Sun-Ho sat beneath the awning of a crumbling pagoda, sipping quietly from a bowl of rice porridge while half a dozen sect leaders pretended not to stare at him from across the square.
"They're planning something," So-Ri said, slicing pickled radish with her fan's edge.
"They're always planning something," Ji-Mun muttered, mouth full. "But they're planning harder today."
Ma-Rok chewed thoughtfully on a rice bun. "I like it better when they just fight."
"They're scared," Yul-Rin observed, carefully polishing her needles. "Not of your power. Of what it represents."
Sun-Ho said nothing, watching a pair of disciples cross the open courtyard in silence—both wearing new insignia. One bore the Iron Wall Sect's shattered crest. The other, a sigil he hadn't seen in years.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
So-Ri followed his gaze. "The spiral and crescent?"
"Yes. That's the Twilight Orchid School. I thought they collapsed ten years ago."
Master Jang, who had been pouring tea with a kind of cosmic detachment, spoke without looking up. "They did. Their leadership was devoured from within. Quite literally."
"…What?"
"Oh, there was a cannibal involved. Long story. Point is—if they're here, someone's resurrecting old ghosts."
Ji-Mun leaned forward. "Can we not gloss over the cannibal part?"
"No," Yul-Rin said flatly. "Focus."
---
Meanwhile – In the Vaulted Halls
Far from the open courtyard, in a narrow stone hall carved beneath the Assembly ruins, four other heir candidates stood around a map scorched at the edges.
Jin Ye-Hwa, the Velvet Thorn of the Falling Blossom Pavilion, traced a gloved finger along a faded border.
"Kang Mu-Jin is out," she said. "That leaves Sun-Ho as the primary contender."
"Baek Sun-Ho," corrected the heir of the Eastern Wilds, a lean youth with sharp features and colder eyes. "And he didn't just defeat Mu-Jin. He broke him. That makes him a threat, not a rival."
"I think he's interesting," murmured the last voice—a man cloaked in gray. His sect was still unknown, though his techniques whispered of shadow arts and forbidden paths. "The more dangerous the dance partner, the sweeter the game."
Ye-Hwa smiled. "Then let's test his tempo."
---
Back Outside – A Game Begins
A disciple ran into the central courtyard, breathless.
"Challenge!" he shouted. "A public test of leadership ability—presented by the neutral sect coalition!"
That got everyone's attention.
Master Jang sighed into his teacup. "Ah. Now the old Murim games begin."
Sun-Ho raised an eyebrow. "Games?"
"Trials. Designed to be fair. Never are. It's their way of measuring an heir without… you know. Dueling everyone into the dirt."
Ji-Mun leaned toward Yul-Rin. "He says it like it's a bad thing."
The scroll was unfurled and read aloud by a coalition elder:
> "To test the resolve, vision, and tactical aptitude of each heir, the next trial shall be… a rescue mission."
A buzz passed through the watching crowd.
> "One neutral clan's transport caravan has been captured by rogue cultivators near the Black Root Ravine. All heirs shall be given a single day to retrieve the hostages without exposing their identity or dragging their full retinues. A leader who wins only by force is a tyrant. A leader who wins without being known… is a true sovereign."
"Oh come on," Ji-Mun muttered. "So now we're playing hide-and-seek with bandits?"
"No," Yul-Rin corrected, eyes narrowing. "We're playing chess, where the board stabs back."
So-Ri turned to Sun-Ho. "What will you do?"
Sun-Ho had already stood, gaze locked on the scroll's text. His voice was calm.
"I'll go alone."
"What?" Yul-Rin blinked.
He turned. "No allies. No mask. Just a cultivator named Baek Sun-Ho."
Ji-Mun snorted. "That's incredibly stupid."
"It's also the smartest play," Master Jang murmured.
So-Ri frowned. "Why?"
"Because if he pulls it off," the master said, eyes glittering, "no one will believe it was just Baek Sun-Ho."
---
Later – At the Edge of Black Root Ravine
The terrain was cruel. Jagged roots jutted from the canyon walls like claws, and the only trail was half-buried under fallen leaves.
Sun-Ho crouched on a ridge, observing a cluster of torches below. A makeshift camp—twelve cultivators, one elite among them. The hostages were bound and guarded, but unharmed.
He studied the camp for nearly twenty minutes, memorizing patterns.
Then he whispered, "Alright. Let's see if lightning can wear a mask."
He moved.
Like wind.
Like silence.
Like myth.
---
Moments Later – At the Rogue Camp
The elite rogue cultivator, scarred and smug, was chewing a skewer of grilled snake when the torches flickered.
"…Huh?"
He turned—too late.
ZzzKRAK!
A jolt of lightning struck the ground beside him, and in its flash, he saw a figure. Unmasked. Calm. Alone.
"Who—?"
A flicker.
Then the ropes binding the hostages snapped in perfect synchrony.
Gasps. Shouts.
Panic.
By the time the rogues unsheathed their weapons, the hostages were already running.
And by the time they charged after them—
There was no one to fight.
Only burning sigils on the camp wall, glowing faintly with electric fire.
A symbol. Unfamiliar. Balanced between flame and storm.
---
End of Chapter 91 – The Game Without Rules