Heavenly Archmage

Chapter 5: Plains of False Peace

"So this is the heart of order."

The words left Yeon Arin's lips like the breath of winter itself. Before him stretched the Jungwon Plains, vast and golden beneath the morning sun, appearing peaceful and serene from a distance. But as he walked closer to the city walls, that illusion crumbled quickly away. Banners of various sects fluttered above tiled roofs, their colors bright and proud while below them children in rags begged beside the gates. Merchants shouted prices for silk and steel while soldiers kicked at beggars to clear the road for passing traffic.

Arin moved through the crowd without sound or notice. No one saw the quiet boy with unreadable eyes, his gaze drifting from a fruit stand to a group of armored disciples bragging about their masters' strength. Everything here was built on layers—wealth above, misery below.

Peace born from hierarchy. Harmony sustained by fear.

He stepped aside as a caravan rolled through, its wheels splashing muddy water onto the beggars clustered along the street. None of them protested or complained. One of the guards laughed and tossed a coin that landed in the mud, prompting a dozen hands to scramble and fight for it desperately.

Arin kept walking.

At the center of the plaza stood a raised platform where officials read proclamations in voices meant to carry authority. "By the decree of the Murim Alliance, all sects are to report their movements and disciples immediately. Failure to comply will be treated as rebellion and punished accordingly."

The crowd murmured in response—some bowed their heads in obedience while others looked away, trapped between fear and resentment.

So the Alliance tightens its leash. And they call it stability.

He turned toward a narrow street where the noise faded and the smell of iron mixed with cheap wine filled the air. Ahead, a group of young martial artists in red uniforms stood laughing around a fallen beggar. The old man's face was swollen, his hands trembling as he tried to crawl away from his tormentors.

"Did you think your filth could touch me?" one of the young men sneered, kicking him again as the others laughed with hollow cruelty. The beggar gasped for breath, clutching at his ribs.

Arin stopped several paces away and observed the scene coldly before moving past without comment.

Strength decides worth. Nothing new. But even beasts kill only for hunger.

He walked on and one of the bullies noticed him, shouting after the retreating figure. "Hey, boy! You too proud to watch?" Arin's silence unnerved them more than any word could have, and when he was gone, they turned back to their victim with weakened laughter that no longer held its previous confidence.

At the end of the street stood a small inn with cracked lanterns and a faded sign. He entered and the air shifted immediately—old wood and tea replacing the stench of the streets outside. The innkeeper, a gray-haired man with weathered features, looked up from behind the counter.

"Room for one?" the man asked casually.

"Yes," Arin replied, his voice low and measured.

The innkeeper nodded and handed him a key without unnecessary words. "Second floor, last door. Supper's at dusk if you want it."

Arin bowed slightly and climbed the stairs. His room was simple and sparse—a bed, a table, a window facing the street below. He set his small bag down and sat by the window, watching the city unfold beneath him. Lights flickered across rooftops as the murmur of trade and conversation drifted upward like an endless pulse.

The Azure Cloud's ashes reached even here. Their absence is felt in the silence between words.

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts settle into cold, methodical patterns. To find the truth, he would need information—whispers from taverns, records hidden in archives, the names of those who had orchestrated the betrayal. The taverns would speak of rumors, the markets would reveal patterns of movement, and somewhere among the layers of rewritten history, he would find the thread leading to the traitor.

First, the city, he murmured. Then the Alliance.

Evening descended and shadows stretched across the floorboards in geometric patterns. Arin lit a small candle and began tracing sigils into the air. ARCANE THREAD – Soul Weaving. Thin strands of mana expanded from his fingertips, invisible to ordinary eyes, slipping through walls and alleys with purpose. He sat motionless while the threads stretched across the district, touching every presence nearby.

The web formed a map in his consciousness—hundreds of lights, each pulsing with the rhythm of Ki. Some burned bright with power, some glowed faint with weakness, all moving with human intention. But among them were others, still and patient, positioned in patterns that revealed their true nature.

Not guards. Watchers.

He followed their arrangement in silence, understanding the message written in their placement. Corners of streets, rooftops near taverns, positions near the gates. Everywhere subtle and disciplined, waiting.

They are looking for someone. Or waiting for something.

He let the threads fade, exhaling softly. The candlelight wavered but remained steady. Outside, a dog barked once and fell silent. The city held its breath with a tension that only Arin could sense clearly—like the pause before a blade falls.

Arin stood and opened the window. The wind from the plains swept into the room, carrying the distant scent of iron and rain. In the darkness, the tall spire of the Murim Alliance Headquarters rose above the city, its banners unmoved by the wind blowing around them.

So this is where the world pretends justice still breathes.

He watched for a moment longer, eyes reflecting the faint light from the tower. A thin smile touched his lips—devoid of warmth or humor, merely the expression of something executing a calculation.

"If the truth hides behind walls, I'll go inside and take it myself."

He closed the window, leaving the candle to gutter in the draft. In the stillness that followed, his mana coiled like a serpent preparing to strike.

"I'll infiltrate the Alliance."