Chapter 25: The Exiled Warriors’ Pledge

The embers of celebration still glowed in the underground halls of Blackfire Market, but Nam Gong-Wook—known to the world as the Divine Dragon of Wolseong—had little interest in revelry. He sat at the head of a dimly lit chamber, the flickering lanterns casting shadows across his sharp features. In his hand rested the letter that had arrived during the night's festivities, an invitation marked with an unfamiliar crest.

Beside him, Seo Hwanjin, the Demon Sage of Azure, sipped from a jade cup, his keen eyes watching Lucian's expression. "You're smiling," he noted, setting his drink aside. "That means trouble."

Lucian let out a low chuckle. "You say that as if trouble doesn't excite you."

Seo Hwanjin grinned but said nothing. Instead, he gestured toward the parchment. "Who sent it?"

Lucian ran his fingers over the seal. "Someone interesting."

The letter had been brief, but its message was clear:

"Not all who walk outside the orthodox path are without honor. Meet us at the Cursed Willow Grove at dawn. Alone."

No name. No affiliation. Just a promise that intrigued him.

Seo Hwanjin exhaled, shaking his head. "You're really going, aren't you?"

Lucian gave him a sidelong glance. "Of course."

The Demon Sage sighed. "Then at least don't get yourself killed. I rather enjoy watching you piss off the so-called righteous sects."

Lucian smirked but said nothing. He had no intention of dying—he had far too much work left to do.

A Gathering of the Outcasts

Dawn painted the horizon in hues of crimson and gold as Lucian made his way through the mist-laden forest surrounding Cursed Willow Grove. The place was aptly named—twisted trees, their bark charred and gnarled, loomed like skeletal sentinels. The wind howled softly, whispering secrets of long-forgotten battles.

He had barely stepped into the clearing when shadows moved between the trees. Warriors—more than a dozen—emerged from the mist, each one carrying the unmistakable aura of battle-hardened exiles.

Leading them was a man in his late thirties, his face marked with old scars, his one remaining eye sharp with unyielding defiance. He wore no sect colors, only simple, well-worn robes that spoke of a life on the run. His blade—a curved sabre with darkened steel—hung loosely at his side, but Lucian had no doubt the man could draw it in an instant.

Lucian tilted his head. "I assume you're the one who summoned me?"

The one-eyed warrior studied him before nodding. "I am Baek Mu-sang, once of the Mount Hua Sect. Now… nothing but a ghost of what once was."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Exiled?"

Baek Mu-sang let out a bitter laugh. "Isn't it obvious? Those who don't conform to the orthodox sect's self-righteous bullshit end up discarded."

Lucian's eyes flicked to the warriors behind him. Some bore the emblems of once-proud sects now lost to history. Others had the hardened look of mercenaries, assassins, or those branded as heretics simply because they refused to follow tradition.

"And what do you want from me?" Lucian asked.

Baek Mu-sang's expression turned serious. "Your victory in the tournament… it shook the foundations of the orthodox sects. They won't sit idle—they'll hunt you down, just as they did to us." He stepped forward. "But you're different. You don't just fight their system—you challenge it openly. We want in."

Lucian crossed his arms. "You expect me to take in a band of exiles and traitors just because we share a common enemy?"

A younger warrior among them scoffed. "You think we need your approval? We survived the orthodox sects' treachery before you even stepped into Murim, boy."

Lucian's gaze snapped to him, cold and unyielding. In an instant, the pressure of his Qi crashed down like a tidal wave. The young warrior staggered, struggling to breathe under the sheer weight of Lucian's presence.

Baek Mu-sang's eye widened slightly, but he made no move to stop Lucian.

Lucian took slow, deliberate steps toward the young man. "If you want to follow me," he said, voice sharp as a blade, "then you will know your place."

The warrior collapsed to one knee, sweat beading on his brow.

Lucian turned to Baek Mu-sang. "You want in? Prove you're worth my time."

A tense silence filled the clearing before Baek Mu-sang smirked. "Good."

He turned to his men. "Who among you dares challenge the Divine Dragon?"

Two stepped forward—a towering brute with fists like iron and a lean, knife-wielding man with a predator's gait.

Lucian cracked his knuckles. "That's more like it."

The Trial of Strength

The first challenger, Gong Tae-jin, charged forward, his fists wrapped in layers of reinforced cloth. His blows struck with the force of boulders, the air itself trembling under his power.

Lucian sidestepped with minimal effort.

A second punch came, faster—Lucian caught the brute's wrist mid-strike. Tae-jin's eyes widened before Lucian drove his knee into the man's gut with bone-crushing force.

Tae-jin coughed blood and crumpled to the ground.

The second challenger, Ji Sun-ho, didn't hesitate. He lunged, his twin knives flashing through the air. His movements were erratic, unpredictable—a style meant to overwhelm.

Lucian didn't bother dodging. Instead, he stepped into the attack.

The first knife scraped against his shoulder—barely a scratch. Before the second could land, Lucian's hand snapped up, grabbing Sun-ho's wrist with vice-like strength.

A single twist—CRACK!

Sun-ho screamed as his wrist shattered. His weapon fell to the ground, useless.

Lucian released him, watching him fall to his knees. "You fight like desperate men." His gaze swept across the gathered warriors. "That's good. But desperation alone doesn't win wars."

Baek Mu-sang's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Then teach us."

Lucian studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Swear your loyalty, and you'll have my guidance."

Baek Mu-sang knelt, followed by his warriors. One by one, they bowed their heads, pledging their blades to the Divine Dragon.

The Unholy Alliance

By nightfall, Lucian and his newfound force gathered within the Heavenly Demon Cult's hidden stronghold. Seo Hwanjin watched the exiles with mild amusement.

"Bringing in strays now?" he teased.

Lucian ignored him, turning to Baek Mu-sang. "We move against the orthodox sects, but we won't be reckless. We need strategic alliances."

Baek Mu-sang nodded. "And what's the plan?"

Lucian's smirk was nothing short of sinister. "We strike where it hurts them most."

He turned to a map of Murim, tracing a finger over the Wudang Sect's territory.

"We start with their supply chains. Without their resources, their influence will crumble."

Seo Hwanjin chuckled. "You're really going to bleed them dry before the real war begins?"

Lucian's smile widened. "I don't plan on fighting a war."

Baek Mu-sang raised an eyebrow. "Then what's the goal?"

Lucian's eyes gleamed with dark amusement.

"I plan on watching them tear each other apart."