While the disciples were busy gathering information about the Bloodshed Hall, Mu-hui sat on his bed, deep in meditation. With his eyes closed, countless sword techniques he had mastered over the years flashed through his mind.

The Curved Horse Sword Technique.

The Twelve Moon Scattering Swords.

The Jinra Sword Technique.

The Luring Kill Sword.

And dozens more.

Most were techniques from the unorthodox sects, but there were a few from the orthodox sects as well. Some manuals he had purchased with money, others he had taken from the bodies of those he had defeated in life-and-death duels.

He had learned every sword technique he could get his hands on, modifying and combining them to create something new. After years of mastering and discarding countless techniques, the Sword Demon finally settled on one he had created himself.

He named it after himself: Dokgoheon.

It was a name given to him by a wandering Taoist in exchange for a few coins.

“Seems like you’ll live a life of solitude, unable to form any meaningful connections. I’ll give you the name Dokgoheon—’Dokgo’ for solitude, and ‘heon’ for fleeing.”

“Dokgoheon? It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yes, Dokgoheon. When solitude trips you up, find a way to escape. I sense you won’t stop even when you’re out of breath, so it’s a fitting name.”

At first, the Sword Demon didn’t like the name. Fleeing? He wanted to fight, not run. Why should he have to run from anything?

So he attached “Dokgo” to his sword technique, not to flee from solitude, but to cut it down if it dared to follow him.

He poured his life and beliefs into the name of his sword technique.

Thus was born the Sword Demon’s ultimate technique: the Dokgo Sword Technique.

Reflecting on the Dokgo Sword Technique, Mu-hui recalled the Six Harmonies Sword. Then came the Falling Plum Sword, the Ten Thousand Fragrance Sword, and the Wind Farming Sword, each filling a corner of his mind with the martial arts of the Mount Hua Sect.

In his past life, he had completed the Dokgo Sword Technique, but he never considered it finished. Mu-hui firmly believed that with the right effort, the Dokgo Sword Technique could evolve even further.

‘How can I make these techniques complement each other?’

If the foundation of Mount Hua’s martial arts was harmony, the foundation of the Dokgo Sword Technique was practicality—killing the enemy quickly and efficiently.

As a result, the Dokgo Sword Technique became more straightforward, and the sword grew heavier. Striving for a single decisive strike, the technique naturally embodied the essence of weight and strength.

‘The Six Harmonies of Mount Hua and the Dokgo Sword Technique may not seem compatible, but that’s just a prejudice.’

A sword can contain anything. It all depends on the skill of the one wielding it. If you impose limitations on the sword, those become its boundaries.

As Mu-hui was introducing Mount Hua’s martial arts to the Dokgo Sword Technique, a sound from outside interrupted his meditation.

“Senior Brother, it’s Mu-jin. May I come in?”

“Enter.”

Mu-jin, followed by Mu-cheol and Mu-hwa, entered Mu-hui’s room. They looked like they had been wandering around the city.

“Senior Brother, you said you’d be moving separately, but you weren’t just staying in your room while we were out, were you?” Mu-hwa asked with a teasing squint.

Mu-hui chuckled. “I bet the information I gathered is the most useful.”

“You’re not denying it, Senior Brother.”

Mu-hwa plopped down in front of Mu-hui, pouting, and Mu-jin and Mu-cheol took their places beside him. The disciples gathered around Mu-hui and began to share their findings.

“Since the Bloodshed Hall set up shop, life has gotten tough. They’re extorting money under the guise of protection fees, causing disturbances, and even running gambling dens to exploit the common folk.”

“It seems all the members of the Bloodshed Hall have learned martial arts. Even if it’s just third-rate skills, they’re not to be underestimated compared to ordinary thugs.”

Mu-cheol sat silently in meditation, while Mu-hwa and Mu-jin took turns sharing the information they had gathered through their efforts.

Mu-hui nodded in satisfaction, comparing it to the information he had obtained from the Beggars’ Sect.

“You’ve managed to gather some useful information. Not bad for a day’s work.”

Though Mu-hui already knew most of it, he was impressed by what the inexperienced disciples had managed to uncover. Gathering valuable information wasn’t just about legwork, especially in less than a day. It required a keen focus on the essentials.

Their efforts showed they hadn’t just wandered aimlessly around the city.

“But judging by your expressions, it seems your resolve hasn’t changed.”

Mu-hwa, having seen firsthand the plight of the common folk under the Bloodshed Hall’s tyranny, and Mu-jin, realizing the danger posed by the martial arts-trained members, both nodded firmly.

“Of course, Senior Brother.”

“Indeed.”

The two disciples, who had previously judged the unorthodox sects based on stories and the experiences of their seniors, now wore more determined expressions than the day before. They exchanged a glance, each trying to assert their perspective.

“Mu-jin, we train and grow stronger so we can draw our swords in times like these.”

“Mu-hwa, following the path of righteousness is important, but I believe we must first consider ourselves and our fellow disciples.”

Mu-hwa leaned towards ideals, while Mu-jin leaned towards practicality—a common dilemma for young martial artists with little experience in the martial world. The idealistic dreams nurtured within the warm confines of their sect often clashed with the harsh realities of the martial world.

It was a choice that varied with each person’s nature, and no one could say which was right.

Mu-cheol, who had been listening silently like a statue, turned to Mu-hui and asked, “Senior Brother, what do you think?”

At Mu-cheol’s question, Mu-jin and Mu-hwa paused their argument and looked at Mu-hui.

“The reason you’re arguing is because you’re weak. Just become stronger, and that’s that.”

Most martial artists, after experiencing the martial world, draw a line between their ideals and reality. They live within that boundary, never crossing it.

The ideals of a martial artist could be acts of chivalry, unrivaled prowess, unifying the martial world, achieving the highest martial arts, or acquiring rare elixirs, wealth, and beauty. The possibilities were endless.

But Mu-hui believed there was no need to draw such a line. If you became strong enough to break the boundary between ideals and reality, that was enough.

In his past life, he had relentlessly pursued breaking that boundary, and he was doing the same now. This was Mu-hui’s understanding of the martial world and his path.

“I’ve decided to crush the Bloodshed Hall.”

Mu-hwa beamed with joy, while Mu-jin looked worried. Mu-cheol, as usual, remained expressionless.

Seeing the varied reactions of his disciples, Mu-hui smirked.

“Beyond any other reason, the unorthodox sect members make excellent real-world opponents for fledgling martial artists.”

The Bloodshed Hall would be the disciples’ first real battle. The previous attack by the Black Night Palace didn’t count, as the elders had intervened before the disciples could even draw their swords.

‘You have to shed some blood to grow stronger.’

The disciples all shared the same thought as they watched Mu-hui’s sly smile.

“Senior Brother, isn’t this too dangerous?”

“It would be for you alone. But with me here, it’s not dangerous at all.”

Despite Mu-jin’s continued protests, Mu-hui, having made up his mind, was unmoved. When Mu-hui began discussing the information he had gathered, Mu-jin fell silent, impressed by the quality of the information and surprised that Mu-hui, who had never left the mountain since joining the Mount Hua Sect, had thought to obtain information from the Beggars’ Sect.

‘How does Senior Brother…’

Mu-jin felt the gap between himself and Mu-hui growing ever wider.

* * *

“Why is everyone so excited?”

“I heard the disciples of the Mount Hua Sect are going to teach those Bloodshed Hall thugs a lesson.”

“Is that true?”

The old man selling sweets turned his head to look down the street, where the backs of the Mount Hua disciples were visible.

Four young disciples walked confidently, their black sleeves embroidered with red plum blossoms catching the eye with every step. The blossoms seemed to sway in the breeze as they moved.

“But they look so young. Will they be alright? The Bloodshed Hall members have all learned martial arts.”

“Ah, but look at those plum blossoms on their sleeves. Even if they’re young, they’re disciples of the Mount Hua Sect. Seeing those disciples reminds me of the days when the Flower Pavilion was still around.”

“Those were good times.”

“I’ve been longing to see those thugs driven out, and it looks like my wish is finally coming true.”

The merchants assumed their words wouldn’t be heard from a distance, but the senses of a martial artist were far sharper than the common folk imagined.

‘Hmm, they want it done as soon as possible…’

Mu-jin, overhearing the merchants’ conversation, sighed inwardly. Even just heading towards the Bloodshed Hall had the townspeople buzzing with excitement.

Mu-jin hadn’t realized how high the townspeople’s expectations were for the Mount Hua Sect. If they had followed his suggestion to merely gather information and plan for the future, it would have taken much longer to deal with the Bloodshed Hall.

Even though he still believed his approach was rational, he began to see some merit in Mu-hwa’s choice.

As he pondered this, Mu-jin looked at Mu-hui, who was walking a step ahead. His back seemed broader and more solid than before.

Though not as imposing as Mucheol, it was rare to find someone among the senior disciples with such a robust build.

It seemed true that these senior disciples spent most of their days in rigorous training.

“He’s changed a lot, hasn’t he?” Mu-hwi thought, recalling the whispers of the merchants and the last words Mu-hwi had spoken before they parted ways the previous day.

“The Black Path offers a good chance for real combat experience, but if we don’t crush them now, the common folk will be disappointed.”

At the time, Mu-jin hadn’t understood why the merchants would be disappointed. It wasn’t as if they were ignoring the Black Path entirely, just postponing dealing with them.

Mu-jin glanced around at the merchants once more. Yesterday, he had roamed the city, receiving their warm hospitality, which he had attributed to the prestige of being a disciple of the Mount Hua Sect. In Shaanxi, especially near Mount Hua, the influence of the sect was immense.

“They were expecting us to step in,” he realized. “It’s not just about repeatedly helping the weak and tending to the people’s needs. True chivalry begins with understanding the heart before taking action. Only then can one truly walk the thorny path of chivalry.”

“Mount Hua may pursue chivalry, but it’s no easy task,” he mused. Things he hadn’t noticed before became clear after hearing the senior disciple’s words. The senior disciple seemed to view things from a perspective different from his own.

“He’s a mystery. Has he changed, or did I never truly know him?” Mu-jin wondered. Initially, he had been confident that he could overpower Mu-hwi with his skills, no matter how much Mu-hwi struggled. But recently, as he spent more time with Mu-hwi, that confidence had begun to wane.

“Here we are,” Mu-jin said, following Mu-hwi’s back as they walked. They had arrived at the Bloodstained Hall, a place rumored to have been built on the ruins of the Flower Gate, which the Bloodstained Hall had partially restored for their use.

“Using the same site, how audacious,” Mu-hwi muttered, a cold smile playing on his lips as he looked at the sign where the Flower Gate’s plaque once hung, now replaced by the Bloodstained Hall’s.

With a smile still on his face, Mu-hwi strode forward. There was no one guarding the entrance, so he reached the main gate of the Bloodstained Hall without any hindrance and slowly extended his hand.

Boom!

“That’s our senior disciple for you!”

“Hmm…”

“……”

Mu-hwa clenched his fist with excitement, his eyes sparkling, while Mu-jin furrowed his brow in surprise, letting out a small sigh. The disciples had expected Mu-hwi to simply open the gate, but as soon as his hand touched it, the gate shattered with a thunderous crash.

Amidst the cloud of dust and scattered wood fragments, Mu-hwi turned to the disciples and said, “When you invade another sect, it’s the way of the martial world to break through the front gate. Remember that well.”

Mu-hwi’s adherence to the martial world’s customs seemed to have worked, as a commotion erupted from within.

“What was that noise?”

“The main gate has been smashed to pieces!”

“I haven’t even had breakfast yet, who the hell are these bastards?”

The Black Path members emerged from various corners of the compound, their faces fierce with anger at the early morning disturbance, weapons in hand.

Seeing this, Mu-hwi’s lips curled in satisfaction. “How convenient that they gather themselves without us having to hunt them down.”

End