Awakening of the Shadow

Three long, brutal years had passed since that fateful day in the cave. The once timid, heart-wrenching boy had transformed into a cold-blooded monster—a creature driven solely by revenge and the echo of his brother's name. In the dim corridors of the training cave, among the ten remaining survivors, Min-Jae's presence was both feared and admired.

Every day, before the sunrise had even bled through the mountain's edge, Min-Jae would begin his secret training. Even though his blade skills had already surpassed those of his instructors, he still had a gaping void within: he had not yet learned the essence of martial arts, nor had he awakened his internal energy. This deficiency, however, was about to change.

Min-Jae's training regimen was both punishing and ingenious. Hidden away from the prying eyes of his mentors, he devised a daily routine that pushed his body to its absolute limits. First came strength conditioning. He replaced the old, burdensome iron bracelets with new ones forged of a sturdier alloy—each weighing a crushing 50 kilograms. Every morning, he strapped these heavy shackles around his wrists and ankles, feeling the weight force his muscles to contract and his bones to grow resilient. Alongside the bracelets, he filled sandbags with cold, unforgiving earth and hurled them repeatedly, his arms and shoulders screaming in protest with every toss.

As the weight training carved raw power into his limbs, Min-Jae focused on what he had yet to master: his internal energy. In the solitude of the cave, beneath a canopy of unyielding darkness, he began to study the new breathing technique that the instructors had introduced that day to the remaining ten children. They called it "Shadow Veil Breath." Its name evoked the mysterious interplay of darkness and life-force—a method to draw the hidden energy from the very essence of the void.

Min-Jae sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly through his nose, allowing the cool, damp air to fill his lungs. He concentrated on the space between each heartbeat, visualizing a veil of dark mist coiling from his abdomen upward. With each deliberate exhale, he imagined that mist dispersing, leaving behind a trace of glowing, indigo energy. At first, the technique felt alien—a mere trick of the mind—but with relentless practice, subtle sparks of power began to kindle deep within him. He trained tirelessly, day after day, each session lasting until his muscles trembled and his vision blurred with fatigue.

Yet physical strength and breathing were not enough. Min-Jae's instructors had also introduced a stealth art—a mysterious discipline known only as "Tenebrous Phantom Step." This was a covert technique that promised to hone a warrior's ability to move unseen, almost as if merging with the darkness itself. Legends whispered that no one in the history of murim had ever advanced beyond level eight of this art, and reaching level nine was considered nearly impossible. Still, Min-Jae was determined to push his limits.

In the long hours of dusk, after his strength and breathing routines, he would slip into the narrow corridors of the cave, barefoot and cloaked in shadows. He practiced the Tenebrous Phantom Step by first learning to control the subtle shifts in his body's weight and balance. He imagined himself becoming one with the silence—each movement slow, calculated, and ghostlike. Every step was measured, every pause intentional. He used the cold stone walls as his guides, sliding his hands over rough surfaces and letting his senses absorb every echo and whisper in the dark.

During these solitary sessions, he would often fall to his knees in exhaustion, his mind swirling with doubts. For a moment, the thought of his little brother would surge up, mingling with the crushing weight of solitude and pain. Yet, amidst that anguish, one burning thought remained steady: revenge. It was a mantra that stoked the embers of his determination, pushing him to rise, to train harder, and to master the art of being unseen.

When the instructors finally gathered the remaining children, they presented them with their new training gear—iron bracelets weighing 50 kilograms and sandbags for resistance exercises. With little choice and no room for protest, they were bound by these weights, each piece a constant reminder of their servitude and the price of survival.

Then, in a final, grim ceremony, the instructors announced that all would enter a year of seclusion training—a period during which they would be locked away in the confines of a specially prepared training cave, with no contact with the outside world. During this seclusion, every minute of their lives would be dedicated to refining the Shadow Veil Breath and advancing the Tenebrous Phantom Step. It was said that only those who emerged from this crucible would even stand a chance of awakening true martial power.

Min-Jae stood among his peers, his body scarred, his eyes burning with unspoken resolve. He had become a ruthless force—a blade honed by endless torment and secret, grueling training. Yet deep inside, a tiny part of him still trembled at the thought of his little brother's gentle laughter. That delicate memory was the sole beacon that drove him forward, even as he embraced the cold, unforgiving path of vengeance.

Now, with the heavy new gear clanging against his limbs and his resolve steeled by years of hardship, Min-Jae stepped forward into the unknown—a future where the promise of awakening internal energy and mastering forbidden arts loomed ahead. The seclusion year was about to begin, and with it, the final test of his transformation from a frightened boy into a true assassin of the murim world