The four invaders stood with arrogant confidence—blades raised, postures clean. Their robes bore no proper sect insignias, only a crimson stitch shaped like a half-burnt flame.
Jin Mu-Won faced them alone, the broken sword still resting against his shoulder. His breathing was slow, his stance unassuming.
But beneath that stillness, his Hollow Pulse thrummed like the silent core of a storm.
"Second Form…" he whispered, voice barely audible.
"Grieving Flow."
🔥 The Heedless Flame
The scroll unrolled midair—hovering in front of the Coalition youth.
Strange characters glowed red across its surface, pulsing like embers.
"By the flame that bows to no root, I summon the Wordless Flame!" the youth intoned.
The scroll burned. But not with heat—with void-colored fire. Silent. Cold. Unnatural.
The ground around him blackened, and his qi distorted like air over boiling oil.
Wen Dai, watching from the rubble, gasped in horror.
"That's not real flame…"
"That's Stolen Qi. That's a false scripture technique!"
⚔️ The Clash
The two swordsmen rushed Jin in a pincer formation—one from the left with a low arc, the other from above in a plunging strike.
Jin stepped between them like a shadow cast sideways.
His palm brushed both blades—not clashing, not blocking—just redirecting.
Their weapons sank into the ground behind him, missing flesh by inches.
He exhaled.
"Grieving Flow – Step Two: Folding Rain."
His palm flicked upward.
Both swordsmen staggered back—bleeding from the ears, balance shattered. Their inner qi spiraled out of sync.
The spearwoman roared and thrust.
Jin caught the spear with one hand.
"You're too loud."
He turned, pulling her off balance, and struck her ribcage with his elbow.
She dropped.
Three down.
The scroll burned brighter now—its caster's face pale, sweat trailing down his jaw.
He unleashed the final invocation:
"Wordless Flame—Seven-Point Detonation!"
Seven flame orbs burst from the scroll, targeting Jin from all directions.
Trap technique.
No escape path.
No cover.
Unless—
Stillness.
Jin closed his eyes.
"Let grief become weight…"
He lowered his stance, one foot pressing lightly into the snow.
The Hollow Pulse surged.
"Grieving Flow – Step Three: Withering Breath."
A wave of qi silence exploded from his core—no sound, no light. Just stillness expanding outward.
The flame orbs dimmed, flickered—and collapsed like smothered candles.
The scroll tore itself apart mid-air, sparks vanishing before they reached the ground.
☠️ Aftermath
The youth dropped to his knees.
"Y-you erased… the flame…?"
Jin walked forward.
The air around him was cold again—not from snow, but from intent.
"You stole a technique born of memory and sorrow," he said. "And tried to ignite it without either."
He raised a hand—and the scroll's ashes crumbled without him touching them.
"Flame that forgets its cost… is just arrogance."
🧠 Internal Resonance Gained
[You have disrupted a False Flame Scripture.]
+1 Resistance to Stolen Techniques
[Memory Fragment Progress: 2/3 – "The Man Who Lit a Fire Without Flame"]
One more false flame must be witnessed to unlock the Echo.
Jin turned to Wen Dai, who still knelt beside the ruins.
"They'll return," the elder said. "More of them. Stronger."
"Then I'll make sure there's still something left for them to return to."
He glanced at the broken Cloudstep insignia hanging above the gate.
"Every ruin was a home once."