The east training ground of the Crimson Sky Sect was unusually crowded.
It wasn't a festival. It wasn't a duel sanctioned by elders. But the buzz in the air felt electric—like something monumental was about to unfold.
At the center stood Jinhyuk, quiet, unmoved, his presence cloaked in shadow and mystery. Word of his strength had spread like wildfire. A masked outsider who had singlehandedly annihilated monsters in the Red Pine Forest? Disciples whispered, scoffed, obsessed.
Today, the fire would finally burn.
"Step into the ring, coward," snarled Shin Murok, a well-known Inner Court disciple. Dressed in embroidered robes and wielding a gleaming lightning-infused sword, Murok's pride dripped from every movement. "Or does your mask hide more than your face? Afraid we'll all see what a fraud you are?"
Jinhyuk didn't react.
He stood as though carved from stone, only the faint breeze rustling his cloak.
The crowd murmured—some amused, others impatient. A few recognized the stillness for what it truly was: control. Poise. Power restrained.
Rina Dae, perched quietly atop the nearby balcony, watched with narrowed eyes. She sensed it—this wasn't going to be a normal clash. Something darker brewed beneath the silence.
"I'll give you a final warning," Murok said, stepping forward, lightning crackling along his blade. "Kneel. Apologize. Maybe I'll spare you a broken arm."
Still no reply.
Murok's fury snapped.
With a shout, he surged forward, lightning exploding beneath his feet, sword aimed straight for Jinhyuk's throat.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
And just as the blade reached striking range—
It stopped.
Two fingers.
That was all Jinhyuk used.
He raised one hand, catching the edge of Murok's sword effortlessly—without qi reinforcement, without stance, without emotion.
Murok's eyes widened in disbelief. "What—!?"
And then—
"Is that all?" Jinhyuk's voice finally rang out, deep, calm, and cold as winter rain.
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To be continued...