Mount Sohwa was naturally smaller than a volcano, but when considered on its own, it was quite a formidable mountain. The Sohwa Mountain Lodge was nestled halfway up its slopes, with a series of pavilions spread out like a small fortress. This strategic location had once served as a crucial stronghold against the Black Night Palace during the Xianxi Blood War.

As Mu-hui gazed at the high walls of the lodge stretching along the ridge, memories of the past flooded back. Though the walls had been repaired, faint scars and fine cracks remained, reminders of those turbulent times.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Never thought I’d return like this,” Mu-hui mused to himself.

During the Xianxi Blood War, the Sohwa Mountain Lodge was one of the few safe havens where one could rest without worry. With its long history, the lodge was expansive, housing not only the Huashan Sect disciples who had come to support but also refugees from nearby villages.

“Mu-hui, my young friend!” A familiar voice called out, welcoming Mu-hui and his companions as they headed to their assigned pavilion. Among the gathered sect leaders were the heads of the Seonhwa and Hwahon Sects.

“It’s been a long time, Sect Leaders,” Mu-hui greeted them with a respectful bow, which they returned with smiles.

“I was surprised to hear about the Huashan Incident, and now you’re known as the Sword Demon of Huashan. Truly impressive,” the Seonhwa Sect Leader said, beaming with pride as if it were his own achievement. The Hwahon Sect Leader stood quietly beside him, sharing in the joy.

“Come now, Seonhwa Sect Leader, don’t hog the conversation,” another leader chimed in, drawing laughter from the group.

The presence of the second-generation disciples of the Huashan Sect drew significant attention. Each of them exuded a strong presence, their every step measured and disciplined. It was clear that their deployment was not just for show, as they had already made a significant impact against the remnants of the Zhanlong Society.

“Earlier, we met under urgent circumstances and couldn’t properly introduce ourselves. I am the leader of the Yeonhwa Sect,” one of the leaders said, introducing himself. Mu-hui responded to each introduction with courtesy.

Watching Mu-hui interact with the leaders, his fellow disciples were quietly amazed. “The youngest was right. In the martial world, he’s so gentle, but with us, he’s completely different,” one of them thought, puzzled.

“It seems there are still many refugees in the lodge,” Mu-hui observed, sensing the presence of many people in the surrounding pavilions. The Hwahon Sect Leader nodded.

“We’ve sent many of the refugees to various sects, but there are still too many, and it’s hard to find places for them all,” he explained.

“And with the demonic sects drawing closer, it’s risky to assign martial artists to escort them,” the Seonhwa Sect Leader added.

It seemed the decision had been made to protect the remaining refugees at the Sohwa Mountain Lodge.

“As always, we must protect the civilians while we fight. We can’t give up, or we’d be no better than those demonic scum,” a voice called out from another direction, drawing the attention of Mu-hui and the leaders.

An elderly man with white hair approached, his body still robust beneath his long robe, a testament to years of training. He was the master of the Sohwa Mountain Lodge.

“Master, you’ve arrived,” the gathered leaders greeted him with bows, acknowledging his higher status within the sect.

“Still the same,” Mu-hui thought, glancing at the master’s hands, thick and scarred from years of martial arts. The Sohwa Mountain Lodge was unique among the Huashan affiliates for its focus on fist techniques, and the master’s hands were legendary for crushing the heads of Black Night Palace demons.

“Hmm,” the master murmured, studying Mu-hui and the second-generation disciples. “Better than we were in our youth. As expected of Huashan.”

He reached out and clasped Mu-hui’s hands. “Thanks to you, many of our disciples have returned safely. You have my gratitude.”

The master’s seasoned gaze was warm, and the second-generation disciples felt a new sense of connection. They realized that the relationship between the main sect and its affiliates was more than just shared martial arts; it was a bond, though they couldn’t yet fully understand its nature.

“I’ll have meals and physicians ready at your pavilion. If you need anything else, just ask,” the master offered.

“Thank you for your kindness, Master,” the disciples replied, relieved to unwind after their first real battle.

***

Mu-hui strolled through the Sohwa Mountain Lodge, taking in the sights. The forces from the Huashan affiliates, led by Hyun-baek, had set out to intercept the Zhanlong Society, which was approaching the mountain. The Guiyou Sword Sect, coming from the north, was expected to arrive in two days. The plan was to weaken the Zhanlong Society before they could join forces.

Mu-hui and the second-generation disciples remained at the lodge as a reserve force, tasked with protecting the lodge and the refugees. They had arrived three days ahead of schedule and immediately engaged in battle, so this was a chance to rest.

A sharp sound cut through the air, drawing Mu-hui’s attention. He turned to see Mu-jin training alone in the lodge’s martial arts hall. Mu-hui’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched.

“He’s more on edge than usual. Did something happen?” Mu-hui wondered. He recalled that Mu-jin’s demeanor had changed slightly since the previous night, after hearing about the Guiyou Sword Sect and Hyun-baek’s plan to leave a second-generation disciple behind as a precaution.

“Does he have some history with the Guiyou Sword Sect?” Mu-hui pondered, observing Mu-jin’s training before quietly moving on.

Mu-hui continued to explore the lodge, discussing strategies with the Yeonhwa Sect Leader and coordinating with the remaining martial artists. As the day turned to night, a full moon rose, casting a pale glow over the lodge.

Sitting atop the highest pavilion, Mu-hui sipped from a bottle of wine, setting it down as he noticed the night sky stirring. Despite the silence, he sensed movement.

With a swift motion, Mu-hui drew his sword, unleashing a crescent-shaped wave of energy. Three successive strikes cut through the air, igniting a series of explosions. It wasn’t an attack; it was a signal.

“Not thunder bombs, but fire bombs,” Mu-hui noted. Fire bombs were designed to create large blazes upon impact. As the explosions lit up the night, a group of intruders burst through the lodge’s main gate.

Dressed in black, the intruders moved with a slight hesitation, their plan to set the lodge ablaze and launch a surprise attack having been thwarted.

“Welcome, Narakbu,” Mu-hui’s voice rang out, addressing the intruders. Three martial artists entering the lodge looked up at him.

“How did you know we were Narakbu, young one?” an elder in a black robe asked, to which Mu-hui smirked.

“Narakbu, half of your martial arts are assassination techniques. I know how your hands itch at night,” Mu-hui replied.

The elder fell silent, but a man beside him spoke up. “Arrogant brat, who are you?”

“Even a worm like you should know to introduce yourself first,” Mu-hui retorted.

Grinding his teeth, the man glared at Mu-hui. “I am Wi Se-heon, son of Narakbu.”

Hearing the exchange, Mu-jin’s grip tightened on his sword, his eyes filled with a cold fury as he watched Wi Se-heon and the Narakbu warriors. Sensing something amiss, Mu-hwa and Mu-cheol glanced at Mu-jin.

“Brother?” Mu-hwa asked.

“Mu-jin, is something wrong?” Mu-cheol inquired.

But Mu-jin remained silent, his gaze fixed on Wi Se-heon.

“Haha! Mu-hui, you were right. I didn’t expect us to fall into a trap after just two days,” the Yeonhwa Sect Leader laughed, entering through the broken gate with his warriors, cutting off the intruders’ escape.

The old man watching the scene let out a deep sigh. The plan to lead a small, elite group to ambush the Sohwa Mountain Villa and join forces with the Janryong Society had fallen apart.

“Soju, our plan has gone awry. I intended to set the villa ablaze and kill just enough to make our point.”

Wi Seheon surveyed the people surrounding him with cold eyes before continuing.

“Then let’s just kill them all. I brought the Black Moon Unit and the two of you precisely to prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

The Black Moon Unit, consisting of thirty men, was a personal guard that followed Wi Seheon’s orders without question. The elders accompanying him were martial arts masters there to ensure his safety.

Though their numbers were few, Wi Seheon was confident they could sweep through any forces at the Sohwa Mountain Villa and escape unscathed.

The intelligence from Guyugeommun indicated that most of the Hwasan forces had left to confront the Janryong Society. Crucially, there was no one present who could match the two elders.

The old man gestured to another elder in a gray robe beside him, pointing towards the leader of Yeonhwamun.

“Elder Oh, take half of the Black Moon Unit and kill that man. Clear a path for our retreat. I’ll handle the front.”

“Understood, Elder Sa.”

Elder Sa, as he was called, then pointed to a figure on the roof.

“Soju, that arrogant young man seems to be the Hwasan Sword Demon. You should personally take him down and earn your glory. It would surpass the recent achievements of that brat from the Hell Division.”

Despite being surrounded, Elder Sa seemed as relaxed as if he were out for a nighttime stroll. His confidence in breaking through the encirclement was palpable, even reaching Mu Hui on the roof.

He didn’t bother lowering his voice, as if he wanted everyone to hear. Mu Hui, overhearing, let out a dry laugh.

“These senile old fools…”

In an instant, Mu Hui vanished from the roof, and Elder Sa’s eyes widened as he stepped forward.

Mu Hui, having stepped on the shadowy tiles, swiftly crossed the air to stand before Wi Seheon.

His right hand traced a crimson arc in the air.

The trajectory of his plum blossom sword aligned perfectly with Wi Seheon’s throat.

Thunk!

Elder Sa lightly pushed Wi Seheon back with a palm to his chest, while his left hand extended to block the plum blossom sword.

“Damn, that Hwasan brat!”

“Soju! Stay calm.”

Wi Seheon, pushed back, clutched his neck, struggling, while Elder Oh hurriedly staunched the bleeding.

“Hah…”

Though Elder Sa had managed to block Mu Hui, it was a moment too late, and blood was pouring from Wi Seheon’s neck.

The wound was shallow, not life-threatening, but had Elder Sa been a fraction slower, it would have been fatal.

‘Did I fail to catch the movement of a post-advanced martial artist and block it properly?’

Elder Sa, incredulous, stroked his beard and asked Mu Hui.

“Who are you?”

“Old man, didn’t you just call me the Hwasan Sword Demon?”

Mu Hui’s smile was laced with killing intent, sending a chill through Elder Sa, who quickly gathered his inner strength and unleashed a powerful strike.

Swoosh!

The sudden burst of energy was scattered instantly by the unique force that rippled like plum blossom petals. Elder Sa’s eyes, already wide, grew even larger.

“Such a well-laid plan, what a pity it didn’t work out.”

The plum blossom sword, having deflected Elder Sa’s left-hand strike, sliced through the night air with a crimson arc.