Three weeks later, in the Baek family hall, all the members of the Baek clan had gathered. At the center seat sat the patriarch — Baek Ji-ho, father of Baek Sang. His expression was grim as he began to speak.
"So… there's still no news of Sang?"
The eldest son, Baek Nam-woo, stood and bowed slightly.
"No, Father. We sent our men to track his whereabouts. The trail led us to the edge of Henan — near a small village."
He paused, his tone growing darker.
"But something strange happened there. The entire village… was gone. Not a single villager remained. There's no one left who can tell us what happened."
"At first, we thought it was the work of bandits," Baek Nam-woo said slowly, his brows furrowing. "But Sang wasn't alone — Min-jun was with him. He was a second-grade martial in Martial Artist Gate realm, a master of the Tiger Art. There's no way a group of mere bandits could have taken them down."
Baek Ji-ho's eyes narrowed. "Then what are you trying to say? Speak clearly."
Nam-woo straightened, his tone turning serious. "I believe a martial arts clan is involved."
The hall fell silent. The patriarch's gaze sharpened, and Nam-woo continued.
"People who starve become bandits — they steal to survive. But someone capable of subduing a second-grade martial artist could easily earn money anywhere. There's no reason for such a person to live as a bandit. And the fact that there were no bodies left behind… makes it even more suspicious."
Baek Ji-ho's jaw tightened. He leaned forward, voice cold as iron.
"Write to the Shaolin Temple, the Murim Alliance, and the Empire. They have taken more than enough donations from the Baek house. It's time they repay us."
He looked around the hall, eyes stopping on each family elder.
"Tell them everything — that we know. Offer one thousand taels of silver to anyone who can tell us where my son has gone. No cost is too high. My son must be found."
A murmur rose; Nam-woo stepped forward, horrified.
"Father, one thousand taels… that's far too much—"
Baek Ji-ho cut him off with a hard stare.
"This isn't about silver, Nam-woo. It's about our family's honor. If someone can lay a hand on the Baek family and face no consequence, the same will happen again. We must show the cost of tarnishing our name."
Nam-woo bowed his head, shame and duty warring in his features.
"Yes, Father."
Orders were given at once. Messengers were summoned to write urgent letters; riders were readied to carry the reward and the plea for help. The Baek hall buzzed with controlled fury — the family would spend every coin and call every favor to drag their young master back from whatever darkness had taken him.
The Emperor sat in silence, his eyes tracing the faded lines of an ancient book. The vast chamber was heavy with the scent of aged parchment and burning incense.
His lips moved faintly as he murmured to himself,
"...How can I achieve that?"
A soldier dressed entirely in black entered, bowing deeply before the grand door.
"I greet Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady yet respectful.
The Emperor didn't look up right away. He turned a page, then asked coldly, "What is it?"
"A letter, Your Majesty — from the Baek family."
"Bring it here."
The soldier approached carefully and handed over the sealed letter. The Emperor broke the seal, his eyes moving over the words. Slowly, a thin, cunning smile curved across his face.
"So," he murmured, setting the letter down. "Send a platoon commander and fifty of our beast soldiers. In a crisis like this, we cannot simply sit back and watch our citizens be terrorized."
Though his words sounded noble, that sly smile never left his face.
The soldier bowed once more and quickly left to carry out the order, the echo of his boots fading into the cold silence of the library.
In the grand hall of the Murim Alliance, the leader sat behind his desk, quietly reading the same letter that had reached the Emperor. As his eyes moved across the words, his expression darkened.
Something about this felt… off. A strange tension stirred in his chest, though he couldn't yet name it.
"I'll assign someone to this mission," he muttered to himself. "The Wudang Sect is closest to that village…"
He was still thinking when a servant entered and bowed deeply.
"Sir, one of the Ten Heavens is here to see you — the Patriarch of Wudang Sect."
At that, the Alliance Leader's brows lifted slightly. Then a faint smile appeared.
"Ah, welcome our guest. I'll be there shortly."
Moments later, he entered the guest room. There sat an elderly man with long white hair, calmly sipping tea.
The Alliance Leader clasped his fists respectfully.
"To what do I owe the honor of a visit from one of the Ten Heavens?"
The old man chuckled warmly. "Hahaha! There's no need for formality between us, brother."
The Alliance Leader smiled. "Your Qi has grown even stronger. I wouldn't be surprised if you reach the Transition Realm soon."
"Thank you for the compliment," said Patriarch Tae-yang, setting his teacup down. "I came to discuss the Baek family incident. If possible, allow the Wudang Sect to handle it. I'll send my personal disciple — you need not trouble yourself."
The Alliance Leader considered this carefully. He didn't want too many eyes on his territory — too many had already begun whispering about the disappearances. People were starting to question what the Wudang Sect was doing while citizens vanished in their lands. If the sect could resolve this incident, it would calm the public's anger and silence those doubts.
"I understand," he finally said. "Then I'll entrust this mission to your capable hands."
Patriarch Tae-yang stood and clasped his fists. "I won't let you down. Now, if you'll excuse me"
"You've traveled far," the Alliance Leader interrupted. "Stay the night at least."
The old man smiled faintly. "No, no. There's too much to prepare. Perhaps next time."
As he departed, the faint scent of tea lingered in the room — and with it, the weight of hidden motives neither man voiced aloud.
At the Shaolin Temple, the Abbot carefully broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter from the Baek family. As his eyes moved across the words, his brow furrowed.
He called for a few senior monks and spoke in a low, measured tone.
"Send people to investigate — quietly. Find out what's happening."
One of the monks hesitated. "Abbot, that area lies under Wudang's protection. It would be improper to send a large force without their permission."
The Abbot's gaze shifted toward him. "That boy is coming here," he murmured. "If we do nothing, how can I face the Baek family again?"
Silence filled the chamber. The monks weighed the risks — if they stayed idle, Shaolin's reputation would suffer; if they acted rashly, it could spark a conflict with Wudang.
Finally, the Abbot exhaled slowly and made his decision.
"Send only five of our disciple monks," he said at last. "And I will write a personal letter to the Alliance, requesting cooperation."
The monks bowed. "Understood, Abbot."
News of the 1,000-tael reward offered by the Baek family spread like wildfire. Clues — or even rumors of clues — drew adventurers, bounty hunters, and curious onlookers from every direction, all desperate to find the missing boy.