Read Modern Day Martial Arts :: CHAPTER 18 - THE PROCESSION OF POWER

— TANG JIUNG: SYSTEM STATUS (Observers Only) —

Alias: Blue
Cultivation Realm: First-Rate Warrior
Body: Minor Realm – Heavenly Golden Body

Qi Reserves: 66 Years Total
– Earth Cultivation: 6 Years
– Elixir Absorption: 20 Years
– 10,000-Year Ginseng Absorption: 40 Years

Breathing Techniques:
✓ Silent Edge Breathing — 100% Sync

Combat Styles:
✓ Silent Edge 1st Form – Edge of Dusk: Mastered
✓ Silent Edge 2nd Form – Whispering Gale: Mastered
✓ Flowing Steel Footwork – Combat style: Mastered. Movement style: 25%

The heavy gates to the pavilion creaked open.

Five guards shifted to the right, five to the left—forming perfect ranks as Wu Jin emerged. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the stone courtyard.

“We have six hours before the tournament begins,” Wu Jin announced, voice calm but firm. “Recruits, you’ll stay behind. The rest of you, you have 1 hour, then we march.”

Behind him, Blue, Ilho, and Jinhu stepped forward, faces calm, hearts burning.

Still first-rate warriors...yet weaker than many Silent Edge members—they didn’t walk like it. And that made all the difference.

From the outer rows, murmurs rippled through the crowd. The ten squad leaders, each a two-star master or higher, exchanged glances.

“They’ve changed.”

“Is it just me, or is the tall one… glowing?”

As they were walking you could hear Jinhu and Ilho saying how bad they wanted to test their new bodies. In an instant Ilho vanished and stood with arms folded, his silver gaze scanning the rising sun. A flicker, and he vanished again. A moment later, he reappeared beside Jinhu with a grin. “Had to see the view one last time.”

Jinhu didn’t respond. He was centered atop the steel pillar that had stood cracked since day one. With a breath, he launched into Mountain Step, landing soundlessly—like a boulder falling with grace. Solid. Final.

Blue sat in meditation nearby, his system window pulsing softly.

[System Ping]
Qi Total: 66 Years
—10,000-Year Ginseng fully integrated. (+40 Years)
Warning: Sudden increase in internal qi reserves may disrupt balance.

He opened his eyes, breath slow, posture calm. But his heart raced.

“Forty years,” he muttered.

Footsteps. Yeol and Wu Cheng approached quietly. Cheng placed a hand on Blue’s shoulder.

“You’ve trained harder than anyone here,” he said. “But the tournament isn’t a sparring match. It’s war with rules.”

Yeol nodded. “Don’t fight to win. Fight so they never forget your name.”

Across the courtyard, Mu Jang and Sa Gwan stood together, their usual stoic nature cracked by subtle pride. Mu Jang tilted his head, look at Jinhu and yelled. About time…” Mu Jang said, arms crossed. “You finally became a mountain."

Sa Gwan, watching Ilho’s shadow flicker along the roof tiles, smiled faintly. “They grew well,” Sa Gwan muttered. “Especially that one.” He nodded toward Jinhu. “For a brute."

CRACK.

The Rod™ struck the ground as Wu Jin stepped into view.

“I know you’re proud. I know your blood’s boiling. You three will rid in the car and until we arrive, meditate. Let your dantian settle. Let your body align.”

His gaze sharpened.

“What the heavens gave you can also tear you apart if misused.”

Then, softer...almost fatherly: “The storm is coming. Do not walk into it unbalanced.”

As they marched toward Chengdu. The Silent Edge flag fluttered behind them—black, with a white blade slashing across the fabric. One hundred warriors marched in formation, bearing it into the world for the first time.

Today, Silent Edge would step into history. They walked as a family. They walked like a sect.

The Procession

The arena gates opened. A wave of sound—cheers, roars, and chants—crashed over the open air.

And then...silence. Silent Edge emerged first.

Blue, Ilho, and Jinhu led the procession.

Black robes. White trim. A white sword cutting the wind stitched over their hearts. They wore no ancestral patterns, no flashy colors...just black, white, and steel. But they walked like they belonged.

An official at the top of the stairs pointed toward their assigned section. The trio walked in perfect synchronization and took their place at the head of the field.

Spectators leaned forward. Murmurs echoed.

“Who are they?”

“They weren’t in last year’s tournament.”

They stood tall and waited.

One by one, the sects arrived.

Emei stepped through the gates next...thirty-seven women in perfect formation, dressed in lavender and silver, lotus-blade pendants glinting at their waists. Their coordinated movement was graceful and lethal.

Ilho twirled one butterfly blade in mock elegance and smiled. “Pretty.”

Murmurs of drunks and martial artist alike admiring the beauties of Emei.

Next came Wudang...a stream of flowing robes and serene footwork that glided like mist. Their posture was perfection, their balance absolute. At the front, Ryul met Blue’s gaze. Blue’s heart clenched.

Blue stared at his brother, wondering how strong he had become in his absence. "I hope i get to find out."

Then...crimson and black. The sound of horns caught everyones attention. All heads now turned toward the entrance. The Heavenly Demon Cult stormed into the arena with synchronized footfalls that thundered in the crowd’s chest. Their arrival was a declaration. Mu Gyeol passed Blue.

Blue said nothing at first, then muttered, “Don’t lose. I want a rematch.”

Mu Gyeol’s smirk faltered for half a second.

Mu Gyeol looked at the 2nd young master behind him. "Who the hell is that?"

Shaolin’s entrance brought hush. Forty monks in perfect rows, chanting lowly. Prayer beads clacked like drums. One monk passed Jinhu, paused, and offered a deep bow. “Amitabha,” he said.

Ilho looked at Jinhu "Looks like you just made a friend."

Blue smiled. "You think he hates doors too?"

Then--

Mount Hua entered like wind. Robes of pink and white fluttered behind them. Plum blossoms fell from nowhere, drifting into the arena like a quiet snowfall. One of their disciples traced the air with her sword and smiled toward Blue. He blinked. She was already gone.

Then came silence. And awe.

A lone figure emerged from the tunnel. You could hear ripples throughout the crowd. "It's Namgung, they've won the past 5 tournaments."

Namgung Ryu.

Hair tied high, sword at his waist, robe pristine. The insignia of the Sword Saint flared like fire on his chest. He stepped onto the stage with no ceremony—just presence.

He walked to the center. No signal. No flourish. Nineteen Namgung disciples erupted from the stands, leaping like lightning bolts. Each landed with precision, forming a living blade formation around Ryu. Twenty swords. One will. The crowd erupted.

Wu Cheng looked toward the Sword Saint with disgust..."Cocky bastard." He turned to Yeol. "Can you remind me why are we friends with him again."

Above on a platform overlooking the entire arena the Martial Alliance Leader rose. He gathered qi into his palm and clapped three times. The sound shattered the stillness of the stadium like thunder.

“Good,” he said. “Very good.”

His voice rolled through the arena like distant war drums.

“This is Murim. We do not cater to the weak.”

“If death is something you fear...do not step onto this stage.”

“If you dare, be prepared to give your life for Murim.”

“Fight to your heart’s content. We have healers standing by, but there will be cuts, breaks… perhaps worse. If you get in over your head, you may die.”

He paused, eyes scanning the crowd.

“This is the path of the martial artist.”

“This tournament has shaped Murim for generations. Here, names rise—and fall. Legends are born or broken.”

He gestured toward the audience where sect masters, generals, grandmasters, and ascendants sat.

“They once stood where you now stand. Warriors who proved themselves through fire.”

The moment lingered on So-Yeon—stoic beneath the Crimson Veil banner. Silent. Radiant.

“Today, it’s your turn. Show Murim your strength. Show the monsters outside our gates that we are not prey.”

“Show no mercy.”

He raised a hand.

“The winner may choose any artifact stored in the Alliance Vault, and will receive an elixir capable of bridging the gap between Master and Grandmaster.”

A hush spread across the disciples like frost.

“Second place… receives nothing.”

“Either fight to win...or don’t fight at all.”

The Alliance Leader took a seat, as he did he gestured toward the elder on stage. A second elder stepped forward onto the central stage stoic, scarred, and stone-faced. He held a long scroll and a gaze that cut bone.

“Two hundred competitors.”

His voice was ice.

“By today’s end, half of you will be gone.”

He let the words hang.

“There are twenty platforms. When your name and number are called, proceed to your assigned platform. You have sixty seconds. Failure to appear will result in forfeit. No exceptions.”

He unrolled the scroll with a snap. The air held its breath.

“Let the first round… begin.”

Blue looked at Ilho and Jinhu. “No losing until the quarterfinals.”

Ilho grinned. “If you lose, you starve.”

Jinhu added, “Mu Jang said if I lose, he’s coming through the wall—not the door—from now on.”

They laughed.

One by one, names were called. One by one, they stepped onto the stage.

Silent Edge had arrived. Not to participate. To conquer.

This content is intended for mature audiences for the following reasons.