The harsh, acidic bite of lye soap became my entire world. Life as a laborer in the Mountain Sect was not meant to be survived. It was meant to be endured until your body simply gave out, at which point you were replaced by another starving beggar from the mountain trail. I knelt on the rough cobblestones of the outer courtyard, plunging my bare right hand into a wooden bucket of freezing, soapy water. The coarse bristles of the scrub brush tore at the healing skin around my knuckles. The deep, jagged gash across my palm throbbed with a hot, sickening rhythm, but I couldn't stop moving. If the outer-sect disciples saw a servant resting for even a fraction of a second, the punishment was a bamboo cane to the back of the knees. I kept my head entirely bowed, letting the oversized, filthy brim of my straw hat hide my face. My left arm remained tightly bound against my chest beneath my coarse hemp tunic, the rough rope chafi

The metallic scent of fresh blood was sickeningly sweet. I knelt on the polished pine planks of the sparring deck, completely motionless. Two feet in front of my face stood Nam Gyu-Jin’s expensive white leather boots. A thick, dark crimson smear stained the pristine material, dripping slowly down to the wooden floor. It was Seol-Woon’s blood. The young boy had just been brutally beaten into a coma simply for tearing the Young Master's sleeve. "I said clean them," Gyu-Jin repeated. His voice was a soft, venomous hiss that sent a cold shiver down my spine. I didn't look up. I didn't let the blinding rage burning in my chest reach my eyes. I reached forward with my trembling right hand. I took the dirty, lye-soaked rag I used to scrub the floors and pressed it against the toe of his boot. The acidic soap stung the raw, open cuts on my own knuckles, but I ignored the pain

The heavy, suffocating darkness of the servant’s quarters offered no comfort. I lay flat on my thin, moldy straw mat, staring up at the rotting wooden planks of the ceiling. All around me, the other laborers were completely unconscious. The shed was a symphony of misery—wet, rattling coughs, the grinding of teeth, and the shivering breaths of men who had been worked to the absolute limit of human endurance. Through the cracks in the walls, the distant, rhythmic thrum of traditional drums and stringed instruments drifted down from the high pavilions. The welcoming banquet for Seo Kang-Hyun and the Alliance dignitaries was in full swing. Up there, the halls were bathed in golden lantern light. But down here in the mud, it was freezing. I waited until the great bronze temple bell tolled midnight. I sat up slowly. The damp cold had settled deep into my joints, making my c

The harsh, yellow beam of the oil lantern cut through the freezing fog, stopping directly on my face. Nam Gyu-Jin’s killing intent was a physical weight. It slammed into my chest like a falling boulder, driving the air from my lungs and making my cracked rib scream in agony. His hand was locked onto the hilt of his sword. "Who is there?" Gyu-Jin demanded again, his voice a cold, venomous whip. I had a fraction of a second. If I tried to run, he would cut me down from behind. If I engaged the Phantom Step to dodge, my martial arts would be exposed, and the entire Mountain Sect would descend on me. I had to be the beggar. I had to be the trash. I didn't freeze, and I didn't reach for a weapon. I threw my arms over my head, curling my body into a tight, trembling ball against the wet iron doors. I let out a high-pitched, garbled whimper—a pathetic, broken sound that scra

The heavy bronze doors of the Inner Archives groaned. The sound was a low, vibrating rumble that shook the damp stone beneath my straw sandals. The quartermaster stepped forward, bowing his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest. He clutched his wooden tally stick with both hands, terrified of the two ancient men sitting on the flat stone pedestals flanking the entrance. I remained pressed flat against the jagged rock face of the tunnel, forty feet away. The elder on the left kept his pure white, pupil-less eyes fixed on the open doorway. He wasn't looking at the quartermaster. He didn't need physical sight. I could feel the heavy, suffocating wave of his Peak-stage Qi rolling over the subterranean cavern like a physical searchlight. It washed over the stalagmites, mapped the puddles of freezing water, and scraped against the walls of the tunnel where I was hiding. I bit down on my tongue, for