The Sword Beneath the Plum Blossoms

Henan, Kaifeng.

An ancient capital that had cradled the glory of dynasties past — the very heart of the Central Plains, where the wild currents of the Yellow River met the great overland roads of the world.

As countless dynasties rose and fell in turn, Kaifeng had stood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quietly in its place, bearing witness to them all.

A colossal city wall, hardened against the storms of centuries, stretched on without end, and within it, along the arteries of road threading like veins through the city, hundreds of thousands of ordinary lives flowed without pause.

To merchants, it was a land of opportunity; to scholars, a city of refined pleasures; and to martial artists, it was the one and only place where a man could make his name known to all the world.

Before Kaifeng's North Gate, in the grey hour just before dawn, two men appeared, cutting through the stillness of early morning like a blade.

"Haa... haa..."

Namgung Cheon and Namgung Hwi.

Panting for breath, the two came to a halt before the North Gate. Both were drenched in sweat from head to toe, the hems of their robes caked with dirt and dust.

Namgung Hwi dropped to one knee, drawing in great gulps of air. His lungs burned as if they might tear open, but a strange smile was spreading across his lips.

"...You win."

Namgung Hwi conceded his defeat with a wry laugh. In the final stretch across the open plain, Namgung Cheon had held a good full jang ahead of him the entire way.

"You owe me forty cups of wine."

"Fine, fine."

Namgung Hwi chuckled at his brother's deadpan reply.

Namgung Cheon then turned his gaze to the morning sun climbing above the city gate. Red light washed over the vast walls of Kaifeng, announcing the start of a new day.

Before long, the gates swung open, and the crowd that had been waiting since the small hours of the morning poured through like a flood. The two brothers slipped into the current and entered the city.

The scenery inside the walls was of an entirely different order than Hefei.

Towering pavilions that seemed to blot out the sky. Roads that ran on without end. And the crowds flowing between them were simply beyond counting.

Naturally, the city was just as crowded with martial artists. One traveler in three carried a weapon on the road, and men in martial robes overflowed every street and square.

So many strong ones.

Namgung Cheon walked on in silence, sweeping his gaze over their auras. Most barely reached second-rate or third-rate, but genuine masters were mixed in here and there.

They made no effort to conceal their power. If anything, they flaunted it, as if to advertise their very presence — because this was a place where even that drew no trouble.

Orthodox territory. Kaifeng.

True to a land that prized chivalry and righteous cause above all, there were no senseless brawls or bloodshed here, the way there were in places where the Unorthodox held sway.

But that did not mean there was peace.

This is a place where the unseen order of rank is enforced more strictly than anywhere else. The orthodox sects were always like this.

And precisely because of that—

That's exactly why this kind of symbiosis is possible, I suppose.

Namgung Cheon smiled bitterly to himself. Even in his past life, during his days as the Heavenly Demon, this place had always been a thorn in his side.

The Murim Alliance's headquarters stood here, and here the power of the orthodox sects rallied around it was at its strongest.

And now he was walking into that land on his own two feet.

It was a strange feeling indeed.

"First, we stop by the Alliance. I need to report my return."

Namgung Hwi took the lead, then added, "You're coming with me."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

At those words, Namgung Cheon's brow twitched. Why would he need to come along for a routine report of return?

Then Namgung Hwi went on with a smile.

"The truth is, the Commander has been wanting to meet you."

There was only one man Namgung Hwi would call Commander.

Namgung Cheon spoke. "You mean the Commander of the Heavenly Will Squadron?"

"That's right."

The Commander of the Heavenly Will Squadron — head of the Murim Alliance's most powerful fighting force. Such a man would surely possess extraordinary martial skill.

Worth seeing, at the very least.

Namgung Cheon nodded slowly. With his acceptance, Namgung Hwi gave his shoulder a light slap and started off ahead of him.

After a long walk, they arrived at the Murim Alliance headquarters. A wall as tall as Kaifeng's own city walls stretched so far into the distance that its end could not be seen, and the halls rising beyond it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves. It would be no exaggeration to call it a fortress city in its own right.

But it was not the exterior that struck Namgung Cheon most. His gaze drifted past the wall, into the heart of the Alliance.

Impressive.

Countless masters were radiating their qi freely, making no effort whatsoever to conceal it. It was a place that truly deserved the name a dragon's pool, a tiger's den.

Just then, one of the guards at the main gate spotted Namgung Hwi and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"The Sword Dragon has returned!"

At that cry, every eye in the vicinity snapped toward them in an instant. The guards parted the way with flawless discipline, and even the martial artists training inside the Alliance stopped what they were doing, came rushing out, and bowed their heads.

"Welcome back, Young Master!"

"It's been far too long!"

The Sword Dragon — the paragon and the very pinnacle of all the rising talents of the younger generation. Their reaction was only natural.

Namgung Hwi, clearly long accustomed to such treatment, returned their greetings with a gentle smile ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and led Namgung Cheon inside.

Up close, the Alliance was grander still than it had appeared from without. Countless halls stood in immaculate order, and the footsteps of the martial artists passing between them carried a measured rhythm. From the training grounds set at intervals throughout the compound came the unceening roar of battle cries and the constant ring of clashing weapons.

"This your first time inside the Alliance, no? What do you think?"

Namgung Hwi asked as they walked. Namgung Cheon looked around at his leisure.

Shaolin warrior monks in grey robes practicing their fists; Daoists in fluttering white robes swinging their swords; and countless martial artists sparring with weapons of every kind. It was a scene one could only call a miniature of the Jianghu itself.

"Impressive, indeed. I can finally believe that so many sects truly gather under one roof."

"Right? That's both the strength of the Alliance — and its burden."

Namgung Hwi nodded with a wry smile.

"When swords of every different color gather to forge a single purpose, noise is inevitable. Still, in the end, they all flow together into one great current of chivalry. For that, I'm grateful."

Namgung Cheon fell silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, then added quietly, "And yet — that there is noise at all is proof that the Alliance is still very much alive."

Namgung Hwi flinched and turned to look at his brother. He stared for a moment, blank, then broke into a mischievous grin.

"...Since when did you get so glib? Don't tell me you've been studying rhetoric back at the clan?"

When Namgung Cheon only furrowed his brow and stared back in silence, Namgung Hwi waved his hands, laughing.

"A joke, a joke. Come on, let's go. The Commander is waiting."

With one more smile, Namgung Hwi set off toward the deepest part of the Alliance — toward the hall of the Heavenly Will Squadron, the Cheonui Hall.

Cheonui Hall.

A man in his middle years stood at the window, looking down upon the training grounds below. Over a robe as white as snow, he wore long ceremonial robes embroidered with red plum blossoms. His appearance was impeccable, his expression gentle — for all the world, an ordinary Daoist priest.

But that was only the surface.

The red plum blossoms stitched onto his robes were the emblem of the Mount Hua Sect, the prestigious sect vying for the seat of the foremost of the Nine Great Sects. And among Mount Hua's ranks, there existed a title granted to only five masters — the Five Swords of Mount Hua.

One of those five, and the leader of the Heavenly Will Squadron, the core fighting force of the Murim Alliance — this was the Daoist known as the Plum Blossom Sword Lord, Unhak.

Unhak closed his eyes briefly and read the currents of presence drifting in on the wind. The killing intent exuded by dozens of squad members, the crack of blades striking blades, the sounds of ragged breathing — all of it was familiar daily routine.

But threaded between those familiar sensations, he detected unfamiliar energies.

...Oh?

Unhak's brow stirred. Two energies approaching from the distance. One was unmistakable — an aura as resplendent as Mount Hua's plum blossoms and yet as unyielding as bedrock. His beloved subordinate, the man worthy of being called the foremost of the rising generation — the Sword Dragon, Namgung Hwi.

The question is... that energy walking beside him.

Unhak focused on the other aura, moving in step alongside Namgung Hwi. It was bizarre.

I can't read it at all.

The man undeniably existed. He could sense his footsteps, his breath. Yet whenever he tried to grasp the substance of his qi, it scattered like mist; whenever he tried to sound its depths, it was like groping through empty air.

An energy that seemed present yet absent, absent yet undeniably present. That ambiguity, enough to make him doubt his own senses, drew Unhak's brow tight.

Have I ever encountered such a man?

No master of such an aura existed within the Murim Alliance. A hermit he didn't know of? Or a newcomer who had only recently joined the Alliance?

Curiosity stirred within him.

Footsteps drew nearer. Soon a respectful voice came from beyond the door.

"Commander, it is Namgung Hwi. May we enter?"

Unhak held his silence for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.

"Enter."

With a creak, the door slid open, and the two men stepped inside. At their head was Namgung Hwi in his white martial robes. And following behind him appeared a young man dressed in black.

Unhak slowly turned to face them. His gaze passed over Namgung Hwi and came to rest on Namgung Cheon. Neatly bound hair, an unreadable expression. And strikingly handsome features — bearing a resemblance to Namgung Hwi, who was hailed as the Jade-Faced Sword, and yet carrying a distinctly different air.

Only then did a remark Namgung Hwi had made in passing some time ago surface in Unhak's mind.

— I would like to show you my youngest brother, Commander. I wonder what you would make of him...

Ah.

Unhak's eyes flashed. Then this bearer of the unreadable aura was the very man of those rumors. The name ringing loudest through the Jianghu of late — the youngest son of the Namgung Clan, who had swept through the duel campaign in Anhui, brought down the Yangtze River Dragon, and even single-handedly annihilated the sinister Ghost Mask Pact.

The Sword Ghost — no, the Azure Sky Sword Hero, Namgung Cheon.

A faint smile touched Unhak's lips. His gaze slid from Namgung Cheon's face, moving slowly down toward his waist.

Two scabbards — one white, one black.

The instant his eyes touched the scabbard black as ink—

"..."

His gentle gaze froze, cold as a sheet of ice.

Namgung Cheon did not miss the change either.

...He recognizes the sword.

At the same time, he felt the aura emanating from Unhak shift into something it had not been a moment before.

Namgung Dan — no, my uncle. He's his equal, or perhaps a step above.

Jang Gwang the Yangtze River Dragon, Mujin of the Absolute Extinction Sword — even Namgung Dan, Master of Righteous Heaven Hall, had never applied pressure of this magnitude. Only once before, with the Clan Head Namgung Mugang alone, had he ever felt a wall this towering.

The moment the two men's gazes entangled in the empty air, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy and sank. Amid a pressure that made even breathing a burden, they stared at one another in silence.

At last, the depths of Unhak's eyes sank deep as he quietly regarded Namgung Cheon. And then—

"Would you show me your sword?"

The one thrown into confusion by those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠words, ironically, was Namgung Hwi.

"Commander, what do you—"

That instant.

Shing.

Namgung Cheon, without a moment's hesitation, drew Changcheon and offered it forward. But—

"No. Not that sword. The one at your other side."

Unhak looked upon the endlessly dark scabbard — Mukhon — with eyes grown colder still.

"I must see that sword. And..."

Unhak slowly rose from his seat.

"Whether you are worthy to wield that accursed blade."