Reincarnated as a Wandering Swordsman in a World of Magic and Murim

The cold mountain wind howled as Ren followed the enigmatic seekers through the treacherous terrain. Their movements were swift and calculated, as if they knew every stone and crevice of the forgotten path they now tread. Ren kept his senses sharp, wary of any danger that could lurk in the shadows. He had learned that trust was not easily given, especially when dealing with those who held knowledge of the lost sects.

As they ventured deeper into the mountains, the leader of the group, a tall man draped in a tattered cloak, finally broke the silence. "You are different from the others who sought the lost sects. Your aura carries both destruction and renewal."

Ren met his gaze with quiet resolve. "I only seek knowledge. The past must be understood before the future can be shaped."

The man nodded approvingly. "Spoken like a true seeker." He gestured toward a narrow passage between two towering cliffs. "Beyond this passage lies the ruins of an ancient sect. If you truly wish to walk this path, you must see for yourself what remains."

Ren pressed forward, his heartbeat steady but eager. The ruins that awaited him could hold the key to unlocking techniques lost to time, yet he remained cautious. Many had perished seeking forbidden knowledge.

As they emerged from the narrow path, the sight before them was breathtaking—remnants of towering stone pillars, now half-buried in frost, stood as silent testaments to a forgotten legacy. Engraved upon them were inscriptions in an old dialect of Murim, their meaning obscured by the passage of centuries.

Ren traced his fingers along the faded carvings, his mind attempting to decipher their wisdom. Then, a faint shimmer flickered at the edge of his vision. His instincts flared as he drew his sword, stepping back just in time to see ghostly figures materialize from the ruins.

The seekers, unfazed, formed a defensive stance. "The spirits of the fallen," the leader murmured. "They do not take kindly to intruders."

The spectral warriors, clad in tattered robes of their former sect, moved in unison. Their hollow eyes bore into Ren, judging his worth. One of them stepped forward, its translucent blade raised in challenge.

Ren tightened his grip on his sword. If this was a trial, then he would face it as he had all others—with steel and determination.

The battle began.