Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique

Night had fully settled across the vast terrain of Jeonghwa, and even the mist-laced hills guarding the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace had fallen into a hush. From a distance, the palace shimmered like a floating bloom—serene, untouchable, layered in walls of mist and spiritual pressure. Jinmu stood beyond its outer formations, his gaze following the gentle curve of the palace walls as they traced the cliffside.

There were no guards openly patrolling the upper perimeter, but the presence of refined ki barriers brushing against his senses told him enough. They didn’t rely on swords or harsh alarms here—the energy surrounding the palace was like a veil of water, not meant to wound, but to quietly suffocate any who dared intrude.

This is unlike Mugang Martial Pavilion I’ve infiltrated. No bloodthirst. No killing intent. It’s calm... even welcoming. But that’s the danger, isn’t it? You don’t notice the water pulling you under until you drown.

He reached up and adjusted the dark cloth over his face. His movement was fluid—deliberate. With a deep breath, Jinmu stepped forward, activating SHADOW VEIL STEP, his body melting into the folds of the mist like he belonged in it.

His presence shrank to nothing. He was no more than a drifting breath in the wind.

The courtyard spread wide beneath him as he passed over the outer wall, unseen. Structures of pale wood and flowering gardens gave the entire palace a fragile beauty. There were no harsh corners, no towering watchposts. Instead, the architecture flowed like water itself—curved beams, layered roofs, lanterns that glowed like fireflies.

So this is the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace...

He couldn’t help but slow as he drifted between walkways and stepped through the mist gardens. A strange calm pushed into him, eroding the edge of his usual urgency.

I can see why she fights so hard for this place. Even now, I don’t feel like an invader. I feel like... I’m being let in.

But sentiment had to be buried. He pressed on, careful not to trigger the ki-sensitive grounds. His information was limited—he didn’t know the layout, hadn’t scouted the full terrain, but one thing he did know was Eun Haria’s presence. He could feel it. That faint signature of burning serenity—like a flame refusing to rage—was unmistakable now.

He followed it past an open courtyard, then down a curved staircase, into one of the practice halls. The building was open-air, the walls replaced by columns that welcomed the night wind. Inside, under the quiet watch of the moonlight, stood Haria.

Her back was to him, dressed in white training robes, black hair untied and slightly damp. She had likely just finished a late-night practice session. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths, and her palms were held in front of her in a closing meditative stance.