The rain fell like silver threads across the mountaintop, slicking the ancient stones of Mount Hua's outer terraces. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the sect's sprawling courtyard and the countless disciples rushing to and fro, their soaked robes clinging to them. Today was not a day for ordinary training. Today was blood-soaked.
Jin Mu-Hyung, barely fifteen but already skilled beyond his years, knelt in the pouring rain, his hands trembling as he gripped his father's sword. Around him, Mount Hua's disciples were falling one by one. The attackers came in waves, a crimson tide of swords and claws that left only screams in their wake.
"Father… help us!" Mu-Hyung shouted, his voice nearly drowned by thunder. His father, Jin Seong-Ho, stood atop the central terrace, chest heaving, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes blazing with both pride and desperation.
"Mu-Hyeon! Lead the defense!" his father roared, pointing toward Mu-Hyung's older brother, who towered with the aura of a prodigy. Jin Mu-Hyeon's eyes shone with cold calculation as he unsheathed his blade.
Mu-Hyung's heart sank. Even now, Mu-Hyeon's stance radiated perfection—the very image of Mount Hua's glory. And yet… there was something off. A subtle hesitation, a shadow flickering in his brother's eyes that Mu-Hyung did not understand.
Before he could process it, the Blood Demon Cult's forces struck with uncanny precision. Claws raked across his comrades, swords tore through armor, and cries of pain filled the courtyard. Mu-Hyung's own blade met another's in a shower of sparks. He fought with all he had, spinning, parrying, striking—but each clash reminded him of the one truth he had long feared: he was alone.
"Brother! Please!" he screamed as he faced an enemy advanced in a demonic aura, a blood-red qi radiating from its body like living flame.
Mu-Hyeon's lips curled into a faint smile. "Mu-Hyung… you've always been weak."
The words hit like a hammer. Mu-Hyung staggered, his vision blurring. Rage and betrayal mingled with fear as he lunged forward, desperate to reach his brother. But Mu-Hyeon sidestepped with the elegance of a master swordsman. His strike wasn't meant to kill—at least, not yet. No, it was something far worse. A single slash across Mu-Hyung's chest sent him crashing to the wet stone below.
"Father!" he cried again, crawling toward Jin Seong-Ho. But even his father's proud roar was drowned out as a wave of enemies surged past, overwhelming the central hall. The patriarch's face twisted in anguish. He moved to defend Mu-Hyung, but a searing pain erupted in his side. A masked assailant—one of the Blood Demon Cult's elite—had struck from the shadows. Jin Seong-Ho staggered, his sword dropping.
"Father!" Mu-Hyung gasped, his own blood mingling with the rain. He tried to rise, tried to stand tall—but the weight of his injuries pinned him down.
And then he saw it.
Mu-Hyeon's hand, slick with rain and blood, raised high. In it glinted a dagger—one Mu-Hyung recognized. One that had been gifted to him as a child, a symbol of brotherhood and trust. Mu-Hyeon's lips curved into a smile that froze Mu-Hyung's very soul.
"Forgive me, little brother," Mu-Hyeon whispered, before driving the blade through their father's chest.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Mu-Hyung screamed, a sound torn from the depths of despair. Jin Seong-Ho's eyes met his son's for the last time, a mixture of regret, love, and sorrow shining within them.
"Protect the sect…" he gasped, then collapsed, his body hitting the stone with a hollow thud. The rain washed over him, as if trying to cleanse the stain of betrayal, but it was futile.
Mu-Hyung's vision darkened. His sword fell from his hands. The battlefield blurred into chaos: disciples screaming, enemies cutting down everything in their path, and Mu-Hyeon standing at the apex of it all, flawless, untouchable, yet monstrous.
The next moment, Mu-Hyung felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, a final strike from one of the masked attackers. He fell unconscious, the storm above reflecting the turmoil within.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was different—or perhaps he was.
He was lying on the familiar grass of the Plum Blossom Dojo, bathed in morning light. The birds chirped, the wind carried the scent of blooming flowers, and the air was crisp with spring's promise. It should have been comforting—but Mu-Hyung's chest ached, and a strange emptiness gnawed at him.
He sat up slowly, touching his chest. No blood. No wounds. A faint glow emanated from a scar on his palm—a plum blossom-shaped mark that pulsed softly. A voice, deep and resonant, filled his mind.
"Martial Codex activated. Regression complete. Destiny reset."
Mu-Hyung's heart thudded. He tried to recall what had happened—father's fall, brother's betrayal, the Blood Demon Cult's attack—but the memories crashed over him with a clarity that was almost unbearable.
He looked at his hands. The scar seemed alive, as if the codex itself had branded him. Slowly, he stood, feeling an unfamiliar power coursing through his veins. A screen materialized before his eyes:
Name: Jin Mu-Hyung
Age: 15
Sect: Mount Hua
Rank: Profound Qi (Low)
Strength: 100 / D
Agility: 85 / E
Endurance: 90 / D
Qi Control: 120 / C
Swordsmanship: 95 / D
Perception: 110 / C
Willpower: 150 / B
Karma: -500 (Cursed)
Mu-Hyung blinked, stunned. Each stat reflected his current abilities—but the Karma… the negative number gnawed at him. He had been cursed, marked by betrayal and tragedy.
A flicker of emotion surged through him. Fear. Anger. Determination. He clenched his fists.
"Mount Hua… I will restore you," he whispered to the wind. "And you… you will pay for what you've done."
He remembered the screams, the rain, the flash of his brother's dagger. His vision hardened, no longer the scared boy ignored by everyone. A cold, calculating patience settled over him. Strategy, skill, and vengeance would be his tools.
In the distance, the familiar silhouette of the Plum Blossom Crest waved atop the main hall. Mount Hua had not yet fallen entirely. Some disciples remained, scattered, afraid, and leaderless.
Mu-Hyung's lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.
"If today I was weak… tomorrow, I will be unstoppable."
And with that, the world shifted. The fallen hero of Mount Hua had returned—not as a boy, but as a force to be reckoned with.
The storm had passed, but the war for Murim had only just begun.