The Heaven-Facing Hall was the oldest structure within the Grand Assembly complex—a dome of golden lattice and smooth obsidian, shaped like the heavens it claimed to honor. Inside, it smelled of incense, polished scrolls, and old men's pride.
Baek Sun-Ho stood before them now, alone.
Eighteen sect leaders ringed the central floor like stars around a black sun. Some wore expressions carved from stone. Others looked bored, their robes more embroidered than their souls. A few—a rare few—watched him with cautious interest.
Above them, seated on the High Seat of Balance, was Elder Kang Mu-Jin.
The Grand Order's hound. The Iron Pillar of Old Doctrine.
And the man most likely to oppose Sun-Ho until his last breath.
"You've stirred a nest of hornets," Kang said without preamble. His voice rumbled like a gong that had forgotten it could chime. "You believe truth is enough to lead Murim?"
"No," Sun-Ho answered evenly. "But lies aren't a foundation either."
That earned a few subtle looks. Elder Gyo-Wan of the Eastern Rain Sect raised a brow. Lady Dae-Hwa of the Healing Palm Order hid a smile behind her fan.
Kang's gaze sharpened. "You shame your elders in public. You spit on the traditions that held us upright."
"Traditions that allowed assassination, corruption, and cover-ups?" Sun-Ho stepped forward. "If that's upright, I fear to see us crawling."
A low hiss swept the hall. Master Jang, watching from the upper gallery, sipped his tea without blinking.
"You presume much," Kang said, rising to his feet.
"I presume nothing," Sun-Ho replied. "I've seen it. And soon, others will too."
Kang's voice dropped. "And if your 'truth' leads to division?"
"Then it means the rot was already there."
A pause. Long. Tight as a drawn bow.
Then—
"Enough," spoke an elder whose beard nearly brushed the floor tiles. "This is no tribunal."
Lady Dae-Hwa nodded. "Baek Sun-Ho, you may go. Your presence is… noted."
Sun-Ho bowed, respectful but without submission. "Then I await your decision."
He turned and left.
The silence that followed him was louder than his words.
---
Assembly Grounds – Later That Day
"Let me guess," Ji-Mun said, waving a fan in front of his face. "They were shocked. Appalled. Clutching their sacred pearls."
Sun-Ho gave a wry smile. "Close. Some of them actually listened."
Ma-Rok grunted. "Doesn't matter. The Grand Order will never allow reform. They built the system."
Yul-Rin slid into the conversation, her eyes alert. "Which is why we need allies who weren't born with power in their lap."
So-Ri returned with Yeon in tow. The boy handed Sun-Ho a folded scroll—an urgent delivery from a scout posted near the southern borders.
Sun-Ho read it and frowned.
"What is it?" So-Ri asked.
He handed it to her.
A village razed. Witnesses silenced. Survivors poisoned. And one strange account: a man cloaked in black lightning walking among the flames.
Ji-Mun paled. "Black lightning?"
"No," Sun-Ho said. "Not me. Something else."
Yul-Rin narrowed her eyes. "A warning?"
"Or bait."
Yeon tugged at his sleeve and handed him a second card.
The True Hands are moving.
So-Ri read it over his shoulder. "Then the speech wasn't just a challenge to the Assembly."
Sun-Ho folded the note. "It was a declaration of war to everyone hiding behind masks."
---
Night – Elder Gyo-Wan's Private Chambers
Elder Gyo-Wan of the Eastern Rain Sect sat alone, listening to the soft dripping of a jade fountain beside him. His expression was unreadable.
A flicker of movement.
Jin Ye-Hwa stepped into the lamplight, her robes glinting silver.
"You saw the speech," she said without formality.
"I did," Gyo-Wan replied. "And the backlash."
"And yet?"
He set his teacup down. "And yet… he spoke with clarity. Fire in restraint. Lightning in stillness. He reminds me of someone."
Ye-Hwa tilted her head. "A dead friend?"
"A buried hope."
She approached. "Will you support him?"
"I'm old," he murmured. "But not too old to recognize the chance for a better Murim."
"Then he will need you soon."
Gyo-Wan's gaze drifted to the moon beyond the lattice window. "He'll need more than me."
---
The Dagger in the Dark
Elsewhere in the Assembly grounds, deep in a wine cellar repurposed for conspiracies, two shadows met.
The taller of the two laid out a blade. It shimmered with dark qi.
"He walks too confidently," one said. "It's time he was reminded—balance is a knife's edge."
"And we," the other replied, "are the ones holding it."
---
Bonus Scene – Ji-Mun's "Crisis Training"
That evening, somewhere in a less dignified corner of the courtyard, Ji-Mun was crouched behind a shrub with Yeon sitting cross-legged beside him, holding a bamboo scroll and looking deeply unimpressed.
"…And this, Yeon," Ji-Mun whispered, brandishing a chopstick like a dagger, "is called anti-assassination positional theory. Step one: always keep a shrub within five paces of your sleeping quarters."
Yeon wrote: This is a bush. Not a shield.
"It's the principle of the thing," Ji-Mun hissed, peeking out dramatically. "You think assassins strike when you're wide awake and glowing like Sun-Ho after a breakthrough? No. They come when you're half-asleep, drooling on your sleeve."
Yeon flipped the scroll: That's very specific. Personal experience?
"…Maybe."
Across the yard, So-Ri passed by and paused. "Why is Yeon holding Ji-Mun's shoes like weapons?"
"Ah," Ji-Mun grinned, "he's the distraction. Throws them in the assassin's face, I sweep the leg."
Yeon immediately wrote: I never agreed to that.
Ma-Rok walked by and squinted. "Is this training?"
"No," So-Ri replied. "It's panic masquerading as preparation."
Ji-Mun sniffed. "Mock me all you like, but if a poison-blade wielding shadow dancer slips through tonight, who are you going to thank when Yeon knocks them out with footwear?"
Yul-Rin arrived then, casually pulling out a smoke pellet. "I can test your theory now, if you'd like."
Ji-Mun vanished behind the bush in a single blur of panic, leaving only a shoe behind.
Yeon held up a sign: Clause Seventeen was more believable than this.
---
End of Chapter 112 – Cracks in the Heaven-Facing Hall