Baekhon's night was thick with mist, curling like smoke through the ancient jade corridors of the Murim Alliance headquarters. The city's lights flickered low, casting long shadows that seemed to move with a will of their own.
In a secluded chamber, hidden beneath layers of wards and silence, a figure stood alone—a blade in the dark. Jin Muheon.
Jin Muheon didn't announce his presence. He was never meant to be seen.
His black robes merged with the shadows, his eyes sharp as shards of obsidian, scanning every corner, every whisper.
This was not just a man. This was a weapon crafted in silence, honed by years of survival and loss.
His journey began in the wastelands, where the forgotten walked and the strong survived by the sharpness of their blade and the silence of their steps. An orphan, raised among mercenaries and outcasts, Jin Muheon learned early that the world favored the unseen.
No one knew his true origins. Some said he was the last heir of a fallen sect, erased decades ago by blood and betrayal. Others whispered darker stories—ghosts of assassins, cursed bloodlines, or even divine punishment.
Yet, none of that mattered when the blade struck.
Jin Muheon mastered every style he could find, blending swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, and stealth into a deadly ballet. His name became a ghost story whispered among soldiers and spies alike—the Silent Blade, a killer who left no trace but death.
When the Murim Alliance sought balance in a world unraveling, they extended an invitation—not as a reward, but a necessity. They needed someone who could see what others could not.
Jin Muheon accepted—not for loyalty, but for purpose.
Now, as the silent guardian of the Alliance's secrets, he was the first to smell the rot.
The scroll dropped by the beggar—a cryptic warning—was more than a message. It was a challenge.
"The blade is not in the crowd. The blade is in the room."
He moved swiftly, quietly gathering threads, watching trusted allies with cold eyes. The enemy was closer than anyone realized, hiding behind masks of loyalty.
Tonight, he would confront one such mask.
In a dimly lit hall, Jin Muheon awaited a visitor.
A man cloaked in the garb of the Orthodox faction—one of the Five Kings' closest advisers.
The tension was palpable.
When the adviser arrived, Jin Muheon's voice cut through the silence:
"You know why you're here."
The man nodded, sweat beading on his brow.
"I'm loyal."
Jin Muheon smiled—a blade's edge, cold and unforgiving.
"Loyalty isn't blood. It's action."
The meeting that followed was terse and cryptic. Words were weapons, and silence was a shield.
Jin Muheon revealed knowledge of secret movements, coded messages, and alliances twisted in shadow.
By dawn, the adviser left, shaken but alive.
But Jin Muheon knew the true war had only begun.
Back in the main hall, he reported to Kwon Seung:
"The snake in the room wears the face of trust. We cannot turn on one another… yet."
Kwon nodded.
"Then we sharpen the blades in secret."
Jin Muheon's eyes glinted.
"And when the time comes, I will be the shadow that ends the night."
The Silent Blade was ready.