Atop the sacred peak of Wolha Mountain, the air hung heavy with unnatural stillness. Jin Muyeong sat cross-legged, his black katana resting across his knees, its elegant scabbard catching faint glints of moonlight. His long black hair swayed in the breeze, and his crimson-gold robes embroidered with the motifs of a warrior-king seemed to drink in the starlight. At thirty-eight, he was the Black Blade, the undefeated legend of Murim, whose sword had sundered mountains and whose ki, honed to the Peak Stage of Grandmaster, flowed like an endless river. Few had ever reached such heights. None had surpassed him.
His breath was steady, his senses woven into the world's pulse. Yet tonight, something stirred. A ripple alien, chaotic disrupted the flow of ki.
Jin's eyes snapped open, dark and piercing. Two unfamiliar energies clashed in the air: one a storm of raw elements, the other a tide of brute force. Neither was ki. Before he could rise, a tear in reality split the sky a swirling vortex of violet and gold. No killing intent pulsed from it, only a strange, beckoning pull.
"What manner of force dares disturb me?" he murmured, his voice calm but edged with steel, hand resting lightly on his katana's hilt.
The portal pulsed once. Then it swallowed him whole.
Jin awoke to the scent of damp earth and unfamiliar flora. He lay on a bed of moss, surrounded by towering trees, their leaves shimmering with an eerie, luminescent glow. The air thrummed with energy, but it was not the disciplined ki of Murim. It was wild, layered with those same two forces one elemental, one forceful, both utterly foreign. Yet, beneath the chaos, he sensed a faint pulse. Weak, buried, but unmistakable.
Ki.
A faint smile curved his lips. "So, it lingers here, forgotten," he said softly, rising to his feet. His robes were unmarred, his katana still sheathed at his side. "This world honors light and flame… but cannot see its own shadows." He extended his senses, probing the strange realm. The forest pulsed with life, untamed and raw, brimming with powers he did not yet understand.
He walked, steps silent, his presence commanding even in this alien place. The faint call of ki guided him a whisper to his soul. If this world had abandoned the warrior's path, he would carve it anew.
Hours later, Jin emerged onto a dirt road leading to a small village. Stone and wood huts lined a central square, their roofs thatched with glowing vines. People moved with purpose some in robes flickering with arcane sigils, others in armor humming with vibrant energy. Their eyes were cold, dismissive, as they passed a group of ragged figures huddled near a well.
Jin's gaze lingered on the outcasts. A boy, no older than fifteen, with tattered clothes and a defeated slump to his shoulders. A woman, gaunt, clutching a broken staff. An old man, hands calloused but trembling, as if he had once wielded power but lost it. They were invisible to the others, mocked or ignored.
"Useless," a young man in shimmering robes spat, shoving past the boy. "No spark, no aura. You're better off begging than dragging Eldhaven's name through the mud."
The boy's fists clenched, but he said nothing, head bowing lower.
Jin's eyes narrowed, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. This world casts aside its own, blind to what lies within. He stepped forward, his presence silencing the murmurs in the square like a blade cutting through wind. The young man froze, caught in the weight of Jin's gaze not anger, but a calm, unshakable intensity that made the air heavier.
"You mock what you do not understand," Jin said, his voice low, resonant, carrying across the square. "Strength is not borrowed from the world. It is forged within."
A ripple of disbelief spread through the crowd gasps, a dropped jug, a woman muttering a prayer under her breath. The young man in robes scoffed, though his bravado wavered. "Who are you, old man? Some wanderer playing at wisdom? This is Eldhaven, a village of certified mages and aura knights. If you've no arcane spark or aura, you've no worth."
Jin tilted his head, studying the man. "Arcane spark? Aura?" The terms were new, but he felt their meaning the two energies he had sensed. "I know not these paths. But I know power. And I see none in you."
The crowd froze. A child's whisper cut through the silence: "Did he just…?"
The young man's face reddened, and he thrust out a hand, flames roaring to life at his fingertips. "You dare insult a flame-element mage? I trained six years to master this spark! I'll burn that arrogance from you!"
Jin stood motionless, hand resting lightly on his katana's hilt. He did not draw.
Instead, he let his ki flow a subtle pressure, a weight that pressed against the mage's flames.
The fire sputtered.
Then died, leaving only wisps of smoke.
The young man staggered back, eyes wide, voice trembling. "What… what was that?"
A murmur swept through the crowd fear, awe, confusion. "That wasn't magic," someone whispered. "Nor aura," another hissed, gripping their sword.
Jin ignored them, turning to the outcasts by the well. The boy looked up, his eyes meeting Jin's. There was fear there, but also a spark of defiance, buried deep.
"You," Jin said, his voice steady, commanding. "What is your name?"
The boy hesitated, then straightened. "Taren," he said, voice trembling but firm.
"Taren." Jin nodded, as if carving the name into his memory. "You have been told you are weak. That you lack worth. But I see otherwise. There is a power in you, one this world has forgotten. Will you learn it?"
Taren's eyes widened. The woman and old man exchanged glances, wary but drawn to the quiet certainty in Jin's voice. The crowd whispered, some in scorn, others in curiosity.
"What's he talking about?" a woman muttered, clutching her shawl. "Some nonsense about power? He's no mage, no aura knight. Just a fool with a sword."
Jin's gaze swept over the crowd, silencing them once more. "I am Jin Muyeong, the Black Blade. I have walked a path you cannot comprehend. And I will teach those cast aside, those who seek true strength not borrowed, but earned."
He turned back to Taren, his voice softening but no less resolute. "Come with me. Your journey begins now."
Taren hesitated, then stepped forward, shoulders squaring as if a weight had lifted. The woman and old man followed, drawn by the unshakable conviction in Jin's words.
As they left the square, the crowd parted some stepping back in fear, others sneering, a few whispering in awe. Jin paid them no mind. He had found his first disciples in this strange world. And he would show them the way of ki a power that would shake this realm to its core.
The world had turned its back on ki.
But it would remember.