Heavenly Archmage

Chapter 4: Hidden Rot

"Still breathing."

The whisper cut through the silence like a blade through silk as Yeon Arin knelt beside the fallen blue-robed martial artist. Around them, the crimson bodies that had once surrounded the field had transformed into dust, scattered by the night breeze across the plains like forgotten memory. The survivor's chest rose and fell faintly, his Ki flickering like a dying ember struggling against the encroaching dark.

Arin placed two fingers on the man's forehead. Mana flowed from his touch in threads of pale light, tracing veins beneath the skin and illuminating the pathways of consciousness itself. MIND LINK – Deep Thread Reading.

The air shuddered as memories poured into him in chaotic flashes. Disciples training beneath the banners of a mountain sect, steel glinting under sunlight before panic and flame devoured the same halls hours later. Screams echoing through collapsing roofs. The emblem of the Murim Alliance stamped onto letters ordering the withdrawal of support. An official passing sealed documents to masked strangers while whispers spread of hidden conspiracies and betrayals. Then a single memory crystallized with terrible clarity—a phrase spoken in fear and resignation: The Azure Cloud fell for the same reason.

The link shattered. The martial artist gasped and slumped backward into unconsciousness.

Arin straightened, frost crystallizing across his fingers as he shook the residue of mana away. "A traitor in the Alliance," he murmured to the wind, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "The rot hides behind banners of justice."

He looked down at the survivor with eyes that held no warmth whatsoever. "You'll live. But remember what dying felt like."

The Alliance consumes what it claims to protect. And they called us sinners.

He turned away as the air shimmered briefly around his form, his mana retracting and erasing his presence entirely. The plains fell silent again, the wind carrying only dust and ash.

By dawn, Arin reached the ridge overlooking the endless expanse of Jungwon Plains. Mist clung to the rivers like fading dreams while he paused to watch the sunrise—cold light creeping gradually over distant peaks. He adjusted his cloak and began the descent with every step deliberate and measured. His goal was no longer truth or survival. It was annihilation of whatever stood before him.

Father wanted honor. Mother wanted peace. Both died for illusions. What remains is destruction.

Far away, the Murim Alliance Headquarters loomed over Hwagok City like a fortress constructed from shadow and gold. Inside the intelligence chamber, oil lamps burned low while officials gathered around a table heavy with sealed scrolls and the metallic scent of tension. The air felt thick enough to choke on.

"Report," commanded the senior officer, his voice clipped with authority and barely concealed frustration.

A courier dropped to his knees with practiced urgency. "The strike unit sent to intercept fugitives from the western plains has failed, sir. All personnel have been eliminated."

The officer's expression darkened considerably. "Failed? That unit was composed of experts. Who stopped them?"

"They were all found dead at dawn," the courier continued, his voice trembling slightly. "No survivors from our side whatsoever."

The room stirred with obvious unease. The senior officer stood, torchlight casting sharp shadows beneath his eyes. "Ash... without flame."

No one spoke. The silence felt heavier than stone itself.

Finally, another man ventured carefully, "Could it be demonic technique?"

"No signs of dark Ki," someone answered. "And the grass around the site wasn't scorched. It's something else entirely."

The senior officer turned his penetrating gaze toward the courier kneeling before him. "Was anyone seen nearby?"

"Yes, sir. A farmer from a nearby hill reported seeing a boy walking away from the field before sunrise. Alone."

The officer's frown deepened further. "A boy? Did they provide a description?"

"He said the child had black hair, pale skin, and eyes like clear frost."

The officer's expression tightened noticeably. His eyes narrowed as he processed this information with visible difficulty. "How old?"

"Ten, maybe eleven."

The tension in the room became almost suffocating as the officers exchanged deeply uneasy glances. The senior officer lowered his head, torchlight catching the creases beneath his eyes. "Ash... without flame."

The silence pressed down again, heavier and more absolute than before.

Finally, one younger officer hesitated before speaking. "Sir, could this be related to the man who leaked information before the Azure Cloud's fall?"

The senior officer's eyes snapped toward him with sudden intensity. "Finish that sentence and you'll regret it. The Azure Cloud is history. Leave it buried."

He turned toward the window, where city lights flickered beneath the night sky like fading stars. His reflection in the glass looked older than it had that morning.

"The pattern is too deliberate," he said quietly to the darkness. "A leak, an ambush that somehow failed, and our men turned to ash. Someone inside must have warned them."

He picked up the blood-stained report from the table. The final line, written in the dying courier's wavering hand, read: Cause of death: unknown. No evidence of martial technique or Ki use.

The last paragraph, barely legible, stated: "Whatever killed them, it was not Murim."

He held the report for a long moment, letting its implications settle into the room like poison seeping through water.

"Seal everything," he commanded quietly. "Speak of this to no one outside these walls. And find that boy."