The wind changed.
It was a subtle thing — a shift in the air, as if even nature itself knew something was about to break.
Jinmu Yeon stepped forward from the tree line.
The sound of gravel beneath his feet reached the clearing just moments before his voice did.
"Two-on-one. Doesn't seem very honorable for so-called martial artists."
The two Crimson Flow Blade Union members turned immediately, blades rising in tandem, eyes sharp and aggressive. The taller one squinted.
"You—"
Jinmu was already walking, his hands resting loosely by his sides.
The woman from the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace wavered on her feet. Her breathing was shallow. She looked toward the voice, recognition flickering in her eyes — but her lips didn't move. Her knees buckled slightly.
She's about to pass out.
Perfect timing.
Jinmu didn't break his stride. His steps were even, measured. Each one deliberate. He stopped between her and the two attackers, standing with his back to her crumpling form.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
"You've got some nerve," the shorter Crimson Flow member spat. "Poking into things you don't understand."
"I understand enough," Jinmu replied calmly. "You're thugs. You hurt people for fun. You destroyed an inn a few days ago. Peaceful Blossom Inn. Heard of it?"
The taller one narrowed his eyes.
"Wait… you were there."
Jinmu tilted his head, almost smiling.
"Yeah."
"You lied to us," he snarled. "You were protecting that woman all along—"
"No," Jinmu cut in. "I was protecting my family. She was just a guest."
His fingers twitched slightly at his sides.
The taller man stepped forward. "We don't have time for this."
"Neither do I," Jinmu said. "So I'll make it quick."
The shorter one barked, "Kill him first!"
The two attackers moved in perfect coordination. The taller one lunged with a direct thrust while the other slipped around to flank, broadsword arcing for Jinmu's back.
They're fast. But not fast enough.
Jinmu didn't draw a weapon. He simply stepped to the side — a soft pivot, like falling mist.
The broadsword missed.
The thrust passed through where his chest had just been.
Then came his counter.
He raised his right hand and struck the taller one's wrist — not hard, not with brute force, but with perfect timing and flow. The moment his palm connected—
Vein-Pulse Bloom.
The man's arm went limp. His blade clattered uselessly to the ground.
Before he could react, Jinmu's fingers danced — two precise taps to the man's shoulder and sternum.
Misting Blade Fingers.
The attacker's entire upper body seized. He staggered backward, eyes bulging.
Jinmu didn't even turn as the second attacker came from behind.
He ducked under the swing and twisted, slipping behind the man's back like vapor slipping through cracks.
Twin Lotus Coils.
His arms spiraled and locked around the attacker's neck and shoulder, redirecting the man's momentum and slamming him to the ground.
The taller one roared and charged again.
Again? Persistent.
Jinmu spun low.
Sinking Root Spiral.
He swept the man's legs, dragged him down, and struck his center of mass with open palms — not to kill, but to disable. Ki surged from his hands like quiet waves.
The man collapsed, gasping.
Jinmu stood between their broken forms, breathing lightly.
That… was easier than I expected.
He glanced down at his hands.
There was no burn in his limbs. No tension in his muscles. Just a light humming in his veins, like a storm barely beginning to stir.
They're… Experts. I was supposed to struggle.
But I didn't.
He looked down at the man he'd struck last — unconscious. The second attacker was groaning, one leg twitching erratically from the disrupted meridians.
Jinmu stepped back, brows furrowed.
Could it be… I'm already past the Expert stage?
He glanced toward the trees.
No. I couldn't be that far. I just copied one technique…
He turned slowly toward the collapsed woman.
Her body lay crumpled just a few feet from where he stood. One arm slung across her side, her breath faint, but still present.
She hadn't witnessed the fight.
Her eyes were closed.
Blood stained her sleeve, and her body trembled softly — from exhaustion or from pain, Jinmu couldn't tell.
He crouched beside her slowly, watching her face.
She never saw me use the Blossom Vein Arts.
He exhaled, finally allowing himself to feel the wave of relief washing over his chest.
She won't know I copied it.
Still…
He reached forward and checked her pulse.
Stable. But weak.
Her face, despite the bruises and dirt, still held that same strength — the kind of quiet defiance that refused to break, even at the edge of unconsciousness.
Jinmu sighed.
"Guess I owe you again."
He gently pulled off his outer robe and laid it over her shoulders.
Then sat beside her.
The breeze passed softly over the clearing, and the trees rustled like gossiping monks.
So what now, Jinmu?
Do you leave her here? Let her wake up and find her own path again?
He glanced over his shoulder.
The two attackers were still down. If he wanted to erase them permanently, he could. But…
No. That's not who I want to be. Not unless I have to.
He returned his gaze to the woman.
I should go. I should leave before she wakes up.
But… something feels wrong about that.
The wind shifted again.
Not a warning.
Not an omen.
Just a reminder.
That he wasn't a bystander anymore.
He looked at her hand.
Even if she never remembers me…
Even if I'm just a nameless nobody who passed through her life for one night…
I can't walk away yet.
His hand hovered.
Not to heal.
Not to copy.
Just… to steady her breathing. Calm her ki.
He guided a gentle stream of his energy into her — not overwhelming, just enough to ease the pressure in her meridians.
Her expression softened, slightly.
She didn't wake.
But she relaxed.
Jinmu sat back again and exhaled.
Mount Mugang will still be there tomorrow.
But I think… I'm meant to be here for one more moment.
The midday sun had shifted to a warmer hue by the time Jinmu stood again, brushing dust from his knees.
The unconscious female martial artist lay behind him, tucked against the shade of a low-branching pine. Her breathing had stabilized. She hadn't stirred.
Jinmu looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly.
This power… it's growing faster than I expected.
He exhaled, then turned toward the two men sprawled out like discarded sacks near the dirt path. Their weapons had fallen beside them — two distinct curved swords, dyed in a faint reddish tint, engraved with serpent-like vine patterns.
Crimson Flow Blade Union signature swords.
He walked over and crouched beside one of the blades, examining the curvature, weight, and markings. The hilt was wrapped tightly in dark leather, worn from countless battles.
Crude, but effective. And judging by their stance earlier, they don't just swing blindly. There's an actual rhythm to their bladework.
He reached down and placed a single finger on the edge of one blade.
The metal was still warm from battle.
COPY.
A faint pulse shot through his fingertip, flooding his mind with a burst of unfamiliar ki paths and aggressive momentum. It was wild — more explosive than the Blossom Vein Arts. Less graceful. Sharper. Like a flame that had no interest in control.
Jinmu closed his eyes as the fragments of the technique scattered inside his mind.
There it is…
The flow of the form.
The angles of the strikes.
The blade rhythm of the Crimson Flow Sword Arts.
It wasn't beautiful.
But it was brutally efficient.
And now it was his.
He exhaled, opening his eyes.
Then stood.
This one's too loud.
His gaze dropped to the blade again.
Carrying it would only make me a target. The Crimson Flow Union might assume I'm one of their defectors or — worse — someone who looted their dead.
He stepped over the blade and kept walking.
Behind him, the weapons lay untouched, slowly being claimed by dirt and silence.
Instead, Jinmu reached into the small pouch tied to his belt and drew out a folded strip of cloth.
He stared at it for a long moment.
This won't be enough.
Earlier, when he had crouched beside the unconscious woman, he'd noticed something strange in the pit of his gut — not fear. But a faint, nagging awareness.
The way her body responded when he used the Blossom Vein energy to calm her.
How her ki had recognized his for a brief moment — not fully, but enough to make him hesitate.
If a fellow Yeonhwa practitioner senses me using this technique… what if they start asking questions?
What if she does?
He clenched the cloth in his hand.
Then turned his eyes to the open path.
Yeonhwa Lotus Palace isn't just any sect. It's one of the Five Major Orthodox sects. And they're all women.
If they find out someone outside their lineage is using the Blossom Vein Arts — especially a man —
He didn't even finish the thought.
He just reached the next village before the sun dropped too low.
The town was small — only a handful of tiled rooftops, a single market street, and a tea stall that smelled like cinnamon bark and river leaves.
Jinmu ignored the food.
He walked straight toward a stall where clothes were hung between wooden beams and a grizzled old man sat behind piles of cloth and faded garments.
"Looking for something in particular?" the old man asked without looking up.
"A face covering," Jinmu said. "Simple. Breathable. And preferably something that won't fall off mid-jump."
The old man gave a dry chuckle and reached behind him.
"Running from bandits, are we?"
"No. Just… allergies."
He held up a black cloth mask, stitched tight along the edges and shaped to wrap comfortably over the nose and jaw.
"Three bronze," the old man said.
Jinmu paid without haggling.
As he walked away, he tied the mask carefully around his face, adjusting it until it sat comfortably under his ears and along his jaw.
He glanced at his reflection in a window.
Not bad. Enough to cover my features, but not enough to make me look suspicious.
He returned to the forest edge an hour later.
The two Crimson Flow members were still unconscious — Jinmu had tied them to the base of a tree and snapped the handles of their blades before leaving. They wouldn't be going anywhere soon.
And the woman… was finally stirring.
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed.
She blinked at the sky above her, then slowly shifted, pain flickering across her face.
She sat up, barely.
Her gaze moved, unfocused — then sharpened when it landed on Jinmu, who stood quietly beneath the pine.
He'd kept his mask on.
"Who…?" she started, voice raw.
He didn't answer.
She narrowed her eyes, but her body sagged again. She was too weak to challenge him.
"You're… not with them," she said eventually.
"No," Jinmu replied softly.
"Did you…?"
"They're not dead," he said. "But they won't be bothering you again."
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.
Then, "Thank you."
Jinmu said nothing.
A long pause stretched between them.
She looked down, dazed again.
"Where… are we?"
"Still two days out from Mount Mugang," Jinmu replied. "You collapsed. I moved you."
She nodded faintly, still not lifting her head.
He waited. Watched her body sway slightly before she caught herself with one hand.
She won't make it far in that condition.
He glanced down the path.
Mount Mugang wasn't far. Not for someone like him. He could carry her or use light steps. She wouldn't remember much.
Just drop her off. No need to explain. No need to talk.
She never has to know who helped her. And I'll be gone before she finds out.
His hand lifted slightly, brushing the edge of his new mask.
It's better this way.
Let her think I was a traveler. A shadow. A wandering hand in the fog.
He turned, his eyes scanning the distant peak that shimmered just faintly through the clouds.
Mount Mugang.
Neutral ground.
A land where no sect ruled — but all were tested.
And he was about to arrive with a secret too valuable to share, and a debt quietly repaid.
He walked back to her side, crouched down, and gently lifted her arm over his shoulder.
She didn't resist. Didn't speak.
She was half-asleep again before he even stood.
Jinmu turned his eyes forward.
Let's get you to safety.