Tadadat—

Darting over rooftops, Seolhwa suddenly halted.

She fixed her gaze somewhere ahead, then angled toward the back of a tangled alley—into a dead end where no foot traffic passed.

Tak—

Between a high wall and a temple hall, a place where even sunlight barely reached.

There, a man in a bamboo hat waited for her.

[Be careful. His realm can’t be gauged.]

The Imoogi slipped into her arms and hid. Seolhwa curled the hand that held her sword and walked toward him.

If even the Imoogi couldn’t gauge his realm, he was at least Heaven Beyond Heaven or higher.

A thread of tension drew across Seolhwa’s face.

“Who are you?”

The bamboo-hatted man lifted his head.

Beneath his mask, a deep scar shifted as his jaw moved.

Seolhwa stared at that scar, then met the man’s eyes.

“Little Union Lord. No—should I call you Namgoong Seolhwa now?”

Seolhwa flinched, a tremor she hadn’t intended.

He said... Little Cult Lord?

The interdiction shouldn’t be lifted yet.

Calling her the Blood Cult’s Little Cult Lord meant he knew the Blood Cult existed.

Of those who knew of the Blood Cult, none were supposed to be free of the interdiction.

How can he call me Little Cult Lord like it’s nothing?

Who in the world—

With confusion tightening her features, Seolhwa asked again.

“You... who are you?”

The mouth beneath the half-mask crooked into a sour smile.

“Who’s to say you’d recognize me if I told you?”

“...”

“Don’t strain yourself. You’ve never met me, so you don’t know me.”

“...Then how do you know me?”

The man’s sneer vanished in an instant.

He suddenly flicked something from his hand.

“!”

Seolhwa caught it on reflex.

A small pouch, no larger than two fingers.

“If it’s you, you’ll recognize what that is.”

Seolhwa opened the pouch and checked the contents.

Inside was a dark, blood-red powder.

“...!”

Her face went rigid as she identified it.

Thousand-Person Blood-Fiend Poison.

Named for turning a thousand people into blood fiends.

A lethal Blood Cult toxin that could turn this entire district into a sea of blood in an instant.

“Now that the tournament has a winner, that poison will soon spread across all of Wuhan.”

“You...!”

“It isn’t my doing. It’s the Blood Cult’s.”

“!”

“Seems they couldn’t stand that the Martial Alliance formed before they did.”

The man let out a short, derisive laugh.

At his tone, which mocked the Blood Cult, Seolhwa’s thoughts grew even more tangled.

He’s not Blood Cult?

This man had interfered with her work again and again.

Hadn’t he even refused to help smuggle out the Blood Cult’s spies?

If he wasn’t Blood Cult, then what—

“Arrest the ones with black cloth tied on their arms. They’re the couriers for the poison.”

“Why tell me this?”

“I said ‘soon.’ Do you think you have time to spar with me in words?”

Seolhwa clenched the pouch tight.

She had a hundred questions and a hundred more to press him with, but if what he said was true, this was no place to linger.

If the poison spread and the tournament ended in a blood play, public trust in the Martial Alliance would suffer a mortal wound.

At a moment when the Blood Cult’s uprising was close at hand, for the Alliance to lose trust would be nothing but handing strength to the Blood Cult.

Seolhwa shoved aside the flood of doubts and turned to leave.

Just then, as she moved to depart in haste—

“Namgoong Seolhwa.”

The man spoke in a low, leveled voice.

“Don’t assume everything you do leads to the right path.”

“...How do I meet you again?”

Silence.

Seolhwa gave him a brief look, then slipped away at speed.

Tak—

****

The tournament had its champion.

The winner was the nameless swordsman who entered under the epithet Snow-Plum Sabre.

That a solitary swordsman, not a direct disciple of any major power within the Martial Alliance, had taken first place left the heads of each faction stunned.

However, according to Shaolin’s Abbot Beopgong, the swordsman was a disciple of Ouyang Do.

Given Ouyang Do’s longstanding reputation as a preeminent saber master, there was at least some face to be saved.

“Heh-heh. You’ve won—surely it’s time to show us your face?”

“You’ll be taking a seat as a Division Lord of the Martial Alliance. How long will you hide your identity?”

On the pavilion, the martial elders wished to see the disciple of Ouyang Do.

The crowd, too, burned with curiosity about the identity of Snow-Plum Sabre, who had kept his face hidden all the way to the final.

Only a handful—

Those who knew Snow-Plum Sabre was Yu Gang—kept silent.

“I hear there’s even a rumor he’s some vicious killer?”

“He’s to become a Division Lord of the Alliance; such misunderstandings must be cleared up.”

As the murmurs swelled—

Namgoong Mucheon raised his hand, and the hall fell silent at once.

It was time for someone to decide.

Namgoong Mucheon ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ rose and walked to the front of the pavilion.

“...”

Under the bamboo hat, Yu Gang lifted his gaze to meet him.

For a moment, their eyes held in quiet lock.

“Snow-Plum Sabre, remove your bamboo hat and show your face to all.”

Namgoong Mucheon spoke.

Unease flickered in Yu Gang’s eyes.

The Mount Hua Sect’s leader, its elders, and his former seniors and juniors were all present.

It was the first time he had truly faced them since leaving Mount Hua; he couldn’t help but be tense.

What’s more, he was a disciple expelled from Mount Hua.

He worried that it might be a problem—that an expelled disciple had concealed his identity and entered the tournament.

But in Namgoong Mucheon’s eyes there was trust and encouragement.

As if to say: It’s all right.

With a resolute expression, Yu Gang gripped the bamboo hat and slowly lifted it away.

He unwound the cloth at his neck and set it on the floor with the hat, then looked up at the martial figures seated on the pavilion.

“No... that boy. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere.”

“Wasn’t he a disciple of Mount Hua? The one they called the youngest Plum Blossom Swordsman.”

The pavilion stirred with voices that had recognized Yu Gang.

Until he left, Yu Gang had been Mount Hua’s promising prodigy, hailed as a genius swordsman.

The heads of sects that had occasionally exchanged visits with Mount Hua could hardly fail to know his face.

“Wasn’t that boy expelled?”

“An expelled disciple?”

The murmurs grew louder.

Word that Yu Gang was expelled had already begun to spread through the onlookers.

“Can someone driven out of his sect even enter the Martial Alliance tournament?”

“They say this picks a future Division Lord of the Alliance. Using an expelled disciple in the Alliance is a bit...”

As the negative buzz swelled around Yu Gang, and Namgoong Mucheon moved to calm the overheated mood—

“I gave permission.”

Someone stood and spoke.

It was No Un, Jade-Plum Sword, the leader of the Mount Hua Sect.

The many voices, each saying their piece, turned to him as one.

“That boy was not driven out. He left of his own accord.”

No Un walked to the front of the pavilion and looked down at Yu Gang standing on the platform.

“To carry our sect’s shame alone, that child took upon himself the stigma of an expelled disciple.”

In No Un’s eyes as he looked at Yu Gang lay apology and pain.

****

A few days before the tournament final.

Someone knocked on No Un’s door.

His gaze lingered on a line of text for a moment.

Closing the book, he spoke.

“Enter.”

Presently, the door opened and a man in a bamboo hat stepped inside.

A gentle smile spread at No Un’s lips.

“It’s been a while.”

Yu Gang removed the bamboo hat and faced him.

Moist-eyed, he bowed to No Un.

It was the same solemn, weighty bow he had offered the main sect when he left Mount Hua.

“Your unworthy disciple greets the leader of Mount Hua.”

No Un nodded softly, accepting the bow that carried so many words unsaid.

The traces of Mount Hua were gone from the youth—but Mount Hua still lived within him.

“Rise. It’s been a long time; let me see your face.”

Yu Gang straightened.

With a kindly smile, No Un took in the young man, grown and returned.

“You’ve grown well. Just as expected—you’ve grown splendidly. So, did you find another master?”

“I serve Elder Ouyang Do as my master.”

“Oh?”

No Un’s expression brightened.

“You’ve come under a truly excellent teacher. But—was it hard, learning new martial arts?”

“At first...”

Yu Gang pressed his lips tight.

His breath trembled in small shivers.

Why was it—

Standing before his old sect leader, all the hardship and effort of the past four years surged up at once.

No Un’s gentle voice was so welcome he felt tears might spill.

Yu Gang drew a slow breath.

He pressed down the swell of emotion and continued, steady.

“At first... I believed laying down the sword... was a way to atone, so I endured.”

“...”

“But now, I like the saber.”

A bright smile touched Yu Gang’s face.

“Even if learning new arts is hard and grueling, I like the saber enough to overcome all of it.”

“That’s good.”

No Un’s smile turned proud.

“Truly good.”

The image of the child who had left the main sect alone overlapped the grown Yu Gang before him.

He had felt only regret—that, as an elder of the main sect, he had done nothing for the boy who chose to leave under the weight of guilt.

But seeing the child return—having met a fine master, having grown so well—he felt pride and gratitude.

“Yu Gang.”

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

“Do not mind Mount Hua’s gaze any longer.”

“...”

“You may hold your head higher. The sin was not yours—how could you live as a sinner?”

He was too young to shoulder his master’s lackings; his future too bright.

“For returning so grown and fine, I am grateful to you. You have already done your part.”

Do not watch Mount Hua’s eyes anymore.

Do not think you must atone.

“Go your own way now.”