The scent of plum blossoms lingered in the air as Haejin stepped through the hidden passage beneath Dongcheon City, the underground tunnels lit by flickering lanterns that cast long shadows against the stone walls.
It had been months since he left this place.
Since he stood beside Lady Myunghwa and Ryoo Saehwa, watching the embers of rebellion glow in the darkness.
Since he made the choice not to fight for either side—but to understand both.
Now, he returned not as a warrior seeking vengeance, nor as a disciple chasing enlightenment.
He came as something else entirely.
A man who had listened.
And learned.
Echoes of War
The rebel base was quieter than before.
Not out of secrecy, but exhaustion.
The war between the Orthodox Circles and the Unorthodox rebels had escalated. What had begun as skirmishes and covert missions had turned into open conflict. Entire villages were caught in the crossfire, their people forced to choose sides or suffer the consequences.
Haejin moved through the corridors, past weary fighters nursing wounds and young disciples training with desperate intensity. The atmosphere was thick with tension—like the calm before a storm that never broke.
At the heart of the base, in the main hall where decisions were made and lives were shaped, sat Lady Myunghwa.
She looked up as he entered.
Her expression did not change, but her eyes widened slightly.
"You're back," she said simply.
Haejin nodded.
"I am."
She gestured for him to sit.
"I heard rumors you were training at Mirror Lake."
He took a seat across from her.
"I was."
She studied him carefully.
"And what did you learn?"
Haejin exhaled slowly.
"That peace is not weakness."
Lady Myunghwa smiled faintly.
"A dangerous belief in times like these."
Behind them, a voice cut through the silence.
"He always did think too much."
Ryoo Saehwa stepped forward from the shadows, arms crossed, her usual smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
"Welcome back, Phoenix Palm," she said. "Did you finally figure out how to stop running?"
Haejin met her gaze without flinching.
"I stopped running a long time ago," he replied. "I started walking toward something."
Saehwa raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? And what exactly are you walking toward now?"
Haejin looked around the room—at the maps pinned to the walls, at the battle reports scattered across the table, at the faces of those who had lost too much already.
"I want to protect," he said quietly. "Not just myself. Not just my friends. Everyone caught in this war."
Lady Myunghwa tilted her head slightly.
"That's a noble sentiment," she said. "But ideals don't win battles."
Haejin leaned forward.
"No," he agreed. "But they can stop them."
The Cost of Conviction
Later that night, Haejin walked the rooftops of Dongcheon, the city sprawling beneath him like a map of light and shadow.
Jiwon had once told him that true strength wasn't about overpowering your enemy—it was about knowing when not to fight.
Now, standing above a city torn between two warring factions, he realized how hard that truth truly was.
Below, a group of rebels gathered near the market square, preparing for another raid on an Orthodox outpost.
Their leader—a young man named Kim Wonsik —was rallying his men with fiery words.
"They burn our homes," he declared. "They hunt our families. They call us traitors while they steal our land!"
His voice rang with conviction.
With pain.
With purpose.
Haejin recognized it.
Because once, he had felt the same way.
Before he learned that revenge only breeds more revenge.
Before he understood that hatred doesn't end with death.
Before he saw that war does not choose sides—it takes everything.
He dropped silently from the rooftop, landing behind Wonsik.
"We need to talk," he said.
Wonsik turned, surprised.
"Kang Haejin," he said. "Didn't expect to see you again."
Haejin crossed his arms.
"I hear you're planning a raid tonight."
Wonsik nodded.
"They've stationed a squad near the old mill. We take them down, we send a message."
Haejin remained silent for a moment.
Then he asked, "How many soldiers are there?"
"Eight."
"And civilians?"
Wonsik hesitated.
"There might be some nearby."
Haejin exhaled.
"You could kill eight men tonight," he said. "Or you could let them live—and save dozens of innocent lives."
Wonsik frowned.
"You sound like Lady Myunghwa."
"I hope I do," Haejin replied. "Because if we keep fighting like this, there won't be anyone left to win."
Wonsik looked away.
"You don't understand," he muttered. "You weren't there when they burned my village. You didn't watch your brother die screaming for mercy."
Haejin closed his eyes.
"I watched my mother die shielding me from bandits," he said softly. "I carried her body from the ashes. I swore I would never let anyone suffer like I did."
He opened his eyes.
"But vengeance didn't bring her back. It only made me blind to everything else."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Wonsik lowered his weapon.
"I'll hold off the raid," he said. "For now."
Haejin nodded.
"That's all I ask."
A New Path Begins
Back at the rebel base, Haejin spoke with Lady Myunghwa and Saehwa late into the night.
He proposed something radical.
Instead of raiding Orthodox strongholds, they would begin protecting villages caught between the two factions.
Instead of striking first, they would intervene to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.
Instead of recruiting warriors, they would train healers, teachers, and mediators.
Lady Myunghwa listened carefully.
"You want to build something different," she said.
"Yes," Haejin replied. "Something that lasts beyond this war."
Saehwa scoffed.
"That sounds like suicide."
Haejin met her gaze.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But it's worth trying."
Lady Myunghwa studied him for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
"Then let's begin."