The martial world loved clear answers.
Righteous or demonic.
Ally or enemy.
Life or death.
Moon Seohyun stood between them all.
The mountain pass was quiet—the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears. Morning mist clung to jagged rocks, thin and pale, drifting like unfinished thoughts. Somewhere below, water flowed steadily, patient and indifferent to the chaos that ruled the world above it.
Seohyun adjusted the strap of his satchel and continued walking.
His steps were light, measured. Not cautious, not hurried. Anyone familiar with Murim would have found it strange. In a land where strength was proclaimed loudly and intentions were sharpened like blades, his presence was… muted.
And yet, the air shifted when he passed.
Three bodies lay beside the road.
Two wore the white robes of a Righteous Sect. The third was dressed in black, the torn sigil of a Demonic faction soaked dark with blood. Their weapons lay scattered, the struggle already long finished.
Seohyun stopped.
He looked at them without expression—no satisfaction, no pity. Only understanding.
"So it happened here too," he murmured.
He crouched, fingers brushing the dirt beside a broken sword. The ground spoke easily to those who knew how to listen. Righteous techniques—precise, disciplined. Demonic strikes—violent, desperate. Neither side had held back.
Balance had been broken.
Seohyun rose.
He did not pray for the dead. He did not curse the living. Instead, he stepped off the road and adjusted the stones beside the bodies, shifting them just enough so travelers would not stumble upon them by accident.
It was a small act. Meaningless, perhaps.
But small things mattered.
"Murim will call this justice," he said quietly, gazing down the winding path ahead.
"And tomorrow, it will call something else justice instead."
The wind swept through the mountain pass, carrying the faint scent of blood away.
Moon Seohyun resumed his journey.
Unaware—or perhaps fully aware—that by walking the middle path, he had already become an enemy to both sides.
---
A sect in the middle of the forest?
Curiosity stirred, but hunger proved stronger.
The wooden sign was weathered, its letters simple.
Jung-Hyeong Mun Sect.
A sect that does not stand with the Righteous nor the Demonic.
Seohyun snorted quietly. "That sounds exhausting."
He knocked on the gate, expecting resistance.
Silence.
Not the tense silence of guarded ground—but a deep, dead quiet, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
"Yes, my child?" a voice asked.
Fast. Quiet. Close.
"Oh—uhm," Seohyun said, startled. "I was wondering if I could stay. My village… made me leave."
A lie. A weak one.
"Lying," the voice replied calmly. "I can see it in your eyes."
Seohyun scratched his cheek. "Busted. Sorry. I'm just hungry. I've been starving."
A pause.
Then the gate opened.
No creak. No resistance. As if it had been waiting for his knock all along.
Inside, the sect grounds were… plain.
Stone paths, neatly swept. A handful of wooden buildings nestled among ancient trees. No banners. No training cries. No sharpened killing intent lingering in the air.
The stillness wasn't empty.
It was settled—like water that had long ceased to ripple.
Seohyun stepped inside.
The man who had spoken stood a few paces away. His robes were neither white nor black, but a muted gray that seemed borrowed from the morning mist. His hair was loosely tied, his features unremarkable—
Until one looked closer.
Then it became difficult to look away.
"Follow," the man said.
No name. No questions.
Seohyun obeyed.
They walked through the sect in silence. Disciples passed them occasionally—few in number, each moving with a calm that bordered on unsettling. None stared. None bowed deeply. They acknowledged the man with a nod, Seohyun with brief, assessing glances.
No hostility.
No welcome.
Just balance.
The man stopped before a small dining hall.
Inside, a single pot simmered over a low flame. The scent of rice and broth filled the air—simple, warm, honest.
Seohyun swallowed.
"You may eat," the man said. "Then you may leave."
Seohyun sat immediately.
He ate slowly, despite his hunger. Not out of manners—but because something about the place demanded restraint. Every movement felt deliberate, as if excess itself was discouraged.
When he finished, he placed the bowl down carefully.
"…Thank you."
The man studied him.
"You saw bodies on the road."
Seohyun nodded.
"You adjusted the stones."
A pause. Then another nod.
"Why?"
"So others wouldn't trip," Seohyun replied. "The dead don't need the road. The living do."
The man's gaze sharpened—not with interest, but with recognition.
"Murim calls us Jung-Hyeong Mun," he said at last. "The Equilibrium Sect."
"I read the sign," Seohyun said. "People say you don't belong anywhere."
"That is correct."
Seohyun thought for a moment.
"…May I stay a little longer?" he asked. "Not forever. Just until my hunger passes."
The man turned away.
"Hunger does not pass," he said. "It is only redirected."
He took a step, then stopped.
"But you may stay."
Seohyun blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
The man finally faced him fully.
"My name is Yin Hwayeol," he said. "I am the axis of this sect."
Seohyun stood and bowed—not deeply, not shallowly. Just enough.
"Moon Seohyun."
Yin Hwayeol regarded him in silence.
"You walk like someone who does not tip the scale," he said at last.
"Let us see how long that lasts in Murim."
As night settled over the forest, unseen by the world beyond—
Moon Seohyun realized something.
This sect did not stand between Righteous and Demonic because it was weak.
It stood there because someone had to stop the world from tearing itself apart.
And by stepping through its gate,
He had already chosen his path.