Though Jinling is not a sect, it is one of the greatest martial stages in all Murim. Here, swords do not clash in mountains or remote valleys, but beneath the gaze of banners, drums, and the Emperor himself. The city represents the tension between martial freedom and imperial authority. Within its walls, sects are tolerated only so long as they bend. Heroes are paraded, but only as loyal symbols. Rebels are crushed, their heads displayed on pikes above the gates.
Where Chengdu is a crossroads of sect influence and Luoyang is a city of righteous governance, Jinling is neither — it is the test of submission. All martial forces in Murim are measured against Jinling, not in skill alone, but in whether their strength can be tamed by the throne.
The dynasty has long known that Murim cannot be ignored. Martial sects are too vast, their disciples too numerous, their legends too inspiring to the common people. Thus, instead of outright suppression, Jinling enforces a system of containment and co-option.
The Warden’s Office: Every martial practitioner entering Jinling must register their name, sect, and realm of cultivation. The Warden maintains meticulous records — scrolls listing every swordmaster, poisoner, or monk who dares step into the city. Those who resist registration vanish into the Imperial Prison.
Edicts and Titles: The Emperor occasionally grants honorific titles to sect leaders, binding them to the throne. A Wudang master may be declared “Protector of the Way,” or a Shaolin abbot named “Guardian of Dharma.” Such titles carry prestige but also chains, for the sect must then answer imperial summons.
Controlled Showcases: Martial arts demonstrations are permitted only under imperial oversight — grand tournaments staged for the Emperor’s amusement or the people’s distraction. These showcases allow sects to display prowess, but also serve as surveillance, letting the court measure which sects grow too bold.
Suppression of Dissent: Any display of martial strength outside these rituals is crushed. Underground duels, gambling fights, or sect rivalries in the streets are swiftly silenced by Royal Guards.
Thus, Jinling stands as a paradox: the city both honors and humiliates martial artists, elevating them with titles while stripping them of autonomy.
The Royal Guards are the Emperor’s sword and shadow. Unlike sect disciples, who pursue enlightenment or martial purity, the Guards train for one purpose only: loyalty to the throne.
Appearance and Armament: Clad in black lacquer armor with crimson tassels and masks concealing their faces, the Guards embody fear itself. Each carries a straight imperial saber, inscribed with talismans meant to resist Qi-based techniques.
Training: Recruits are drilled not in sect-specific arts but in ruthless efficiency. They train to fight as units, to exploit numbers and formations against even grandmasters. Poison resistance, torture endurance, and psychological conditioning are part of their regimen.
Authority: The Guards answer to no magistrate or general, only the Warden of Jinling. They are exempt from local laws; even nobles fear their knock at the door.
Role in Murim: In tournaments and sect gatherings, the Guards often serve as “neutral enforcers,” though all know neutrality means obedience to the throne. Murim disciples who humiliate the Guards often find themselves assassinated in the night.
Legends say the Guards were first created after an emperor was assassinated by a wandering swordsman who slipped past regular soldiers. Since then, the Guards exist not as an army, but as a wall of shadows around the throne.
If the Royal Guards are the Emperor’s shadow, the Divine Ming Encampment is his spear. This vast military district houses regiments drilled to perfection, their discipline rivaling sect formations.
Martial Power in Numbers: While a single soldier cannot rival a Murim cultivator, in formations of hundreds they are deadly. Archers unleash volleys timed with drumbeats, while shield walls advance like iron tides. Against them, even a sect master may falter.
Experimentation: Imperial artificers experiment with weapons infused with Qi, attempting to replicate the power of sect treasures. Though crude, such arms represent the dynasty’s ambition to match Murim with steel and ingenuity.
Martial Displays: Parades from the Encampment are as much theater as training. Citizens are meant to see that the Emperor commands legions, not just ministers. For Murim wanderers, such spectacles are warnings: no hero is beyond the reach of imperial might.
Thus, the Encampment ensures that Jinling is never vulnerable. Even if sects rose in rebellion, the army within its walls is vast enough to crush them before they breach the palace.
No account of Jinling’s martial role is complete without mention of the Rootless Clan, the shadow sect born within the city itself.
Origins: Descendants of failed scholars, disgraced nobles, and abandoned soldiers, the Rootless embraced anonymity as strength. They became masters of disguise, survival, and subterfuge.
Techniques: Their arts are built on adaptability — the ability to mimic styles, shift appearances, and strike unseen. Where sects train in fixed doctrines, the Rootless excel in unpredictability.
Role in Jinling: They infiltrate ministries, prisons, even the palace itself, selling secrets to the highest bidder. Some eunuchs employ them as covert agents, while others seek to eradicate them. In truth, they thrive because Jinling needs its shadows; without them, the city’s tensions would erupt uncontrolled.
In the eternal duel between throne and sect, the Rootless Clan is the knife waiting in the dark — never loyal, never gone, always watching.
For martial wanderers, Jinling is a dangerous stage. A swordsman may earn glory by impressing ministers, yet risk prison with a single misstep. An alchemist may be summoned to concoct elixirs for the Emperor, only to be poisoned if their results disappoint. A sect emissary may leave the palace laden with gifts, yet find assassins awaiting them at the gates.
Despite these dangers, Jinling is irresistible to Murim. Here, sects can win imperial favor, securing funding, lands, or official titles. Here, heroes can earn songs sung by court musicians. Yet here too, reputations die. For every Wudang master honored with jade plaques, there is a Tangmen assassin chained in the Shadow Cells. For every Shaolin abbot praised in court, there is a Beggar Sect envoy executed for insolence.
To the Emperor, Murim is both tool and threat. Sects inspire loyalty beyond the dynasty’s reach, their disciples often placing their masters above the throne itself. Yet their strength is undeniable. Thus, the Emperor employs a dual strategy:
Honor those who bend – inviting sects into court, granting titles, marrying princesses to grandmasters.
Destroy those who resist – imprisoning, executing, or quietly erasing sect leaders who challenge imperial order.
This balance has defined Jinling’s martial role for centuries: to be the crucible where sects are tested, broken, or bound.
Over time, countless tales have emerged from Jinling’s martial history:
A Shaolin monk who refused to kneel was executed in the palace courtyard, but his death sparked sect uprisings across the provinces.
A Wudang swordswoman disguised herself as a servant, slipping into the palace to duel the Warden. Though she was slain, her name lives in Rootless Clan songs.
A Tangmen poison master once supplied the Emperor himself with an antidote — proof that the throne, too, fears the sting of Murim.
These legends fuel Jinling’s mystique. For players in your campaign, they are hooks to quests, mysteries, or conspiracies hidden beneath golden tiles.