Murim: Tale of Raiden

The usual tranquillity of Mount Song shattered like glass, while the sky remained clear and the weather pleasant the cause of chaos was something else. It was the numerous martial warriors who streamed onto the sacred peak, their banners and uniforms of various hues marking the great factions of Jianghu. They climbed the thousands of steps to the Shaolin Monastery, the ancestral land of martial arts, drawn by invitations to the Dragon-Pheonix meeting.

Inside, the monastery's inner sanctuary exuded ancient tranquillity, the air thick with the scent of incense and the sound of wind chimes. The Abbot, flanked by loyal monks, sipped his tea under the dim glow of candlelight. His wrinkled face was a map of experience and wisdom, his voice resonating against the stone walls.

"..... Clan, Namgung Yoong of the Namgung Clan, Ye Gou of Beggar Union, Poong Chu of Kulun Sect, Lin Ming of Qincheng, Tang Wei of the Tang Clan, Fang Li of Wudang, and finally our own Huiran. I hear that a young warrior has been recently rising from Mount Hua. Hmmm... We have quite a gathering of prodigies coming here," Abbot said, "Has any youth among the commoners passed our test in Alliance schools and won the invitation?"

A senior monk replied, "Yes, Abbot."

Surrounded by the soft smell of incense and the faint sound of wind chimes, the Abbot spoke. "The bonds of the Martial Alliance, formed during the Great War just to oppose the Demon Cult, it was already fragile," he began. "Now it is slowly but surely weakening. This event, Dragon-Phenoix, serves as a chance to unite the younger generation, to bring them together in the spirit of besting each other before division tears us apart."

His voice grew solemn. "If not, I fear the next Great War will not be against external enemies, but against our current martial brothers."

The monks' expressions hardened upon hearing those words. The Abbot smiled, adding, "But we'll prevent such a war from ever happening. It is our duty as the Prime Sect."

He finally asked, "Have the sects and clans arrived and accommodated themselves yet?"

A senior monk among others answered, "They have gathered but are still settling in."

The Abbot nodded in approval. "Everything seems to be going well—"

A sudden disturbance interrupted the peaceful atmosphere of the sanctum. The Abbot glanced towards the door just as a young monk burst into the room, gasping for breath between words.

"Abbot!" he exclaimed. "Disciples of the Southern Island and Mount Hua have already started fighting!"

The Abbot simply placed his cup down and sighed.

"Nothing unexpected. Stop them before they get hurt."

***************

At the Shaolin training grounds, normally filled with monks rigorously refining their skills, a crowd of colourful outfits signified the various sects gathered around. They watched two groups of youngsters, aged fourteen to seventeen, in blue and pink, brawling with their fists. Swords hung at their waists, signifying their status as sword sect disciples, but they didn't dare to unsheathe them—their one concession to the sacred grounds as guests.

At the centre, the two groups faced off: Mount Hua, led by the fifteen-year-old prodigy Chung Myung, and the Southern Island Sect. The air crackled with unspoken rivalries and the murmurs of onlookers.

Chung Myung, exuding calm confidence, stood at the forefront. Although Mount Hua was believed to be a failing sect, Chung Myung's sudden rise in fame was a contrast. There had been rumours of him winning duels against famed warriors that surpassed his age, and some had even proclaimed him as having the potential to be the strongest of the current generation.

"You think you can take our place so easily?" Chung Myung taunted. "Replacing Mount Hua — WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"

A Southern Island disciple, his face twisted in anger, stepped forward. "Your time is over, Mount Hua. Your sect has fallen to ruins and all your famed techniques are lost."

He added, "I can respect the Great Plum Blossom Saint and the Plum Blossom Swordsmen for their sacrifice in saving our people, but the current Mount Hua derived its techniques from the fallen sect's branches and inherited their techniques from those they claim as predecessors. By what right do you bunch of disgraceful impersonators claim you deserve respect from us?"

The crowd murmured upon hearing that statement. They accepted that the current Mount Hua lacked the legitimacy of being descended from the Mount Hua of the Legendary War that occurred more than a hundred years ago.

Chung Myung's expression heading this was a mix of amusement and anger. "By what right?"

He looked over his shoulder to fellow Mount Hua disciples.

"By right of our fists. BREAK THESE BASTARDS' HEADS!"

With that, the fight commenced and the two groups charged. The Southern Island disciples surged forward, fists and feet aiming to crush Chung Myung. Their style relied on long, sweeping motions, trying to overpower him with powerful, fluid strikes.

The first Southern Island disciple aimed a wide punch at Chung Myung's head. Chung Myung intercepted it with a swift punch to the forearm, deflecting the force. He followed up with rapid, circular strikes to the disciple's torso, each punch landing with a thud that echoed through the training grounds, sending the disciple stumbling backwards and finally falling flat.

Another disciple approached with a roundhouse kick aimed at Chung Myung's ribs. Chung Myung stepped in, closing the distance, and caught the leg with both hands before delivering a devastating elbow strike to the knee, buckling the disciple's leg and sending him crashing to the ground.

A third disciple tried to grapple Chung Myung, wrapping his arms around Chung Myung's torso. But Chung Myung used a quick hip throw to flip the disciple over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He followed up with a sharp, precise punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the fallen disciple.

Around them, the other Mount Hua disciples engaged their Southern Island counterparts. One Mount Hua disciple delivered a rapid series of short, sharp punches to his opponent's midsection, each blow landing with the precision of an arrow. Another used tight, controlled footwork to stay inside his adversary's reach, delivering a flurry of jabs and hooks that bypassed the Southern Island disciple's sweeping defences.

Even Chung Myung alone continued to dispatch his opponents with almost casual ease. He moved through the group with the efficiency of a seasoned master, his strikes precise and devastating. One disciple tried to sweep his legs, but Chung Myung stepped over the sweep and countered with a powerful downward punch to the back of the neck, knocking the disciple out cold.

Another Southern Island disciple, in a desperate move, unsheathed his sword. But before he could fully draw it, Chung Myung closed the distance, disarmed him with a swift, snapping kick to the wrist, and followed with a brutal knee to the stomach that left the disciple gasping for breath.

"You call this a fight?" Chung Myung mocked as he sidestepped another wide punch and delivered a quick jab to his attacker's throat, causing him to choke and stumble back. "I've had tougher sparring sessions with stray dogs in the streets."

Determined not to give up, a group of three Southern Island disciples attempted to coordinate their attacks, surrounding Chung Myung. But he was too fast. He ducked and weaved, blocking and countering with such speed and precision that it seemed to his opponents as if he was everywhere at once. Within moments, all three were on the ground, groaning in pain.

The Southern Island disciples' leader, watching his disciples fall one by one, finally stepped forward, fury blazing in his eyes. He launched a series of powerful punches and kicks, aiming to overwhelm Chung Myung with sheer force. But Chung Myung's defences were impenetrable. With a series of swift, brutal counters, he blocked each attack and delivered crushing blows to the leader's vital points.

With a final, effortless sweep, Chung Myung sent the Southern Island leader crashing to the ground. This time the leader stayed down, clutching his ribs and breathing heavily. Chung Myung stood over him, his expression softening slightly.

"Plum Blossom Sword Saint... What do you know of him?" Chung Myung said, his voice carrying over the sounds of the training grounds. "You call us impersonators! Where were you when my predecessors fought with their lives on the line for the sake of all Jianghu? Oh, I remember, the Southern Island sect of that era was praying to their sea gods, praying to have the Demon Cult overlook them while they slaughtered all the rest of us."

He kicked at the leader once more, making the boy groan in pain.

"Now you cowards have the gall to call us impersonators."

The brawl between the two groups continued, the fall of their leader only further angering the Southern Island disciples.

'Good, this is what I want.'

Chung Myung moved, knocking out any opponents he came across, and then as he knocked out the last adversary in front of him, he spotted a white-haired boy in blue facing away from him near the crowd.

"Trying to hide?"

Without hesitation, Chung Myung surged forward, his fist swung at his opponent's vitals with precision.

'Never turn your back on your opponents while being defenceless!'

Surprisingly, the strike never connected, as the boy in blue spun with unexpected grace and fell back towards the floor without Chung Myung's fist even grazing him.

'What the—' Chung Myung's eyes widened as his fist missed its mark.

Then, his target tumbled towards the ground without even being grazed by attack, then that white-haired boy suddenly stood on one hand instead of falling flat, twisted his body, and with a sudden burst of energy, delivered a kick with both feet at once to the side, catching Chung Myung off guard.

The impact sent Chung Myung flying, a surge of surprise coursing through him. Regaining his balance, he managed to land on his feet and narrowed his eyes, assessing what just happened. Then he winced as he felt the sudden surge of pain where the attack landed. Chung Myung knew at that moment that if he hadn't jumped in time to absorb the strike, his ribs would surely have shattered from the impact.

'Felt like I got hit by an iron staff!'

Chung Myung shouted, "What was that move?! That isn't Southern Island Martial Arts."

He watched as the boy in blue stood upside down with one hand, then pushed himself into the air, spun around and landed back on his feet effortlessly.

The strange white-haired boy said, "Do I look like one of them?"

It was only then that Chung Myung noticed that while the boy did wear a blue outfit like that of Southern Islands, his did not have the three white spiral waves symbol that was the sect's sigil. Furthermore, the boy's appearance was strikingly foreign. His white hair, very light skin, and piercing blue eyes set him starkly apart from the people of the Central Plains. Instead of a sword at his waist, the boy carried a black blade.

'A blade user?'

Chung Myung's eyes widened. "Who are you?"

The white-haired boy straightened up, his expression calm yet intense. "Someone who doesn't belong here, clearly," he replied, his tone even.

The crowd around them had quieted, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. The other fights slowed as the attention of the warriors shifted to the confrontation between Chung Myung and the white-haired boy. The tension was palpable, a silence with the anticipation of the next move.

The Mount Hua disciples standing over Southern Island Sect disciples looked with great shock at the spectacle.

"Did someone manage to land an attack on Chung Myung?"

"It can't be, no one our age can't beat that monster."

"But someone did. Who is that boy?"

As Chung Myung held his side, wincing from the unexpected blow, the Mount Hua disciples commented with shock. The air was thick with tension, the echoes of the recent skirmish still reverberating through the Shaolin training grounds. The sight of their prodigious leader nursing an injury was both shocking and humbling for them.

"Chung Myung!" one of the disciples called out, rushing to his side. "Are you alright?"

Chung Myung waved him off, his eyes fixed on the white-haired boy. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Just a surprise, that's all."

The other Mount Hua disciples gathered around, murmuring among themselves, their disbelief evident. The white-haired boy stood calmly, his expression unreadable, his stance relaxed yet alert.

Before anyone could speak further, the doors to the training grounds burst open, and a senior monk, with orange robes billowing, strode into the scene. His presence commanded immediate respect, and the surrounding disciples fell silent.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" the monk demanded, his voice a deep, resonant boom that cut through the tension like a blade. "Fighting on sacred grounds is strictly forbidden!"

Chung Myung straightened, despite the pain in his side, and stepped forward.

"This was a mutually agreed upon brawl," he explained. "No swords were drawn, or much Qi was used and it was meant to settle a dispute without resorting to lethal force."

Senior monk frowned. "But you did with -" he suddenly paused for a few seconds then continued. "Very well, If it was mutually agreed upon duel then I am inclined to dismiss the transgressions."

'He changed his tone quite drastically. Someone must have ordered him through voice transmission.' Cheng Myung thought.

Voice transmission was a difficult skill that most couldn't hope to master. With it, one could send verbal messages directly to another person's ear without the risk of being overheard, and the distance coverable by it depended on the amount of Qi one possessed.

'That someone is likely the Shaolin Abbot.'

The monk then pointed to the white-haired boy. "Who is this outsider?"

The boy in blue, his expression calm but eyes sharp, stepped forward. "My name is Raiden," he said, his voice clear and steady. "I was standing here and got attacked without provocation. I just defended myself."

Chung Myung glared at Raiden, the pain in his side a constant reminder of the boy's unexpected skill. "I didn't know who you were," he said through gritted teeth. "You looked like one of the Southern Island disciples."

Raiden's piercing blue eyes bore into Chung Myung's. "Sanctioned or not, why attack someone without confirming their identity?" His tone was not accusatory but curious, as if genuinely seeking an answer.

The senior monk raised a hand, silencing any further argument. "This matter must be resolved with wisdom, not further violence," he declared. "Chung Myung, if this Raiden speaks the truth, then he was unjustly attacked. And Raiden, if you were mistaken for a participant in the brawl, then perhaps there was a misunderstanding."

Chung Myung nodded, though it was clear he was still on edge. "Agreed, Senior Monk. I acted rashly."

Raiden gave a nod. "I hold no grudge," he said. "I just came to win this event. That's all."

That statement attracted quite a few gazes from the crowd around. This boy was one of these participants.

The senior monk looked between the two young men, his expression contemplative. "It seems there is much we do not know about each other," he said finally. "Raiden, you are welcome to stay as our guest as compensation for the inconvenience you faced. Chung Myung, you and your disciples will refrain from any further conflict until this is the end of the competition or else you will be disqualified."

'How about I break your bald head too?' Cheng Myung thought, but instead of speaking his mind he politely said, "I understand."

The monk nodded. "Until then you all are dismissed."

Far away from this conflict, the Abbot stood on the edge of the Shaolin Monastery's tallest roof, a serene observer overlooking the tumultuous scene below. As he watched, his eyes glowed with a faint golden hue, a manifestation of his heightened Qi perception.

"Mount Hua," he murmured to himself, his voice carrying a tone of both reflection and curiosity. "It seems you have managed to find their Spring Breeze Striking style, once the cornerstone of your martial heritage. But have you revitalized the lost legendary sword techniques as well?"

His gaze focused on Chung Myung, the young prodigy leading the Mount Hua disciples with unwavering skill and ferocity.

"Chung Myung," the Abbot mused aloud, his wrinkled face creasing in thought. "Such immense Qi... He possesses both Qi and skill beyond his years. It is no wonder he stands at the forefront of this conflict."

As the Abbot continued to observe, his attention was drawn to Raiden, the mysterious boy who won entry from the competition. Initially calm and composed, Raiden's demeanor had caught the Abbot's interest. But now, as he looked closer, a flicker of surprise crossed the Abbot's usual calm face.

"Lightning..." he whispered. "Flowing inside his veins."

The Abbot had seen many manifestations of Qi in his lifetime, but this was unusual. Lightning Qi was rare, but what he was seeing didn't even seem like Qi's manifestation but the true lighting of the storm in heaven.

"Just who are you, child of storms?"