The council chamber felt colder than usual.
Seven elders sat in their seats of stone and steel, expressions unreadable. The torches lining the walls burned steadily, flame tips sharp and disciplined much like the men and women gathered around them.
Han Min Jae stood in the center once more.
"The signs are clear," Elder Hwan said impatiently. "The boy is being trained."
"That was inevitable," Min Jae replied evenly. "Hiding truth delays nothing."
Elder Baek tapped his fingers against his chair. "Which is why you requested this audience."
Min Jae inclined his head lightly. "Yes."
"Our watchers report increased movement," Hwan continued. "Independent killers. Minor clans adjusting their internal hierarchies. Fear spreads faster than fire."
"Fear can be shaped," Min Jae said. "Given direction."
He took a breath.
"We revive the Trials."
The chamber erupted in quiet murmurs.
"Unthinkable," one elder muttered.
Elder Baek's eyes sharpened. "You suggest reopening a tradition that nearly collapsed the underground world."
"That tradition kept the balance for generations," Min Jae countered smoothly. "It eliminates weakness. Consolidates power. And most importantly it draws targets into the open."
Silence followed.
After a long moment, Baek spoke. "Explain."
Min Jae stepped forward.
"A competition announced publicly to the assassin world," he said. "Young bloods only. Clan-affiliated or independent. Skill, composure, adaptability."
Elder Hwan's lips curved. "And Muk Hyun's descendant?"
Min Jae met his gaze without flinching. "He will be expected to attend."
Elder Baek's voice dropped. "That invitation is a death sentence."
Min Jae nodded slightly. "Precisely why it works."
The room stilled.
"A month," Min Jae said. "We give them time. Hope. Preparation."
"And within that time," Hwan said darkly, "anything could happen."
"Yes," Min Jae replied softly. "Anything."
Baek closed his eyes briefly.
"We proceed," he decided. "But understand this this competition will stain our hands deeply."
Min Jae bowed.
"If history must bleed," he said, "let it bleed cleanly."
That night, a messenger reached Tae Seong.
A sealed notice.
Seo Jun watched his father read it in silence, knuckles slowly whitening.
"They've announced the Trials," Tae Seong said at last.
Seo Jun felt a chill crawl up his spine. "That's… a competition."
"Yes."
"…And me?"
"They expect you there."
A long pause.
Seo Jun exhaled. "Then it's a trap."
Tae Seong nodded. "A beautifully crafted one."
Seo Jun straightened.
"Then teach me how to walk into it."
Tae Seong's eyes, dark with history and anger, met his son's.
"We don't walk in," he said quietly.
"We survive long enough to make them regret building it."