Yoo Sanghwa's breath hitched. He stared at the boy, then at the scattered acupuncture needles embedded in the carriage walls. Elder Ma, usually a man of quiet composure, looked as though he had seen a ghost, his wise eyes wide with profound astonishment. The spontaneous transformation, the ethereal glow, the silent expulsion of the needles – it was clearly an enlightenment, a pivotal breakthrough that martial artists spent decades, even lifetimes, striving for. But for this child, this nameless, abused street orphan, to achieve it without any prior cultivation and in the space of a single day? It defied all understanding, all known martial principles.
"Enlightenment," Elder Ma finally breathed, his voice a reverent whisper. "A true, complete enlightenment. But... without training? How is this possible? Martial masters spend decades, their lives dedicated to this path, and many gain nothing. To achieve such a state, and so rapidly, is simply unheard of." His gaze drifted to Sanghwa, seeking an answer neither of them possessed. The boy's complete merge with nature energy, the dissolving of his own qi signature – it was an almost perfect state, reached through an impossible shortcut.
Sanghwa felt a surge of exhilaration, cold and sharp as a winter wind. He had witnessed the phenomenon firsthand – the boy's body purifying, his energy signature dissolving, his very presence becoming one with the world. This wasn't merely talent; this was monstrous, unfathomable genius.
"Boy," he began, his tone carefully neutral, masking the turbulent storm of ambition brewing within him. "What is your name?" He needed to know, to ascertain if this divine gift had somehow fallen into the hands of an existing righteous faction.
The boy blinked, his newly intelligent eyes holding a depth that belied his physical age. A faint, innocent smile touched his lips, almost apologetic. "Name?" he echoed, his voice a soft rustle, still weak but clearer. "I… I do not have a name. No one ever gave me a name."
Sanghwa's internal tension eased. An orphan, untainted by the righteous factions. He could mold this boy, forge him into the ultimate instrument of the Crimson Shadow Sect's resurgence. He did not press on the specifics of his enlightenment, for Elder Ma was right – its acquisition was fundamental, unreplicable. To harness this unparallelled genius, this stroke of sheer luck, was now his singular focus.
"Then from this day forward," Sanghwa declared, his voice firm, resonant with new purpose, "you shall be called Jin Yul." Jin, for the gold found in barren lands; Yul, for the law, the rhythm, the flow. A name befitting one who had mastered the ultimate rhythm of nature. "You will come with us to the Crimson Shadow Sect."
He then gestured to one of his two elite royal guards, a towering figure named Hwang Chil, whose face was usually carved from granite. "Hwang Chil, take Jin Yul to the designated lodging."
Hwang Chil, for once, showed a flicker of surprise, but quickly bowed, leading the now named Jin Yul from the carriage. The boy, Jin Yul, walked with a newfound lightness, his steps almost silent.
As they neared the entrance to the sect's temporary living quarters, a small group of people stood waiting. Hwang Chil cleared his throat. "This is Jin Yul. From this moment, he is under the direct protection of the Patriarch. You are assigned to his service."
Among them, Li Mei, a woman with kind eyes and capable hands, stepped forward, offering a small, deferential bow. "Welcome, Young Master Jin. I am Li Mei, and I will see to your daily needs, including meals and cleaning." Beside her stood Kang Dae and Choi Eun, two sturdy men whose stern gazes barely softened, even as they offered their greetings. These were the two royal guards assigned to 'observe' Jin Yul, their true task being to subtly monitor his unique abilities. Following them were Xiao Bao and Hong Lu, two younger, more timid individuals, who would serve as temporary helpers, assisting Li Mei with various chores, fetching supplies, and running errands.
Jin Yul merely nodded, his gaze sweeping over them, instantly assessing their qi flows – the quiet strength in Li Mei, the contained martial power of Kang Dae and Choi Eun, the youthful vibrancy of Xiao Bao and Hong Lu. He could feel the slight tension in the air, the undercurrent of resentment at his presence. He was an outsider, brought in during a time of immense humiliation for their sect.
The news rippled through the Crimson Shadow Sect like wildfire: the Patriarch had returned from the Orthodox Alliance Hall, defeated and humiliated, yet he had brought back a boy from righteous territory. The whispers turned to murmurs, then to outright grumbles. The Crimson Shadow Sect, once the formidable vanguard of the Unorthodox Alliance, now found itself clinging to existence, a mere shadow of its former glory.
The Orthodox-Unorthodox War had left them broken, not just physically, but spiritually. Their mighty leader, the Abyssal Shadow King, was dead, his body denied proper rites, a profound insult. They had lost vast swathes of their most fertile lands, rich with resources and strategic importance. The other Unorthodox factions, instead of offering solace or support, merely looked on with thinly veiled contempt, seeing the Crimson Shadow as the ultimate scapegoat for the entire alliance's failure. It was a politically volatile environment. The sect was vulnerable, surrounded by opportunistic vultures, both within and without.
Meanwhile, in the small, spartan lodging assigned to him, Jin Yul sat cross-legged, a serene expression on his face. He felt none of the awkwardness of adjusting to a new environment; his entire life had been a constant state of adjustment for survival. His focus was entirely inward, on the miraculous art that flowed through him. The small dantian, once barely able to hold a wisp of qi, had expanded significantly from the constant, effortless absorption and assimilation of nature energy. He understood that he didn't need to draw upon the stored energy in his dantian for most functions, as he could freely manipulate the qi surrounding him. Yet, he still experimented, testing the limits, trying various methods to see how the 'Heavenly Qi Art' interacted with traditional cultivation concepts. There was no established circulation method for this boundless flow, and he was, in essence, writing the book as he went along.
His senses were razor-sharp, his mind clear, and his body felt refreshed, revitalized in a way he had never known. The stark truth was chilling: in a single day, he had transcended from a useless, starving orphan to a first-rate martial artist, perhaps even beyond.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Li Mei's gentle voice drifted through the door. "Young Master Jin, the Elder Council has called for a general assembly. All members are to gather in the Great Hall."
Jin Yul rose, his movements fluid and silent. He followed Li Mei through the winding passages of the sect, his eyes taking in every detail – the tense faces of the passing disciples, the architecture, the faint scent of old blood and ambition that permeated the air.
He reached the Great Hall, a vast, echoing chamber, already packed with hundreds of Crimson Shadow warriors, their faces grim and expectant. At the far end, a raised platform served as a stage, and upon it stood Yoo Sanghwa, his presence commanding, his expression a storm cloud of suppressed fury. The nine elders sat on either side of him, their faces equally stony.
Sanghwa began to speak, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade. "Brothers and sisters of the Crimson Shadow Sect! We have suffered a grievous defeat. The Orthodox Faction, in their arrogance, has not only claimed victory but has thoroughly mocked us, turning us into a laughingstock among both Orthodox and Unorthodox factions alike! This… this is the greatest humiliation our great sect, in its long, glorious history, has ever had to face!" His voice rose, raw with anger. "They denied us even the dignity of retrieving the body of our fallen leader, the Abyssal Shadow King!"
A collective gasp swept through the hall, followed by a low, guttural growl of anguish and rage. The news, though whispered, had not been officially confirmed, and its public declaration now ignited a furious fire in the hearts of every warrior present. Even the eyes of the nine elders, usually stoic, burned with fierce, unyielding defiance.
Sanghwa's gaze swept over the enraged faces. "But hear me now!" he thundered, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "When the chance falls, we will exact our revenge! For that revenge, we will do anything!"
A roar erupted from the assembled warriors, a primal scream of shared pain and vengeance.