The Iron Pass loomed in the distance like a jagged scar across the mountains, its sheer cliffs a natural fortress that had witnessed countless sieges and betrayals. The slave column had halted for the night in a windswept valley just shy of its entrance, the air biting with the chill of higher altitudes. Fires dotted the encampment, flickering weakly against the encroaching darkness, casting long shadows that danced like specters on the rocky ground. Cheong Gwang sat apart from the main clusters, his back against a boulder worn smooth by time and elements. The sting of Min's betrayal lingered like a fresh wound, sharper than the physical aches from the march and drills.
His pack lay open beside him, contents reordered after the false accusation—stale bread, a half-empty waterskin, and the hidden tools that had become his lifelines: the dagger, nails, and a small pouch of herbs pilfered discreetly during the chaos. The flogging of Min echoed in his mind, the boy's cries a harsh reminder of trust's fragility. Cheong Gwang had intervened not out of vengeance, but necessity; exposing the lie had preserved his group's standing, but it left a bitter taste. In this world, alliances were chains—binding, yet easily snapped.
He gazed at the horizon, where the Pass cut through the peaks like a gateway to deeper hells. The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent witnesses to the Warring States' endless turmoil. Whispers from the guards filtered through the night: the Azure Dragons held the eastern approach, their water qi arts turning the rivers into weapons—flooding paths, eroding defenses. Crimson Blade reinforcements were en route, but delays meant the slaves would bear the brunt, as always. The larger conflict teased at the edges of his awareness—a brewing storm of sect ambitions, where warlords like pawns maneuvered for unification under one banner or another.
Introspection claimed him in the quiet. The camp's rhythm had become a second skin: the clink of chains, the grunt of labor, the muffled sobs of the broken. But beneath it, a quiet ambition stirred, born from the scars and setbacks. Min's betrayal had been a mirror, reflecting his own naivety—saving others without safeguards invited knives in the back. He'd grown, though; the march's grueling montage had forged not just endurance, but cunning. No longer the boy from Yeonhwa, pounding through life with brute strength. Myeong-Wol's influence whispered in his thoughts: outsmart, adapt, rise.
A subtle rustle drew his attention—Baek approaching, his limp softened by the uneven terrain. The older man settled beside him, offering a strip of dried meat scavenged from a guard's discard. "Can't sleep?" Baek asked, his voice a low rumble.
Cheong Gwang accepted the morsel, chewing slowly. "Too much noise in the quiet." He nodded toward the Pass. "What's waiting there?"
Baek followed his gaze, eyes narrowing. "Blood, as always. The Pass controls the veins—qi flows stronger there, ancient leylines the sects covet. Crimson Blade wants it for fire arts amplification; Dragons for their waves. We'll be the fodder, digging trenches, baiting charges." He paused, studying Cheong Gwang. "But you've got that look—planning."
A faint smile tugged at Cheong Gwang's scarred lips. "Survival first. But... more." The worldbuilding unfolded in his mind: the murim hierarchies, with sects at the apex wielding profound techniques—qi manipulations that bent elements, enhanced bodies beyond mortal limits. Slaves glimpsed only echoes: the shimmer of auras, the thunder of strikes. Yet, rumors spoke of outliers—those who stole scraps of knowledge, cultivating in secret. Forbidden, punishable by death, but tempting.
Their conversation deepened, world expansion weaving through the night. Baek shared lore from his blacksmith days: "The sects guard their arts jealously, but qi is everywhere—in the air, the earth. Basic breathing methods can awaken it, if you're desperate enough." He demonstrated subtly, inhaling deep, holding, exhaling slow. "Feel the warmth? That's the start. But push too far without foundation, and it burns you out."
Cheong Gwang mimicked, a faint tingle stirring in his core—illusory, perhaps, but intriguing. No overpowered awakenings; just grounded hints, seeds for later growth. The camp's structure mirrored the broader society: overseers like Kang, low-tier cultivators enforcing the will of mid-rank warriors, who in turn bowed to sect elders. Feudal barbarism at its core—power trickling down as abuse.
Subtle action interrupted the reflection: a shadow moved near the perimeter, a guard slipping away from his post. Cheong Gwang tensed, hand inching toward his dagger. "Deserter?" he whispered.
Baek shook his head. "Scout, maybe. Or meeting a contact." They watched as the figure met another in the gloom—indistinct words exchanged, a pouch handed over. Bribery? Intelligence? The murim politics seeped even here, factions within factions. The guard returned, none the wiser among the slaves.
Jin joined them shortly after, his mangled fingers flexing restlessly. "Heard from Ryu—Min's talking, blaming us. Says we'll turn next." The group's dynamics shifted; trust reinforced among them, but wariness toward outsiders.
Cheong Gwang's ambition crystallized in the discussion. "We watch, we learn. Chains bind, but minds are free." He vowed quietly: survival as the foundation, but ambition as the spark. No rash escapes; build strength, gather intel, exploit cracks. The Pass was a turning point—deeper into war, but closer to opportunities. Slave trades, sect clashes—paths to Myeong-Wol might open.
As the fire died to embers, a hook emerged: distant horns echoed from the Pass, signaling enemy movements. Guards stirred, Kang barking orders for early rise. "Dragons probing—be ready!"
Cheong Gwang lay back, chains a cold weight on his ankles. The horizon of chains stretched endless, but in his heart, a quiet vow: endure, evolve, break free. The sub-phase closed, arc setup teasing the forge ahead—battlefields that would test not just body, but will.
The night deepened, stars watching as ambition stirred in the scarred slave's soul.