The cold wind of dawn swept across Black Blossom Sect like the breath of a sleeping dragon. Frost clung to the stone tiles and bare branches, and the air was thick with tension.
Jin Mu-Won sat alone by the mountain cliff behind the outer disciples' quarters, his eyes closed, breath steady.
He wasn't meditating.
He was listening.
Not to birdsong or the wind—but to the whispers within his veins.
The Crimson Core had begun to speak again.
Not in words, but in urges. In pulses. In echoes of instincts that didn't belong to him.
"Power lies not in cultivation alone… but in surrender."
"Let go of balance, and you will taste fury."
He ignored it for now.
There were more pressing matters.
Tonight, he would leave the sect.
He needed answers the Crimson Core could not give—and he needed to find the Blood Forest Scrolls.
Flashback – 13 Years Ago
He was five when his mother died.
The sect never spoke her name. She was considered a disgrace—a wandering herbalist who had married above her station.
But Mu-Won remembered her smile.
He also remembered her stories. Of the forbidden places. Of blood-soaked legends buried in the roots of ancient trees.
"There is a forest that grows where a thousand warriors died," she had once whispered. "A forest fed by blood. Its roots touch the gates of the underworld."
"And inside it," she said, "rests the Crimson Origin."
That Evening – Departing the Sect
Mu-Won moved silently through the back trail, wearing only plain traveler's robes and a dull steel sword strapped to his back. His crimson core pulsed faintly beneath his ribs, kept subdued under layers of qi-dampening herbs he had brewed himself.
He needed secrecy.
He needed time.
But as he passed the last checkpoint near the eastern slope, a voice called out behind him.
"Running away already, brother?"
Mu-Won turned sharply, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade.
Baek Han stood beneath the crooked pine tree, arms folded, smile calm—but his eyes were sharp.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice? Every night you disappear, every duel you win with no style we've seen before."
"Get out of my way," Mu-Won said.
Baek Han tilted his head. "Or what? You'll headbutt me like you did Hyeon Do?"
No answer.
"I'm not here to stop you," Baek Han finally said, walking forward. "I'm coming with you."
Mu-Won blinked. "…What?"
"I've fought every style this sect has to offer," Baek said with a bitter grin. "None of them hold real power. But you—your blood burns with something real. If you're heading to the Blood Forest… I'm going with you."
Mu-Won hesitated.
But something in him said yes.
He nodded once.
And they left—two shadows walking into the dark.
Two Days Later – Blood Forest Outskirts
The air grew thick as syrup, colored with the scent of rot and old iron.
Trees bled red sap.
Leaves shimmered with a faint, unnatural crimson glow.
Even Baek Han, fearless as he was, stopped smiling.
"This place is cursed."
"Not cursed," Mu-Won murmured. "Bound."
They moved carefully, guided by an old map Mu-Won had hidden away since childhood. The deeper they went, the more the forest listened. Birds did not chirp. Insects did not hum.
Even the earth made no sound when stepped upon.
And then—a howl.
Something not beast, not spirit.
Something hungry.
They dropped into low stances immediately.
From the trees emerged a creature wrapped in rotting rags and bone—a Blood Wight.
Eyes glowing. Limbs too long. Fingers ending in jagged claws.
Baek Han grinned. "My turn."
Fight: Blood Wight
Baek darted forward with serpent-like speed, fists dancing in fluid arcs. The Blood Wight hissed, swiping its claws—but Baek ducked beneath, delivering a sharp knee to its gut.
Nothing.
No reaction. No flinch.
It turned and lunged.
Mu-Won stepped in, palm blazing crimson.
The creature slashed—Mu-Won parried with a twist of his elbow and struck the Wight's chest.
BOOM.
The Crimson Qi exploded like a detonation. The Wight shrieked—its chest burst into a splash of steaming gore.
But it didn't fall.
It laughed.
And its flesh began to stitch itself back together.
"This thing heals," Baek snarled. "How do we kill it?"
Mu-Won's mind raced. It draws power from the forest… it regenerates unless…
Then he saw it—a sigil carved into its spine.
A glyph, drawn in blackened blood.
He moved fast, ducking a strike, sliding behind the creature and jamming his fingers into its back.
"Crimson Core—burn the anchor!"
He unleashed raw Crimson Qi through his fingertips.
The glyph ignited.
The Wight let out one final screech—and then its body collapsed into dust.
Blood Forest Depths – The Shrine of Thorns
They reached it by nightfall.
A clearing where no trees grew—only jagged thorns spiraling up like spears.
And in the center… a monolith of stone, cracked in half, leaking crimson light.
Mu-Won stepped forward, his chest burning.
The Crimson Core trembled inside him—almost like it recognized this place.
He approached the monolith and placed his palm against it.
Visions slammed into his mind.
Fire. Screams. Armies bleeding into the ground. The first Crimson Core—formed by a dying martial god who gave up his humanity for vengeance.
And then—a voice. Ancient. Deep. Agonized.
"Child of Ash… bearer of the parasite… you are not the first… but you may be the last."
Mu-Won fell to his knees.
Baek grabbed his shoulder. "Mu-Won! What happened?"
"This isn't just a place," Mu-Won gasped. "It's a graveyard. This is where the Crimson Path began… and where it nearly ended."
He turned toward Baek, eyes burning.
"We're not alone on this path."
– Elsewhere
In a chamber lit by candles and mirrors, a woman in white robes traced her fingers along a scroll.
Her eyes glowed like coals.
"The Crimson Core awakens," she whispered. "And the true successor has entered the Blood Forest."
Behind her stood five masked men.
One of them spoke. "Shall we kill him?"
"No," she said with a cruel smile.
"Let him grow."
"Let him burn."
The Bloodroot Pact
The crimson glow from the shattered monolith dimmed, leaving only a whisper of light behind. The wind had stilled, and even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Jin Mu-Won sat cross-legged before the broken stone, his face pale, brow soaked with sweat. Within his body, the Crimson Core pulsed—not with fury this time, but with remorse.
"I saw the first wielder," he whispered. "He wasn't human in the end."
Baek Han stood watch near the shrine's edge, keeping one eye on the thorns, the other on Mu-Won. "You passed out for two hours. I thought you died."
Mu-Won didn't respond. The visions still echoed in his skull—of a man who had once burned down sects with his bare hands, only to die in chains, screaming into the void.
That man's name… was Yeon Gwan-Ho.
The first Crimson God.
And Mu-Won had seen his memories.
The Pact Awakens
When Mu-Won stood again, something had changed. Not in his stance, not in his strength—but in the way the forest responded to him.
The roots no longer twisted against his step.
The wind no longer resisted his path.
The Blood Forest had accepted him.
But with that acceptance came a price.
A deep cut appeared on Mu-Won's palm—without cause, without weapon.
Baek rushed forward. "You're bleeding."
Mu-Won looked down at the blood. It didn't drip. It sank into the ground, swallowed by the roots beneath his feet.
A low hum rose through the soil.
The shrine groaned—and from the cracks in the monolith, a scroll unfurled slowly, as if pushed by invisible hands.
Made of flesh-pink parchment, inked in dark crimson, the scroll bore a single phrase:
"Power without purpose becomes poison."
Beneath it, in ancient script, lay martial instructions—raw, jagged, primal.
Techniques forged not by man—but by emotion.
By rage.
By loss.
By sacrifice.
This was not a scroll of martial arts—it was a testament of suffering.
Mu-Won clenched his fists, reading every word, memorizing every movement. The style had no name, but one burned into his mind:
"The Bloodroot Pact."
First Technique: Crimson Severance
That night, Mu-Won practiced the first movement.
A wide stance. A gathering of internal energy. A sudden snap forward of qi, not along the blade—but through the wielder's veins, accelerating blood flow past normal limits.
Baek watched with narrowed eyes. "You're overheating yourself. That technique—it's burning you from the inside."
Mu-Won panted heavily, but his gaze was clear. "It burns what doesn't belong."
He lifted his blade.
Swung again.
This time, the air split—not just with wind, but with pressure. The trees shook. Bark peeled from trunks. The crimson flash in the blade's arc left a seared mark on the earth.
And Mu-Won didn't collapse.
Baek grinned. "Insane bastard."
Meanwhile – White Lotus Sect
In the pale moonlight of Mount Yunhwa, a man stood before a field of graves.
He was clad in gray, swordless, eyes closed. His breath came in slow, measured waves.
Behind him knelt three disciples, their heads bowed so low their foreheads touched the earth.
"The Crimson Core has returned," one whispered.
The man didn't move.
But the air grew colder.
"Do you fear it, Master?"
A long pause.
"No," the man replied. "But I respect it."
"Because it kills without justice."
He opened his eyes.
They were white—not from blindness, but from qi saturation. His name was Do Gwan-Seung, the Silent Blade of White Lotus, and one of the few survivors of the last Crimson War.
He had seen the Blood Forest burn.
And he knew this time… it would not burn alone.
Two Days Later – Ambushed
Mu-Won and Baek were nearing the edge of the Blood Forest when they sensed it.
A shift.
Qi—unfamiliar, sour, and killing intent so thick it made the lungs tighten.
Mu-Won dropped low. "We're being watched."
Baek cracked his knuckles. "About time."
The attackers came without warning.
Six figures in bone-white robes, faces hidden behind beast masks.
The lead one wielded a chained sickle soaked in black qi.
"Hand over the Crimson Core," the masked one growled.
Mu-Won's eyes narrowed. "You know what it is?"
"We know what it does," the man said. "And we know what you are."
"A parasite host."
"An echo of Yeon Gwan-Ho."
"A threat."
Mu-Won and Baek didn't wait.
They moved.
Combat – The Ash-Masked Assassins
The air filled with clangs and grunts.
Baek took on two with his fists—his strikes like flowing water, sharp and unpredictable. He caught a blade mid-swing, broke an arm, and drove his elbow into the assassin's throat.
Mu-Won clashed blades with the sickle-wielder.
The man's chain moved like a serpent, looping and twisting with murderous precision.
Mu-Won deflected one strike, ducked another, then activated Crimson Severance.
His blood surged.
He slashed—and the sickle's chain split in half.
The assassin's eyes widened—too late.
Mu-Won's second strike sliced through armor, bone, and heart.
The forest howled as the man died.
The others fled.
Mu-Won didn't chase.
He looked down at his blade—still steaming.
Baek stepped beside him, blood dripping from his knuckles.
"Well," he muttered. "Now we've made enemies."
Mu-Won nodded. "Let them come."
Epilogue – The Crimson Cult Awakens
Deep underground, beneath a forgotten temple, a massive stone door creaked open.
Candles lit themselves.
A red-robed figure stepped forward, his face scarred, his right hand missing.
He gazed at a mural—depicting a great warrior with crimson eyes standing atop a mountain of corpses.
"The boy has entered the Bloodroot Pact," he murmured.
"Soon, he will hunger. Soon, he will need us."
He smiled.
"Let the Crimson Cult rise again."