The Hidden Dragon Emerges
The finals of the Heavenly Martial Tournament, held once every ten years at the Murim Alliance headquarters in Kaifeng. The arena surrounding the competition stage roared with cheers hotter than ever before. This historic tournament stood open to every righteous faction martial artist. Yet the finals had always belonged exclusively to a handful of great powers—the Nine Great Schools and the Five Major Clans. Exceptions throughout history could be counted on one hand, and even those were either disciples of sects that housed an absolute master or branches founded by defectors from the major powers. If one counted those as extensions of the great sects, then there were truly no exceptions.
Today, that history shattered.
Shaolin’s youngest of the Eighteen Arhats, Hye-jin. The future of Shaolin, clad in grey robes wreathed in golden energy, already whispered to have reached full mastery of both the Arhat Fist and the Hundred Steps Divine Fist. Standing before him was Baek Un-hyeon, young master of Baek Manor. Most of those gathered here neither knew his origin nor had ever heard his family’s name—a countryside estate from a rural backwater. To make matters worse, he was barely past twenty, a mere stripling compared to Hye-jin who already approached thirty. And yet that same young man had reached the finals without once drawing his sword, standing there with relaxed poise even on the championship stage.
The clamor in the stands was only natural.
“A hidden dragon!”
“The next supreme under heaven!”
His age was young enough to still be called a boy. A newcomer with no ties to any major sect. The majority of the Murim world belonged to the same class as Baek Un-hyeon—affiliated with nameless local training halls, people who could not even dare look up to the mid-tier sects beneath the Nine Great Schools and Five Major Clans. They poured their passionate support toward the young master of Baek Manor in Wungye County, Shaanxi Province. Young martial artists and commoners alike hurled fervent cheers at him.
But the eyes of the righteous faction’s senior experts remained cold as ice.
“That child’s sword… isn’t the killing intent far too thick?”
“I watched his entire climb. He showed no hesitation in using lethal techniques. What kind of behavior is this in a sacred tournament?”
“How can someone swinging such a vicious blade claim to represent the future of the righteous path?”
The chief reason for Baek Un-hyeon’s tarnished reputation was his tyrannical swordplay. His talent was undeniable, yet his matches were so merciless that anyone who witnessed them could only click their tongues. Several elders openly hurled criticism.
“Baek Manor of Wungye County? Never heard of it. He must have resorted to underhanded tricks.”
“A rootless whelp in the finals…? This is a calamity for the Murim world.”
The commotion beyond the arena gradually died down. Both Hye-jin and Baek Un-hyeon had finished their preparations. Tension thick enough to snap at a single deep breath hung in the air.
Hye-jin pressed his palms together toward Baek Un-hyeon.
“Benefactor Baek, will you not draw your sword? It does not sit well with me to begin the match this way.”
Baek Un-hyeon’s lips curved.
“No need.”
At those three words, Hye-jin’s face hardened. To be one of Shaolin’s Eighteen Arhats was as good as a guarantee of standing at the pinnacle of the younger generation. Moreover, this was the finals of the righteous faction’s grand tournament. To face such a match without drawing one’s sword? It was arrogance difficult for even a monk trained to maintain a mind like still water to endure. All the more so since Hye-jin was still a hot-blooded monk in his twenties.
Soon Hye-jin’s Demon-Subduing Palm erupted like a storm. Golden palm force tore through the air and slammed straight toward Baek Un-hyeon’s chest. Baek Un-hyeon evaded with exquisite footwork and thrust out a hand in counter. His fingertips grazed Hye-jin’s forearm, precisely striking an acupoint.
In that instant, the monk’s qi flow was thrown into chaos and his body froze.
“…!”
Feeling toyed with, Hye-jin grit his teeth and unleashed another palm strike. Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Ultimate Arts—Arhat Fist. The air vibrated; the earth trembled.
Baek Un-hyeon’s palm met it head-on.
Slap!
A light sound. Hye-jin’s body shot backward. The Reflection Mirror. A technique that returned the opponent’s own force intact—the ultimate humiliation for the one on the receiving end.
Hye-jin rolled across the ground and rose, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“How…!”
Agitation finally flashed through eyes that had remained calm even against the surprise attack. It was as if every move he would make had been predicted in advance.
The stands held their breath. A sight no one had anticipated.
Baek Un-hyeon spoke quietly.
“Care to try once more?”
At those words Hye-jin charged, this time with full power. Golden fist energy poured down like a deluge. Baek Un-hyeon moved. He could hardly face the future of Shaolin bare-handed. This time he drew his sword, and the sword energy that flowed from it was so original that one might doubt it came from Baek Manor at all.
The arm of Hye-jin that clashed with Un-hyeon’s blade bent at a grotesque angle. A sickening crack of breaking bone rang out. Hye-jin’s body lifted into the air before smashing into the ground.
Silence.
Hye-jin trembled as he forced himself up, then knelt.
“…I acknowledge my defeat.”
The referee’s voice shook.
“Winner… Baek Un-hyeon of Baek Manor!”
The arena exploded.
“Waaaaah!”
“A true dragon!”
“Baek Un-hyeon! Baek Un-hyeon!”
Yet the faces of the old masters darkened like charcoal.
“Have you ever seen such a cowardly bastard…!”
“As expected of those techniques of his…”
“Shaolin refrained from lethal moves until the very end.”
“They are simply too foolish to recognize the difference.”
Baek Un-hyeon calmly descended from the stage. He sheathed his sword and turned away. The smile on his lips brimmed with absolute certainty that no one in the world could defeat him.
The strong reign supreme. That single thought filled his heart.
After the finals, at an inn near the Murim Alliance headquarters. Baek Un-hyeon sat at a modest banquet prepared by his family. Only a handful of Baek Manor retainers and relatives had gathered for the simple celebration. On the tables rested liquor and snacks brought from their hometown.
His father, Baek Cheon-geom, smiled as he raised a cup. Though his features suggested what Un-hyeon might look like in middle age, the man possessed a gentle, benevolent air that contrasted with his sharp eyes.
“My son, you were magnificent today. You have spread the name of Baek Manor across the Central Plains. Still, I worry that people are calling your methods cruel.”
“No one suffered injuries that would lead to death. And my opponents were hardly weaklings who deserved mercy simply because it was a tournament. In time, only the fact that I won will remain.”
“Haha. The same boy who once enjoyed fighting without even drawing his sword? Many are calling that a humiliating insult.”
“That too was a means to victory. Especially against Monk Hye-jin at the end—I created a crack in his mind so he would resort to unfamiliar aggression. Had I taken the initiative first, I would certainly have struggled.”
The words of a genius son whose talent dwarfed his father’s carried their own unshakable logic. Baek Cheon-geom decided to stop lecturing on this joyous day. Smiling, he poured liquor into Un-hyeon’s cup.
His mother, Seol-ran, dabbed at eyes slightly reddened with emotion and took her son’s hand. Even in middle age she remained a woman of striking beauty, as befitted one once called the greatest beauty of Shaanxi.
“I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt. I believed you would win, but… I still worried.”
Baek Un-hyeon turned his head slightly.
“…It has been five years since I entered the Murim world. How long do you intend to keep worrying like this?”
The words might have sounded cold, yet he gently squeezed her hand. At least when facing his family, the arrogance he showed the rest of the world never appeared.
From the side, his younger sister Baek Ryeong clung to his arm. The girl, who idolized her brother and counted the days until she could step into the Murim world herself, sparkled with excitement.
“Brother! Teach me how you returned the monk’s attack! Teach me too!”
Only eight years old, she acted utterly spoiled, eyes shining. Baek Un-hyeon sighed and lightly stroked her head.
“…I told you that you must first master the basics. You can learn such tricks later.”
“Basics, basics—I’m sick of basics!”
He only withdrew his hand after patting her hair several times. Baek Ryeong, pleased, clung even tighter.
“I’m so jealous. Even ten years from now I won’t even dream of reaching the finals.”
And then there was the young master seated to one side—Namgung Seong, a branch family member of the Namgung Clan. Though Baek Manor had no deep ties with the great sects, Baek Un-hyeon’s talent had spread rapidly after his debut. The first to offer patronage was the Shaanxi branch of the Namgung Clan. Branch family or not, a Namgung was still a Namgung. The reason Un-hyeon could employ his brutal fighting style without major repercussions owed much to the influence of Namgung Seong’s family. Having the same age, the two had grown close rather quickly—close enough for Namgung Seong to personally arrange this gathering.
“Still, Monk Hye-jin was clearly holding back quite a bit. You could have been gentler. Aren’t you afraid of Shaolin’s name?”
Baek Un-hyeon looked at him and gave a faint smirk.
“…I just explained. Against an opponent far more experienced than myself, holding back means intending to lose.”
Namgung Seong objected.
“Not drawing your sword from the start already means you weren’t using full power, doesn’t it? Tournaments have their own etiquette. If it were me, I would have drawn my sword immediately.”
The one who refuted him was Baek Ryeong.
“But you lost, young master!”
Namgung Seong was rendered speechless. As a branch family member, he had enjoyed favorable matchups and reached the finals, yet the dragon that had risen from the stream had stolen every bit of attention. He raised his cup and tilted it slightly toward her.
“If it hadn’t been Monk Hye-jin, I could have climbed higher, Lady Baek.”
“But Uncle Monk lost to Brother?”
“Ryeong, that is rude to Young Master Namgung.”
“Hmph!”
Baek Cheon-geom intervened. Baek Ryeong’s cheeks puffed out in indignation. Namgung Seong smiled awkwardly, saying he did not mind. Yet Baek Un-hyeon watched silently as the other young man kept drinking cup after cup.
In truth, when Namgung Seong had faced Hye-jin he had gone all-out from the first exchange. But even as defeat drew near, his sword had never gained greater power. Despite having strength to spare. Just as he claimed, he had feared Shaolin’s name.
At that moment the inn door opened and a group of martial artists entered. They wore uniforms bearing the symbols of their respective sects—the young rising stars of the Nine Great Schools and Five Major Clans. It seemed they had stopped by the inn to rest after the tournament.
At their head stood Jin Cheong-myeong, second-generation disciple of the Mount Hua Sect and direct line to the sect leader. He had been considered a strong favorite for the championship alongside Hye-jin, yet had fallen to Baek Un-hyeon in the semifinals. Beside him walked Jin Hyeon, the Taiji Fist expert of the Wudang Sect; Peng Cheon-ho of the Hebei Peng Clan, defeated in the previous round; and Yu Seol-hwa, a female disciple of Mount Hua and Jin Cheong-myeong’s junior sister. All core talents of the major sects, most of whom had suffered wounded pride after losing to Baek Un-hyeon in this tournament.
Their gazes turned toward the second floor. They soon spotted the family quietly enjoying their small celebration. Jin Cheong-myeong, quite drunk, did something he would never have done while sober.
“Is that not the young master of Baek Manor? Skipping even the victory banquet and hiding here—what business brings you to this inn? This won’t do! Allow me to offer a cup to the future absolute expert!”
His words drew smirks from the other disciples. Most of them still refused to accept Baek Un-hyeon’s victory.
“…There is no need for pleasantries. Please continue on your way.”
Jin Cheong-myeong snorted.
“Pleasantries? The martial tournament is a sacred ritual meant to allow one to learn even a single thing more from one’s opponent. Even though our Mount Hua Sect has upheld its history for thousands of years, it is only natural that we should always maintain a humble attitude and seek to learn. Haha, who could have predicted it? Baek Manor of Wungye County in Shaanxi! Who could possibly have recognized the young master’s martial arts and prepared countermeasures?”
Jin Hyeon chimed in. Though he boasted of Wudang’s Taiji Fist, it seemed even he could not dismiss Baek Un-hyeon’s victory through the mysteries of Taiji.
“Amitabha. Other righteous faction members usually take several steps back out of respect for the name of a major sect. Yet you broke the monk’s arm so easily… The monk must have been flustered by the unfamiliar situation and lost coordination. Where else in the world could one find such a unique strategy?”
Peng Cheon-ho joined as well.
“What does any of that matter! Our Hebei Peng Clan would never win in such a manner. Rather than mocking the opponent and ambushing them so they cannot display their full power, one must compete with dignity. Power against power! Technique against technique! That is the way of the Hebei Peng Clan!”
Though they spoke as if discussing proper principles, anyone could see the jealousy, hostility, and wounded pride of the major sects swirling beneath their words.
The family’s faces stiffened. Baek Ryeong clutched her brother’s arm. Namgung Seong began glancing around nervously. Baek Un-hyeon ground his teeth. Five years since his debut in Murim. He was used to being looked down upon by the righteous faction, but today was different. This was in front of his family, on the very day he had seized the championship and stood tall before the entire world. Rage surged within him.
“…That is enough. My family is watching.”
At that moment Yu Seol-hwa stepped forward. The renowned beauty of Mount Hua offered a gentle smile as she gazed at Baek Un-hyeon.
“Oh my, why are you all acting this way? Young Master Baek won because he is simply that outstanding, isn’t that right?”
“Junior sister, have we ever denied his victory? We were merely a little concerned that the champion is not fulfilling a champion’s duties. Do you believe that strength in martial arts is everything for a Murim warrior? Such thinking would not even be accepted in the demonic path.”
“That’s not what I meant~ Hehe. It seems Senior Brother is rather drunk. Everyone, shall we head upstairs now?”
Her smile was bewitching, enough to set any man’s heart aflame. She subtly linked her arm with Jin Cheong-myeong’s and patted Jin Hyeon’s shoulder. The coquettish charm of Mount Hua’s incomparable flower melted the men’s expressions. Her gaze eventually reached even Baek Un-hyeon.
“Young Master, won’t you join us? We are quite interested in you, you know?”
Baek Un-hyeon’s brows lowered. He rose, cupped his fist, and bowed.
“This is a gathering for my family. If fate permits, let us share a drink another day.”
It was a refusal so firm that Yu Seol-hwa was left momentarily speechless.
“What a shame.”
Only then did the young rising stars of the righteous factions withdraw. The family could finally breathe easier. Yet Baek Cheon-geom, who had spent more than a decade active in the Murim world himself, wore a worried expression.
“It is true that strength is the ultimate truth, but that is not all there is. If you wound their pride, it may bring trouble later, my son.”
“I have never stepped forward to diminish their pride.”
“Even if you do not step forward yourself, meaning will inevitably be attached to your every action.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
The mood had already been ruined. The Baek Manor family soon left their seats. Only Namgung Seong remained behind, sitting alone and sinking deep into thought.