Night settled over the city like a cloak of shimmering lights.
Jin Tae-Hyuk sat quietly on the edge of a rooftop overlooking a busy intersection. Below him, vehicles streamed endlessly along the roads, their lights forming glowing rivers that twisted between the towering buildings.
Even after two days, the sight still unsettled him.
In Murim, nights were quiet. Only the wind through mountain trees and the distant calls of beasts disturbed the darkness.
Here, the world never seemed to rest.
Yet beneath that noise… Tae-Hyuk could still feel it.
Qi.
Not strong. Not pure. But present.
Small pulses drifted through the streets like faint lanterns in the dark.
He closed his eyes.
Several were nearby.
One… two… five.
Different sources.
Different styles.
Murim truly survived… he thought.
But the energy signatures were strange. They flickered unevenly, as if the practitioners were constantly suppressing their aura.
They are hiding it.
He opened his eyes again.
Across the street stood a modest building with a glowing sign that read "Baek Martial Arts Fitness Center."
To ordinary people, it looked like nothing more than a training gym.
But Tae-Hyuk had already noticed several unusual things.
The people entering moved with perfect balance.
Their footsteps were light.
Their breathing controlled.
And occasionally very briefly Qi leaked from their bodies before vanishing again.
His gaze sharpened.
Interesting…
A few minutes later, Tae-Hyuk quietly descended from the rooftop.
He blended into the nighttime crowds, pulling his coat tighter around himself. Modern clothing still felt strange on his body, but it helped him avoid attention.
The gym's glass doors slid open automatically when he approached.
He stiffened slightly.
Magic?
But he quickly realized it was simply another strange device of this era.
Inside, the building smelled of sweat and rubber mats.
Several people were practicing kicks and punches under bright lights. Others lifted heavy metal weights that clanked loudly whenever they touched the ground.
To most eyes, it was a normal training facility.
But Tae-Hyuk immediately saw the truth.
Two men sparring in the corner were using controlled breathing techniques.
Their stances resembled fragments of traditional fighting forms.
A woman performing rapid kicks near a training bag released a faint ripple of Qi every time her heel struck.
Yet the power was shallow.
Incomplete.
Their movements lacked the seamless flow he remembered from true martial masters.
It was as if someone had copied the outer shell of the techniques… but forgot the soul.
Tae-Hyuk stood silently against the wall, observing.
Their foundations are weak, he thought.
The breathing rhythms were incorrect.
The energy circulation stopped halfway through several meridians.
Even their stance transitions were slightly flawed.
But none of the practitioners seemed aware of the mistakes.
They trained seriously, repeating the same movements again and again.
A young man nearby attempted a spinning kick.
His foot struck the bag with a loud thud, releasing a small flash of Qi.
The force was impressive by ordinary standards.
But Tae-Hyuk knew the same technique, executed properly, could split stone.
Something was lost, he realized.
Generations must have passed.
Techniques changed.
Knowledge faded.
The Murim of this era had survived… but only partially.
"Hey."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Tae-Hyuk turned slightly.
One of the trainers stood nearby, arms crossed.
"You new here?"
Tae-Hyuk nodded calmly.
"Just watching."
The trainer studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
Perhaps he sensed the faint aura Tae-Hyuk struggled to suppress.
But after a moment he shrugged.
"If you're interested, there's an open sparring session tonight."
Tae-Hyuk shook his head.
"Another time."
He had no intention of revealing his abilities.
Not yet.
The trainer nodded and walked away.
Tae-Hyuk remained still for a few minutes longer, observing the training.
Every movement confirmed the same conclusion.
Murim existed.
But it had grown weaker.
More cautious.
More hidden.
Their techniques were fragments of something far greater.
Which means…
His eyes darkened slightly.
If someone preserved the old ways…
That person would possess an overwhelming advantage.
After leaving the gym, Tae-Hyuk walked slowly through a narrow alley.
The air was cooler now, the city quieter as midnight approached.
But suddenly...
A blur moved across the rooftops.
Tae-Hyuk stopped instantly.
His senses sharpened.
Another figure landed silently on a building across the street.
The movement was quick.
Controlled.
Skilled.
"A Martial master" He thought..
The person paused briefly, scanning the area.
For a moment, their gaze swept dangerously close to Tae-Hyuk's hiding place.
He held his breath.
Completely still.
After several tense seconds, the figure vanished again into the night.
Tae-Hyuk exhaled slowly.
They are vigilant.
This world's Murim might be weaker…
…but they were not careless.
And that meant something else.
If ordinary practitioners were already this cautious…
Then the truly powerful ones must be far more dangerous.
Tae-Hyuk looked up at the towering skyline.
Lights stretched endlessly into the darkness.
Hidden within those buildings were countless secrets.
Hidden warriors.
Hidden sects.
Hidden enemies.
And perhaps…
Hidden masters.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"This world…"
he murmured softly.
"…might be more interesting than I thought."
The wind swept across the rooftops.
Far away, another faint pulse of Qi flickered somewhere in the city.
And Jin Tae-Hyuk quietly followed its direction.
The deeper he walked into the modern world…
the closer he moved toward its hidden Murim.
And whatever waited at its center.
***
The city stretched endlessly, a forest of steel and glass glowing under artificial light. The streets bustled even at this hour, yet Tae-Hyuk's attention remained fixed on something else entirely.
The faint pulse of Qi he had sensed earlier.
He followed it carefully.
Not rushing.
Not revealing himself.
The signal led him through several districts until the buildings began to change. Towering office complexes gave way to older structures, narrow streets, aging apartments, dim streetlights flickering against worn brick walls.
The Qi was stronger here.
Not by much.
But enough for Tae-Hyuk's trained senses to detect.
He stopped at the edge of a rooftop and looked down.
An abandoned parking lot sat between two buildings.
Four boys stood there.
They formed a loose circle, their stances disciplined and alert.
Training.
Tae-Hyuk lowered himself into a crouch, remaining hidden behind a ventilation unit as he watched.
The men began sparring.
Their movements were fast, far faster than ordinary fighters. Feet slid across the ground in precise patterns, fists cut through the air, and faint ripples of Qi accompanied every strike.
To normal eyes, it would look like nothing more than a group of skilled martial artists practicing late at night.
But Tae-Hyuk could see everything.
Every breath.
Every shift of weight.
Every fragment of energy.
One of the fighters stepped forward and launched a series of palm strikes.
His movements were fluid.
Sharp.
Rhythmic.
Tae-Hyuk's eyes narrowed slightly.
That stance…
The man pivoted his body and unleashed another sequence of three rapid strikes followed by a spinning palm aimed at the opponent's chest.
A faint ripple of Qi burst outward.
The other man blocked and slid backward across the pavement.
Tae-Hyuk's heart skipped.
That…
The technique was incomplete.
The breathing was wrong.
The Qi circulation was uneven.
But the structure and the foundation of the movement was unmistakable.
He had seen it before.
Many times.
Long ago.
"Eight Flowing Palms…" Tae-Hyuk whispered under his breath.
The technique had once belonged to a minor orthodox sect from his era. It was not among the greatest martial arts in Murim, but it was elegant and efficient, designed for close-range combat.
Yet what the modern fighter performed was only a shadow of the original.
The final strike lacked the explosive release of Qi.
The footwork was slightly off.
The energy never reached the palm's center.
Instead of flowing like a river, it broke apart halfway through the sequence.
Still…
It was the same technique.
Somehow, it had survived the centuries.
Tae-Hyuk watched silently.
The fighters continued sparring, unaware of the observer above them.
Another man attempted the same technique.
His movements were even rougher.
The sequence ended prematurely, his breath faltering.
One of the others shook his head.
"Your timing's off again," he said.
"I'm trying," the man replied, breathing heavily. "The manual only explains half the sequence."
Manual.
Tae-Hyuk's eyes sharpened.
So written techniques still exist…
But clearly incomplete ones.
The fighters resumed training, repeating the same sequence again and again.
Each attempt is slightly flawed.
Each attempt missed the true essence of the technique.
From the rooftop, Tae-Hyuk watched carefully.
His mind instinctively corrected every mistake.
Adjust the stance.
Control the breathing.
Guide the Qi through the arm meridians.
Release it at the final palm.
Simple corrections.
But they made all the difference.
Yet Tae-Hyuk remained silent.
He had no reason to interfere.
Not yet.
The sparring continued for another half hour before the group finally stopped.
One of them rubbed his shoulder.
"Man… if we could actually master this technique, the other gyms wouldn't stand a chance."
Another laughed.
"Yeah, if only the old sects had written better manuals."
They gathered their bags and slowly left the parking lot.
Soon the space was empty again.
Tae-Hyuk remained on the rooftop.
His gaze lingered on the ground where they had trained.
"A technique from my world… still exists."
He folded his arms slowly.
"But only fragments remain."
That meant something important.
If a minor sect technique had survived…
Then other techniques must have survived as well.
Perhaps stronger ones.
Perhaps even legendary ones.
But if the manuals were incomplete…
Then the practitioners of this era were training blind.
Half-knowledge.
Half-power.
Half-truths.
Tae-Hyuk looked out across the city again.
The realization settled deep in his mind.
Murim had not disappeared.
It was simply… forgotten.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"This world truly is different."
The wind swept across the rooftops as Tae-Hyuk turned and disappeared into the night once more.
Somewhere in the city, other martial artists were training.
Other sects were hiding.
Other techniques were waiting to be discovered.
And Jin Tae-Hyuk, one of the last people who remembered the old Murim, had only just begun to explore it.