"First Brother! Are you awake?"
Muhwi, who had been reading the manual for the Nine Heavens Internal Arts, snapped his head up at the loud voice from outside.
"First Brother… ah, right, that's me now."
Who would've thought the day would come when he'd be called First Brother?
With a small chuckle, Muhwi opened the door.
Standing there was a towering figure, solidly built—if you shaved his head and removed his robes, he could've passed for a Shaolin warrior monk.
Muhwi quickly searched his memory for the man's courtesy name.
It was one that suited his appearance perfectly.
"Mucheol. What brings you here?"
Mucheol blinked slowly, clearly thrown off by Muhwi's changed tone and demeanor.
"It's already been three days since you left Hwaeui Pavilion, but you haven't shown up to morning training once. I came to check on you."
"Three days?"
Muhwi ran a hand through his messy hair and frowned.
He'd occasionally felt tired or thirsty, but he'd brushed it off, too absorbed in the thrill of learning orthodox martial arts for the first time.
He hadn't realized that three days had passed.
Now that he was aware of the time, the first thing he noticed was how parched his lips were. Then came the thirst—and hunger.
'This reminds me of when I was trapped in the Heaven-Net Formation of Blood Storm Sect.'
Shaking the thought off, Muhwi stepped outside.
Going days without food or sleep while being hunted through the martial world was nothing new to him.
As he stepped out for the first time in three days, morning sunlight was just beginning to stream over the plum trees.
The cool air cleared his mind.
'Drinking at a moment like this would hit just right. Damn this righteous path.'
Taking a deep breath, Muhwi tapped Mucheol on the arm and began striding forward.
"Let's go to the training grounds. Lead the way."
"Yes, First Brother."
Mucheol tilted his head slightly in confusion.
This wasn't how Muhwi normally acted.
'Even his speech feels different… something's definitely changed.'
Despite the growing questions, Mucheol said nothing and began walking.
When they arrived at the training grounds, all the second-generation disciples had already gathered for their daily practice.
At Mount Hua, it was tradition for second-generation disciples to gather at dawn for an hour of group training.
While the third-generation disciples studied foundational techniques in Chunmae Hall, the second generation focused on the martial arts best suited to their individual styles.
Those who showed outstanding talent would sometimes become disciples of the first generation, living and training directly under their masters.
Because of this, it was rare for all the disciples to be in one place—so this daily practice was also a way to strengthen the bonds between brothers-in-arms.
"Seungmae Pungyo (Rising Plum, Gentle Sway)!"
A sharp voice rang out from the platform, calling out the name of a sword technique.
It came from Mujin, who—aside from Muhwi—was the most senior among the second-generation disciples.
Muhwi observed Mujin closely, noting his sharp features and intense presence.
"Muryun, raise your arm another inch!"
"Yes, Brother!"
As Mujin's eyes scanned the training field from the platform, the disciples straightened their postures and shouted louder with renewed energy.
'He's got them well under control.'
In truth, it was supposed to be Muhwi's role—as First Brother—to lead the training and command the group.
But the former Muhwi had lacked the charisma, martial prowess, and authority to lead, so he was First Brother in name only.
His overly timid nature had even led to subtle forms of disrespect.
In practice, it was Mujin who had become the real leader of the second generation.
'That ends today.'
Muhwi had no intention of staying hidden behind Mujin, letting things play out as they had before.
"Haaap!"
With a synchronized shout, the disciples drew their swords in a diagonal slash.
Their movements were precise and unified, with barely a ripple of disorder.
As their wooden swords quivered slightly, their arcs traced a split path—an illusion of two strikes in one.
"Falling Plum Sword, huh."
Where the Six Harmonies Sword built foundational skills, the Falling Plum Sword was an introduction to the illusionary mysteries that Mount Hua prized.
Even though this was merely the second generation's attempt at the technique, Muhwi watched with serious eyes.
'Not bad… passable, I suppose.'
Overall, the level wasn't bad, but upon closer inspection, there were many points that needed correction.
Because their lower bodies weren't grounded properly, their feet were slightly lifting off the floor, and due to insufficient wrist training, the tips of their swords were subtly shaking.
"The average level is high, but in the end, they're still late-stage disciples."
Mu-hwi, who had climbed to the top as the strongest among the heretical sects solely through his own power, naturally wasn't impressed.
While Mu-hwi continued watching, the final technique of the Falling Plum Sword—Falling Plum in Chaotic Wind (낙매난풍, 落梅亂風)—was performed, marking the end of the early morning training.
"Senior Brother, are you feeling alright?"
"It's been a while, Senior Brother."
The second-generation disciples, having finished putting away their wooden swords, noticed Mu-hwi standing behind the training hall and each greeted him.
As Mu-hwi looked at them, reminded of Do-ho, Mu-jin stepped down from the platform and approached.
"Senior Brother, I was in the middle of training and couldn't properly greet you earlier."
Mu-jin bowed deeply, showing proper respect.
"Yes. Mu-jin, you've worked hard all this time."
As Mu-jin slowly raised his bowed head, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"What do you mean by 'all this time'?"
"From now on, I'll take over. Everything I had entrusted to you."
At Mu-hwi's words, the atmosphere in the training hall grew heavy. The nearby second-generation disciples looked back and forth between Mu-hwi and Mu-jin with wide eyes.
"What's going on all of a sudden?"
"I don't know either."
The disciples covered their mouths, exchanging glances as if speaking now would only cause trouble.
"So I wasn't just being sensitive. He really has changed."
Mu-cheol, who had guided Mu-hwi to the training hall, also turned his slightly widened eyes to Mu-hwi's side profile.
Mu-jin looked Mu-hwi straight in the eyes and asked,
Traditionally, in the Mount Hua Sect, the disciple with the highest merit among the senior disciples would inherit the position, but being the top disciple didn't always mean they were the most capable.
The Mount Hua Sect does not pair every disciple with a master. Therefore, disciples are not ranked according to their masters, but rather by the timing of their initiation into the sect.
Because of this, there were times when senior disciples lacking ability rose to the position of sect leader.
Seeing this as a flaw, the grandmaster two generations prior completely rewrote the sect's rules.
As a result, Mount Hua began selecting the most outstanding disciple from each cohort to become the Head Disciple, the one eligible to inherit the title of sect leader.
"To you, this must feel like a bolt from the blue."
Mu-hwi could somewhat understand Mu-jin's reaction.
He had been doing well, and now Mu-hwi had suddenly disrupted everything—of course it would feel absurd.
Unfortunately, Mu-jin could not be allowed to continue acting as the Head Senior Disciple. Because Mu-hwi, too, was aiming for that position.
To Mu-hwi, the second-generation disciples were the most suitable agents for bringing change to the Mount Hua Sect.
Rather than suddenly persuading elders or the first-generation disciples, it was better to introduce a natural transformation through those who would eventually inherit the sect.
To influence the second-generation disciples, the surest path was not just becoming the Head Senior Disciple—but the Head Disciple destined for sect leadership.
And besides that, there was another martial art Mu-hwi was after:
The Purple Mist Heart Technique (자하심법, 紫霞心法)
"This one, I must master."
A profound internal cultivation technique consistently ranked among the top ten in the martial world.
It could only be learned by the sect leader or the designated Head Disciple. Even Hyeonjo, the Sword Saint of Hua, hadn't been able to master it.
In his past life, Mu-hwi had refined and combined numerous unorthodox cultivation techniques into his own style, but none of it could compare to the Purple Mist Heart Technique.
To surpass the Sword Demon of his past life, this technique was essential.
As Mu-hwi's smile deepened, Mu-jin instinctively swallowed hard.
"What is this? Is this really the Senior Brother I used to know?"
Mu-jin looked at Mu-hwi, who was staring directly at him, and felt something was off.
This was not the same Senior Brother who used to cower from inferiority, unable to even make eye contact.
Now, his eyes gleamed sharply between smiles—Mu-jin nearly looked away first.
"Did I just feel intimidated… by a look?"
Mu-jin's lips twitched as he struggled to steady his shaken mind.
"When the Black Night Palace raided the mountain, didn't you lead the second-generation disciples, Senior Brother?"
At the time of the Black Night Palace's assault, Mu-jin had left the mountain with their master, Hyeonbaek.
"You should've ordered a sword formation instead of charging while shouting Mount Hua's name."
Mu-hwi nodded. He already knew what Mu-jin meant—he had seen it in a dream.
Mu-jin was away, the enemy was approaching fast, and they couldn't afford to wait for the elders. The disciples were all looking to Mu-hwi.
With his mind blank, all he could do was grit his teeth and shout:
—Disciples, do not fear! Mount Hua must be protected by our hands!
"It's a miracle no one died from that order. Had the elders not arrived when they did, someone here wouldn't be standing today."
The second-generation disciples' expressions hardened at the memory. None had died, but more than half had been seriously injured.
One of them quietly pressed a hand to an old wound that still stung.
As Mu-jin said, it had been a miracle. While everyone else's faces turned grim, Mu-hwi alone raised the corner of his mouth.
"You've learned how to wag your tongue, at least."
Bringing this up now was Mu-jin's way of questioning whether Mu-hwi had the qualities to be Senior Brother.
And many of the disciples present had bled under Mu-hwi's orders—his authority was bound to weaken.
Still smiling, Mu-hwi untied the front of his robe. Mu-jin narrowed his brow at the gesture.
Mu-hwi's chest was wrapped in bloodstained bandages—the sword wound had not fully healed.
"Yes. That reckless order cost me, too. Mu-jin, is this not enough for you?"
"Senior Brother…"
Everyone here knew that Mu-hwi had nearly died. To say it wasn't enough was no different from telling him to die.
"And you're misunderstanding something."
"What misunderstanding?"
Mu-hwi's smiling face suddenly went cold and expressionless.
A powerful glint burst from his eyes, weighing down on Mu-jin.
"Is this really the same man who once crumbled under the pressure of being Senior Brother?"
Mu-jin unknowingly took a step back.
He couldn't believe this was the same person who had once been crushed by the burden of his title.
"I'm not trying to convince you. I'm informing you."
Mu-jin shut his slightly opened mouth.
"This is my last time saying it. Mu-jin, thank you for your hard work."
Mu-jin stared at Mu-hwi for a long moment, then muttered with a lowered voice,
"You're like a completely different person, Senior Brother."
"They say people change when they're near death. I guess I really did die and come back."
Mu-hwi chuckled and patted Mu-jin's shoulder. Only then did Mu-jin realize he had been slightly trembling.
"Don't take it too hard."
"…."
Without another word, Mu-jin bowed respectfully and left the training ground.
The second-generation disciples blinked in surprise at the sight.
"Mu-jin… backed down first?"
"Did Senior Brother always have that kind of presence?"
The once pitiful Senior Brother had just won a battle of will against the domineering Mu-jin.
Mu-hwi looked around at the second-generation disciples still standing there in a daze.
"From this moment forward, I will properly fulfill my duties as Senior Brother of the Martial Branch. I apologize for my past shortcomings."
When they still seemed stunned, Mu-hwi spoke again.
"Answer."
His voice was lower than usual, just a single word—but it carried undeniable weight.
The disciples snapped to attention and shouted in unison.
"Yes, sir!"
Satisfied with the booming response, Mu-hwi nodded.
"Today's morning training ends early. Dismissed."
As the second-generation disciples quickly dispersed, Mu-hwi rolled his neck and looked out at the now-empty training hall.
Sigh…
When he was the Sword Demon, he could just cut down anyone who disagreed. That wasn't an option anymore.
Mu-hwi had never been good at talking—he always settled things with the sword when words failed.
"Now I'm arguing with some brat who doesn't even deserve the time of day… What a pain."
But the life of Mu-hwi as the Senior Brother was only just beginning. His lips curled upward as he looked around the training ground.
"You little brat… That decaying Mount Hua you complained about? I'll turn it all upside down."
Mu-hwi lifted his gaze to the plum tree swaying in the breeze.
"I'm informing you. Not persuading."
"Let's see for ourselves, you damned disciples."