Morning rose over Silent Edge.
The pale sun barely crested the mountain’s edge when Ilho jolted upright.
“Crap—the sun’s up! Am I late?!”
He scrambled toward the door. As he reached for the handle and turned—
He froze.
A shadow loomed above.
Perched on the roof like a silent gargoyle sat Sa Gwan. Cloaked. Motionless. Eyes like still ink.
Ilho’s breath caught.
“Son of a bi...—!”
He fell straight onto his ass. He blinked. Sa Gwan was gone.
“…What the hell?”
A presence shifted in front of him. Sa Gwan crouched inches away. Ilho flinched as two fingers gently patted his head. No sound. No warning. Then he vanished again. Ilho spun in place, heart pounding. He spotted him moments later—standing in the middle of the training grounds, surrounded by bamboo poles. A single scroll rested at his feet.
Ilho rushed down and grabbed it.
By the time he looked up... Sa Gwan was perched atop the outer stone wall.
Silent.
Watching.
The seal on the scroll was faded with age.
Phantom Veil – First Form: Shadow Step
Ilho sat among the bamboo poles and unrolled it. The diagrams were clean. Precise. Efficient. He stood and tried. It wasn’t explosive like Jinhu’s style. It was subtle. Coiled. Nearly silent. He tried again. And again. Foot placement wrong. Angles off. Breath mistimed. He looked toward the wall.
“Hey! Are you gonna… I don’t know… say anything? Give some tips?!”
Nothing.
Ilho groaned.
“For fuck's sake!”
He trained until dirt coated his sleeves and sweat stung his eyes. Ankles aching. Arms trembling. It all felt wrong. He needed feedback. He needed guidance. But Sa Gwan remained still. Watching.
That afternoon, Wu Jin appeared at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded.
“No joint training for two weeks,” he said flatly. “He’s all yours.”
His gaze settled on Ilho—dusty, slumped in the dirt, scroll open beside him.
“How long do you intend to torture him with your silence?” Wu Jin asked calmly. “Everyone knows you don’t speak. But that boy… he’s more like you than you think.”
The word hung there.
Chance.
Sa Gwan looked away. Memories stirred. A broken clan. Ruins. Six years alone. No one had given him a chance—until Wu Cheng and Wu Jin pulled him from a cave, starving and half-dead. They gave him Twilight Flow. They gave him purpose.
Now—
“When he earns it,” Sa Gwan said softly.
Wu Jin gave a small nod. And vanished.
Days 2–13
The next twelve days were pain. Ilho woke at dawn and trained until moonlight touched the tiles. He built the bamboo poles into a maze and ran it again and again. He whispered steps under his breath. He collapsed in frustration. He stood again. He shouted at Sa Gwan. He swore at the scroll.
Once, he kicked a bamboo pole so hard it launched across the courtyard. He stormed off. When he turned back— Sa Gwan was calmly replacing the pole. No words. No judgment.
Ilho sighed.
“This is insane.”
But something was changing. His balance improved. His steps grew lighter. When he moved without thinking, it felt like something lingered behind him. A ghost.
On the eighth day, Sa Gwan finally spoke.
“Power is visible. Precision is not. One fools the world. The other kills it.”
Ilho stared. He wrote it in the corner of the scroll. From that day forward, he didn’t train to be seen. He trained to disappear.
Day 14
The courtyard looked different. Feathers tied to the tops of bamboo poles. Small flags pierced into stalks. Blue. Red. Yellow. All fluttering in the wind.
Ilho squinted.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Sa Gwan dropped from the wall and stood beside him.
Then—
He vanished. A blur. When Ilho blinked, every flag was gone. Not a single feather stirred. Sa Gwan calmly walked back across the field, replacing each one. Perfectly. He stopped in front of Ilho. Pat. Two fingers to the head. Then back to his perch. Ilho stared at the field.
“…Okay. Fine.”
He tried. Again and again. Each dash between poles stirred feathers. He knocked over three poles. Sweat drenched him.
“WHY DID YOU PICK ME?!” he shouted at the sky.
No answer.
He didn’t quit.
As the sun dipped low, Ilho stood still. Breathing slow. Sweat pooling at his feet. He closed his eyes. Then he moved. Like wind through reeds. Like thought before speech. And suddenly— He stood at the end of the bamboo maze. Every flag in his hands. Not a feather moved.
He stared at them.
“Holy shit… I did it…”
A voice whispered beside him.
“Good job.”
Ilho screamed.
Sa Gwan’s face hovered inches from his shoulder.
“AHH! Don’t sneak up like that!”
He threw the flags at him.
“Why me? Wu Jin said you picked me. Why?”
Sa Gwan tapped his forehead with two fingers.
“Because you need this to become a shadow.”
He lifted a thin needle.
In one fluid motion, he tossed it into the air. Snatched a loose thread from Ilho’s sleeve. Infused it with qi. Threw it. The thread passed through the needle’s eye midair and pinned it to a bamboo pole. The needle hung suspended.
Perfect.
Ilho blinked.
That’s a sewing trick from hell.
Sa Gwan vanished.
That night, Ilho stood on the balcony outside his room, staring down at the bamboo poles below.
The wind carried distant training sounds.
Behind him—
CRACK.
“Fuck! Can you people try using the stairs?!”
Wu Jin grinned, rod resting on his shoulder.
“Still scared of the rod?”
“That thing’s got trauma baked into it.”
Wu Jin chuckled.
“Sa Gwan is special. The fact that he spoke to you? That means you are too.”
He placed a hand on Ilho’s shoulder.
“No one has mastered his Phantom Veil forms. Many tried. All failed. Me included.”
Ilho blinked.
Wu Jin’s gaze sharpened.
“You mastered the first form.”
A pause.
“That’s not small.”
He stepped back.
“Don’t be so hard on him. He’s trying too.”
Ilho looked down at the courtyard.
Maybe he was.
“Oh,” Wu Jin added casually, “the other two finished their footwork training. Starting tomorrow, you train together.”
He turned.
CRACK.
“See you then.”
Ilho stared at the training grounds.
“Precision is deadlier than strength.”
He smirked.
“Guess we’ll see tomorrow how precise I can be.”
