In the vast Murim world, the Alliance was divided into two parts. One was the Alliance which history speaks of as having always walked the righteous path, known as the Orthodox Alliance, having fifteen sects and ten clans as its pillars.
The other alliance was the Unorthodox Alliance, also known as the Heavenly Demonic Sect, and it had nine main families.
In this Murim world, only the fittest survive.
On the side of the Orthodox Alliance, there was a clan considered the strongest among them. It was known for its Lightning Qi and swordsmanship style—the Great Namgung Clan.
The world knew that the Patriarch had nine brilliant sons, prodigies who could cleave clouds with a single strike. Yet, in the clan's own records, the space for the 10th Young Master remained a dusty, forgotten blank. No one spoke his name. No one acknowledged his blood. Namgung Ryun, the 10th Young Master of the family—he never existed.
But for Namgung Ryun, the world was no larger than a bucket of freezing water and a pile of unchopped wood.
The Namgung Estate was a sprawling city unto itself, carved into the side of the Heavenly Peak.
It was a masterpiece of architectural arrogance. White marble corridors stretched for miles, etched with silver runes that glowed with a faint, rhythmic blue light—the resonance of the clan's ancestral lightning.
High above, the roofs were tiled in cerulean cobalt, designed to catch the sunlight and reflect it back as a dazzling, holy aura. The air here didn't just smell of mountain pine; it smelled of ozone and pure, distilled Qi.
But for Ryun, the world was the color of rot. He lived where the wind carried the stench of the latrines, a place so deep in the shadows that even the sun seemed to ignore the 10th son.
Ryun sat on the cold, uneven floor, his eyes fixed on a wooden bowl.
Inside were the grey leftovers of a meal meant for the servants, tossed to him by a kitchen hand who hadn't even bothered to look him in the eye.
"Eat up, Latrine Prince," a voice sneered from the doorway.
Ryun didn't look up. He didn't need to. The air in the small room began to hum with a jagged, aggressive energy.
Namgung Jin, the eighth son, stood there with sparks of blue lightning dancing between his fingers. Behind him stood Namgung Kyu-sung, the ninth, both of them wearing silks that cost more than a commoner would earn in a lifetime.
"Look at him," Kyu-sung laughed, gesturing to Ryun's thin frame. "The Sieve of Namgung. No matter how much he eats or how much he breathes, it all just leaks out. A one-year Dantian for a boy born to destroy us? What a joke."
It wasn't just his brothers. From the Great Princes of the clan to the farmers tilling the Namgung territory, everyone knew the prophecy. They called him the Silent Omen and the Mother-Eater, whispering that his very birth had chased Lady Elara across the fog-shrouded sea.
After bullying Ryun, they left for training.In the Namgung family Ryun was not even allowed to enter the Martial Library, because the First Wife, Tang Su-min, had banned him from entering it, saying "it would be a waste of resources on him".
The Second Wife, Moyong Hwa-rin, had banned him from entering the martial arts practice grounds.
In the Namgung family, Ryun was nothing more than a bird trapped in a cage.
Every prince in the Namgung family had own large, luxurious house. Except Ryun—he had only a small shack, and even the servants of the Namgung family treated him like a dog.
Because of all this, Namgung Ryun had a very thin body, black eyes, dark circles around his eyes, and long black hair.
The knock was soft—but Ryun's heart seized.
For the first time in his life, his useless Dantian trembled.
"Open the door," the shadow said. "Or die not knowing why you were born."