The wind howled through the mountain pass as Haejin stood at the gates of Swordfall Academy , his breath misting in the cold morning air. The academy loomed before him like a fortress carved from stone and legend, its towering walls etched with the names of past champions who had trained within.
Unlike the serene halls of the Iron Lotus Temple, Swordfall was a place of ambition, hierarchy, and unrelenting competition. Here, martial prowess was currency, and one's worth was measured by victories earned in the training yard and duels fought in the arena.
Haejin adjusted the strap of his travel satchel and stepped forward.
He had left the temple not because he no longer believed in Yulsa's teachings—but because he needed more.
More strength.
More understanding.
More proof that what he had learned—the Phoenix Palm, the Jinmyeong meridians, the balance between fire and stillness—was enough to face the world beyond the mountains.
And if it wasn't?
Then he would break himself against this place until it was.
The Arena of Names
Swordfall Academy did not welcome newcomers with ceremony.
Instead, every initiate was required to fight in the Arena of Names , where their performance determined their rank, living quarters, and access to advanced training techniques.
Haejin stood at the edge of the ring, watching as two students clashed in a flurry of steel and ki. Their movements were precise, calculated—each strike an extension of thought rather than brute force.
This was not the wild, instinctive fighting he had known before the temple.
This was something else entirely.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're new."
Haejin turned.
A boy around his age stood beside him, dressed in the dark-blue uniform of a mid-ranked disciple. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp—measuring, calculating.
"I'm Min Jiwon," the boy said, extending a hand. "You must be the one from the Iron Lotus Temple."
Haejin hesitated only briefly before shaking the offered hand.
"Kang Haejin."
Jiwon studied him for a moment.
"They say you mastered the Phoenix Palm before leaving."
Haejin nodded.
"And you?" he asked.
Jiwon smiled faintly.
"I use the Way of the Flowing Mind," he said. "No flashy techniques. Just movement, timing, and understanding."
Haejin frowned.
"That sounds weak."
Jiwon chuckled.
"It sounds boring," he admitted. "Until you realize that strength without control is just another form of weakness."
Before Haejin could respond, the announcer called his name.
It was time.
First Blood
The match began.
Haejin faced off against a third-year disciple named Chun Bora , a wiry girl with a twin-blade style honed through years of relentless practice.
She moved like a storm—fast, unpredictable, her blades flashing like silver threads in the sunlight.
Haejin responded with the Phoenix Palm.
Each strike sent shockwaves through the air, forcing Bora to dance around the edges of his reach. She didn't try to counter directly—she knew better than to meet raw power head-on.
Instead, she waited.
Watched.
Looked for the gaps in his rhythm.
And then—
She found it.
As Haejin lunged forward, overextending slightly, Bora pivoted and slashed across his ribs.
Blood bloomed beneath his shirt.
The crowd murmured.
Haejin staggered back, clutching his side.
Pain flared, sharp and real.
But worse than the wound was the realization.
His strikes had been too slow.
Too heavy.
Too predictable.
The Phoenix Palm was powerful—but in this place, power alone wasn't enough.
Bora pressed the advantage, striking again with lightning speed.
Haejin barely managed to deflect the blow with a defensive palm technique taught by Yulsa.
Still, he fell to one knee.
The announcer raised his hand.
"The match goes to Chun Bora!"
Silence.
Then scattered applause.
Haejin remained on his knees, breathing hard, staring at the blood staining his fingers.
Jiwon appeared beside him, offering a hand.
"You fought well," he said simply.
Haejin took the hand and stood.
"No," he muttered. "I lost."
Jiwon tilted his head.
"You lost because you came here thinking your way was the only way."
Haejin looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
Jiwon gestured toward the arena floor.
"You fight like you're running from something," he said. "From pain. From fear. From loss."
Haejin clenched his fists.
"And what if I am?"
Jiwon smiled faintly.
"Then stop running toward the wrong thing."
The Way of the Flowing Mind
Later that night, Haejin sat alone in the dormitory courtyard, nursing his wounds and replaying the match in his mind.
Footsteps approached.
Jiwon joined him, sitting cross-legged beside the stone bench.
"You want to get stronger, don't you?" he asked.
Haejin scoffed.
"Of course."
Jiwon nodded.
"Then you need to learn how to think before you strike."
Haejin frowned.
"I've trained with Master Yulsa. I know discipline."
Jiwon shook his head.
"Discipline isn't the same as understanding."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small scroll.
"This is the first lesson of the Flowing Mind," he said. "It's not about winning. It's about seeing."
Haejin took the scroll hesitantly.
"What does that even mean?"
Jiwon leaned back, gazing at the stars.
"It means learning to move with the world instead of against it."
He looked at Haejin.
"If you truly want to become strong… you have to learn how to think like a blade."