The moon hung high over the Han estate, pale light spilling over the tiled rooftops and the stone walls of the courtyard. In the quiet of the night, the usual sounds of training—wood striking wood, the grunt of exertion, the slap of a fist against a target—were gone. All that remained was the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of a lantern swinging in the wind.
Inside the estate, the family gathered for the evening meal. The dining hall was large, but sparsely decorated, reflecting the Han family's focus on combat over luxury. Plates of roasted meat, rice, and fresh vegetables were laid out, but the atmosphere was far from ordinary. Every movement of the family was precise, controlled, and measured, as though the act of eating itself was a form of training.
"Beomjin, don't just grab the meat," Hyunwoo said with a teasing grin, reaching for the same plate. "Do it properly. If you mess up your grip now, how will you ever control your palm strike?"
Beomjin rolled his eyes and snorted. "You think you're so perfect, Hyunwoo. I'll beat you in the next drill. Maybe I'll even make sure you taste your own failure first."
Suhyun, the youngest son, giggled from his seat. "Why are you two always fighting? Can't you just enjoy the meal?"
Minseo, the youngest daughter, scowled but couldn't hide a smile. "Enjoy? When the eldest two act like idiots all the time? Not a chance."
Lady Miyeon, the mother, shook her head, her smile gentle but tired. "Enough. Eat your meal before your father notices and decides to punish all of you for wasting time bickering. Remember, discipline is more important than victory in a fight."
Father Han Seongjun, the head of the family, remained silent, his gaze sharp as always. He watched his children, not with anger but with a quiet pride. Their movements, their reactions, even their casual banter, revealed the precision of martial lineage. Even in something as mundane as a meal, every gesture, every flick of the wrist, carried control.
The meal progressed with laughter, teasing, and casual conversation. They spoke of training sessions, rival families, and the minor victories each had achieved that day. Even in play, every glance and movement hinted at lethal precision.
Unseen by the family, the maid Soha lingered near the serving table, her smile polite but her eyes cold. In her hands was a small vial, carefully mixed into the family's evening food—a sleeping herb, rare and potent. One drop could bring even the strongest Han descendant into an unbreakable slumber. Her task had been long prepared; the herb was tasteless and undetectable, and tonight, the family would be defenseless.
By the time the meal ended, everyone retired to their rooms. The five siblings, still laughing quietly, did not notice the subtle heaviness in their eyelids. Fatigue from the day's training mixed with the slow poison of the herb.
The Night Descends
Moonlight spilled into the bedrooms, illuminating the quiet forms of the children as they drifted into deep sleep. Beomjin lay sprawled on his futon, Hyunwoo curled slightly, Suhyun's small chest rose and fell with even breaths, Minseo hugged her pillow, and Daehan, the middle son, muttered something in his sleep.
Only the father and mother retained their focus. Even weakened by the herb, their internal Qi hummed softly, keeping a minimal barrier around the children. Father's eyes scanned the shadows, instincts screaming that something was wrong.
Then movement appeared—silent, swift, and deadly. The elite squad of assassins chosen by the Absolute Master had infiltrated the estate. Trained for centuries in stealth and hand-to-hand combat, they moved like shadows, blending into the night, their presence almost imperceptible.
Father Han Seongjun's gaze hardened. He rose, muscles coiling, Qi spinning around him.
"Who's there?!" he shouted, his voice cracking the still night air.
The lead assassin stepped forward, voice calm, cold, and dripping with sarcasm. "Han Seongjun… your time is over. Your family has outlived its purpose."
Seongjun's fists flared with white-hot energy. Each strike sent shockwaves across the hall, knocking back the closest intruders. His palm technique smashed into the wall, splintering wood and stone alike. Even in partial effect of the sleeping herb, he moved like a storm.
"You will not touch them!" he roared.
The assassins flowed around him. Their movements were precise, perfectly timed, anticipating his attacks. They were hand-to-hand specialists, trained to counter the Han combat arts.
"I admire your skill, old man," said one, his voice mocking. "But skill cannot protect the young. Only numbers and timing matter now."
Seongjun's strikes sent two attackers flying, but three more came at him at once. Even the best martial artist could not be everywhere at once.
Parents' Resistance
Lady Miyeon stepped forward, Qi igniting around her. "Seongjun! Get to the children!"
"They are already under attack!" he snapped, striking again.
Miyeon's movements were swift and fluid, creating a shield of force to slow the assassins' advance. Each step, each strike, was precise, but fatigue and the herb's lingering effect dulled her speed slightly. Still, she blocked several assassins, buying precious moments.
"Do not falter!" Seongjun shouted. "Every second counts!"
The siblings lay unconscious, dreams unbroken, unaware of the chaos that had engulfed their home. The assassins knew this—one child, hidden in the valley, was the only target that mattered. All other members were collateral, a distraction to draw out the parents.
The Elite Squad Strikes
The assassins pressed forward, relentless. Walls shattered, furniture splintered, and the air rang with the sound of controlled fury. Seongjun moved like a hurricane, striking with the precision of a Martial Arts Saint. Each fist, each sweep, shattered bones and sent attackers flying—but the numbers were too many.
The lead assassin stepped close, voice icy. "Your family's glory is meaningless. Even your strength will fade."
Seongjun gritted his teeth. "Then die with honor!" He lashed out, but another wave came, relentless as water over stone.
Lady Miyeon blocked one assassin mid-strike and spun, knocking another into the wall. Her Qi flared brightly, a shield to protect the children. But it was already too late—the sleeping herb had done its work.
The Aftermath
By dawn, the hall was silent. The assassins had vanished. Furniture lay shattered, walls bore cracks from seismic strikes, and the faint scent of Qi lingered. The children remained unconscious, scattered across the floor. The parents, battered and bleeding, barely stood, their energy spent.
The family's estate was no longer a safe haven. In the valley, far from the estate, Han Muyeon trained unaware. Five years of isolation had honed his body into a weapon. Every strike, every movement, every breath, had been refined to perfection.
He stepped out of the valley as the first rays of sun touched the mountain peaks, stretching and breathing in the crisp air. His muscles ached pleasantly, his body strong, precise, and ready. He did not yet know that all of his family had been destroyed that night, that his bloodline's legacy had been nearly erased, or that the shadow of the Absolute Master now loomed over his life.
The valley had been his entire world for five years, a place carved by ancestors, built to refine the body and spirit. He did not know that the world outside was already changing, that the death of his family would set events into motion that would consume kingdoms, sects, and empires.
For now, he was free. But freedom would soon collide with tragedy, and the first steps of revenge, discovery, and awakening were about to begin.
The sun rose, golden and indifferent, spilling light over the hidden valley. Muyeon's dark hair glinted in its rays, and his fists flexed, ready for the day. The world beyond awaited, harsh and unforgiving—but he was prepared, even if he did not yet know why.