The Murim world called itself righteous.
It preached balance, harmony, and justice—words carved into stone gates and recited by disciples who had never seen true bloodshed. Sects built their reputations on moral superiority, on the illusion that strength existed to protect the weak.
But righteousness had always been a mask.
And masks were the first things discarded when power appeared within reach.
The meeting took place beneath a mountain temple whose name had not been spoken aloud for over a century.
The Hall of Silent Accord.
No banners were flown. No disciples were allowed within ten li of the mountain. Even the birds avoided the skies above, chased away by oppressive Qi barriers that pressed down like a suffocating hand.
Within the hall, torches burned with unnatural stillness.
Seven figures sat around a circular stone table carved with ancient Murim sigils. Each one radiated power that would cause lesser cultivators to collapse instantly.
These were not ordinary elders.
They were the hidden rulers of Murim.
At the head of the table sat an old man with snow-white eyebrows that hung low over sharp, calculating eyes. His robe bore the insignia of the Namgoong Clan, stitched in gold thread.
Namgoong Il-Seon.
A man whose smile had once convinced an entire region to surrender without resistance.
He tapped his fingers lightly against the stone.
"The disturbances have increased," he said calmly. "Lightning Qi fluctuations. Irregular. Violent."
Across from him, a bald monk clad in muted saffron robes exhaled slowly.
"The Shaolin Sect has felt it as well," the monk said. "Several outer disciples collapsed during meditation. Their meridians were scorched from afar."
A woman seated beside him snorted.
"That is because your disciples are weak," she said. "Do not mistake discomfort for threat."
Her robes were pale blue, embroidered with cloud patterns—the mark of the Sky Pillar Clan. Her eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence and poorly hidden greed.
"The Mount Cheonroe stir," she continued. "That much is undeniable."
The room fell silent.
The name alone carried weight.
Namgoong Il-Seon's smile deepened, but his eyes hardened.
"So," he said softly, "the storm still breathes."
A younger man slammed his palm against the table.
"Then we should strike now!" he barked. "Before it matures! Before another Lord Noesin Jin is born!"
The monk's gaze snapped toward him.
"Mind your tone," he warned. "This is not a battlefield."
The young man swallowed but did not retract his words.
"We all remember what happened the last time the Noesin Clan was allowed to grow unchecked," he said. "They stood above Murim itself. Even Heaven bowed to them."
"Careful," Namgoong Il-Seon murmured. "That sounds dangerously close to admiration."
The Sky Pillar woman smiled thinly.
"No one here admires them," she said. "But we all fear them."
That, at least, was honest.
Far from the hall, at the very edge of Murim's civilized territories, a village burned.
Screams echoed through the narrow streets as armored figures moved methodically from house to house. There was no chaos in their movements—only efficiency.
A man attempted to flee with his child clutched to his chest.
A blade passed through both of them in a single motion.
Blood soaked into the dirt.
"Search every home," a voice commanded. "Anyone with lightning affinity—kill them."
"Yes, Elder!"
The attackers bore no insignia.
They did not need to.
This was how Murim truly operated.
Within a ruined house, a teenage boy knelt trembling, lightning flickering weakly across his fingertips. Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead to the ground.
"I swear!" he cried. "I don't know anything! I can barely cultivate!"
The elder before him looked down with mild interest.
"Lightning responds to blood," he said. "And blood remembers."
He raised his sword.
The boy's head rolled across the floor.
Outside, the village burned until nothing remained but ash.
By dawn, not a single corpse remained intact.
Murim erased its mistakes thoroughly.
Back in the Noesin Mountains, Noesin Cheon trained again.
His body was wrapped in bandages soaked with medicinal paste, each step sending waves of pain through his limbs. His Thunder Body remained unstable, suppressed by seals that burned like molten iron inside his dantian.
Lord Noesin Jin watched silently as his son stood before a stone pillar etched with lightning runes.
"Strike," he commanded.
Noesin Cheon hesitated.
His hands trembled.
"Again," his father said.
Noesin Cheon swallowed and thrust his palm forward.
Lightning burst forth—wild, uneven—slamming into the pillar with a deafening crack. The stone shattered, fragments exploding outward.
Noesin Cheon staggered back, blood dripping from his nose.
"Too much," Lord Noesin Jin said coldly. "You are letting emotion guide the strike."
"I tried—" Noesin Cheon began.
"Trying is irrelevant," his father interrupted. "Control is everything."
He stepped forward and placed his hand against the shattered pillar.
With a subtle twist of his wrist, lightning flowed backward into the stone, reconstructing it in seconds.
Noesin Cheon stared.
"This is the difference between destruction and dominion," Lord Noesin Jin said. "You destroy. I command."
He turned away.
"You will train until you understand the difference."
Noesin Cheon bowed deeply, pain and determination twisting together in his chest.
"Yes, Father."
That night, the mountain barriers trembled.
Not violently.
Cautiously.
Lord Noesin Jin felt it immediately.
He stood atop the highest spire, the storm winds whipping his robes violently as his gaze pierced through layers of mist and darkness.
Figures moved beyond the outer ridges.
Scouts.
Many of them.
He closed his eyes.
Their Qi signatures bloomed in his perception like stains upon the world.
"So," he murmured. "You've chosen."
He raised one hand.
Lightning surged outward, silent and invisible.
Miles away, scouts collapsed where they stood—hearts stopped, meridians erased, bodies falling without a sound.
Not one scream escaped.
A warning.
Nothing more.
Within the Hall of Silent Accord, Namgoong Il-Seon's eyes snapped open.
A chill ran down his spine.
"They've noticed us," he said quietly.
The monk frowned.
"You're certain?"
Namgoong Il-Seon nodded slowly.
"That was a warning strike," he said. "Not even Lord Noesin Jin would waste power like that unless he wanted us to feel it."
The Sky Pillar woman leaned back, her smile gone.
"Then the rumors are true," she said. "The heir lives."
Silence followed.
Finally, the monk spoke.
"Then righteousness has no choice," he said solemnly. "If the storm matures, Murim will kneel again."
Namgoong Il-Seon rose from his seat.
"Prepare the coalition," he said. "All sects. All clans."
His gaze darkened.
"This time," he continued, "we erase the storm completely."
High above the Noesin Mountains, the clouds churned violently.
Noesin Cheon stood alone on a training platform, his small fists clenched as lightning flickered uncontrollably around him.
He did not know why his chest felt heavy.
He did not know why his heart raced.
But somewhere deep within his blood—
The storm remembered.
And it was angry.
End of Chapter 3