Mu-hwi and Kang Ho-baek walked in the same direction, as if they had planned it all along.

Using the large, bright moon hanging in the night sky as their guide, they found themselves approaching a bamboo grove.

Swoosh!

The rustling of bamboo leaves, reminiscent of a sudden downpour, broke the stillness of the grove, bringing a sense of peace to their hearts despite the lingering effects of alcohol.

As they continued along the path through the bamboo, they came upon a spacious clearing.

Moonlight poured down, bathing the area in a gentle glow, making it brighter than its surroundings.

“This seems like a good place for a chat,” Kang Ho-baek murmured, gripping the worn sword at his waist.

Though the scabbard and hilt were battered and faded, the blade itself shone brilliantly, as if absorbing the moonlight, mirroring Kang Ho-baek’s own presence.

“It’s a fine sword.”

“My father entrusted it to me on the day our family was destroyed. It’s a sword meant only for the head of the family.”

There was an indescribable emotion in Kang Ho-baek’s touch as he caressed the scabbard, a weight of solitude that Mu-hwi could sense but not fully understand.

“I see.”

Mu-hwi grasped the hilt of his own plum blossom sword, its white blade exuding a presence that rivaled Kang Ho-baek’s.

“Let’s not use our inner strength, just the basics. Think of it as a conversation rather than a duel. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The two men stepped into the moonlit center of the clearing, their swords clashing lightly.

With that, Mu-hwi and Kang Ho-baek began their dance. At times fierce as if fighting for their lives, at others calm as if sharing tea, their movements were in perfect harmony.

They exchanged blows, observing each other’s sword paths, expressions, and eyes.

The plum blossom sword’s trajectory was unpredictable, yet Kang Ho-baek’s sword met it with ease.

Their swords paused, barely touching the ground, before Kang Ho-baek’s wrist drew a small circle, sending both blades soaring.

Mu-hwi struck from the upper left, while Kang Ho-baek countered from the lower right.

When Mu-hwi quickened his pace, Kang Ho-baek slowed his, yet their swords danced together seamlessly.

It was less a duel and more a sword dance.

“Your sword is remarkable, full of a depth unexpected for your age,” Kang Ho-baek remarked.

“And yours is like a towering mountain, its valleys unfathomable. A sword of grandeur and depth.”

Not being a formal duel, they spoke freely, eager to exchange words.

For martial artists, communication isn’t limited to words; sometimes, swords and fists convey what words cannot.

“Your skill is extraordinary. I don’t think this is your limit. Talent alone can make a master, but to become a true master, more is needed.”

“What more is needed?”

“Life experiences, trials, fortuitous encounters, and the stories that come from living in the martial world. These become a narrative that imbues your martial arts, changing its essence.”

“A narrative…”

Mu-hwi’s sword suddenly curved swiftly, met by Kang Ho-baek’s blade descending like a waterfall.

The clash of their swords was like music, resonating through the bamboo grove.

“Have you filled your narrative with chivalry?” Mu-hwi asked.

“Yes. Preventing unnecessary deaths and taking responsibility for one’s martial arts. These are the foundations of my chivalry.”

Listening to Kang Ho-baek, Mu-hwi pondered.

“Is chivalry about sacrifice, doing good, and protecting the weak?”

Kang Ho-baek replied firmly, “That’s chivalry, but not your chivalry.”

“Then what is chivalry?”

“Chivalry is the path and aspiration of a martial artist. As long as one’s actions align with righteousness, whether small or grand, it is chivalry.”

Kang Ho-baek’s sword, usually gentle and slow, suddenly quickened, folding space with its speed.

Without any special technique, Kang Ho-baek’s sheer speed brought his sword before Mu-hwi.

It surpassed even the swift sword of the renowned master Mu-hwi had once seen.

Kang Ho-baek’s eyes, usually clear as a lake, now shone with the intensity of the sun.

“What is the chivalry you hold?” he asked, his voice stronger than before.

Chivalry.

In all his years as a martial artist, Mu-hwi had never truly pondered it. He had always thought of it as a luxury, content to follow his heart.

But listening to Kang Ho-baek, he wondered if he had unknowingly embraced chivalry.

With a clear ring, Mu-hwi deflected Kang Ho-baek’s swift sword and gently pushed it aside.

“I’ve never aspired to protect the martial world or maintain peace. I’m not destined to be a great hero.”

“Is that so?”

“Reviving the Mount Hua Sect and protecting its disciples and followers is enough for me.”

This was the wish entrusted to him by his master, and now it was Mu-hwi’s own wish.

Mu-hwi’s chivalry was solely for Mount Hua.

“Protecting is a difficult path. It’s much easier to kill villains than to protect.”

Kang Ho-baek’s eyes held a trace of old regret, perhaps recalling his failure to protect his family and clan in his youth.

Their swords split the moonlight into countless fragments, yet continued to dance brilliantly in the air.

Kang Ho-baek’s eyes, momentarily clouded with sorrow, returned to their calm, lake-like state.

“A great hero isn’t just someone with grand ambitions,” he said.

Mu-hwi pushed against Kang Ho-baek’s sword, asking, “Then what is it?”

“A great hero inspires others to pursue their own paths and dreams, becoming a focal point for countless smaller heroes, spreading righteousness throughout the martial world.”

Listening to Kang Ho-baek, Mu-hwi naturally thought of him as the epitome of a great hero.

With unwavering resolve, Kang Ho-baek had walked the thorny path of chivalry, inspiring countless others to follow, creating new heroes.

“I hope you become not just a master, but a great hero, a beacon for future generations.”

With a resonant clang, their swords parted, echoing through the bamboo grove.

Mu-hwi sheathed his sword and bowed.

“Thank you for your guidance.”

“I enjoyed our conversation.”

Kang Ho-baek sat in the clearing, and Mu-hwi joined him.

For a long time, they sat in silence, gazing at the moon above.

“Mu-hwi.”

The change from “junior” to his name didn’t bother Mu-hwi. He found it more comfortable this way with Kang Ho-baek.

“Yes, senior.”

“I hear I’ve been recommended as the leader of the Martial Alliance.”

“Do you intend to take the position? Some think you’d find it bothersome.”

“The alliance isn’t just for the benefit of the righteous sects, so I plan to accept. But I’ll be both leader and overseer.”

Having walked the path of chivalry alone, Kang Ho-baek understood well.

Though called a chivalrous hero, he knew the limits of an individual.

The martial world, vast as it was, needed guidance.

As the first leader of the Martial Alliance, Kang Ho-baek intended to steer it in the right direction and prevent it from straying.

‘My role as the first leader is crucial. I must set a strong foundation.’

Mu-hwi nodded, recognizing Kang Ho-baek as a man worthy of leading such a grand alliance.

The Nine Great Clans and the Three Major Families. And beneath them, countless sects and followers.

If anyone could steer the Martial Alliance in the right direction, it was Kang Ho-baek, standing firm at the center of it all.

“Perhaps I can stop worrying about the Alliance making missteps.”

Kang Ho-baek, who had been silently admiring the moonlight, dusted himself off and stood up.

“I suppose it’s time for me to head out.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Wuhan in Hubei. Senior Hong has been quite insistent.”

Wuhan, Hubei Province.

It was where the construction of the Martial Alliance headquarters was underway.

Kang Ho-baek was now beginning his journey to become the leader of the Martial Alliance, following his role as a mediator.

“I had planned to take down the Sword Demon before becoming the leader, but thanks to you, I can proceed smoothly. Thank you, Mu-hwi. See you at the Alliance.”

“Until next time.”

With a light farewell, Kang Ho-baek disappeared across the bamboo grove.

Mu-hwi watched the spot where Kang Ho-baek vanished, then turned his gaze back to the moon above.

“A true master is born from their story…”

Mu-hwi understood this well.

The top masters of the martial world possessed not only skills and talent but also an indescribable something that set them apart.

Perhaps the story Kang Ho-baek spoke of was such a thing.

Mu-hwi’s own story, from a sword demon to a disciple of the Mount Hua Sect.

Who else in the martial world could claim such a tale? It was a story unique to Mu-hwi alone.

The man with the singular story of the martial world began to move once more.

***

Even after parting with Kang Ho-baek, Mu-hwi leisurely made his way back to Mount Hua.

He would arrive in three days’ time.

“Time for a good rest,” he murmured, gazing at the fluffy clouds above. But his attention was soon drawn to a group approaching from across the road.

Three elderly men were walking toward him, each one exuding an aura that was anything but ordinary.

Mu-hwi didn’t believe it was mere coincidence to encounter three supreme masters like this.

As the distance closed to twenty paces, Mu-hwi halted, and so did the three elders.

“Sword Demon of Mount Hua. Return the secret manual of the Jeonjin Sect, and we’ll let you go today.”

“It’s impressive that a mere late-stage disciple managed to kill the Sword Demon alone, but don’t let it get to your head.”

“Can’t we just kill him and take it?” the yellow-robed elder suggested, but the red and blue-robed elders shook their heads firmly.

“Remember the orders.”

“Do you want to anger the leader?”

Listening to their conversation, Mu-hwi ran a hand through his hair and gripped his sword.

“The leader, huh… Where are you old men from?”

The elders ignored his question, continuing their discussion among themselves.

“He’s not going to hand it over willingly, so there’s no need for more talk. Let’s just subdue him.”

“Let’s handle this quickly.”

“Tsk, it would be easier to just kill him.”

With their minds made up, the three elders charged at Mu-hwi simultaneously.

They came at him from the front and both sides.

As their sleeves fluttered in unison, Mu-hwi narrowed his eyes.

He recognized the martial art they were using, but couldn’t fathom why it was in the hands of these elders.

The Hundred Shadows Palm.

It was the same technique used by the assassins who had infiltrated the Flower Soul Sect, and it was also the martial art of the Hundred-Faced Demon Elder.