Chapter 27 - 26: Night the Mist Withered
The sun sank behind the jagged ridges of Mt. Mugang, dragging its last rays of light across the Martial Pavilion like a dying ember across silk. Shadows bled down the mountainside like slow ink, and as the stars emerged one by one over the distant ridgelines, the grandeur of the Grand Open Tournament gave way to the silence of night. A hush had fallen across the Mugang Martial Pavilion, but that stillness wasn’t peace—it was the breath held before the blade fell.
Nocturnal winds coiled low through the stone courtyards and elevated wooden walkways of the mountain compound. The scent of pine, oiled weapons, and cooling stone lingered in the air. Most competitors rested within their assigned inns, beds claimed, bodies weary from the brutal pace of the tournament. And though the flicker of paper lanterns lined the distant outer courtyards of the Pavilion, they illuminated little of what skulked between the mountain trees and rooftops.
For in that silence, they began to move.
Figures cloaked emerged from the canopy above and the ridges below. They moved like breath over glass, their presence nearly imperceptible. Not a sound escaped their footsteps as they leapt from rooftop to rooftop, melted into the brush, or coiled themselves within shadows. The elite of the Night Drizzle Sect—infamous assassins had arrived.
And they answered not to their own leaders tonight.
Atop a far-reaching stone balcony beneath a sloped pavilion roof, Do Giseon, the First Blade of the Mugang Martial Pavilion, watched the mountain below. The moonlight cast sharp edges across his profile, revealing a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—an expression of satisfaction, or perhaps calculation. A token bearing the engraved symbol of the Crimson Flow Blade Union glinted briefly in his gloved hand before vanishing once more beneath his sleeve.
His voice was quiet, but in the ears of the messengers kneeling behind him, it rang with the weight of absolute command.
"Begin," he said, and with that single word, a dozen birds scattered from the nearby trees.
The hunt had started.
Ten masked assassins dispersed into the expanse of Mt. Mugang. Their mission was clear—find and silently apprehend every member of the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace present on the mountain. They were not to cause a scene. No blood, unless absolutely necessary. Capture. Detain. Deliver.
And most importantly, the Palace Master, Danhye Yeoryeong, must be taken alive.
The Night Drizzle Sect didn’t need instruction on how to strike unseen. One after another, they executed their task with chilling precision.