One thousand years ago, the martial world bled.
The Murim Alliance—once the beating heart of peace and order—had become a battlefield of ambitions. The great sects, once guardians of the realm, had turned into warring factions clawing for dominance. Conflicts sparked over sacred texts, ancient relics, or simply bruised egos. Honor had become currency, and betrayal, a daily affair.
Then came one man.
Not a sect master.
Not a grand elder.
Not even the strongest warrior.
Just a man with too much conviction and not enough sense to back down.
His name was Baek Sun-Ho.
Nicknamed the Silent Flame, he wasn't the loudest voice or the sharpest sword. But when it came to sacrifice—he burned brighter than them all. While the great clans schemed, he fought. While others made temporary pacts, he brokered lasting peace. And when a final summit dissolved into a thirteen-way ambush, Sun-Ho made the last move they never expected:
He offered himself.
One man, thirteen blades, and a final statement carved into the bloody soil:
> "Let the powerful guide. Let the humble lead."
He died laughing, his body consumed by his own internal flame technique—Blazing Spirit Art—turning him into a pillar of white fire that no one dared look at directly. His death forced the warring clans to step back and reconsider.
In time, a new rule was passed:
No clan with overwhelming power could hold leadership.
Leadership of the Murim Alliance would rotate through candidates from moderate clans—ones neither strong enough to oppress nor weak enough to be trampled.
The powerful would act as guides, not rulers.
It worked. For a time.
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One Thousand Years Later
Baek Sun-Ho awoke to the feeling of wet socks.
He blinked. The ceiling above him was cracked and stained, a wooden beam swaying slightly as if threatening to collapse. The smell of mold and fermented turnips filled his nose.
He sat up, looked around, and said the first thing that came to mind:
> "This… doesn't look like the Heavenly Pavilion of Eternal Peace."
It wasn't.
It was a chicken coop.
"You're finally up, huh?" a voice said. "Nice of our future Sect Leader Candidate to rise before the chickens die of old age."
Baek Sun-Ho turned his head. Standing in the doorway was a girl in a battered uniform, arms crossed, a broom over her shoulder like a weapon of war. She had sharp brown eyes and a thick braid that looked like it could knock someone unconscious if swung hard enough.
Yeon So-Ri.
A name from the present.
But a face that scratched at the back of his mind—like an echo from a previous life.
"I've been reborn…" he muttered. "Reincarnated…?"
Then, suddenly—
"Wait—did you say Sect Leader Candidate?"
"Yes," she sighed. "The Elder chose you. He said, and I quote: 'He's cheap, nobody else volunteered, and he looks too dumb to be a spy.'"
"…What a rousing endorsement."
"Just get up. The selection trials are in two hours. Unless you want to forfeit and clean the privy stalls for the rest of your life. Again."
Sun-Ho tried to process everything. His body was younger, weaker, and clearly underfed. But the core of him—the fire that once tore through heaven itself—still flickered in his dantian. Dormant, maybe. But not gone.
He stepped outside the chicken coop—sorry, his training dormitory—and took in the sight of his new home:
The Dustcloud Sect.
A third-rate sect known more for herbal ointments than martial glory. Buildings leaned. Chickens roamed free. Disciples numbered in the single digits.
> "It's like the Heavens are mocking me…"
But Baek Sun-Ho, once the hero of peace, was not so easily discouraged. He remembered what his death had bought: a thousand years of calm. A restructured alliance. Balance.
Except—
> "If I'm being reborn now... does that mean balance is failing?"
He thought he was born again to enjoy his life this time but the thought didn't leave his head.
A new mission planted itself in his mind.
He wasn't here to relive his past glory.
He was here to finish what he started.
Change the system. Root out the rot.
From the lowest seat… to the very top of the Murim Alliance.
Of course, first… he had to pass the Sect Leader Candidacy Trials.
And avoid being pecked to death by his roommate's aggressive rooster.
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[End of Chapter 1]