The semifinal platform stood still, hushed in anticipation. From opposite ends, two figures advanced—neither hurried nor hesitant. Their steps were deliberate. The air between them rippled like tension held taut.
Ryul's thoughts: He's strong. Stronger than someone of his background should be. Why does Uncle Yeol favor him? Why does Elder Wu Cheng linger near him like a disciple, not a stranger? What makes him so special?
He exhaled slowly and drew his sword.
No more wondering. If there's an answer—I'll drag it out of him with steel.
Across the stage, Blue tilted his head, loose strands of hair shifting with the wind. He didn't draw right away. He simply looked—calm, quiet, knowing.
Blue's thoughts: Your blade's sharper than I remembered, Ryul. But can it cut through silence? Can it shoulder the weight of the answer you're chasing?
Their eyes locked.
No salute. No stance shared in tradition. Just the stillness before a storm.
Ryul lunged.
A burst of qi and polished steel—Wudang's Turning Willow Draw. Clean. Controlled. His sword moved in elegant arcs, slicing air with surgical precision.
Blue moved to meet him, his footwork gliding—measured, flawless. He didn't block. He flowed. Sliding inside Ryul's rhythm and then away from it. Like water rejecting the blade.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Steel met steel, but neither fighter pressed too far. They danced at the edge of danger, each blow more probing than punishing.
--
Above, Wu Cheng watched, arms behind his back. "Ryul's technique is flawless. But look at Blue. He's not just matching him—he's reading him."
Tang Yeol stood beside him, expression neutral. "He's measuring the weight of blood."
--
Ryul's thoughts: He's not struggling. He's reading me. Like he's seen this before. Like he knows me.
He narrowed his stance and shifted. His blade blurred—Seven Petal Sweep, followed by a twisting Echo Cut. Fast. Beautiful.
Blue sidestepped the first and parried the second with an upward flick of his jian, barely using force. The response wasn't Wudang. It was… refined. Older.
Ryul thought to himself in that moment that Blue parried "I trained that form until my feet bled...why isnt it enough?"
He struck again—this time high, then low. A feint turned real at the last second.
Ryul's brow furrowed. "Why does Uncle Yeol hover over you?"
Blue evaded both, gliding back.
Ryul pressed forward. "Why does Wu Cheng watch you like a favorite son?"
CLASH.
Blue's blade caught Ryul's mid-thrust and twisted, forcing him to reset. No retort. No expression.
"Why wont you fight me seriously? Is this pity? Or am i not worthy of your blade?" Ryul lashed out.
--
So-Yeon, watching from the stands, narrowed her eyes.
"Why is Ryul hesitating?"
The Sword Saint looked at Wu Cheng and Tang Yeol in confusion.
"That style… It looks like—Yoryeon?"
Wu Cheng answered softly. "Yes. He's almost mastered what we could not."
--
Ryul's breath grew ragged as his frustration bled into each strike.
"Why won't you speak?! What makes you so special?!"
Blue finally answered—with speed.
He surged forward, Flowing Steel footwork carrying him like a gust behind Ryul's guard. A low sweep aimed for Ryul's ankle—barely dodged. A second strike lashed upward, and Ryul had to pivot with a knee bent deep to avoid the counter.
Ryul's thoughts: That movement—no, that can't be… That's grandfather's footwork. So-Yeon showed me once. Only once.
He gritted his teeth and pushed off the floor with a blast of qi.
Their swords clashed mid-air—once, twice, then a blur of ten more strikes in rapid succession. Sparks snapped in every direction.
Ryul roared. "Answer me, damn it!"
Blue said nothing.
He let the silence carry weight. Let the unanswered question settle.
And then… he pushed.
His sword no longer danced—it pressed. Each strike now came with intent. Measured power. Rhythm broken. Control abandoned.
Ryul backpedaled, eyes wide. Blue was pushing him into corners, into forced parries and bad angles. He couldn't breathe between the strikes anymore.
Ryul's breath grew heavy. Arms ached. Sweat dripped into his eyes. But he kept going.
He deflected a blow, but Blue's foot landed behind his. A sweep knocked Ryul's balance off. He staggered—and that's when Blue stepped in.
Blue's jian rose—not for a slash, but a tap.
CLACK.
Blue hit Ryul's forehead with the hilt of his Jian. Just enough to catch his attention. The other hand grasping Ryul's wrist as he leaned in close, voice just above a whisper.
"If you want answers? Ask your uncle. Little brother."
Ryul froze.
His blade slipped from his hand.
His knees followed.
He barely felt them hit the platform.
Little brother…?
His mind couldn't catch up. The words echoed louder than the applause building in the distance.
"I… yield," Ryul whispered, eyes still locked on Blue's.
The arena broke into hushed murmurs.
So-Yeon, arms crossed, spoke lowly.
"That wasn't a fight. That blue kid...there is more to him than I thought."
The Alliance Leader, irritated with what he just witnessed.
"A disappointment. That Silent Edge boy made a mockery of this tournament. He has one last chance, if he does this again in the finals...I will have to teach Silent Edge a lesson of respect."
But the Sword Saint only stared at Blue's retreating back, intrigued.
Blue strode into the tunnel, the roar of the crowd fading behind him.
Two figures waited in the shadows.
Wu Cheng leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. Beside him stood Tang Yeol, hands folded behind his back.
Cheng was first to speak. "Satisfied?"
Blue exhaled slowly, then smirked. "For now."
Cheng chuckled.
"Good. But there is someone wants to meet you."
Yeol stepped forward, voice low.
"Brothel. Eight o clock. Back entrance. Do try not to draw attention."
Blue gave a half-bow and walked off without another word.
Behind him, footsteps echoed—slower, heavier. Ryul entered the tunnel, head bowed, sword dragging loosely in his grip.
He passed them in silence.
Cheng placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You did well, boy. Much stronger than when I brought you to Wudang."
Ryul looked up, surprised, and met his uncle's gaze.
"That boy…" he began, voice hoarse, "He called me little brother."
Yeol's smile was tinged with something unreadable.
"In due time, nephew… in due time."
A pause.
"For now, rest."
Before Ryul could ask more, both elders turned and melted into the shadows, leaving him standing alone—caught between truth and the echo of a voice that shouldn't exist.
Back on the platform one of the elders of the alliance took center stage. "By order of the Martial Alliance Leader. The finals shall be delayed by three days!"
Shock. Whispers. Wide eyes filled the coliseum.
"It is the wish of our leader that both finalists fight at full strength. As Ilho of Silent Edge collapsed after his victory, time will be granted for recovery. Let this stage reflect skill and will...not a contest of who remains standing by accident.
The crowd held its breath and then broke out into a thunderous roar, cheers and applause.
The brothel's lanterns swayed in the wind like drunken fireflies, their glow casting warm, crimson shadows across the cobbled alley.
Blue stood just outside the doorway, staring up at the carved wooden sign swaying above. The scent of incense and cheap perfume drifted from within, laced with laughter, music, and murmurs thick with sin.
He exhaled. "A brothel… Really, Uncle?" He pushed the door open.
The moment he stepped inside, a curvy woman in a silk dress glided toward him, smile painted in crimson, eyes knowing. "You must be the young one they spoke of," she purred, looping her arm through his with a practiced grace.
Her perfume was sweet. Too sweet. "Come now, sir. They're waiting upstairs."
Blue stiffened as her body pressed against his arm. His ears turned red, but he said nothing, letting her guide him up the lacquered staircase, their steps muffled by velvet carpet.
"A brothel," he muttered again. "Why here of all places…"
They reached the third floor. The woman stopped before a velvet curtain trimmed in gold. Blue could see the shadows behind it—five figures, their postures relaxed. Laughter filtered through, low and familiar.
The woman leaned in close. "Try not to be shy. They're quite fond of you already." Then, with a smile and a wink, she drew the curtain back. Warm candlelight spilled out. Inside, a wide table sat at the center of the private room.
The Sword Saint lounged on plush cushions, arms draped around two stunning courtesans, wine goblet in hand, beard gleaming with oil. Across from him sat Elder Wu Cheng and Tang Yeol, both nursing cups of tea like it was wine, amusement written across their faces.
Blue blinked.
Wu Cheng looked up first. "Took you long enough." Tang Yeol raised his cup lazily. "Come enjoy the view with us."
The Sword Saint gave a wide grin, the kind that made younger disciples quake. "So this is the brat I've been hearing about."
Blue didn't move at first. His gaze drifted across the room—from the slouched figure of the Sword Saint wrapped in silk and sin, to the tea-drinking elders who looked far too amused for his comfort. "Why am I here?"
Wu Cheng chuckled, setting his cup down with a soft clink. "You have a trio now, don't you? Ilho. Jinhu. Yourself."
"We figured it was time you met our third." Tang Yeol gestured toward the man between two courtesans.
"This is—" "The Sword Saint," Blue interrupted, tone flat. "Namgung Gyeom" he paused, nostrils flaring. "Yeah. I know."
The courtesans tittered, but Namgung merely raised a brow and grinned wider, clearly enjoying the lack of reverence.
Blue remained standing. Yeol exhaled and leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. "He noticed my father's footwork in your match with Ryul."
Blue blinked. "You told him?"
"He asked questions," Yeol said. "He's not the type to sit idle when curiosity strikes. Said it haunted him how even his master never perfected it."
"So when he saw it in a boy half his age…" Wu Cheng stepped in, sipping tea again as if they were just talking weather. "Better we told him than risk him burning down Murim looking for answers."
He gave Blue a knowing look. "He's trustworthy. Blunt as hell, but trustworthy."
He gestured to the empty cushion beside him. "Sit."
Blue's gaze shifted toward the courtesans still draped around Namgung. He tilted his head slightly. With a snap of his fingers, the Sword Saint dismissed them. They slipped out without a word.
Blue leaned forward, his voice low. "So… you know who I am?" Namgung Gyeon nodded, eyes calm. "Yes. Tang Jiung."
Blue's fist clenched. "You're the one who threw a fit because my father refused to marry your sister. You're part of the reason he was exiled from the Tang Clan. Part of the reason he worked as a guard, and now dead. So what do you want with me?"
Namgung paused—surprised the wound still bled after all these years. "Boy…" he began, voice slow. "We live in a different Murim now. I'm not here to reflect on the past. But if you want to drag out old grievances from before you were even born…"
He moved. In an instant, his sword was at Blue's neck. "I can make sure you don't get reincarnated this time."
Blue didn't move. But his jaw tightened. Yeol and Cheng were both laughing now—unbothered. Namgung sheathed his blade, chuckling. "You're just like your father. And your grandfather. Stubborn as hell."
Blue didn't laugh. Namgung's expression softened slightly. "What do I want?" he said. "The same thing these two fools want." He leaned back. "There's something fishy going on behind the Alliance doors. And your growth—hell, it's not normal. Not even a little. Murim has lost a lot, and we old timers… we can't carry it forever. We need strength. Real strength. From your generation."
He looked Blue over, not unkindly. "And you. You mastered something even the three of us couldn't. So here's my offer." He sat forward now, tone firm. "You teach my son, Ryu. Let him incorporate Flowing Steel into his own footwork as we three have done. And in return—" His eyes narrowed. "I'll keep your secret. I'll keep your sister off your back. And since my little brother happens to be the Alliance Leader… I'll keep him off your trail too. I don't trust him. But he trusts me." A pause. "So. What do you say?"
Blue leaned into the Sword Saint "I say, I'm getting pulled into something i didn't ask for. I suppose its inevitable. But i didn't think it would happen so soon. I guess i can teach your son, as long as my two elders don't care."
Cheng leaned in, swirling his drink. "It's a win-win for us all. It buys you time to keep gathering strength. But more importantly… Blue, your strength alone won't bring results. You need alliances. Friends. And having Namgung as one—"
He grinned. "Well, you can't ask for any better." Yeol set his cup down and cleared his throat. "Speaking of friends… Ryul asked about you after the fight. Said you called him 'little brother.'
Blue leaned back, looking at each of them in turn. "I told him to come find you for answers during our fight." Blue said sternly. The Sword Saint tilted his head at Blue. "Is that why that fight was so boring. Were you testing your little brother?"
Yeol hung his head lower. "Do you think he can carry the weight of your secret Blue?" "He's strong enough," he said quietly. "Bring him to the barracks room the night before the finals. I want to tell him the truth. I do think he can handle it." He paused, eyes searching theirs. "Do you think I'm wrong?"
Namgung Gyeom barked out a loud laugh. "Boy, can we stop you either way?" Blue smirked. "Good." He rose to his feet, letting the air settle for a moment. "Oh—and one more thing before i leave."
He pointed at the three of them with the grace of someone absolutely fed up. "Can you stop fucking telling all of Murim about my secret?"
Yeol burst into laughter. Wu Cheng just raised his cup. Namgung, grinning, leaned back again. "No promises."
Blue groaned and rubbed his temples. "Unbelievable."
As Blue walked out he thought of how upset most people must be about his fight with Ryul, but for Blue he needed to test him and his resolve.
But In three days, Murim's stage will see what strength truly means.
Blue vs. Ilho.