Continue
### Chapter 6: The Eyes of the Cult
Tae-Hyun lingered by the river's edge, the moon now veiled by drifting clouds. His body pulsed with new energy, muscles taut, senses sharper than ever before. It was as though the Jade Qi Seed had set the night itself humming.
He heard a chuckle behind him—a low, throaty sound that sent chills up his spine.
He spun, fists raised, instinct guiding his stance. A young man, hair greasy and armor patched together from animal skins, leaned on a rusted saber.
"Not bad for a rookie, huh?" the stranger drawled, his gaze hungry and cruel. His eyes seemed to drink in Tae-Hyun's aura.
Tae-Hyun felt something heavy in the air. A bloody, choking pressure.
> [Mo Yul – Demonic Cult Disciple, Level 11]
> [Threat Level: Severe]
Tae-Hyun faltered. Flowing Water Fist wouldn't help much here.
Mo Yul fingered a chain around his neck—fangs dangling from it like trophies. "You killed the serpent. That makes you dinner for the cult, street rat."
He lunged at Tae-Hyun with violent speed, saber whistling through the air.
Tae-Hyun barely dodged, the blade grazing his arm. Blood welled, and the pain snapped his focus.
He called on Water Flow Step, moving as the current did, evading Mo Yul's barrage. Still, the distance grew; the fight felt one-sided, brutal.
Mo Yul grinned, pressing forward. "You're fast. But you bleed."
Tae-Hyun's mind raced. Google didn't have answers for Murim death matches. He needed an opening—a flaw in the Demonic Cult style, something wild and unpredictable.
He feinted right, then used Qi Pulse Strike with desperation. His fist hit Mo Yul's forearm—Qi vibrated, but Mo Yul barely flinched.
Mo Yul's saber struck out—Tae-Hyun twisted, using the river's spray to blind his foe. He closed in, striking with all his newly gained power.
The Demonic Cultist staggered, then laughed again. "You have potential, login rat. You're worth hunting."
He retreated into the mist, vanishing as quickly as he'd come.
> [Quest: Survive Mo Yul's Mark]
> Reward: 100 Sect Reputation
> Failure: Permanent death upon next encounter
Tae-Hyun collapsed, panting, blood leaking from his arm. His hands shook—this was not a safe starting field. He had real enemies now, and they wanted his power.
He gazed up at the dark sky, now haunted by a single phrase:
"Grow faster… or die."
***
### Chapter 7: Invitations
The river camp was silent, dew coating every stone and leaf. Tae-Hyun bandaged his wound as best as he could, eyes scanning for more threats.
He didn't know how 'logout' would work with blood loss, but exhaustion still pressed on him. Yet, before he could rest, a thin paper slip drifted from the mist, landing at his feet.
He picked it up, turning it over.
It was stamped with an iron sword and inked characters: **Iron Sword Pavilion – Novitiate Invitation**
> [You have been scouted by Iron Sword Pavilion after slaying the River Serpent. Attend selection, or forfeit reputation rewards.]
Azure Snow Fairy appeared in a haze, voice teasing. "Your hunt begins here, candidate. Join a sect, or be hunted by all."
He was still just a rookie, but now other powers noticed him. The Iron Sword Pavilion—famous in Murim tales—offered safety, training, and secrets.
A second slip fluttered in, blood-red this time—the mark of the Blood Demon Cult.
> [Blood Demon Cult Invitation – Marked for trial by Mo Yul.]
Tae-Hyun scoffed, shaking off nerves. "So either join the honorable swords, or get dragged into the demon pit?"
Azure Snow Fairy nodded, eyes cold. "Every choice changes your fate. Sects offer protection and resources—but enemies come with allegiance."
Tae-Hyun tucked both slips away, eyes locked on the swirling river. The path ahead was clear: stay solo and be prey, or choose a side and make his stand.
Whatever he chose, he needed to grow stronger. Fast.
***
He brought up his Status Window:
> [Strength: 7]
> [Speed: 6]
> [Vitality: 7]
> [Qi Control: 2]
> [Martial Comprehension: 2]
His stats were better, but nowhere near Mo Yul's insane power.
He pressed [Logout], fading back into the familiar squalor of his studio.
***
He awoke clutching the Iron Sword invitation, the blood-red slip ominous beside it. Real pain lingered in his arm, a phantom ache—a harsh reminder that Murim was more than a game.
He looked in the mirror and saw something new in his reflection: Not fear. Not desperation.
Resolve.
***
⚔️ End of Chapters 6–7.
***