The Murim Alliance headquarters stood tall in the heart of Jeongdo—an immaculate city surrounded by jade mountains and ancient stone towers. To outsiders, it was the unshakable pillar of the cultivation world. Its walls bore carvings of legends, and its halls echoed with power.
But inside?
The silence was different.
Not reverent.
Tense.
At the center of the city was the Council Chamber, a circular stone hall surrounded by tall windows and ancient tapestries. Thirteen high-backed seats formed a ring, each one occupied by a faction representative — sect leaders, masters of style, political figureheads.
And at the center stood Jin Muheon, the leader of the Murim Alliance.
He had no aura. No sword. No cultivation presence at all.
But his eyes?
Sharp enough to wound.
"I'm not here to impress you with strength," he said, voice even. "I'm here to make sure you all don't burn this world down."
A scoff echoed from the right side of the chamber. Elder Mo of the Shadow River Sect, one of the top orthodox sects, leaned forward.
"You hold no blade, no realm, no backing sect. What gives you the right to sit there and speak of control?"
Jin Muheon didn't flinch. "Because no one else wants this job."
The room fell quiet.
Behind the council walls, tension had grown like mold. Rumors swirled:
Cursed cultivators appearing closer.
Unorthodox movements through the border provinces.
Secret alliances forming among the demonic sects.
Even whispers that one of the top ten sects was preparing to defect.
And now? Word had reached them of a battle at Sehwa — a low-tier sect successfully defending itself from a cursed swarm.
That got everyone's attention.
"I want full investigation," Muheon said, turning toward the spymaster, a silent man known only as Baek Do.
Baek gave a slow nod. "I've already dispatched ravens. But the cursed are no longer aimless. Someone is guiding them."
Muheon's eyes narrowed. "Then we find the hand behind the curtain."
Later that night, in his private study, Muheon stood before a dusty wall of scrolls. He pulled one free—marked only with a faded eye symbol.
"The Origin Cultivation Manual…"
He turned to Baek, who had materialized in the shadows behind him.
"Is it true? A twin from Sehwa vanished in search of it?"
"Yes," Baek replied. "Lee Haeun. A genius. Cold. Unmatched in talent. Rumors say he's already beyond the sixth realm."
Muheon's brow furrowed. "If he finds it before we understand it… the balance may break."
Outside the capital, the factions stirred.
In the west, the Demonic Hand Sect performed blood rituals beneath obsidian moons.
In the east, the Black Lotus Sect had ceased all communication.
In the north, the Mountain Spear Sect began recalling elders from their seclusion.
And the Martial God's shadow was rumored to have reappeared—for the first time in decades.
The three symbolic gods—Sword, Demon, Martial—once faded legends, now whispered in every tavern, temple, and training yard.
The pressure on Muheon grew by the hour.
And yet, he still didn't raise a sword.
Instead, he stood beneath the Alliance's divine altar, surrounded by ancestral weapons from fallen heroes.
"I've never needed a blade," he whispered.
Because Jin Muheon's greatest strength…
Was that he knew everything.
Secrets. Patterns. People.
And he knew one more thing now.
War was inevitable.