Clouds hung low like torn parchment. Beneath them, the canyon yawned wide—a scar through the land. Mujin stood at the edge, gazing into the dark crevice.
He was not alone.
Behind him, Biunok and Bipoong flanked him, both bruised from recent battles. Elder Woon Gihyeon remained still as stone, studying the symbols glowing faintly on Mujin’s Heaven’s Seal.
“This place,” Gihyeon said, “was once a site of judgment—where kings exiled traitors and gods punished men.”
The seventh symbol had led them here.
And so had their enemies.
From the south, the Royal Blades emerged, armor gleaming under blood-red sky.
From the north, The Bloodstar Cult, faces veiled, steps silent as death.
Mujin stepped forward, eyes cold.
“Then let all truths be judged here.”
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Drawn by the pulse of the Seal, Mujin entered a narrow passage carved into the rock.
Torches ignited on their own as he walked, flames flickering in rhythm with his heartbeat.
At the chamber’s center stood an altar of scorched stone.
And waiting upon it—
A man composed of smoke and cinders.
“I am Pyun-Rak, Keeper of the Seventh Flame.
You carry judgment, but do you understand its weight?”
The chamber melted around him.
Suddenly, Mujin was back in Seoul—his old newsroom, broken and abandoned.
Rain on the windows. A phone ringing. Blood on his hands.
His junior reporter lay on the floor.
“You left me,” the vision whispered. “You ran.”
Mujin clenched his fists.
“I didn’t run. I couldn’t save you. But I will never forget you.”
The illusion shattered in fire.
Pyun-Rak attacked, his strikes a dance of burning memories.
No blade—only guilt, only truth.
Mujin fought with the Skycut Fang, deflecting flame with qi, piercing lies with will.
He moved not like a warrior—but like a man who had accepted his past.
At the duel’s climax, Pyun-Rak halted.
“You are not fire seeking to consume,” he said. “You are the light that survives it.”
He extended his hand.
Within it burned a glowing ember, shaped like a shard of the Seal.
“The Seventh Treasure: Ember of Judgment.”
Mujin took it.
The Heaven’s Seal blazed—seven sigils complete.
Outside, the battle still raged.
Biunok struck down a masked cultist. Bipoong defended against three at once.
The Royal Blades hesitated—sensing something had changed.
Above Nokdu Gorge, clouds split open.
A ring of dark fire burned in the sky.
Far away, a blindfolded figure turned his head.
“The Gate has been opened,” he whispered. “The true trial begins.”