The arena crowd still roared below, but within the private pavilion, silence hung like mist. Mu Jin, Tang Yeol, Wu Cheng sat around a table. So-Yeon, The Shaolin master, Baek Mu-Seon and the Sword Saint, Namgung Gyeom walked in to join them.
They sat around the table. Tea cooled. Only Wu Jin drank.
Namgung Gyeom exhaled, eyes still on the bracket projection.
"So. Three from the Silent Edge Corps. One of them likely to win it all."
Mu-Seon nodded. "The Demon Cult and Namgung both took a blow today. But the Alliance Leader… didn't even blink. In fact, he even moved the tournament up this year by 4 months. Amitabha."
Wu Cheng grunted, tapping his cane.
"He doesn't blink when he's winning either. That's what makes him dangerous."
Tang Yeol, arms crossed, frowned.
"There's a coldness to him lately. Strategy without soul. If the monsters were to reach us now...would he rally Murim? Or let the gates wide open?"
Wu Jin set his teacup down, voice flat.
"We should be careful speaking of the Alliance leader here. I suggest we meet again at the Silent Edge compound. Come as guests. We'll be celebrating our boys win or lose. That way, none of the Alliance's loyal dogs sniff too hard."
Namgung Gyeom cracked a rare smile.
"Tactful. If not clever."
Wu Cheng looked across the table to where So-Yeon sat, silent and cloaked.
"But before we go planning alliances and reunions, I must ask... Matriarch So-Yeon. Why wasn't the Tang Clan represented in this tournament?"
All eyes turned to her. So-Yeon didn't look up. She traced the rim of her cup once. Then spoke, her voice as calm and sharp as a poisoned blade.
"Because while the rest of Murim is busy measuring themselves, my people are fighting monsters."
"The Black Pines are growing. Monster activity is rising again near the old borders. I've dispatched three scouting teams."
"Let the Alliance play games and posture. I will not."
A pause.
"When the gates open again, they won't care who won a tournament."
Tang Yeol gave a subtle nod.
Baek Mu-Seon murmured, "Then you've seen what the others have ignored."
Namgung Gyeom leaned forward, brows furrowed.
"The Black Pines, you said?"
So-Yeon finally raised her gaze.
"Yes. The monsters seem to be gathering there. My teams are searching for the location of a possible gate."
She stood.
"That's all I came to say. I'll be at the Silent Edge compound. Should you still wish to discuss the future of Murim… I'll listen. But only if we speak as warriors. Not politicians."
Her cloak swept behind her as she left, boots silent on polished stone.
The pavilion stayed silent for a long moment.
Down at the arena the crowd erupts as Blue and Mu Gyeol make their entrances.
Wu Cheng sighed "Short lived as this meeting was, I look forward to a more open conversation about the situation at hand. For now lets head down and cheer on our boys."
The rest of the group nodded in agreement as they make their way to the stands of the coliseum.
The arena below buzzed with electric tension. Eight fighters remained, and the quarterfinals were about to begin.
High above the platforms, the Martial Alliance Leader sat beneath the crimson canopy reserved for those who shaped Murim's future. To his right stood Jaegal In, Head Strategist of the Alliance...robes sharp, gaze sharper.
Jaegal's arms were folded as he scanned the arena below.
"Ryul of Wudang is competent," he muttered, "but Namgung Ryu is the Sword Saint's son. This one won't last long."
The Alliance Leader nodded faintly. "I agree. Looks like my nephew will win...and Namgung will be victorious yet again."
Jaegal's eyes lingered on the names etched into the bracket. "It's possible, sir. But those Silent Edge boys… there's more to them than we think."
His gaze moved to a different name.
"Let's see how this Blue boy fairs against a demon."
Blue and Mu Gyeol stared at each other with a fiery anticipation. Blue's smile turned to an evil smirk, as he thought of retribution, redemption, and revenge for the humiliation he was dealt at the Alliance tryouts by the same person he faces now.
Neither bowed, neither acknowledged the official, both had drowned out the crowd and the yells from their masters.
The referee's hand dropped.
"Begin!"
Mu Gyeol surged forward, twin daggers flickering crimson, qi crackling like hungry flame.
Blue didn't retreat—he slid sideways, Edge of Dusk already drawn. He stepped in, blade arcing toward Mu Gyeol's ribs. The dagger scraped it aside, barely. Blue twisted his torso mid-step, spinning on his heel—a follow-up slash carved across Mu Gyeol's forearm.
Blood misted. The crowd gasped.
Mu Gyeol hissed. "Lucky cut."
"No such thing," Blue said flatly.
They clashed again.
Mu Gyeol ducked low, daggers in a whirlwind of rapid, brutal strikes. Blue pivoted, sidestepped, parried high, deflected low—his blade moved like it belonged to the wind.
A dagger grazed his ribs. Blue winced. Then struck back—his sword whispering across Mu Gyeol's jawline, cutting deep enough to leave a scar.
This wasn't the same Blue that Mu Gyeol humiliated at tryouts.
They broke apart—both bleeding. Both breathing hard.
"You shouldn't be here," Mu Gyeol spat.
Blue rolled his shoulder. "I was supposed to be dead, too. Guess we're both disappointed."
The next clash was louder. Harder.
Mu Gyeol threw a flurry of feints. Blue countered with Whispering Gale—his sword dipped low, then struck upward from an impossible angle.
Mu Gyeol blocked with both daggers—just in time. The force still knocked him back.
The crowd had fallen silent. No one expected this.
Mu Gyeol's pride cracked.
He rushed again—faster, messier. Blue met him with quiet precision. Strike. Parry. Twist. Cut.
Another shallow wound bloomed along Mu Gyeol's thigh.
He screamed.
"ENOUGH!"
He slammed both daggers into the arena floor.
Demonic qi erupted—crimson tendrils spiraling outward, warping the platform. The arena shields flared to life. Referees took cautious steps back. The heavenly demon himself sat forward in his seat, an evil grin adorned his face. He looked at the two masters next to him. "This is the end for that Silent Edge brat."
Blue held his ground—but the weight of the pressure bore down like a mountain.
[System Alert – Passive Gained: Calm Mind]
Effect: User maintains clarity and combat focus under spiritual pressure and emotional duress. +40% resistance to mental interference.
"When chaos rises, you remain the eye of the storm."
Blue's breathing evened.
His mind—clear.
His fear—gone.
"Thanks again, System." He thought to himself.
Mu Gyeol lunged again, daggers blazing.
Blue met him. He countered a wild thrust, then another. His blade carved a crescent slash, caught Mu Gyeol off-balance—then drove a kick into the man's sternum.
Mu Gyeol reeled.
Blue stepped forward. His sword flicked. Threading Pulse, the third form he had tried to perfect in secret. Not quite there yet. But the next three strikes were in perfect rhythm. Mu Gyeol fell to a knee. Bleeding. Panting. Blue raised his sword, tip aimed at his throat.
"Yield." Blue whispered.
Mu Gyeol growled, qi flaring again. "Demons don't yield. I'd rather die."
Blue kicked him across the face.
Mu Gyeol slammed to the ground.
Blue's Jian pressed against his neck—firm, final.
"Yield," Blue said again. "Throw away your pride. Unless you truly wish to die here and now."
A long pause.
Then—
"…I yield."
---
[Upper Pavilion – Sect Masters]
The Heavenly Demon stood abruptly, cloak billowing behind him.
"Is this what Murim's become?" he scoffed. Then turned and strode out, his aides scrambling to follow.
Across from him, the Wudang Patriarch and Mount Hua's Master sat stunned.
"…Wu Cheng," Mount Hua murmured. "What did you feed those three?"
The Wudang Patriarch didn't answer. He just laughed. Once. Quietly.
--
Namgung Ryu and Tang Ryul took the stage now. Ryul poised staring at Ryu. Ryu across from him looked….bored. He yawned, covered his mouth and said "Lets get this over with quick please, my tea is getting cold."
The gong struck.
Ryu of Namgung moved like a viper—blade forward, feet gliding. His sword pierced the space between them in a blur.
Ryul parried—but barely.
The next strike came faster. Then another.
Steel clashed in rapid succession. Ryul's wrists stung, his stance retreating. Ryu gave no space.
Strike. Parry. Advance. Cut.
Each form was perfect—sharp like a scholar's brushstroke, fast like a swallow diving. The Sword Saint's son fought with the weight of legacy, and he meant to crush Ryul beneath it.
Ryul blocked a vertical slash—and his knees buckled. Another swipe came low. He twisted out of the way, but a shallow cut bloomed along his ribs.
The crowd gasped.
High above, even the Wudang box fell silent.
Ryul exhaled hard. Sweat traced his jawline. Ryu hadn't even broken rhythm.
"You don't belong here," Ryu said, stepping forward with precision. "Go back to hiding behind robes and riddles."
Their blades clanged again. Sparks flew.
Ryu twisted his body, locking blades and shoving Ryul back. The Wudang disciple's feet dragged across the platform, heels scraping. Another strike—aimed to end it—came crashing down.
Ryul raised his sword and caught it—barely. The impact nearly dropped him. His legs trembled. His qi was fraying.
"Damn it... I'm slipping… I'm—"
Ryul gritted his teeth. Too fast. Too strong. I'm not enough—
"You may be with Wudang…"
The voice wasn't audible. It rippled through his dantian, riding the flow of his qi into his mind.
"…but you're still a Tang. Show him."
His heart jolted.
His gaze snapped up to the stands.
So-Yeon stood tall. Her hood was down. Her eyes, locked to his, were molten with intensity.
"You better not lose… brother."
That last word tore through him. Ryul's jaw clenched. In a single breath, he shoved Ryu back with a roar. His stance shifted—lower, grounded. Every strike Ryu threw now met sharpened steel and defiant strength.
Ryul surged forward. Not wildly—but with precision. A hidden fire now lit each motion.
The crowd gasped as the tide turned.
Steel clashed. Again. Again.
But now… Ryu was the one retreating.
Ryul's blade moved not just with technique, but with conviction. Each strike sharper. Each breath steadier.
The memory of Jiung's death. The years buried in Wudang. The ache of watching So-Yeon bear it all alone…
He hadn't run. He just hadn't been ready.
But now—
He parried a low sweep. Countered with a rising cut. Pivoted. Lunged. Ryu barely caught the edge, stumbling back. The crowd roared, half in disbelief, half in awe.
Ryu snarled. "You were nothing but a shadow in the Alliance."
Ryul exhaled. "Then let me show you how a shadow fights."
A final exchange. Ryul ducked beneath a slash, shoulder-checked Ryu's balance, and swept him off his feet. Before Ryu could rise, Ryul's blade rested gently against his neck. His free hand trembled — not from exhaustion, but release.
Ryu stared up at him. "...I yield."
---
[Spectator Booth – So-Yeon]
Ryul stood tall over the downed Namgung heir, his sword still in hand, his chest heaving. Across the arena, his gaze drifted upward. To her. So-Yeon sat still as stone.
Then—just for a heartbeat—she smiled. Small. Faint. But real, and gone before anyone could notice. But Ryul did. And it was enough.
---
[Blue – Silent Edge Box]
Blue leaned forward, eyes wide. He had never seen Ryul fight like that. A wicked grin stretched across his face. "Wait for me brother." He whispered to himself. "Let's see how strong you are in the Semifinals."
---
[High Above – Martial Alliance Leader]
The crimson canopy fluttered in the breeze. Namgung Hyeon watched the field quietly, a rare light in his eyes.
He muttered beneath his breath:
"…We have good prospects for him this year. I'm glad we moved the tournament up."
The official announced a 2 hour break before the last 2 quarter finals matches took place.
Next up Jinhu vs Hanjo.