Chapter 8

Chapter 8
The modest holding cell of the Mun-seong Branch was crammed to the brim. Ever since the facility first opened its doors, it had never held such an overwhelming crowd. To make matters even more chaotic, Old Man Go and a crowd of shopkeepers from the nearby streets had been brought along to record their official testimonies. Because of their presence, the outpost was as rowdy and crowded as an open-air market on market day.

The local martial artists stationed on the premises stood frozen in sheer disbelief, though no one was more thoroughly rattled than Im Choong.

“What under heaven is the meaning of this spectacle?”

“We simply processed the grievance.”

Im Choong gaped at Beon Saeng, bewildered, before shifting his attention toward Baek So-cheon. That individual behaved as though none of this concerned him in the slightest, placidly transcribing the testimonies of the merchants from where he sat.

“Squad Leader Beon. Step inside with me.”

Im Choong escorted Beon Saeng straight into his private quarters. The instant the latch clicked behind them, his fury flared.

“You brainless fool! Have you completely abandoned your senses?”

“Please forgive me.”

“Do you honestly think I care about your apologies? What on earth possessed you to pull a stunt like this?”

Beon Saeng kept his gaze fixed upon the floorboards. Ever since their drinks together the previous evening, he had sensed things were on precarious footing. Still, he had never envisioned the issue spiraling into a catastrophe of this magnitude.

“This is all because of warrior Baek, isn’t it?”

“It is not.”

“Do not lie; it undeniably is.”

“This choice was mine alone. I simply could not stand by and tolerate their lawless tyranny any longer. How long were we expected to turn a blind eye to their crimes?”

Yet Im Choong remained utterly convinced that this disaster traced back to Baek So-cheon’s instigation.

That fellow is truly beyond belief. Causing an uproar like this barely three days following his demotion.

It was not that Baek So-cheon or his principles were inherently corrupt. Rather, this was an inevitable collision between lofty ideals and the brutal reality of the world.

“And how do you propose we deal with this now?”

“First, we will transfer every single captive directly to the Jeol-gang Branch.”

“Do you truly believe the Jeol-gang Branch will accept them? They will release every single hoodlum on the spot and discipline you severely for ignoring established protocol.”

“Discipline? If taking action against degenerate Black Society thugs earns us punishment, is that not the true rotten core of the problem? If so, I will accept whatever reprimand they hand down. However, before that happens, grant me official authorization to seize the leader of the Tae-jeong Gang.”

Capturing the ringleader would give genuine meaning to locking up these lower-level lackeys.

“Do you consider that remotely sound? Absolutely not! Never!”

“Why ever not?”

“You half-wit! Are you honestly asking because you cannot see it? Have you lost your mind entirely?”

“Yes. Perhaps I am thoroughly mad. We may as well see this all the way through.”

“You impudent rascal! Do you believe I keep my head down out of pure cowardice? Do you genuinely desire expulsion from the Murim Alliance? Being cast out would be the least of your concerns—you could vanish and be butchered without leaving a trace of your remains.”

Beon Saeng had been consumed by fiery indignation, but the grim reminder of his impending demise abruptly extinguished his bravado. He could no longer muster the courage to raise his voice.

“Confine your efforts to recording the witness testimonies for the time being. What has occurred cannot be undone, yet we must still sweep up the shards.”

“Where do you intend to go?”

“Do you truly need to ask?”

Having no existing ties with the Tae-jeong Gang, he intended to seek out Wang Gon, who oversaw the South Division of the Shin-hwa Bang.

“If you stir up any further trouble during my absence, I swear I will end your life with my own hands.”

Im Choong burst out of the chamber before an answer could be given. He made a deliberate point of refusing to look in Baek So-cheon’s direction. Arranging an audience with the leader of the South Division to pacify the brewing storm took precedence over berating the man.

Beon Saeng emerged from the chief’s quarters and ambled back toward his workstation. The outpost’s fighters who were recording testimonies viewed him with fresh perspectives—astonished that he possessed such audacity, yet profoundly frightened of the impending retribution.

Sitting across the room, Old Man Go offered Beon Saeng a warm grin despite his lacerated, bruised face. Beon Saeng returned the gesture with a broad, confident smile.

Yes. I harbor no regrets.

Unfortunately for Beon Saeng, this grueling trial had yet to conclude. Two imposing figures barged through the entrance, practically dripping with hostility.

“Is the commander of this branch present?”

The man in the lead was Tae-jeong himself, the chieftain of the Tae-jeong Gang. The moment word reached him that his subordinates had been taken into custody, he had overturned his dining table in an outrage and dashed over. Accompanying him was his most formidable subordinate, who served as Tae-jeong’s loyal right hand.

Beon Saeng stiffened his frame and stepped forward to confront them directly.

“The branch commander is currently away.”

He quietly hoped they would simply turn around and depart. Instead, the subordinate leaned close and murmured a few words directly into Tae-jeong’s ear.

Instantly, Tae-jeong fixed Beon Saeng with a piercing, lethal glare.

“So you are the dog who locked up my crew.”

“Indeed. I am the one who brought them in.”

Beon Saeng fortified his resolve, answering with an unwavering voice.

Do not let them see you falter!

To his credit, Tae-jeong maintained an air of basic civility, at least on the surface.

“And just what transgression have my men supposedly committed?”

“Inflicting bodily harm upon shopkeepers and systematically shaking them down for money.”

“Who dared claim they collected silver?”

Tae-jeong cast an icy gaze toward the gathered shopkeepers. Knowing full well how ruthless he could be, the merchants hurriedly averted their eyes toward the floor.

Only Old Man Go held his gaze without flinching, defiantly meeting the brute’s stare.

“You know the truth full well. Every single copper piece went straight into your private coffers.”

“Old friend, you are mistaken. We require resources to maintain protection for honest folk such as yourselves, do we not?”

“Lies! You vultures went so far as to rob the money set aside for sick children’s remedies. Who on earth have you ever sheltered?”

The fragile threads of Tae-jeong’s patience snapped.

“Wasting polite words on a wretched, senile fool is truly pointless.”

He fixed Old Man Go with a chilling stare.

“Your girl is still living over in Seom-seo, isn’t she?”

The mere mention of his offspring drained all color from the elder’s defiant face.

“Two little ones, as I recall. A boy and a girl.”

Grandchildren as well—the shock instantly gave way to pure dread.

She resided in a distant territory, meaning he only saw her once every few years, and even less frequently of late. He had always believed that receiving no news was good news. Never in his wildest nightmares did he anticipate that someone would level such vile threats against his daughter and grandbabies.

“Seom-seo is quite a distance, but making the journey is hardly out of the question if I set my mind to it. What makes this brittle old cur believe he has the right to strut around like an authority?”

It was blatant, shameless intimidation—delivered right inside a regional compound of the Murim Alliance, directly before its martial artists.

Old Man Go dropped his head, completely silenced by an agonized mixture of remorse and terror.

If any harm should befall those children…

He would never find rest, even in the afterlife.

Witnessing the exchange, Beon Saeng dug his fingernails into his palms until the pressure ached.

Just how pathetic do these criminals believe we are?

Would they openly issue such threats right in front of our faces?

Tae-jeong turned and addressed the frightened shopkeepers as though he ruled the compound.

“Enough of this nonsense. There is no reason to escalate a trivial spat into a disaster. Pack up and return to your homes, every single one of you.”

He then directed his gaze toward Beon Saeng.

“Since this appears to be nothing more than a misunderstanding, unchain my boys this instant.”

Both the local shopkeepers and the stationed warriors turned their anxious gazes toward Beon Saeng. Since the branch chief was absent, the weight of the choice rested entirely upon his shoulders.

Without consciously intending to, Beon Saeng’s eyes drifted toward Baek So-cheon.

Baek So-cheon merely watched the confrontation with serene composure, looking as if absolute command had always belonged to him.

That infuriatingly calm demeanor inexplicably infused Beon Saeng with fresh bravery.

Fine, you insolent peddler. You win this round.

Presuming total compliance, Tae-jeong swiveled around to take his leave—only for an unyielding declaration to echo through the chamber behind him.

“Refused.”

Tae-jeong froze mid-stride. Keeping his back turned, he let out a low, menacing snarl.

“Refused, you say?”

“Precisely. Refused. Turn around and leave.”

Tae-jeong’s gaze narrowed into vicious slits. Still turned away from the crowd, he spat out words as if speaking to the empty air.

“Insolent insects. So you refuse to comprehend courteous warnings, do you?”

The ominous words resonated clearly across the silent hall.

Tae-jeong rotated his body with deliberate slowness, fixing Beon Saeng with an executioner’s glare.

“Do you have a death wish?”

A suffocating panic gripped the entire room. The merchants trembled in absolute terror—this intervention had originated out of a desire to shield them. Old Man Go felt his chest plunge; while he desperately wished to speak up, the threats against his flesh and blood held his tongue captive.

Beon Saeng projected his voice with absolute clarity toward Tae-jeong.

“I place you under arrest for leveling threats against warriors of the Murim Alliance and the victims of your brutality. Cast down your blade and drop to your knees.”

A deafening stillness descended over the outpost.

Every person present stared at Beon Saeng, their jaws dropped in astonishment.

Beon Saeng kept his composure intact.

This was on an entirely different level compared to apprehending petty foot soldiers. Those underlings were within his ability to suppress, but Tae-jeong was a martial artist of far greater caliber. A single misjudgment, and his own life would be forfeit.

Yet within that very second, a realization took root in Beon Saeng’s heart: this monster assaulted the innocent, plundered their livelihood, and threatened families living hundreds of miles away. The townsfolk were utterly powerless against such a predator.

If we turn away from protecting them, who else will?

Tae-jeong was so utterly flabbergasted that he could not even muster an amused sneer.

“What gibberish did that fool just utter?”

His lieutenant offered a snide remark.

“The sweltering weather has clearly scrambled his brains.”

Beon Saeng repeated his command without hesitation.

“Unclasp your weapon this instant.”

“And should I refuse?”

Tae-jeong rested his hand heavy against his hilt in a deliberate show of defiance. He had spent his entire existence thriving within the brutal Black Society, hardened like forged iron.

Even so, he was not so utterly reckless as to strike first within a formal sanctuary of the Murim Alliance—even if this were merely a minor appendage on the fringes, it was still an arm of the leviathan.

The air grew heavy with dangerous anticipation—until another presence broke the silence.

“Refrain from drawing that weapon. The moment that blade leaves its scabbard, your life ends.”

Every pair of eyes whipped toward the speaker: Baek So-cheon.

“Ignoring a formal command from an agent of the Murim Alliance and baring steel within an Alliance sanctuary grants us full legal sanction to execute you on the spot. It is an unyielding doctrine with zero exceptions.”

Tae-jeong shot a questioning glance at his subordinate: Who in the world is this miserable insect? The subordinate was equally ignorant of Baek So-cheon’s background. Fearing that the man might secretly be a disguised master, Tae-jeong inquired with guarded hostility.

“I do not recognize your face. Who might you be?”

“A mere newcomer assigned to this branch. Squad Leader Beon is my esteemed superior.”

Hearing this, Tae-jeong visibly relaxed, tossing his head back in contemptuous disbelief.

“Simply preposterous. Since when do fresh-faced novices fail to recognize the boundary between earth and the heavens?”

Baek So-cheon stoked the flames once more.

“You would do well to heed Squad Leader Beon while he is still granting you mercy. Even a piece of garbage like yourself deserves fair warning. Release your grip on that weapon.”

Tae-jeong’s frayed restraint finally ruptured, and he ripped his sword from its sheath.

*Shing.*

“I have drawn it. Now what do you intend to do?”

Without warning, Baek So-cheon roared at the top of his lungs.

“It is a raid! Shield the witnesses!”

He vaulted across the tabletop, hurtling straight toward Tae-jeong.

From Tae-jeong’s perspective, the reaction was utterly lunatic—he had merely bared his sword to project dominance, harboring no genuine intention to engage in a lethal duel.

Yet Baek So-cheon bellowed as though an all-out slaughter of innocents had commenced, hurling himself forward.

Soaring off the wooden desk, Baek So-cheon drove a vicious kick directly through the air.

*Thud.*

Blindsided by the sheer speed, Tae-jeong took the full brunt of the strike straight across his face and crashed backward through the air.

Seeing his master struck down, the lieutenant drew his weapon.

Beon Saeng unsheathed his own sword, yelling out his command.

“Take him down!”

Beon Saeng and the remaining outpost martial artists swarmed the subordinate together.

Steel clashed violently within seconds. The terrified shopkeepers scrambled desperately into the corners.

Regardless of whether they were relegated to a forgotten provincial post, these men were still formally trained warriors of the Murim Alliance. A four-to-one encirclement orchestrated under Beon Saeng’s charge swiftly crushed the outlaw’s defenses.

The man collapsed beneath a storm of lethal cuts from every angle. His aggressive proficiency had left them no alternative but to employ fatal force to subdue him.

Having dispatched the underling, Beon Saeng quickly turned back to provide reinforcement for Baek So-cheon.

He ground to a complete halt.

Tae-jeong remained sprawled motionless on the floor; Baek So-cheon stood a short distance away, looking entirely detached.

Beon Saeng hurried toward the fallen chieftain. He kicked the bandit’s blade out of reach, tapped his fingers to seal the outlaw’s internal channels, and shoved his shoulder.

“Get up. Come on.”

There was no reaction whatsoever.

“I said wake up!”

He struck Tae-jeong across the jaw. A deeply disturbing stiffness met his touch—Beon Saeng pressed his fingers against the neck to monitor his breath.

“He… he is dead?”

Tae-jeong’s flesh had already grown icy cold.

A collective gasp swept through the hall.

Beon Saeng raised his bewildered gaze to Baek So-cheon, who immediately adopted an expression of theatrical bewilderment for the benefit of the onlookers.

“He must have suffered a fatal blow to the skull when he hit the ground.”

That excuse ignited an instant realization inside Beon Saeng’s mind.

He snuffed him out on purpose.

Those provocative remarks from Baek So-cheon had never been a caution—they were a deliberate lure engineered to force his hand.

Presenting himself as a helpless fledgling, hurling derogatory insults to provoke the chieftain’s wrath—it was all an elaborate setup designed to make the man draw his sword.

And that lightning-fast assault… it had likely been an execution maneuver conceived from the very start.

Beon Saeng hurried to reinforce the narrative.

“Indeed, a man of Tae-jeong’s caliber would never perish from a simple barehanded strike. He must have suffered an unlucky fall after taking the hit. Every one of you witnessed the fall, did you not?”

The merchants vigorously nodded their heads. They had observed the flying kick followed by the heavy crash—that was more than enough. Moreover, their loyalties naturally aligned with the Alliance defenders.

Whether it was premeditated slaughter or an accidental blow, the outlaw had drawn cold steel within the walls of the compound, rendering the killing entirely permissible under the law. If it were ruled an accident, there was even less cause for scrutiny.

Old Man Go broke into a fierce, triumphant grin.

“Heavenly retribution has finally struck that vile villain down. A righteous divine punishment!”

The remaining merchants beamed with relief, murmuring in vigorous agreement.

Beon Saeng directed his attention back to them.

“We will require further written accounts from all of you.”

“Without a doubt—we owe our very lives to you. This confrontation unfolded solely to keep us from harm.”

They offered their formal depositions with absolute willingness. While lingering dread of Tae-jeong had kept them terrified before, the fiend had now perished right before their eyes.

Old Man Go, whose household had been directly threatened, bowed repeatedly toward Beon Saeng in profound gratitude.

“My deepest thanks to you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart.”

“It is not to me that you owe your gratitude…”

Beon Saeng trailed off, turning his eyes across the room.

Baek So-cheon stood casually beside a corner window, gazing outward as if entirely detached from the chaos. He stared aimlessly into the heavens, exactly as he had done on that very first day within the courtyard of the barracks.

A silhouette that appears so lonely must belong to a man who is utterly solitary.

Nearby, several subordinate guards whispered among themselves.

“The branch chief will probably collapse from shock when this reaches his ears.”

“Even so, we broke no regulations.”

Suddenly, an overwhelming realization dawned upon Beon Saeng.

Wait, could it be…

Baek So-cheon had steered every single variable so that it remained completely within legal bounds. He had prevented the death of the lieutenant from being scrutinized, and framed Tae-jeong’s demise as a tragic collision with the floor. There was no disciplinary vulnerability left behind that could be exploited by inspectors from the provincial branch or the grand headquarters.

Could every single detail have been orchestrated in advance?

The sheer magnitude of the realization sent a shiver through him. Baek So-cheon clearly operated on a level completely alien to ordinary men—and yet, Beon Saeng had been calling such a figure his younger brother? It bordered on lunacy.

Am I truly behaving with such reckless foolishness?

—

Im Choong came back completely empty-handed.

Wang Gon, who governed the South Division of the Shin-hwa Bang, had departed on an extended journey to distant territories.

By the time the chief stepped back into the outpost, the central room had already been restored to order. The corpses had been removed, and the statements from the shopkeepers had been completed before sending them on their way.

Beon Saeng presented his report while his heart hammered violently against his ribs. Rounding up the criminal underlings was dangerous enough, but having the syndicate head lose his life within the compound? An absolute tempest seemed guaranteed.

Yet Im Choong’s response caught him entirely off balance.

“In truth, this may prove advantageous.”

“Advantageous in what manner?”

“The Tae-jeong Gang storming an official post crossed an intolerable boundary. They possess no ground to justify their actions now. Missing my audience with Wang Gon has turned into an unexpected blessing.”

Apprehending them would have ignited political friction. However, an outright assault upon an Alliance stronghold transformed the situation entirely. That transgression eclipsed any procedural irregularities with the arrests.

Naturally, Im Choong never truly believed the bandits had mounted an assault—even mindless criminals were not foolish enough to invite their own destruction. It was far more likely an intimidation effort that had gone horribly awry. And Baek So-cheon was unquestionably at the center of the web.

He dropped his tone to a low whisper.

“Warrior Baek snuffed Tae-jeong out deliberately, didn’t he?”

“No, sir. It was entirely an accident.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“I am certain.”

Though deep suspicion lingered, Beon Saeng remained steadfast in his account. That consistency was the safest outcome for every person involved.

“Take your leave. Have Baek step inside.”

“Understood.”

Beon Saeng swallowed his desire to speak up in defense of his comrade—doing so would likely only inflame the chief’s irritation.

Moments later, Baek So-cheon walked through the doorway.

Im Choong observed him in cold silence.

“What truly transpired out there?”

“Precisely what was written in the formal account.”

“Let us drop the pretense and speak candidly.”

“As you wish.”

“I remain ignorant of your past accomplishments. Even so, cease this conduct. Warrior Beon is an upright, earnest man.”

“I fail to grasp your meaning.”

“Do not disrupt the order here.”

“So that you may keep him malleable for your own convenience?”

Im Choong bristled with sudden indignation. Never had he imagined someone would level such an accusation directly to his face.

Yet he found himself unable to produce an immediate rebuttal. Perhaps, in the darker recesses of his own thoughts, he had considered that very notion.

“You insolent…”

A sharp reprimand rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

“Remove yourself from my presence.”

Only after Baek So-cheon had departed did the suppressed truth escape alongside an exhausted exhale.

“He is shaking my foundation as well.”

His wounded dignity was the only thing holding him together.

Yet this will hardly resolve itself quietly.

Tae-jeong’s demise carried the sweet relief of an extracted rotten tooth. However, if Wang Gon came seeking restitution for his lost asset, a far greater crisis would follow.

—

Sa-ma Il-jung’s initial assignment within the strategic command center of the Hyun-cheon Pavilion revolved around tending to the messenger birds.

Hundreds of communication raptors arrived on a daily basis from every corner of the Central Plains, their missives methodically cataloged and directed right through this central nexus.

Routine communiqués were assigned to strategists for formal assessment, while high-priority dispatches were carried with seals unbroken straight to Je-gal Hyeon. The most critical, emergency notifications were dispatched directly to the Alliance Lord.

Sa-ma Il-jung managed the sorting of routine missives—a duty suited for an apprentice providing operational assistance.

*Whump!*

His focus snapped toward the delivery tube assigned to Jeol-gang Province. With seasoned haste, he detached the carrier cylinder.

It was marked as a routine letter, permissible for open review by lower strategists.

“Incoming dispatch: Tae-jeong, master of the Black Society’s Tae-jeong Gang, has been slain by Baek So-cheon.”

A seasoned tactical advisor immediately determined its classification.

“Mark it upper-tier priority and deliver it straight to the Grand Strategist.”

“Understood.”

Under ordinary conditions, the demise of a minor criminal chieftain would not warrant even a low-grade notation—in fact, it would likely be ignored completely.

However, the Hyun-cheon Pavilion kept a vigilant watch over Jeol-gang, focusing specifically upon Mun-seong. Any report concerning Baek So-cheon was instantly elevated to the upper tiers.

Sa-ma Il-jung carried the document directly to Je-gal Hyeon.

“An update regarding Baek So-cheon stationed at the Mun-seong Branch.”

Je-gal Hyeon skimmed the words, allowing a faint chuckle to escape his lips.

“Entirely predictable. A temper like that cannot be contained, no matter where he goes… Pass this along directly to the Alliance Lord.”

“Right away, sir.”

Typically, it fell upon Je-gal Hyeon to assess whether an upper-tier missive warranted the attention of the Alliance Lord.

Yet all intelligence touching upon Baek So-cheon bypassed the usual filters entirely. It was proof enough that the supreme leader kept an unrelenting watch over him.

“Now that I reflect upon it, this marks the very first time he has been stationed away from our presence. He had always remained by our side. He galloped across endless battlegrounds, yet he invariably returned to the headquarters. All his triumphs and his subsequent ruin transpired within these very grounds.”

Consequently, the strategists had borne witness to the entire tragedy: the cascading demotions, and the solitary figure trudging quietly across the vast martial grounds. This fortress had served as both his cradle and his tomb.

“Do you yearn for his return?”

Just as Je-gal Hyeon opened his mouth to reply—

*Dong! Dong! Dong!*

An urgent alarm bell clanged across the complex. The strategists bolted out from their chambers.

“What is happening?”

A tactical runner dashed toward them, gasping for breath.

“A massive host belonging to the Black Heaven Alliance is advancing at high speed from Gan-suk, pushing directly toward Seom-seo.”

Gan-suk remained the sovereign territory of the Black Heaven Alliance, while Seom-seo rested beneath the domain of the Murim Alliance.

“What is their strength?”

“The Pursuit Soul Unit, totaling eight hundred warriors.”

“Their entire formation?”

Je-gal Hyeon recoiled in shock. The Pursuit Soul Unit represented the very pinnacle of the Black Heaven Alliance’s elite, subjected to constant surveillance. They had previously been dispersed across various points in Gan-suk, yet they had somehow assembled under absolute secrecy.

Whether this was the result of a catastrophic intelligence breach or a daring strategic gambit, either possibility spelled disaster.

“What is their projected objective?”

“Their vector of advance aligns directly with the Seom-seo Branch.”

“Transmit an immediate alert to the Seom-seo Branch and every surrounding outpost.”

“Understood!”

The runner turned on his heel and sprinted into the corridor.

*Whir-shoot!*

Senior tacticians maneuvered the mechanical apparatuses with flawless precision; outbound cylinders hissed through the pneumatic conduits.

Sa-ma Il-jung voiced his dread in a trembling murmur.

“Are we facing an all-out war?”

Je-gal Hyeon slowly shook his head.

“That is improbable.”

A true war of conquest always gave warning tremors beforehand.

If this were an opening vanguard, complementary troop deployments would be churning across Gui-jou, Sa-cheon, Ho-nam, Gwang-seo, and Gwang-dong as well. Yet not a single irregular report had surfaced from those domains.

Even so, an unexpected spark could easily ignite an uncontrollable conflagration. The movements of the Black Heaven Alliance were notoriously erratic.

“It is most likely a massive mobilization exercise.”

Such was Je-gal Hyeon’s tactical assessment—and his silent, fervent hope.

Urgent missives continued to drop into the command room.

“The Pursuit Soul Unit has advanced another ten li closer to Seom-seo. They will arrive at the border within half a shichen.”

“What forces do we have available at the probable point of contact?”

“The local outpost maintains merely fifty sentinels. Seom-seo is deploying a detachment of three hundred as an emergency reinforcement.”

Three hundred and fifty fighters in all. Should hostilities erupt, they would be vastly outnumbered—pitted directly against peerless veterans.

Strategists steadily adjusted markers across the grand sandbox map, where hundreds of tiny flags illustrated the balance of the Central Plains.

The crimson flags representing the Pursuit Soul Unit crawled steadily toward the boundary of Seom-seo.

The defensive banners of Seom-seo scrambled forward to meet them.

Sa-ma Il-jung’s muscles locked with tension. This was the first true emergency he had experienced since entering the strategic division.

He had caught the tail end of the prior conflict while serving as an initiate, relegated to menial chores until peace was brokered.

Now, he stood on the precipice of a genuine clash against the Black Heaven Alliance.

Orders rippled outward from the Hyun-cheon Pavilion in an unbroken stream, even as incoming updates flooded the receiving desk.

“Hostile formations are currently crossing into the frontier between Gan-suk and Seom-seo.”

The opposing markers clustered tightly against the designated border.

A real battle hung in the balance. A skirmish of dozens was a minor border clash. Eight hundred elite shock troops crossing the frontier, however, meant immediate, catastrophic war.

The speed of the response would dictate the outcome in moments.

An agonizing silence enveloped the hall.

Every eye remained glued to the receiving tube assigned to Seom-seo. Standard dispatches piled up unheeded.

*Whump!*

A new missive from Seom-seo thudded into the bin.

The entire chamber held its breath, staring fixedly at the officer who unfurled the parchment.

“Ah! The Pursuit Soul Unit stopped short of crossing—they have executed an about-face and are pulling back.”

A heavy wave of relief washed through the room.

Je-gal Hyeon collapsed back into his seat, the tension draining from his frame.

Sa-ma Il-jung stepped forward and handed him a cup of fresh water.

“You have my gratitude.”

The Grand Strategist took a slow sip, steadying his breath.

“A truly narrow escape.”

“Their border provocations grow more brazen by the day.”

This felt less like a training maneuver and more like an ominous forewarning. The sands of peace were running perilously thin.

“Have you ever noticed this detail? As Baek So-cheon was stripped of rank after rank, the Black Heaven Alliance grew noticeably more aggressive.”

“Could that truly be the case?”

“It may be a mere alignment of events. Yet with every demotion he suffered, their incursions pushed a little farther.”

“They are already aware that he was stripped of his internal cultivation.”

“Indeed, they know full well.”

“Then what purpose does it serve?”

“Even deprived of his martial power, his elevated station was enough to give them pause.”

It was a terrifying aura of authority that transcended pure martial prowess.

Perhaps it was simply a coincidence—their operational timeline aligning neatly with his political downfall.

Yet Je-gal Hyeon’s sharp instincts sensed an invisible thread connecting the two.

“If that holds true, is that not all the more reason he should be recalled immediately?”

“It is.”

And yet, the Alliance Lord had gone so far as to strip him of his personal blade.

He was no longer permitted to gaze upon the sovereign’s face. Under such conditions, could a return ever be realized?

How did our fortunes unravel to such a state?

Je-gal Hyeon let his mind wander back to their shared days of glory.

Baek So-cheon had perpetually stood at the Alliance Lord’s flank—resembling the legendary Zhao Zilong of old, conquering every impossible campaign placed before him. Unflinching, infallible, and absolute. That was the conviction shared by countless souls.

Now, the exploratory thrusts of the Black Heaven Alliance were mounting rapidly—total war could erupt at any moment. Yet the common people outside these walls lived in blissful ignorance.

Je-gal Hyeon pushed himself up from his chair and walked slowly toward the great sandbox.

The markers along Seom-seo and Gan-suk had drifted safely apart once more.

Lowering his gaze, he reached down into a wooden container holding massed banners beneath the table.

His fingers drew out an immaculate, scarlet flag trimmed with brilliant gold thread—a distinction reserved for a single warrior who was measured as an entire legion onto himself.

Embroidered clearly across the silk was a solitary name: So-cheon.

A torrent of memories flooded his mind: the So-cheon banner towering majestically over the strategic board, shattering enemy lines wherever it fell.

If the great war were to erupt tomorrow…

Can we truly hope to prevail without the Lord of the Pavilion, Baek So-cheon?

He stared at the banner for a long, quiet moment. Then, gently wiping away an invisible speck of dust from the silk, he laid it carefully back into the chest.

Stepping toward the doorway, he issued his parting command.

“Rescind the high alert across Seom-seo once the Pursuit Soul Unit has retreated two hundred li beyond the frontier.”

“At once, sir.”

On this quiet day, a humble southern village within Jeol-gang found a brief reprieve of peace. Across the vast Central Plains, however, the fragile balance slipped one step closer to the precipice.