Inside the tunnel just under everyone in Murim now packed into the coliseum two figures stood. Jinhu and Ilho could feel the tension in the air. The screams from all of Murim. They had drowned it all out. Ilho turned to Jinhu. "Lets give them a show they will never forget. Lets fight like we are sworn enemies."
Jinhu laughed. "No, let's fight like we are brothers!" Ilho gave a smirk. Both young men knowing they were going to fight until they couldn't anymore, not out of animosity, not out of fear or hate, but out of respect for each other.
--
The tension in the coliseum had shifted.
This wasn't just another quarterfinal.
This was something different.
Ilho vs. Jinhu.
The silent shadow versus the immovable mountain.
Above, Mu Jang leaned over the railing with a grin and slapped a pouch of coins onto Sa Gwan's lap.
"Ten says my boy craters yours before five exchanges."
Sa Gwan didn't blink. "Make it twenty."
Down below, Wu Jin stood with his arms crossed beside Wu Cheng, eyes locked on the stage.
"These two," Wu Cheng muttered, "couldn't be more different."
Wu Jin nodded. "One hides his power in silence. The other doesn't know how to hold it back."
"It's hard to call," Cheng added, rubbing his beard. "But no matter who wins, Silent Edge walks away with glory."
The announcer raised his hand.
A wave of hush fell over the crowd.
"Begin!"
Jinhu cracked his knuckles. Ilho spun his butterfly swords once and let them settle.
The two moved forward, no fanfare. No flourish. No trash talk. Just intent. They met at the center of the platform. And clashed. Fists and forearms. Blades and bone. Jinhu's hand shot forward-Ilho deflected it with the flat of his blade, spinning to the side, aiming for Jinhu's ribs. The mountain didn't budge. Jinhu caught the second blade between his palms, muscles tensing as if he meant to snap it in half. Ilho kicked off his chest to launch backward, skidding with dancer's grace across the stones.
The crowd roared.
Then they charged again. Boom. Boom. Boom. Each strike was a collision of philosophy. Jinhu didn't dodge-he absorbed. He didn't feint-he forced. Ilho countered with angles, slipping through cracks in form and posture. He moved like liquid shadow, but Jinhu's earthbound power met him at every turn. They locked up, shoulder to shoulder, pushing against each other-teeth gritted.
Above, Sa Gwan's eyes narrowed. "Ilho's being pushed."
Wu Jin's brow creased. "He's analyzing… watching Jinhu's flow."
Mu Jang was cackling. "That's right! Push the wall down, Jinhu! Give him the business!"
Wu Jin didn't even glance his way. "He won't break that wall."
Then—Ilho stepped back. Not retreating. Resetting.
Jinhu smirked. "What? Getting tired?"
Ilho didn't respond. He just sank lower into his stance. Shadows danced under his feet. Jinhu's aura flared, heavy and dense like falling rock. Both of them readied to go all in. The fight was just getting started.
---
Ilho blurred forward again, this time weaving between Jinhu's forearm and elbow-his butterfly blades flashing like twin arcs of moonlight.
Clang-clang-clang!
The strikes landed-ribs, collarbone, thigh-but each one barely sank in.
Ilho leapt back, blades loose in his hands, eyes narrowed.
"I can see where I should hit him," he muttered under his breath, lips barely moving.
"But his skin's so damn tough…"
Jinhu cracked his neck and grinned. "That tickled."
Ilho exhaled slowly. "Figures."
He surged again-this time, not with speed, but rhythm.
A slash to the thigh. A pivot. A feint to the chest. A step behind.
He was testing flow. Breaking down Jinhu's balance.
Wu Jin's eyes widened ever so slightly. "He's not trying to beat him head-on…"
Wu Cheng leaned forward. "He's trying to collapse the foundation. Like water eroding a mountain."
Jinhu planted his feet. Ilho's next flurry of strikes came at impossible angles-wrist, shoulder, behind the knee. Each one shallow-but stacking. Each one landing where the body resisted least. Ilho ducked under a sweeping arm and skidded past the mountain's left side, leaving another thin cut across his back.
Jinhu roared. "You're not getting through like that!"
BOOM!
He slammed his foot into the stone platform, the ground rippling with force. A shockwave burst outward-Ilho hopped back midair, barely avoiding being launched.
But not unscathed. Blood trickled from his forehead.
He wiped it with the back of his sleeve. "If I can't break the stone, then I'll cut it... one layer at a time."
Jinhu surged forward, fists like twin meteors.
Ilho disappeared to the side-Phantom Veil footwork in full flow. His body seemed to flicker, shimmer, reappear behind Jinhu's left.
The crowd gasped.
Even Sa Gwan sat forward. "He's doing it…"
Jinhu turned, but too late-two cuts, one across the hamstring, one across the bicep.
He grunted, but powered through-spinning mid-swing to elbow Ilho in the ribs.
The sound was sickening.
Ilho flew, skidding across the stones, but rolled up to a crouch.
His breath came hard now.
Jinhu wiped a hand across his bloody arm, teeth bared. "Still standing?"
Ilho rose fully, butterfly swords gleaming. His silhouette looked like a shadow born of dusk.
"Of course," he said, voice like quiet steel. "You haven't knocked me down yet."
The crowd erupted.
Above, Wu Jin's eyes glinted. "Both are adapting. But the next move will decide it."
Wu Cheng nodded. "And it won't be subtle."
------
Jinhu's eyes gleamed with something new.
Respect.
"I didn't think you would last this long," he said, lowering his stance. "Guess that means this should end soon."
Ilho's knees buckled slightly, but he steadied his breath. "I suppose it is time I end this."
Jinhu slammed both fists together. The sound echoed like rolling thunder. He exhaled deeply-Qi flooding his limbs-and stomped the ground with force that cracked the entire stage. Ilho squinted, already moving, tracing the broken lines. But Jinhu was faster now. He came in like an avalanche-each punch a cannon blast. Ilho ducked one, sidestepped two, but the third grazed his ribs, and the fourth-he blocked with both swords, only to be hurled back again.
CRACK.
Ilho slid across the platform, boots scraping stone, barely catching himself with one hand.
He coughed, spitting blood, then rose with shaking arms. "Still not enough…"
He slid into stance. Phantom Veil.
Everything slowed. The cheering faded. The pain dulled. He stepped in-not just to fight-but to finish. Eight cuts. Eight angles. One after another-he found the soft points, shallow slices, flowing like water around the mountain.
"His movements…," Jinhu murmured, dazed. "They're too-"
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-
Ilho's twin blades carved shallow arcs across Jinhu's chest, arms, shoulders. Not deep-but precise. Jinhu roared.
And then-
BOOM.
Jinhu drove a foot into the ground and launched a punch with his full body behind it. Ilho tried to parry, but the air warped around the force. The shockwave shattered the stage. Ilho flew twenty feet back, crashing into the far edge. Dust and debris filled the air.
Silence.
Everyone leaned forward. Through the settling haze-two silhouettes stood. Neither moved. The crowd held its breath.
And then...
Jinhu dropped to both knees. His body pitched forward and slammed face-first into the stone. Gasps exploded from the stands. The referee hesitated, stepped forward.
Ilho wavered, sword trembling.
Then the referee raised a hand.
"Winner: Ilho of Silent Edge!"
The crowd erupted.
But as the referee reached to lift Ilho's hand only to realize the boy wasn't responding. The silence was deafening.
He didn't react.
Closer now-they saw: Ilho was unconscious… standing straight up head hung low.
Eyes closed, body still.
Wu Jin and Sa Gwan appeared on stage in an instant. Mu Jang followed, eyes wide.
Sa Gwan gently caught Ilho before he collapsed. Mu Jang lifted Jinhu with one arm over his shoulder.
Wu Jin looked down at them—two warriors who gave everything.
He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
"That was amazing, you two," he said softly. "I'm proud. Now rest."
.Both boys opened their eyes just enough to hear his voice. Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Then their bodies went limp-carried off not as rivals, but comrades who forged something deeper through battle. A member of the Emei sect looked at one of her sisters. "Could you fight me like that?" The Sword Saint sat in silence, even his nephews didn't fight each other with such intensity. This was a fight that will be remembered in Murim for generations.
Blue sat leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes distant and thinking to himself. These two...They've gotten so strong, so fast. No system, no guidance. Just their own grit. And me? Am i just weak...or is there more to this system than I'm allowed to understand?
Next Semifinal fight: Blue vs. Ryul