Crack!

A small spark leapt from the fire as the twigs tossed into the flames crackled and shifted. Mu-hwi, standing watch, gazed into the campfire, his face bathed in its warm, flickering glow.

“How much longer until I can finally wield the Plum Blossom Sword?” he mused.

The strength of the Hwaga Forge lay in its ability to produce high-quality weapons in a short time. When crafting the Plum Blossom Sword, all other work ceased, and the forge’s full attention was devoted to its creation.

The sword’s production had begun before Mu-hwi descended the mountain, and now, after some time wandering the martial world, it must be nearing completion.

“I hope I can get it soon.”

Mu-hwi had already mastered the three sword techniques: Falling Plum, Gentle Breeze, and Fragrant Blossom, along with their derivatives. With his roots and trunk firmly established, it was time to reach for the branches—the Plum Blossom Sword Technique.

“Only by mastering the Plum Blossom can one truly be a swordmaster of Mount Hua.”

Lost in thought, Mu-hwi’s eyes gradually softened.

“What the hell?”

As he spoke, two dark projectiles hurtled toward him from behind. Mu-hwi spun around, catching them mid-air.

“Blackened daggers. No poison, it seems.”

In an instant, he assessed the weapons, then crossed his arms, sending the daggers back in the direction they came.

Thud!

The sound of bodies hitting the ground echoed from both sides. The disciples, roused from sleep, grabbed their swords.

“Senior Brother?”

“Uninvited guests,” Mu-hwi replied.

The disciples formed a circle around the fire, watching each direction with vigilance. The forest, shrouded in darkness, was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fire. It was as if the recent attack had been a mere dream, yet they remained on high alert.

Assassins are patient hunters, waiting for their prey to tire and falter. But Mu-hwi had no intention of playing into their hands.

Swish!

He swung his sword horizontally, unleashing a powerful wave of energy, then followed with a diagonal slash, widening the attack’s range.

Among the sound of trees being cut and falling, there was a distinct, unsettling noise—the sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling.

“Pathetic fools.”

Mu-hwi hadn’t swung his sword blindly. His senses, extending into the forest, detected the hidden assassins.

Though his perception was sharp, the assassins’ skills were lacking compared to his.

“Hold your positions,” he commanded, then dashed into the forest, cutting down the assassins.

Thud!

He drove his sword deep into the ground, pulling it out to reveal bloodstains. With a flick of his left hand, he disrupted the trajectory of incoming projectiles, causing them to collide and fall harmlessly to the ground.

“Keep hiding. I’ll find and cut you all down.”

Mu-hwi sliced through the shadows, severing a head that rolled away. His eyes gleamed with determination as he advanced, each step leaving a trail of blood.

The assassins realized too late that Mu-hwi had overturned their carefully laid plans.

Rustle!

The forest erupted with the sound of leaves shaking violently. From every shadow, projectiles flew, and assassins charged at Mu-hwi.

The disciples, guarding other directions, saw the black-clad figures emerging.

“Assassins!”

“Watch out for poison on their weapons,” Mu-jin and Mu-hwa warned, handling the assassins with extra caution.

Mu-cheol, wielding a massive sword, filled the gap left by Mu-hwi, tearing through the attackers.

Satisfied with his disciples’ progress, Mu-hwi pressed forward. They were adapting to the situation without his constant guidance.

“Assassins fight differently from regular warriors. They’ll resort to suicide attacks without hesitation,” Mu-hwi warned, his voice carrying power.

He crushed an assassin’s spine underfoot, ignoring the sickening crack. The assassin remained silent, even as Mu-hwi severed his neck and deflected incoming projectiles with a gust of sword energy.

Most of the assassins’ attention was on him, allowing the disciples to handle the rest.

“The Nine Heavens Sect wouldn’t bother with us. If they sent anyone, it would be swordsmen, not assassins.”

Thud!

An assassin struck by Mu-hwi’s Plum Blossom Palm flew into a tree, never to rise again.

“Could it be the Great Sect Leader?”

But something felt off. There wasn’t enough information to be sure.

As Mu-hwi cut down more assassins, he expanded his senses. Something was amiss.

“Their skills are lacking, and they’re all small in stature.”

It was as if they were trainees sent on a mission prematurely.

They couldn’t even threaten the disciples, let alone Mu-hwi. Their only advantage was their numbers, over sixty in total.

Whoever sent them must have known the reputation of Mount Hua’s disciples. They couldn’t have expected such a ragtag group to succeed.

“Are they testing us, or trying to wear us down?”

Mu-hwi moved stealthily, cutting down assassins as he went, searching for answers.

Swish!

His steps were light, his sword movements effortless. The forest turned crimson in his wake.

The assassins watching trembled.

“He’s just a newly famous warrior, they said!”

But the figure before them was something else entirely.

Cold, terrifying, and distant.

A red aura seemed to shimmer around Mu-hwi, like the plum blossoms embroidered on his sleeves were mere bloodstains.

Thud!

An assassin emerging from the ground was pierced through the chest.

Mu-hwi’s gaze was icy, yet his presence radiated a fierce, burning intent.

The assassins felt as if they were willingly stepping into hellfire.

One of them, gritting his teeth, thought as he swung his dagger at Mu-hwi.

He was no mere disciple of a prestigious sect.

“A demon… like a sword demon.”

Mu-hwi’s sword cut through the assassin’s thoughts.

* * *

From a distance, a subordinate asked the Shadow Pavilion Master, “Is it wise to expend the trainees of the Assassin’s Guild like this?”

“They were all deemed unfit, destined for menial tasks. Better to use them here.”

“True enough.”

“Hmm, but he fights remarkably well.”

The Shadow Pavilion Master murmured, and the subordinate nodded.

They had confirmed that Mu-hwi had defeated both the ghostly assassins and the Iron Mountain Fist King’s disciple.

Ordinary warriors wouldn’t stand a chance. Deploying the Shadow Pavilion’s forces would be a waste.

So the Shadow Pavilion Master shifted tactics.

If the opponent was an assassin, not a warrior, striking from the shadows?

The Shadow Pavilion Master believed the young warriors, new to the martial world, might not handle an assassin’s attack well.

“Tsk. That’s why we invested so much in creating that village.”

The village Mu-hwi had passed was a hunting ground crafted by the Shadow Pavilion.

Traps and formations were hidden throughout, and the villagers were all assassins.

Despite their preparations, the Shadow Pavilion had wasted resources and time, forced to act hastily in the mountains.

“But, Master.”

“What is it?”

The subordinate glanced at the dying trainees, then turned away.

In the darkness, twenty elite assassins lay in wait.

Three of them could take down a top-tier warrior.

Unlike the bait being slaughtered by Mu-hwi, they were the true stars of tonight’s mission.

“Are you really going to kill them all? Didn’t the Master just want to assess his skills?”

The Shadow Pavilion Master chuckled.

“He said to assess, but didn’t specify their fate. It’s absurd to send forces just to gauge skills.”

The Master was lenient yet meticulous in his orders.

If he truly cared about Mu-hwi, he would have ordered them not to kill him.

To the Master, Mu-hwi was merely a fleeting curiosity, a momentary amusement.

“Not to me, though.”

The failure of the Daijeongmun mission was a devastating blow to his career. And to think it all fell apart because of a single posthumous index—it was even more infuriating.

Rumors were already circulating that he had botched the job because of the posthumous index, and his standing among the other lords was slipping.

There was a real possibility he might be demoted and lose his position next year.

“I have to make up for it this time. I’ve held on this long, I can’t just let go and give up my position.”

He planned to turn the failed interference with the Daijeongmun event into a new achievement by linking it to the elimination of Mu-hui’s group, which he framed as a necessary action to remove potential threats for future expansion into the western regions.

The recent fame he had gained under the moniker “Volcanic Conflict” would lend weight to his report to the higher-ups.

“Less than twenty remain. Shall we start preparing?”

As Amhun Gakju and his subordinate conversed, the ground and trees around Mu-hui turned a deep crimson.

“Even if they fell behind, they were trained assassins, yet they couldn’t land a single blow.”

It wasn’t just Mu-hui; the other disciples of the Volcano Sect were in the same state. They seemed to have only exhausted their stamina and inner strength.

“Tsk, no wonder I was demoted. They said even if you just injure them, you’d get another chance to train at the Salseongdong.”

Amhun Gakju’s eyes widened as he watched Mu-hui, who stood with his sword lowered, unscathed.

For a moment, it felt like Mu-hui had locked eyes with him.

But then Mu-hui turned his head naturally to face an assassin attacking from the left, and Amhun Gakju dismissed it as a coincidence.

Suppressing his unease, Amhun Gakju raised his right hand.

His hand moved silently towards Mu-hui.

In the darkness, the waiting assassins began to reveal themselves and move.

* * *

The assassins’ ambush.

It was his first time experiencing such an attack, and it was slightly disorienting.

They emerged from unexpected places, exploiting gaps, and threw unfamiliar weapons.

But as he calmly swung his sword in response, he realized something.

No matter how unconventional or unfamiliar the attacks were, as long as he blocked and deflected them, they were no different.

In fact, facing assassins required even more composure and awareness of the situation.

The clumsy skills of the assassins inadvertently gave the disciples time to adapt and understand what it meant to face such foes.

As they grew accustomed to the assassins’ attacks, Mu-hwa began to notice things he hadn’t seen before.

“Senior brothers…”

Mu-hwa spoke after cutting down the last assassin who had lunged at him with a spear.

“We know.”

“……”

The bodies of the assassins around them.

Each one was similar in build to Mu-hwa or smaller. Knowing what that meant, Mu-hwa’s brow furrowed.

“Those bastards.”

Mu-hwa’s weak mutterings dissipated into the air as Mu-hui returned, having single-handedly slaughtered over forty assassins.

Mu-hui’s robe was stained with blood. He surveyed the scene, seeing his fellow disciples in the same state.

The number of assassins’ bodies scattered around was about twenty. All of them had been killed by the disciples.

“Why the long faces?”

It was the first time they had taken so many lives in one place, and the air around the disciples was heavy.

The smell of blood wafting around seemed to induce nausea, and their expressions were far from pleasant.

“Don’t blame yourselves for cutting down those who were our age or younger. If you hadn’t, you would have been the ones to die.”

Despite their clumsy skills, the assassins charged desperately, undeterred by the deaths of their comrades.

Like well-trained hunting dogs.

They must have been indoctrinated from a young age or promised some great reward.

Showing mercy would have only resulted in bloodshed.

“Once you take up the sword and enter the martial world, it’s something you’ll have to bear for life.”

The martial world wasn’t a place where everything could be approached with compassion and sympathy.

That was the nature of the martial world.

“That’s what it means to be a martial artist, right?”

Mu-hwa’s words were met with a silent nod from Mu-hui.

Mu-hwa was outwardly lively and bright, but he had a surprisingly tender side.

Unlike Mu-jin and Mu-cheol, Mu-hwa had seemed like he might waver, but his response was unexpectedly resolute.

“And…”

Mu-hui turned swiftly, swinging his sword wide.

A gust of wind rose, scattering the rain of silent feathered needles.

“It’s not over yet. Stay alert.”

The twenty assassins that Amhun Gakju had carefully reserved were now extending their hidden hands towards Mu-hui’s group.