The skies were grey that morning, though not with rain—just a cool stillness that lingered above the mountain peaks. For once, the courtyard did not ring with the clashing of limbs or the groans of bodies being flung. Today was different.
Jin was still in loose robes, his hands behind his head, walking lazily around the training ground as if he hadn't just sparred three of the old master's students at once. They were now scattered around the courtyard in various states of exhaustion—groaning, panting, and contemplating their life decisions.
Jin sighed.
"This is getting boring."
He picked up a practice sword, gave it a casual swing—and crack!—the entire blade snapped in half, whistling through the air as it clanged into the wall behind him. His face went slack.
"...Are you kidding me?" he muttered.
The students stared at him like he was a monster.
"That's the fifth one this week," one whispered.
"He doesn't even try to break them," another added.
Jin dusted his hands and walked away. The old master, who had watched everything silently from under the eaves of the training hall, motioned him to come closer.
The Talk
They sat together on the wooden platform, the sound of cicadas buzzing lightly in the trees. The old master poured two cups of tea—green, bitter, calming. Jin took his but didn't drink.
"You've been here for two weeks," the old master said slowly, "but it feels longer."
Jin gave a lazy smile. "Training makes the days longer."
"You've done well… beyond well, actually. But I suspect you didn't come here to become a martial artist."
Jin looked away.
"I'm looking for something," he admitted. "Or someone. Or… maybe just the past. I don't know. All I know is that this isn't enough. Something's missing. I can feel it in my chest, like a part of me is still out there."
The old master nodded quietly. His eyes were like ancient wells—deep and tired. "The path to the Central Empire will be long, Jin. It is not a place for wanderers or the unready. You may not like what you find there."
Jin was silent.
Then, without warning, he asked, "What's a Martial King?"
The tea cup nearly slipped from the old master's hand.
He looked at Jin, truly looked—beyond the quiet sarcasm and half-hearted attitude. Jin's eyes… they carried weight. Not from this world. Not anymore.
"Where did you hear that name?" the master asked.
"I don't know," Jin replied, honestly. "It's been echoing in my dreams. Over and over. Like a whisper behind a locked door."
The old master stood. "Come."
The Secret Room
They entered a small chamber hidden behind the master's living quarters. Jin noticed the faint hum of spirit energy that lined the walls, as if the space had been protected or sealed for decades. The room was filled with scrolls, ancient weapons, maps drawn by hand, and faded tomes of martial lore.
"This is the real core of this dojo," the old master said. "Few students know it exists."
He motioned for Jin to sit, then pulled down an old cloth-covered scroll from the top shelf.
"I will tell you what I know," the master began, unrolling it on the table. "But even I only know fragments. The story of the Martial King… is older than the empires. Older than the clans. Perhaps older than martial arts itself."
The History of the Continent
"Long ago," the master began, "this continent was wild. No dynasties. No sects. Just tribes and scattered warlords. Martial arts were crude then—based on instinct and survival, not philosophy or forms. But among them were Awakened Ones—warriors who could harness Zin so pure and raw it was said they could tear mountains and calm oceans."
"These beings began to shape the land. Some formed Clans, others dynasties. Over centuries, what we now call the Six but now Five Great Dynasties rose: the Flame Lotus dynasty of the south that took the place of the Heng Dynasty which was destroyed a long time ago, the Xu Imperial Court of the East , the Yanbei Martial Kingdom of the West , the Ba Mountain Realms in the North… and at the heart of it all, The Wu Long Dynasty,the Central Empire."
Jin leaned forward as the map unfolded further.
"At the center stands the Imperial Capital of Aetherion, guarded by the strongest sect and the most ancient clan—the Jade Tiger Clan, whose head family are called the House of Vermilion flame."
The Martial King
The master lowered his voice.
"Before all this order, there was chaos. And in that chaos… rose one man. Or perhaps, one being. He was not born into royalty, nor was he raised by any sect. He simply appeared, like a storm. No one knew his name. He wore no emblem. But his presence silenced entire battlefields."
"They called him the Martial King."
"No one knew where he came from or what his purpose was. He challenged every great sect and won. Fought every emperor and spared them. It was said he walked through the continent in seven days, and in those seven days, he destroyed the old world and built the path for this one."
Jin's eyes widened.
"But then… he vanished. No one knows how or where. Some say he ascended to the heavens. Others say he was betrayed. Some even say he never existed—that he was just a myth made up to unify the clans during the era of the Warring States."
"Yet…" the master pulled out a tattered piece of parchment and showed Jin a faded ink drawing.
A man stood at the center, cloaked in swirling robes, a long staff on his back, eyes veiled in shadow.
Beneath it, in archaic script:
"He who bears no name, no clan, no origin—yet all bow to him, the Martial King."
The Unspoken Question
Jin stared at the image. His fingers trembled slightly, hovering over the figure. Something stirred in him, old and restless. A flicker of emotion—rage, sorrow, yearning. But it passed too quickly to name.
"Is it a title?" he asked softly.
The old master nodded. "Some say yes. Others say only one can ever bear it. That it is not something earned—but awakened."
Jin whispered, "Then… is it possible I—?"
"I don't know," the old master interrupted gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But maybe… the answers are not out there." He pointed to Jin's chest. "Maybe they are in here. Waiting."
End of the Day
That night, Jin sat atop the roof, staring into the stars. The dojo was quiet below, lanterns dimmed, the world asleep.
The wind blew through his hair. His hand clenched slowly, glowing faintly with Zin energy.
Martial King.
Why did that name hurt so much to hear?
Somewhere out there… the truth was waiting.
And for the first time, Jin was ready to go find it.