As I stood there, a memory of white hair immediately brought to mind the unique hair color of the Namgung family—bluish-white, a result of the transformation from their profound cultivation.

But the hair of the man before me was whiter than that, far whiter.

It wasn’t the white of old age.

The man appeared to be somewhere between thirty and forty years old, but his hair carried a weight beyond its years.

His pale eyes met mine.

'What is this...?'

Though I was sure he was looking directly at me, there was a faint disconnect, as if I wasn’t fully meeting his gaze.

How could I describe this feeling?

He was right in front of me, yet it was hard to truly perceive him.

This wasn’t the overwhelming gap between realms that one might feel from a higher level martial artist—it was something else entirely.

It was the epitome of an uncanny sensation.

Just as I felt a strange, inexplicable unease rise to my throat—

Swoosh.

The man, seemingly noticing my stare, reached into his robe and pulled out an object, covering his face with it.

It was a mask.

A mask you could see anywhere, though there was something peculiar about it.

It wasn’t a full mask; it was a half-mask.

I wondered why he suddenly decided to put it on, but the reason became apparent the moment he did.

Sss...

"...!"

The moment the mask touched his face, his white hair began to darken, turning black.

The transformation was immediate.

It took mere seconds for the change to occur.

And that wasn’t all.

‘...I can see.’

The blurriness that had obscured my perception of his hair and eyes vanished.

I could finally see him.

I could now take in his eyes, nose, and overall features.

What was this?

Was it the power of the mask?

‘A relic...?’

A tool that could produce such an effect had to be a relic.

And somehow—

‘Somehow, it looks familiar.’

Where had I seen it before?

Why did just looking at that half-mask make me feel so unsettled?

Where had I encountered this feeling?

‘Ah...!’

It came to me. I remembered where I had seen that half-mask before.

It was—

‘The one Jegal Hyeok used.’

Jegal Hyeok, also known as "Cheonyuranga," the Brain of the Demon Cult.

He had worn a mask just like this one to cover the burn scars on his face.

‘...So why does this man have it?’

It was likely not the exact same mask, but...

For some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the same one Jegal Hyeok had carried.

Did it have these abilities back then?

"Kid."

As I was lost in thought, staring at the man, he spoke to me.

"Were you planning to keep staring?"

"...I apologize. I didn’t mean to."

"It’s fine. I’m just not used to people looking at me."

With that, the man brought a cup of water to his lips.

A cup.

Had he been holding a cup?

‘I hadn’t even noticed.’

If he hadn’t been wearing the mask, I wouldn’t have noticed anything about him.

Realizing this sent a chill down my spine.

For a martial artist, failing to perceive another person was a fatal flaw. It meant you could die without even knowing who killed you.

"..."

Even though I had reached the Hwagyeong realm, how could I still feel like this?

Who was this man?

"Your expression is interesting."

"...!"

"It’s a good habit. Keep honing it."

I had been caught sizing him up, trying to gauge the danger he posed.

Despite knowing this, the man’s response was calm, as though our conversation had ended.

"...Who are you?"

Who was this man?

To provoke such tension in me, yet be a stranger to my eyes.

I didn’t know every martial artist in Zhongyuan, but I thought I was familiar with the most important ones.

Yet I had never heard of this man.

Upon hearing my question, the man slightly tilted his head, looking at me.

When his eyes were white, I couldn’t tell much, but now that they were black, I could see.

Those dark, lifeless eyes—they belonged to someone who existed neither in life nor in death.

People with eyes like that usually had no attachments to life.

Or...

‘They had killed far too many people.’

Those who had taken countless lives tended to have eyes like that.

Which only made me more curious.

Who was this man?

"It’s been a long time since someone asked me that."

"...Is that so?"

"Yes. Usually, they’re dead before they can ask."

Well, that’s just terrifying.

"Introducing myself... It’s been quite a while since I’ve done that."

The man’s gaze locked onto mine.

His eyes were difficult to look at. It felt as though they were trying to pierce through me, uncovering everything inside.

"But."

Suddenly, the man’s voice cut through the air, stabbing into my ears.

Though his tone and cadence were the same as before, there was now something... heavier about it.

I felt my mouth go dry, and I instinctively swallowed.

"Kid, it seems like you already know. Do you need to hear it from my lips?"

"..."

I furrowed my brow at his words.

He was right.

I had already begun to piece together his identity.

When had I started to suspect?

‘...The moment I saw his eyes.’

From the moment our eyes met, I had begun to put the pieces together.

Those eyes, coupled with the faint, almost imperceptible presence—these were the traits of assassins.

Throughout my past life, I had encountered many assassins.

And every one of them had died by my hand, burning in the flames of my Qi.

Surviving an encounter with an assassin usually meant one of two things.

Either you killed them—

Or they killed you.

‘This man.’

I could say with certainty, if I had faced him without his mask in a real fight—

I wouldn’t stand a chance.

It wasn’t about pride or ego. It was the sheer survival instinct that told me this.

‘How did he do it?’

How could he suppress his presence to this degree?

It wasn’t the overwhelming gap I had felt with Cheonma, where the difference was so vast that I couldn’t even sense his existence.

No, what this man did was different.

He was hiding his presence.

Even while standing right in front of me, talking and making eye contact, he had hidden himself so thoroughly that I couldn’t perceive him.

‘Is that even possible?’

Sure, it was possible.

Even I could do it to a civilian with no martial training.

But I had reached the Hwagyeong realm—a realm that only a few thousand martial artists in Zhongyuan could ever hope to achieve.

Though thinking about that made me a little embarrassed... I could feel my ears turning red.

Still.

‘To do that to someone like me?’

Could such a thing be possible? Zhongyuan was vast, after all.

And—

‘There was one assassin.’

There was one figure known for being able to do exactly that.

The most infamous assassin in Zhongyuan.

Not just one, but the leader of the most feared group of assassins.

The Iron Night Assassins.

A place known for gathering the best killers in all of Zhongyuan.

And the leader of that group was called the King of Assassins, known as the Lord of the Night.

"...The Dark King."

Hearing my answer seemed to please him.

A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Why was the King of the Night, whose true identity was unknown to all, sitting here next to the Sword Empress?

   
   ******************
   

In the aftermath of the incident, as the dust began to settle and the situation slowly came under control, chaos still reigned in certain areas.

"We’re running out of cloth!"

The busiest part of the crisis was undoubtedly the medical ward.

"Damn it... The bleeding won’t stop!"

"Senior!"

The air was thick with the scent of blood and the sound of frantic cries.

The physicians were moving swiftly, but there were simply too many wounded.

To make matters worse—

"Where’s that new recruit? We’re overwhelmed here!"

"...He died earlier today, protecting another cadet."

"...For fuck’s sake... I told him! We’re healers, not warriors! We’re not supposed to be defending anyone!"

Despite his outburst, the bitterness in his voice was undeniable.

"Senior, we need more cloth. We’re running out."

Blood-soaked rags were being exhausted at an alarming rate.

In the midst of this chaos, a few had already succumbed to their wounds.

At that point, even the greatest masters couldn’t have saved them.

It was hell on earth.

One of the physicians, furiously tending to the wounded, bit his lip.

He had left the official medical unit of the Murim Alliance to avoid witnessing this very thing—young, promising warriors dying one after another.

His trembling hands continued working as more bodies fell.

Sword wounds were deep, inflicted with the intent to kill.

He couldn’t heal the wounds fast enough. More than a dozen had already died under his care.

"Bring me another scalpel. Get the fire going again before it goes out—"

As the physician rushed past, a pale hand reached out toward a bloodied cadet’s body.

The physician, startled, shouted in protest.

"Hey! Who the hell—!"

He stopped mid-sentence.

He was met with a pair of cold, sky-blue eyes.

The cold was almost palpable, yet strangely, it didn’t seem out of place for the woman standing before him.

The physician recognized her immediately.

She was Moryong Hia, known as the Snow Phoenix, from the Moryong family, one of the Four Great Clans. A late-stage martial master, one of the Six Peaks of the martial world.

Sss...

From her hand, a chill spread across the wounded cadet’s body, mingling with her Qi.

As a result, the gushing blood began to slow, and the cadet’s screams subsided.

"...What the..."

"What are you doing?"

Before the physician could voice his confusion, Moryong Hia’s cold voice cut through the air.

"Shouldn’t you be doing your job? Or are you just going to stand there?"

"...!"

Snapping back to his senses, the physician immediately returned to treating the cadet.

There was no time to question her methods.

As time passed, Moryong Hia seamlessly blended into the medical team, using her unique icy Qi to assist in healing the cadets.

Eventually, when they had a moment to catch their breath, the physician sought her out.

"...Thank you for your help."

Moryong Hia gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

Both of them were far from unscathed.

Her once expensive, pristine clothing was now soaked in blood, and her hair, usually neatly combed, was matted with grime and blood.

The bloodstains on her pale cheeks might have looked almost alluring, had the situation not been so grim.

"Stop staring."

At her remark, the physician quickly averted his eyes.

"Apologies."

"I’m already spoken for. It’s uncomfortable when people look at me like that."

"...Pardon?"

When the physician asked, confused, Moryong Hia responded in her usual calm tone.

"Most people who look at me like that usually end up falling for me."

"...."

"It’s a hassle, so try to avoid it."

Her words were arrogant and condescending, but given her reputation as the Snow Phoenix, they carried weight.

And frankly, the physician couldn’t help but agree. She was dangerous, after all.

"If I’m still this captivating, I guess I’m not dead yet..."

"Pardon?"

"Why doesn’t it work on him, though?"

Her muttered words were barely audible, but they carried an unmistakable bitterness.

It seemed Moryong Hia was well aware of her beauty, which only added to her allure.

Even in her current disheveled state, the physician couldn’t help but acknowledge her magnetic charm.

‘Does she have a fiancé?’

He didn’t know for sure, but for a brief moment, he found himself envious of the man she spoke of.

However, pushing that thought aside, he expressed his gratitude once again.

"Thank you for your assistance. Truly."

Moryong Hia offered a faint smile.

"No need to thank me. It would’ve been inconvenient if the descendants of the merchant clan I invested in died. And it’s not a bad idea to have people owe me a favor."

"..."

The physician chuckled dryly at her words.

"Even so, you’ve helped a great deal."

"I’d hope so. My Qi reservoir is practically empty now."

Her ice-infused Qi had been a tremendous help in treating the injured.

She wasn’t just stopping the bleeding—she seemed to have a good grasp of medical techniques as well.

Whatever her reasons, she had saved lives that would have otherwise been lost.

For a physician, that was more than enough.

As the physician prepared to return to his work, Moryong Hia spoke again.

"You’re the one, aren’t you?"

"...Excuse me?"

"The disciple of the Divine Physician."

"..."

The physician’s eyes widened in shock.

How did she know?

No one was supposed to know that he was the direct disciple of the Divine Physician.

"...That..."

"I trust you’ll count this as a debt."

With a smirk, Moryong Hia walked away, leaving the physician to chuckle to himself.

So even this had been calculated.

It was terrifyingly impressive—and yet, irresistibly charming.

In just a brief encounter, she had left a lasting impression.

It would take him a long time to shake the feelings that had been stirred within him.

And so, he found himself jealous of the man she spoke of.

Step.

Exhausted from a long day of tending to the injured, Moryong Hia finally allowed herself to exhale.

‘...That was more tiring than I expected.’

Her body, weary from the constant use of her Qi, was finally catching up to her.

‘Is this the price I pay for neglecting my training?’

The toll of using her Qi for healing had finally hit her. And since she’d resorted to using her ice Qi, the exhaustion was even worse.

‘What the hell am I doing all this for?’

She couldn’t help but chuckle at her own thoughts.

What was she suffering for?

‘And that bastard didn’t even come to see me after arriving?’

She was angry at the man who hadn’t bothered to show his face.

While she was running around, doing everything she could, he had apparently checked in on some of the injured women and then disappeared.

"I should’ve just let myself get hurt."

She almost wished she had an excuse for him to come and see her.

Moryong Hia found herself annoyed at the childish thoughts crossing her mind.

Then, biting her lip, she muttered to herself.

"...He better not be hurt."

Despite cursing him, she couldn’t help but worry about him.

The news of his exploits had already spread widely—there was no way she hadn’t heard.

How had things gotten so out of hand?

Moryong Hia sighed as she thought back to the sequence of events, her headache intensifying.

‘...This is not good.’

It wasn’t just the attack itself.

Though that was part of it, the real problem lay in what was to come.

Sinryong Hall was home to the heirs of countless noble families and prestigious sects.

Dozens of cadets had died in the attack.

The Murim Alliance had yet to respond, either because they were unaware or because they hadn’t decided on a course of action.

‘They must not know yet. That’s the only explanation for this delay.’

But when the full situation became known—

It would be a crisis.

A crisis for the Murim Alliance.

The future that flashed through her mind was bleak.

Moryong Hia ran her fingers through her blood-caked hair, grimacing at the sensation.

And she knew, despite the dire state of her appearance, what mattered most was not how she looked but what was coming.

What she was certain would happen.

"When all of this settles down, my father will come."

Her father, Baekcheon Sword Master (백천검주), the head of the Moryong family.

It was inevitable. He would have to intervene.