ch 5

 

Chapter 5

Though it was late, lights still burned in the pavilions scattered throughout the manor.

No one could sleep. Tonight, or the coming dawn, would be the turning point. Even the physician, who for a month and a half had painstakingly tended to the old madam’s illness and sustained her arduous life, had shaken his head that evening. Her end was imminent.

The members of the Zhuge Clan, the guests staying in the visitor's quarters, and all who had come to pay their respects upon hearing of her condition—every one of them kept a sleepless vigil through the long, midwinter night with heavy hearts. While a death at her advanced age, well past seventy, might be considered a 'good death,' those who knew how righteously she had lived felt only a profound reverence for her unwavering life. They dared not entertain any other thought.

Amidst this cluster of lit pavilions, each housing people lost in their own somber thoughts, a single lantern was on the move.

The man who walked behind a young maidservant carrying the lantern was Go Heum-won, the First Steward in charge of the Zhuge Clan’s inner household. Tall and well-built, with an impression of a gentle ox, he was a man who held the absolute trust of the current Zhuge Clan head, the "Heavenly Artisan" Zhuge Bu. He was even nicknamed "the Steadfast Ox”. He wasn't called this because he was truly slow-witted, but because he was as reliable as a plodding ox—a name that was, in the end, a compliment.

He was diligent, loyal, and always did his best in his duties. He lacked the outstanding talent to be recognized in the Zhuge Clan—a clan renowned for its geniuses—but this was no issue for Zhuge Bu. The family head, being a genius himself, sought trustworthy hands and feet, not another brilliant mind.

“Steward Go! Where are you headed at this hour?”

One of the guests, seemingly returning from the privy, spotted the steward and greeted him. With a solemn face, Go Heum-won bowed to the guest.

“I have an order to attend to. I’m just on my way to the storehouse.”

“Is that so?”

The guest glanced down and noticed the key to the storehouse hanging from Go Heum-won’s waist.

“How is Lady Baek? Has there been any improvement?” the guest asked, his face etched with concern.

Go Heum-won shook his head gravely. The guest let out a sigh, his expression full of pity.

“I see. I heard tonight would be the turning point. Perhaps that’s why no one can sleep. I don’t think I’ll be getting any rest tonight either.”

“Yes. We are well aware of everyone’s concern. The family head is grateful for your thoughts.”

As Go Heum-won bowed respectfully, the guest quickly waved his hands to stop him, feeling he had done nothing to deserve such a gesture.

“Please, don’t say that. Many comrades of the Jianghu owe their lives to Lady Baek. Thinking of all she and the Sword Hero did for us, this is the least we can do.”

“We are simply grateful for your sentiment.”

True to his reputation for being exceedingly earnest and serious, Go Heum-won never lost his polite demeanor. To the guest, who knew him, it felt almost a bit excessive.

The guest’s eyes fell on the young girl holding the lantern, who was now hopping from foot to foot. Unlike the martial artists, she was just a child, and as the adults’ conversation dragged on, she was blowing on her frozen hands to stay warm.

Seeing her, the guest realized he was blocking the path of a busy man and gave an awkward smile, letting the steward pass.

“Oh, my apologies. I’ve kept a busy man for too long. I’ll be on my way.”

“Not at all. Please, watch your step.”

After exchanging farewells, Go Heum-won continued on his way. The girl scurried to catch up, lifting the lantern to light his path again.

“No. Not this way,” Go Heum-won said, changing direction. “Let’s go to the inner vault.”

The girl had been leading him toward the outer storehouse, the one she was familiar with. She blinked in confusion but, faced with an order from a high-ranking superior, she simply nodded and changed course.

Go Heum-won hid his sweaty palms in his sleeves and quickened his pace.

The order from the Cult had arrived a fortnight ago.

Go Heum-won was a deep-cover agent planted by the Demonic Cult, having spent over twenty years in the Zhuge Clan, siphoning information. A fortnight ago, he had received the Cult’s directive and realized his role was finally coming to an end.

Once this mission was complete, he could no longer remain in the Zhuge Clan. He might not even remain alive. The Zhuge Clan he had observed his entire life was not a place to be taken lightly.

`…The Qilin Plaque.`

Po Yeong-ui, the head of the Privy Council to which he belonged, had sent him a secret message a fortnight ago, ordering him to steal the Qilin Plaque. As a member of the Demonic Cult who knew the history behind the tablet, Go Heum-won could not refuse.

Twenty years had passed since he left the Cult, but to him, Cheonma was the eternal sun. It was Cheonma who had brought immense wealth to his people, who had been struggling to survive in the barren lands of Xinjiang. It was he who had transformed them from a forgotten border tribe into a power that could challenge the Central Plains. The existence of that one man had completely changed the lives of a hundred thousand Cult members.

The Qilin Plaque was a useless object that only served to chain down such a great giant. Without the Qilin Plaque, there would have been no Longzhong Pact, and without that pact, the Demonic Cult would not still be confined to the Heavenly Mountains.

To the people of the Central Plains, the Qilin Plaque was a treasure of the ages; to the members of the Demonic Cult, it was a cursed artifact.

`I must steal it, no matter what. For the eternal glory of the Demonic Cult!`

A sharp light flared in Go Heum-won’s gentle eyes. The eyes of a demon, hidden for all his years as a spy, finally revealed themselves.

He mentally reviewed the layout of the inner vault. He had only been inside once, on an errand for Zhuge Bu to store a thousand-year-old wild ginseng. That was the only time he had seen its interior, so he had to rely on that old memory to plan his route carefully.

The Zhuge Clan had two storehouses: the outer vault and the inner vault. The outer vault, located on the manor's periphery, stored daily necessities like rice, silk, money, and food. The inner vault, in contrast, was situated in the heart of the estate and housed the family’s most precious treasures. It contained everything from the Zhuge Clan’s secret martial arts manuals to all manner of spiritual beasts and elixirs. It was no exaggeration to say the inner vault was the Zhuge Clan itself.

As a trusted vassal, he was still just a steward. He couldn't come and go as he pleased. On a normal day, he wouldn't dare attempt such a thing, but with the entire household in chaos over Lady Baek's imminent death, it was a risk worth taking.

`The Qilin Plaque wasn't in Lady Baek's study or her bedchamber. She's been unconscious for over a fortnight, and the maids who tended to her never saw it. That means she didn't carry it on her person. The only place left is the inner vault. It’s the only building in the Zhuge Clan I haven’t searched. If the Qilin Plaque is anywhere, it must be there.`

Go Heum-won, who had exhausted every other possibility in his search, felt a strong conviction that the tablet was there. It had to be; he had already checked everywhere else. It was his good fortune that his duties as steward allowed him to move about the manor without arousing suspicion, but his failure to find the tablet until now had been a great trial.

The inner vault of the Zhuge Clan, true to their name as the "Divine Artifice Zhuge," was fortified with all kinds of formations and mechanisms. A staggering seven different formations were installed, their order changing in a shifting cycle. With traps that were repaired and relocated annually and guards posted at every key point, it was truly an impregnable fortress.

He had been inside three years ago, but the methods he used then would no longer work. Although he had memorized the solutions to each formation and stolen the blueprints for the mechanisms, he couldn't let his guard down. The combination of formations and traps could create a completely different environment.

“Oh, Steward Go, look over here.”

The girl holding the lantern suddenly exclaimed. Go Heum-won, who had been diligently recalling the seven solutions, turned his head. The girl pointed with her small hand, waving the lantern to illuminate the spot she wanted to show him.

“There’s a strange smell. And some kind of stain here.”

“A stain? What kind of stain?”

“I don’t know. Ugh. But the smell is awful.”

Go Heum-won followed her gaze. Just as she said, a yellowish, strange liquid had pooled on the ground. A pungent, acidic smell that stung his nose, mixed with a foul, fishy odor. The identity of the smell instantly flashed through his spy-trained mind.

`Hwagolsan! Bone Melting Powder!`

Go Heum-won was secretly horrified. He never expected to see such a vicious substance here, inside the Zhuge Clan manor of all places.

Bone Melting Powder was a powerful corrosive agent, typically used to dispose of corpses. Some variants only dissolved flesh, leaving bones behind, but the most wicked kind could dissolve even bones into a yellow sludge. It was said to be so potent that not even a weed would grow on a spot where it was sprinkled for three years. It was a substance shunned even by the Unorthodox Faction, rarely used unless a job required absolute secrecy.

“Gyeong-ah, step back!”

Go Heum-won’s face hardened as he pulled the girl back by her arm. Startled by his sudden pull and his serious expression, the girl was overcome with fear.

“Steward Go?”

“That is a powerful poison. If it touches your skin, it will burn your flesh and melt your bones. Do not go near it. Step back carefully.”

At his grave warning, the startled girl took another few steps back. Go Heum-won’s heart pounded in his chest. He pinpointed the location of the liquid and realized this was a hiding spot for a concealed guard.

`Someone else is targeting the inner vault!`

Sharing the same objective, it wasn't hard to grasp the other party's intentions. But he had no idea who could have done this.

It was unlikely an Orthodox martial artist would use something like Bone Melting Powder, and no one from the Unorthodox Faction would dare touch the Qilin Plaque, an artifact of Cheonma. If it was neither Orthodox nor Unorthodox, then who were these ruthless figures? But more important than their identity was the object they were after.

`The Qilin Plaque is in danger.`

The tablet was already a shackle on Cheonma just by being in the Zhuge Clan's possession. He couldn't let such an object fall into the hands of some unknown, mysterious faction. Growing desperate, Go Heum-won turned to the girl and struck her acupoints. He had brought her along as a cover, but he had no intention of killing her. He couldn't take a child into a place where his own life was at risk.

Go Heum-won hid the sleeping girl inside a nearby pavilion and took off. Following the strong, corrosive stench, he easily tracked the trail of his predecessors.

He didn't know how they had obtained the information, but they knew the Zhuge Clan's security layout perfectly. By the time he found the fifth puddle of liquified bone, Go Heum-won's eyes were burning with rage.

The time it took for Bone Melting Powder to completely dissolve a body was roughly a quarter of an hour. The fact that five people had been killed and completely dissolved without being discovered meant he was at least half an hour behind.

He pushed his movement technique to its limits and began to run, his robes flapping in the cold winter wind. He no longer cared about being seen. Just as he vaulted over the wall of the inner vault, three figures in black masks sprang out from the other side. He was momentarily surprised but remained composed. He drew the soft sword from his waist and lashed out at his opponent.

**Fwip-fwip-fwip!**

The soft sword, humming like a dragonfly's wings, darted toward the opponent's neck. But his foe was formidable, parrying the blade with a pair of trident daggers. Go Heum-won used his internal energy to make the soft sword bend, but the wide prongs of the daggers prevented the blade from curving around it.

The opponent, wielding a dagger in each hand, blocked the soft sword with one and thrust the other toward Go Heum-won’s heart. Releasing his sword, Go Heum-won leaped back, kicking a roof tile at the attacker to escape the crisis.

But the danger was far from over. In fact, it had just begun. He was alone; they were three.

As Go Heum-won leaped into the air, one of the remaining two threw a volley of daggers at him. Twisting his body to avoid them, he felt a sword aura sweeping toward his lower body and, in alarm, lashed out with his soft sword again.

Like a venomous snake, the soft sword quivered and slithered up the opponent’s blade. The man spun like a top to shake it off, leaping away in the same direction as the sword’s advance. Only when he was out of the soft sword’s range did he breathe a sigh of relief.

It was then that Go Heum-won saw it: a box made of white jade. The masked man had carelessly stuffed it into his tunic. It was the very box Lady Baek used to store the Qilin Plaque.

With bloodshot eyes, Go Heum-won lunged forward, his hand outstretched. Realizing what his target was, the masked man hastily covered his chest and leaped backward. As if on cue, the other two—one with daggers, the other with the trident daggers—moved to block his path.

Go Heum-won was a formidable master in his own right, but he was no match for three opponents whose offense and defense were perfectly coordinated. Before long, he was being pushed back. His arms and legs were tattered from dagger wounds, and his torn sleeves hindered his movements.

Blows were exchanged in a flurry, but as time passed, his defeat seemed more and more certain. There was no way to turn the tide.

`If it has to be this way, then…`

Go Heum-won realized the situation was hopeless. At this rate, he would die here, and they would walk away with the Qilin Plaque.

Normally, a fight of this magnitude in the heart of the family estate would not go unnoticed by the Zhuge warriors. But tonight, everyone's attention was focused on Lady Baek. No one noticed the commotion. Hadn't he himself targeted this night for that very reason?

“THE QILIN PLAQUE HAS BEEN STOLEN!”

Go Heum-won, who had been desperately defending himself with his soft sword, suddenly stopped his defense and unleashed a roar infused with all his internal energy. He shouted with every ounce of strength he could muster, his cry echoing throughout the entire estate.

“Dammit!”

One of the masked men cursed, clearly not expecting him to cry out. As sounds of commotion rose from the other pavilions and footsteps rushed toward them, they grew frantic and tried to flee. But Go Heum-won clung to them tenaciously, refusing to let them go.

“You son of a bitch!”

As Go Heum-won relentlessly hampered their escape, the man with the sword roared in fury and pulled something from his sleeve. Busy fending off a dagger, Go Heum-won didn't see it, but it was the same Bone Melting Powder that had dissolved five bodies.

The man threw it at the retreating Go Heum-won. Still alive, Go Heum-won was hit square in the face with the vicious corrosive liquid and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

His eyes flared with heat, then felt as if they were on fire. He was blind, as if his eyeballs had been burned away. The smell of his own flesh burning was horrifically vivid.

But his agony did not last long. Blinded in the heat of battle, his heart was soon pierced, and his heavy body tumbled to the ground. Even then, the Bone Melting Powder continued to burn his face, melting his flesh and muscle, exposing the bone while he was still alive.

And so, Go Heum-won died.

***

It was late at night, and Ho Wan-pyeong was just about to go to bed after finishing his duties when he received a visitor. The person who had come to see him at such an impolitely late hour was none other than his third martial brother.

“What do you mean, the Qilin Plaque is gone?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked, his face urgent as he looked at the bewildered Po Yeong-ui. “Are you saying *we* successfully stole it?”

“No, that’s not it. I mean it’s truly gone. I just received a message via secret bird. The Qilin Plaque in the Zhuge Clan’s inner vault has disappeared.”

It felt as if someone had just punched him in the back of the head. For a moment, Ho Wan-pyeong felt dizzy. He forced himself to calm down. “Tell me in detail. What happened?”

“Last night at midnight, thieves broke into the Zhuge Clan's inner vault. They melted seven guards with Bone Melting Powder, infiltrated the vault, and stole the Qilin Plaque. Steward Go died trying to stop them. To make matters worse, Lady Baek passed away that same night, so the Zhuge Clan is in complete chaos.”

A familiar name stood out. Ho Wan-pyeong seized on it.

“Steward Go? Isn’t that our agent who infiltrated the Zhuge Clan?”

“Yes, that’s him. He was the one ordered to steal the Qilin Plaque this time.”

“And he’s dead, and the tablet is gone?”

“No one knows who took it. Apparently, before he died, Steward Go shouted that the tablet was being stolen. It seems he ran into the thieves.”

Po Yeong-ui’s face was grim. Ho Wan-pyeong, listening, could not hide his agitation. The Qilin Plaque was gone, but not by their hands.

Dammit. The situation was infuriating. They didn't even know exactly what had happened, and now their most valuable intelligence source within the Zhuge Clan, Steward Go, was dead. Things had become complicated.

“What should we do? This situation is not good.”

The Qilin Plaque was an object better off non-existent if it wasn't in their hands. The fact that it had been stolen by an unknown party was a source of great distress for them.

“Who do you think they are?”

“I don’t know. How many people in this world covet the Qilin Plaque? The Righteous Path Alliance, the Merchant's Guild, the Yangtze River Union, the Imperial Family... anyone with power would want it.”

“But aren’t they all caught in our intelligence net? Even if you missed something, we have traps laid out. It would be difficult for them to vanish without a trace. It’s clear there’s a third party involved.”

A third party. The words brought a single name to both of their minds, the same name that had caused them to hold a meeting that lasted for hours just a short while ago. Ho Wan-pyeong let out a low groan, while Po Yeong-ui stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“...Do you think he’s involved?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked in a worried tone.

“If we hadn’t heard news of him, I would say no. But his name has resurfaced. A man who hasn’t made a move in over twenty years is now active enough to be noticed by others. Given the circumstances, we have no choice but to be suspicious.”

“So you’re saying the Qilin Plaque might have fallen into the hands of someone even more dangerous than Baek Woo-gyeong.”

“That would be the worst-case scenario, but yes. I cannot deny that possibility.”

Ho Wan-pyeong sighed softly. He frowned, his brow deeply furrowed, then shook his head gloomily.

“Master must not find out about this.”

“First Brother?”

“I don’t mean we should hide it forever. Just for a little while. Let’s at least find out who has the tablet before we inform him. You know as well as I do how special that tablet is to Master. If he finds out it disappeared like this, he will undoubtedly head to the Central Plains, even if he has to go alone.”

As always, Ho Wan-pyeong was only worried about one person. Po Yeong-ui looked at him with frustration.

“Do you really think you can hide this from Master, even for a short time? You know how sharp he is. Why are you being like this?”

“No. Fortunately, there is something that can divert his attention for a while. It should buy us some time.”

To Po Yeong-ui's prodding, Ho Wan-pyeong replied with confidence. He seemed to have something up his sleeve.

“This is the first I'm hearing of it. What are you talking about?”

Despite his confidence, Po Yeong-ui still frowned. Something that could divert *his* attention, even for a moment? Knowing their master as he did, he found it hard to believe.

“I’m saying there is someone Master is currently focused on. When he takes an interest in something, he doesn't easily turn his eyes elsewhere, so we should be fine for now. Use the time we have to track the enemy with all your might.”

It still sounded like nonsense. But Ho Wan-pyeong was so certain that Po Yeong-ui didn't press further and rose from his seat.

“Understood.”

No matter how they bought time, it would only be for a moment. The man had moved the colossal entity of the Demonic Cult his entire life; he would surely grasp the whole situation from the smallest clue.

Po Yeong-ui hurried out of the room. He had much to do in a short amount of time, and his heart was racing.

Ho Wan-pyeong was left alone. With a thoughtful expression, he tapped his fingers on the desk. Several names floated through his mind and vanished. Most were sources of trouble, but occasionally, there was a name that wasn't.

“You’ll have to buy us some time, Seok Munpyeong.”

Like Po Yeong-ui, Ho Wan-pyeong had a mountain of tasks ahead of him. He softly muttered the name of the person who had recently captured his master's interest.

When he had first prepared him, he never thought he would become so useful. Unexpectedly, he had caught the Master’s attention and now seemed poised to become an excellent shield.

In a situation like this, even a momentary distraction for his master was a stroke of luck. With that thought, Ho Wan-pyeong etched Seok Munpyeong's name into his mind and began to formulate a grand plan that included him.

***

“Wait, hold on, ladies. What is all this?”

Seok Munpyeong, returning to his room feeling refreshed after his morning wash, stopped in his tracks. He saw a line of maids streaming out of his room. Puzzled, he looked closer and saw that each of them was carrying something. They were, without a doubt, his personal belongings.

Startled, Munpyeong approached them and demanded an explanation.

“Those are my things. Why are you carrying them out?”

His sword, his bundle of clothes, the bottle of wine he’d hidden, and even his erotic art book.

Snatching the book from a maid’s hands in bewilderment, Munpyeong clutched it to his chest and looked at the maids’ faces. They seemed strangely familiar.

“We are following the orders of a superior.”

As he pressed them fiercely, a calm female voice came from behind the wide-eyed maids. It was a voice he knew well: Ranran.

Munpyeong watched suspiciously as Ranran slowly walked through the path the maids had cleared. He couldn't understand why she, the head maid of the Thunder Palace who served only Cheonma, had come down to the humble quarters of a common warrior.

“A superior? You mean… *him*?” Munpyeong asked, completely lost.

“No,” Ranran replied in her usual, crisp tone. “The one below him.”

That meant Ho Wan-pyeong.

“What does he want?”

“We have been ordered to move your belongings to the Thunder Palace, Warrior Seok. One of its pavilions is being prepared for you.”

“What… what did you say?”

Munpyeong shouted back, unable to process the completely unexpected turn of events.

`What is this all of a sudden? They want me to move to the Thunder Palace?`

“Do not worry. It is a much larger and more comfortable place than this.”

As if she didn't know why he was so shocked, she feigned ignorance and offered a placating remark. Then, she walked past the speechless Munpyeong and out the door.

Before his very eyes, his belongings marched out of his room.

His sword. His clothes. His underwear. And another bottle of wine and the erotic book...

`Wait a minute. Who do you people think you are? Can't you just ask for my opinion, just once?`

Among the things they were carrying was his money pouch. Without it, he couldn't even buy a drink. Alarmed, Munpyeong hurried after them.

Unable to snatch his things back or stop their progress, he ended up following them all the way to the Thunder Palace. Every time he reached for his belongings, the maids would dodge his hand with a sweet smile, and he couldn't bring himself to be rough with them. Only when he arrived at the palace did he realize he had been lured there by his own possessions, like an ant drawn to sugar.

`Why am I so slow? Why am I so stupid?`

He pounded his head with his fist in frustration, but that wasn't going to make him any smarter.

The pavilion had already been prepared. All his belongings were neatly moved into a single chamber. The pavilion, unsettlingly close to Cheonma’s own bedchamber, was more luxurious than any place he had ever lived.

Reflecting Cheonma’s taste for Western styles, a beautiful carpet covered the floor. The densely woven wool rug, with its intricate blue vine patterns on a white background, made it feel as though the entire floor was tiled with blue-and-white porcelain. The bed, made of ebony, was large enough for four people, and was adorned with silk brocade quilts and a fine silk canopy, making it embarrassingly opulent.

The tea table was rosewood, the chests and wardrobes were inlaid with jewels, and a bookshelf filled with books he’d never read sparkled with mother-of-pearl. Paintings he couldn't appreciate and calligraphy he couldn't read hung on the walls. A bouquet of fresh flowers—a mystery where they came from in the dead of winter—sat on a table, making it hard to tell if this was the mortal world or some heavenly realm.

Seok Munpyeong didn't know if there were people who would give their lives to live in such a room, but he, at least, was not one of them.

He felt a strong sense of threat from all these glittering, magnificent things. He wasn't some woman who'd hit the jackpot with a rich husband. What was all this? This unfamiliar place, so completely disconnected from the life he was used to, frightened him. Munpyeong had no desire to ever get used to any of it.

`What does this person want from me?`

If Cheonma had provided him with such a place, Munpyeong might have been angry, but he would have understood it to some extent. Not that he would accept it, but he could have grasped *why* he would do such a thing.

That man was just that kind of person. He considered himself so important and precious that he might give him such a pavilion just to bring Munpyeong up to his level.

But Ho Wan-pyeong was different. He had a different personality from Cheonma. The reason he had pushed Munpyeong into this position in the first place was not for him to be a concubine, but to be a spy. He had used a honey trap as a precaution, a way to avoid being killed if his cover was blown, but that was secondary to his main mission. Munpyeong couldn't understand why he would suddenly offer such a gift.

A gift, to put it nicely. To Munpyeong, it felt more threatening than a beautifully wrapped bomb.

Though he had suffered countless indignities at the hands of Cheonma, the root cause of it all wasn't the Demon Lord himself, but Ho Wan-pyeong. The culprit behind everything was Ho Wan-pyeong. If it weren't for that strange pervert with his obsessive devotion to his master, his life wouldn't have become so twisted.

That was why Seok Munpyeong was prepared to be wary of anything Ho Wan-pyeong gave him, even if it were the finest wine. Given what Ho Wan-pyeong had done to him, this level of suspicion was mild.

“You’ve arrived. Is the room to your liking?”

As if he could read his thoughts, Ho Wan-pyeong walked into the room and asked.

The maids, who had been naturally arranging his belongings while Munpyeong stood there dumbfounded, all bowed to him. Ho Wan-pyeong casually accepted their greetings and dismissed them.

Seok Munpyeong watched him with suspicious eyes.

“What is this? So suddenly?”

Munpyeong asked coldly, but Ho Wan-pyeong didn't answer. Instead, he slowly looked around the room. Like a man inspecting a newly prepared bridal suite, he meticulously examined his surroundings before finally nodding in satisfaction.

“They’ve decorated it better than I thought. I was worried there might be some shortcomings since it was prepared in such a hurry.”

This was a complete non-answer, and Seok Munpyeong grew irritated. He wasn't angry because the room wasn't nice. He was angry because his room had been changed without his consent, and because Ho Wan-pyeong had proceeded with everything without offering a single explanation.

Even as a subordinate, how could he be treated so unilaterally? It felt like the same old tactic he had fallen for time and again, and Munpyeong quietly gritted his teeth.

“I ask you, Division Head. Why have I suddenly been given a room like this?” Munpyeong demanded, determined not to be steamrolled this time.

“Not just this room, the entire pavilion is yours. I was planning on assigning you maids as well. Is there any girl you’ve had your eye on?”

“Division Head!”

“If you’re angry that I’m late, please forgive me. I’ve been so busy lately that I couldn’t attend to it. I should have changed your residence long ago. I’ve been too neglectful.”

His attitude of completely ignoring what was said and continuing with his own agenda was starting to make Seok Munpyeong genuinely angry. He was sick and tired of being treated this way.

As he stared daggers at Ho Wan-pyeong, the man finally stopped talking. He looked at Munpyeong with deep, impassive eyes that betrayed no inner thoughts.

“Did you ask why I moved you to this pavilion?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked quietly. His aura was always as calm and placid as still water, but sometimes, you couldn't tell how deep it ran. Now was one of those times. Seok Munpyeong felt a heavy pressure from Ho Wan-pyeong’s aura, a quiet, crushing weight that was different from Cheonma’s overwhelming presence.

“If you’re asking because you truly don’t know, I’ll tell you. It’s because your status has changed.”

“My status has changed?”

“It means your position is no longer limited to that of a low-ranking warrior, Seok Munpyeong. You have already become something more, haven't you?”

The meaning behind his words was clear. He didn't explicitly call him a male concubine, but his unspoken attitude was heavier than any word. Munpyeong’s face turned cold.

“You yourself know that you are no longer the same as the other low-ranking warriors. Not just you, but everyone around you knows it. In such a situation, using the same quarters as common warriors will only create unnecessary conflict. That’s why I moved your residence.”

“...It’s fine. I can endure it,” Seok Munpyeong replied through gritted teeth, feeling deeply insulted by Ho Wan-pyeong's casual declaration that he was no longer an ordinary warrior.

Ho Wan-pyeong continued, ignoring his response.

“This isn’t something you can solve by enduring it alone. You must think of the others who are uncomfortable because of you. If you were in their shoes, how would you feel? They know very well whose favor you enjoy. Can their hearts be at ease living with you?

"When you are there, they can’t even use the bathhouse freely. When you are eating, they can't sit at the same table. In the bathhouse, the dining hall, even the training grounds, they have to watch your every move.

"Surely you’re not going to tell me you didn’t know that the other warriors deliberately avoid the times you use these facilities? I heard some of them have stopped using the barracks bathhouse altogether, afraid of running into you naked. Do you think it’s alright for one person to cause so much inconvenience to so many?”

Ho Wan-pyeong’s point left Munpyeong speechless.

He had never thought about his life in that way. He had thought the others were ostracizing him, that they avoided him because they disliked him.

“I didn’t know,” Munpyeong muttered, stunned. He had been so focused on his own situation that he had never considered the perspective of others.

Only now, hearing Ho Wan-pyeong’s words, did he understand the plight of the other warriors who shared his quarters.

“Do you know a man named Yeo Gyeon-ja?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked again, his voice still impassive and calm. It was a name Seok Munpyeong had never heard before, so he shook his head.

“No, I haven’t.”

“His real name was Gang Gu-hoe, a warrior from the Red Tiger Unit, so he was one of my subordinates. He wasn't a bad fellow, but he had a terrible habit when drunk, so his friends mockingly called him Yeo Gyeon-ja.

A man who was nasty when drunk. Hearing this, Seok Munpyeong had a faint idea of who he was.

“He’s dead. The day after someone injured his arm and he was bedridden, he never woke up. Other than his dislocated arm, there were no external injuries, so the cause of his death was a mystery. But hearing the rumors, I came to understand why he had to die.”

Ho Wan-pyeong’s gaze turned meaningfully toward Munpyeong. Once again, Munpyeong couldn't say a word.

`So he didn’t just let it go back then. He took matters into his own hands.`

The unexpected revelation left his chest feeling heavy and tight. He had been too naive. A man of his master's temperament wouldn't just back down from something he had set his mind to. Why hadn't he realized that back then?

He had sent him away once, but then came back to ask for his name. After seeing such persistence, how could he have believed he would simply retreat? He was truly a fool.

“You may not be aware of it yourself, but the name 'Heavenly Demon' is not something to be taken lightly. His mere existence changes his surroundings. No matter how much you struggle to go back to how things were, it’s impossible. Now that a connection has been made between you and him, things can never be the same again. You have changed, and your surroundings have changed. So stop clinging to the past.”

Perhaps worried by Munpyeong's pale, sunken face, Ho Wan-pyeong offered the advice in a low voice.

As if pronouncing an inescapable fate, he said that everything would change. Because he had met Cheonma. Because he had met that stormy man who changed the lives of everyone around him, his own life was bound to change.

But Seok Munpyeong didn't believe it. No, he didn't *want* to believe it.

He didn't want his entire life to be upended because of one man. If his life was going to change just because that person appeared, then it would change again once he was gone.

That was unacceptable. It was a thought he couldn't even bear to imagine. Entrusting his life to someone as capricious as Cheonma? What could be more foolish?

“I haven't changed. And I won't change in the future either,” Munpyeong said, his trembling lips barely forming the words of his resolve.

He couldn't let it happen. He couldn't let his entire life be shaken by the whims of one man, Cheonma. After all he had done to survive this long, how could he? A man with no roots, how hard had he fought to endure in this world?

“No. You have already changed. And you will continue to change.”

Ho Wan-pyeong stated it as a fact, looking at Munpyeong with a pitying gaze. His firm tone made Munpyeong's own gaze waver. He couldn't understand why he was saying such things.

`I've changed? No, I've *already* changed?`

“Think about a moment ago. Your actions, your words to me. If you were still the same as before, would you have been able to say such things to me? Could you have gotten angry at me, glared at me, and demanded an explanation?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked with a wry smile.

The question sent a chill down Seok Munpyeong’s spine. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, jolting him to his senses.

Hearing his words, he realized it was true. The old him would never have dared to act so brazenly in front of Ho Wan-pyeong. Questioning his intentions, demanding answers, getting angry and putting on airs when he didn't get them...

Seok Munpyeong couldn't believe he had dared to act that way toward Ho Wan-pyeong, a disciple of Cheonma and one of the Four Demonic Kings. It was something the low-ranking warrior he used to be could never have imagined.

When had he changed so much, a man who had always just done as he was told, only trying to find ways to avoid dying?

`Have I changed? Have I already changed?`

The unexpected realization shook him to his core.

The most important pillar that had stood firm in his mind, something he had believed in without a doubt just moments ago, was shaken to its roots.

He realized that Ho Wan-pyeong hadn't said a single thing that wasn't true. He was right.

He was changing. Because of the man called Cheonma. Not by his own strength, but by relying on that man’s power and abilities.

He was no longer the man he used to be. Without him even realizing it, his very roots had been corrupted.

The startling realization was sharp and piercing.

***

`Do all weeds get this withered when you transplant them? The kid has no energy at all.`

Cheonma propped his chin on his hand and watched Munpyeong.

Munpyeong seemed to have his mind elsewhere, staring blankly into space all day with unfocused eyes. He was sitting in his usual chair, but his spirit had clearly departed. Cheonma had gone from glancing at him occasionally to staring at him openly, yet Munpyeong remained completely oblivious.

Cheonma knew that Munpyeong had moved his quarters to the Thunder Palace. He had been annoyed that Wan-pyeong had acted first and reported it later, but since he himself had found it tiresome to travel to the distant lower-ranking warriors’ quarters after a long day’s work, he had let it be.

To be honest, when he heard Wan-pyeong's report, Cheonma had been secretly looking forward to Munpyeong's reaction.

Munpyeong was a man who desperately tried to maintain the line he had drawn, so he had expected him to throw a fit, thinking he was being treated like the concubine he loathed becoming. Watching that would have been quite a spectacle.

These days, he had grown bolder and would even say audacious things from time to time, so Cheonma had even harbored a small hope that he might finally see Munpyeong truly lose his temper.

Contrary to his exciting hopes, Munpyeong's actual reaction was utterly dull. The lively response he had expected was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a vacant shell of a man.

Cheonma rose from his seat and approached Seok Munpyeong. He got right up to his face, but Munpyeong still didn't notice his presence. Only at the last moment did he finally see Cheonma, and light returned to his dull eyes.

He had never in his life met someone who could so completely forget his existence. Feeling a strange sense of novelty, Cheonma scrutinized Munpyeong’s face from inches away.

“What… what is it? Is there something you need?” Munpyeong asked, leaning his head back slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the proximity. He seemed to have no awareness that he had been lost in thought, instead looking at Cheonma as if to ask why he was suddenly acting this way.

“Be honest. You have no martial artist’s sense at all, do you?” Cheonma asked seriously, still peering at his face.

`No sense at all?`

Munpyeong gave him a look of disbelief. Cheonma was casually asking if he was a cripple as a martial artist.

“That’s not true. I have a sense.”

“Then why are you so bad at sensing people’s presence? And not just anyone, but *me*. Does it make any sense that you can’t feel someone like me until I’m right in front of your nose?”

From anyone else, it would have sounded absurdly arrogant. But in the case of Cheonma, who, like a top predator such as a lion or tiger, always radiated his presence, the situation was entirely different.

Cheonma had surpassed the state of Rejuvenation, where one appears like an ordinary person with no martial skill, and had reached the realm of the profound, where body and spirit are in perfect harmony. The reason he still didn't hide his aura, as he put it, was to give "a signal for the weak to get out of the way on their own." That signal was something even an ordinary person with a weak sense could clearly perceive.

“My mind was troubled, and I was lost in thought for a moment. I apologize for being distracted during my duty.”

Munpyeong spoke formally and bowed his head. He had become a bit rebellious lately, but now he was back to his original, boring, and stiff self.

`Hah, look at this guy. A martial artist who apologizes for being lost in thought instead of for letting his guard down?`

Cheonma was slightly dumbfounded. If this were one of his disciples, he would have scolded him until he cried. But Seok Munpyeong was not his disciple, nor could he really be considered a subordinate.

Cheonma had no desire to force the standards of a martial artist upon Munpyeong. What he wanted from him was not that kind of thing.

“Your mind is always troubled. Always cluttered, always chaotic. It’s as if you carry all the worries of the world on your own shoulders, isn’t it?”

What was so new about him being lost in thought when he was always thinking, always troubled? The spark of interest that had just ignited was extinguished by Munpyeong’s words. A man who thought until his head was about to split open—it was only natural to think that this man was *always* thinking.

“Is that how I appear to you, my Lord?”

Just as he was about to turn and leave, Munpyeong asked a question. It was a rare occasion for him to initiate a question, so Cheonma stopped and answered him.

“Yes. That’s how you appear to me.”

“Is that so?”

Seok Munpyeong smiled bitterly. Cheonma said he was a complicated man who thought too much. But that wasn’t who he was. He was curious but disliked deep thought; he disliked complexity and had learned a simple, direct style of swordsmanship.

Cheonma saw him that way only because he had only ever seen him agonizing over him.

`I see. Was I already changing from back then?`

He hated to admit it, but Ho Wan-pyeong had been right. He had already changed, and he would continue to change. Just as a piece of iron left next to a lodestone for a long time becomes a lodestone itself, he, being tied to a powerful figure like Cheonma, was already being influenced.

As if giving his body and offering pleasure a few times had made him an equal.

It was like a doll, destined to be thrown away when its owner grew bored, believing itself to be as human as its master.

“You’re a man who forces himself to think, even when you hate complicated thoughts.”

Just as he was about to turn away, Cheonma blurted out, seeing the strange expression on Munpyeong’s face. Seok Munpyeong looked up at Cheonma, his eyes lost in thought.

“A man crushed by the weight of his own thoughts. For a so-called martial artist, you can’t even distinguish between what you can handle and what you can’t.”

Cheonma reached out a finger. He poked Munpyeong in the center of his forehead and said coldly, “Discard what you must. And don’t you dare think you can handle it all just by carrying it.”

Giving such bold advice without even knowing what Munpyeong was thinking about was so very like him.

“...What if I’m not sure what I should discard?”

Like a young novice monk asking his master for a koan, Munpyeong looked at Cheonma with a serious face, seeking an answer.

“Are you a fool? You don’t even know that? You throw away the heaviest thing. What other way is there to keep a ship from sinking? And from the looks of it, your ship isn’t a very sturdy one.”

Cheonma answered without thinking and then tilted his head. Now that he said it, it sounded strange.

`Why am I even telling him this?`

This was the kind of talk he would have with his disciples. And only on the rare occasion when he was in a very generous mood.

`Was I concerned because he’s acting so differently from usual? No. But why do I care about this guy?`

Cheonma, who had always treated Munpyeong as an easy toy to play with, couldn't quite understand why he was concerning himself with him. Others might complain that they couldn't understand him, but he himself had always acted with a firm purpose. But lately, he found himself acting in ways that were contrary to his intentions. Bizarre actions whose reasons he didn't know and couldn't comprehend.

And only in front of this one man.

`I kept calling him a weed, but was he actually a poisonous one?`

Feeling as if he had taken opium, he muttered this to himself, then laughed again at his own absurd thought.

`What? Opium is what's moving me like this? Then does that make this guy a poppy? A weed, a poppy?`

“By the way, do you know that my advice is quite expensive?”

Being around a weed all the time must be making his thoughts as messy as a weed's. Cheonma, who hated complicated thoughts even more than Munpyeong, pulled Munpyeong by the arm and into his embrace. As always, Munpyeong was awkwardly drawn into his arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. His eyes, which usually revealed his inner thoughts as clearly as glass, were unusually cloudy today.

`If you can't stop thinking on your own, then I'll help you.`

A slanted smile appeared on his lips. Cheonma slid an arm under Munpyeong's knees and lifted him up like a bride.

“You’ll have to suffer for a long time to pay it all back. It's not a price your body can afford.”

Cheonma carried Munpyeong to the table and placed him on it. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he began to undress him.

Munpyeong did not resist his hands. He just stared at him with those opaque eyes, his thoughts still a mystery. Even as the clothes that had been tightly wrapped around him were swiftly undone, even as a hand boldly slipped between his legs, he did not stir.

From the look of him, it would take a lot of time to drive the thoughts from his head. But Cheonma didn't think that was such a bad thing.

A difficult challenge always brings great pleasure. Cheonma, who had never once failed to achieve what he set his mind to, had no doubt that he would succeed this time as well.

Cheonma's sexual tastes were varied and spontaneous, and Munpyeong had experienced a colorful variety of things he had never even imagined before their relations began.

He had been tied with silk ropes, had honey dripped on his lower body and licked off, experienced bizarre positions not even found in the Kama Sutra, and thanks to Cheonma's disregard for location, had even experienced sex in the open.

Compared to those precedents, having sex on a table was a very tame affair.

Munpyeong lay on his back on the table, his upper body bare and his lower garments pulled down. The wide, solid rosewood table had a surface as smooth as a mirror, and he felt as if he would slide off if he didn't keep his back tensed.

To maintain his position, Munpyeong reached his hands above his head and gripped the edge of the table. Still, his posture felt unstable.

Cheonma stood between Munpyeong's bare legs. He could feel the man's body heat vividly between his naked thighs. In contrast to Munpyeong, who was almost completely naked, Cheonma was still fully dressed. He always favored black robes, and when he leaned over, it created the illusion of darkness falling over him.

“Close your eyes.”

Cheonma urged Munpyeong in a suggestive voice. At the sound of that honey-sweet tone, which he only heard when they were about to begin, Munpyeong obediently closed his eyes.

Immediately after, a soft touch brushed against his tense chin. Something softer than silk and warmer than cotton. That indescribably sweet touch traced his jawline and then swept across his cheek.

He could feel it approaching his closed eyes. As an unfamiliar object neared his closed eyelids, the space between his brows began to tingle.

“Close your eyes.”

Munpyeong, who had trembled his eyelashes at the persistent tickling and had almost opened his eyes, closed them again at Cheonma's command.

"It," with its feathery soft yet plush feel, approached his lips like a brush painting on rouge. The sensation of fine bristles was vivid on his thin lips. Munpyeong realized that what was tickling him was a brush. Judging by how good it felt against his skin, it had to be a very high-quality one.

His guess was correct. What was currently toying with Munpyeong's body was none other than a sable-hair brush. Made from the fur of a rare silver sable caught in the Kunlun Mountains, this brush used only the softest fur from the sable's neck, making it a top-grade item.

A sable brush was excellent for calligraphy, but it was truly ideal for painting, a coveted item among artists who would pay a premium to acquire one.

Cheonma had received this brush as a gift. The Matriarch of a Hundred Beasts had sent it to thank him for painting a rock orchid for her on her birthday.

Of course, Cheonma knew it wasn't just a token of gratitude but a hint that he needed to study painting more. He knew that she, a woman with no eye for art, hadn't sent the brush because she truly thought his painting was lacking.

She simply hadn't liked the meaning behind the orchid painted in a rock crevice. She couldn't have been unaware of its implications.

The giver herself would never have known, but from the moment Cheonma first saw this brush, he had wanted to use it just like this.

Once ink touched it, a faint scent would remain no matter how well it was washed, making it unsuitable for this kind of play. Fortunately, an opportunity had arisen at just the right time. He must be a lucky man.

As Cheonma brushed it past his ear, goosebumps prickled on his cheek. He lovingly stroked the goosebumps with the brush before moving it down the line of his neck. **Gulp**. Munpyeong's adam's apple bobbed conspicuously.

Cheonma proceeded to paint Munpyeong’s body with the brush. As if redrawing the reclining figure, he meticulously brushed between the textures of his skin.

The firmly sculpted chest, the dark brown nipples, the areolas that seemed to have grown slightly larger from his frequent touch, the flat abdomen, and the soft mound of his groin.

With each delicate movement of the brush, his well-toned muscles contorted. The tip of the brush grew damp as it passed over his healthy skin, which was beginning to bead with sweat. Unable to bear the sensation any longer, Munpyeong gritted his teeth, and a blue vein pulsed in his jaw.

Using his body to hold apart Munpyeong's legs, which kept trying to close, Cheonma finally found the place he had intended to conquer from the start: Munpyeong’s sex, nestled beneath a dark thicket, and the hidden jewel beneath it.

“Hiek!”

As he lightly brushed the penis, Munpyeong let out a deep groan and writhed. The still-fluffy sable hair, though slightly damp with sweat, traced the veins that were beginning to rise on his member. The sweet pleasure that came with the tickling intensified the movements of his hips.

Cheonma held his penis with one hand and, with the sable brush in the other, gently stroked the head.

As the brushing began, a sound like a strangled scream erupted this time. “Aack!” Munpyeong was particularly sensitive at the head of his penis. Just touching this area was enough to make him completely lose control. To think that he had such a sensitive organ but would never be able to use it for penetration again seemed, in a way, pitiful.

`Well. Should I be generous?`

Cheonma acted on the mischievous thought that had just occurred to him. He reached down and gripped Munpyeong’s penis. He squeezed it gently with his soft palm, mimicking the tightness of a woman’s vagina, while stimulating the head and urethra with the brush.

`Haaah...` Munpyeong’s body thrashed again. The muscles in his thighs, pinned by Cheonma's body, tensed up. With each squeeze of Cheonma’s hand, his erection grew, soon filling his grip.

“Aah! Ah! Ngh! Ngh!”

Overwhelmed by the stimulation, Munpyeong thrashed his head back and forth as if in a fever. He panted desperately, begging, “St-stop. Stop!”

Pathetically, Munpyeong couldn't even finish his plea before his jaw trembled and he threw his head back. Droplets of semen were already leaking out, wetting the precious sable brush. A tragic brush, destined to be stained with semen before it ever touched ink.

Was the stimulation too much? Without being touched anywhere else, Munpyeong climaxed. Just as Cheonma moved the brush that had been blocking his urethra, semen shot into the air and landed on his robes.

Cheonma looked at the white liquid splattered on his black silver-threaded robe. The white semen on the black fabric glittered like stars in the night sky.

“What an ill-mannered fellow.”

Cheonma chuckled, chiding Munpyeong for coming without permission.

“I told you to pay off your debt, not to create more.”

Cheonma removed his semen-stained robe. As the soft silk slid down his legs, Munpyeong's closed eyes trembled with a mixture of fear and anticipation for the pleasure to come.

“How are you going to pay for this, you pauper? First you soak a sable brush in semen, then you ejaculate on a silk robe. Do you have any idea how long it would take for your body to pay all that back? Do you want to spend the rest of your life spreading your legs for me?”

“N-not my whole life…”

“You don’t think it will take a lifetime? You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.”

Cheonma chuckled lowly and applied fragrant oil to the sable brush. As the wet brush slipped into his anus, a startled Munpyeong’s mouth fell open. Thanks to frequent entry, a single finger could now slide in easily, but he had never had a foreign object inserted there before.

Despite having several good toys like dildos made of horn or ivory eggs, Cheonma had never felt inclined to use them on Munpyeong.

Thus, the sable brush had the honor of being the first foreign object to enter Munpyeong’s body. The first object to defile him.

As the soaked brush tickled his inner walls, Munpyeong let out another pitiful whimper. He twisted his hips, trying to escape, but Cheonma held him down, swirling the brush as if stirring something to spread the oil evenly inside.

As the brush began to move in and out, the whites of Munpyeong’s eyes turned red. Physiological tears welled up. He trembled and cried.

“I don’t want this! Stop!”

Munpyeong shook his head violently. In doing so, he slipped and slid further up the table. As a result, one thigh was on the table while the other dangled off the side.

For Cheonma, who was already hard from toying with Munpyeong and watching him, it was a truly mouth-watering position.

He deliberately pulled the sable brush out of the anus with a scraping motion and thrust his own member in.

The small hole, which had flinched and spasmed, swallowed the head. The tiny opening, which had seemed incapable of accepting such a thing, now took in everything he pushed into it.

`Your hole is just like you, Seok Munpyeong. Such a magnificent prude.`

Cheonma thought mischievously as he buried himself deep. He wrapped one of Munpyeong’s legs around his waist and slung the other over his shoulder, then began to drive into him for his own pleasure.

Munpyeong’s mind was a blur. His nerves, already focused on his lower body from the targeted assault on his most sensitive parts, were suddenly thrown into chaos by the abrupt penetration. The sweet temptation of the sable brush had been followed by a ruthless conquest.

His body stretched to its limit to accommodate the man. A powerful waist thrust through him, filling his insides, and his lewd inner walls clenched around it.

Despite the wet, slapping sounds of the thrusts, it felt incredibly good. A strange bundle of nerves he never knew existed in his anus bloomed violently with each of Cheonma's movements, erupting in sparks of fire.

With every thrust, he felt like he was about to slide off the table, and Munpyeong desperately tightened his grip on the edge.

The wet, squelching sounds echoed obscenely in the room. The chaotic noise filled his ears: the creaking of the table legs, Cheonma’s low, gritted groans, the friction of his wet back against the table surface, the rhythm of their hips moving in the air.

But louder than any other sound was Munpyeong’s own moans as he welcomed the man filling his body. He knew this, even as he screamed and cried uncontrollably.

And that made it all the more unbearable.

***

The end of the first month was near, yet the moon was dark.

In a dark room with the windows shut tight to keep out the cold wind, further shielded by thick furs, Munpyeong's eyes fluttered open.

Lifting his gaze in a daze, he realized he was in his familiar room and struggled to sit up. As he tried to support his upper body with his arms, a sharp pain shot through his lower back. It seemed the strained posture had taken its toll; a deep muscle ache pressed down on him.

The sudden pain cleared his hazy mind. He lay there awkwardly and began to take stock of his body.

The pain wasn't just in his back. The insides of his thighs, which had been lifted and rocked in the air countless times, ached painfully. His arm joints were overused and throbbed with a dull ache. It felt less like he had engaged in vigorous sex and more like he had undergone a grueling workout, with every muscle fiber screaming in protest.

And indeed, today's session had been particularly intense. Once on the table, then again after rolling onto the floor. The last thing he remembered was climbing onto the bed for a final round before passing out from exhaustion.

He had fallen asleep covered in all sorts of bodily fluids, but now he awoke to find himself dry and covered with a soft silk quilt. Cheonma wouldn't have cleaned him up himself. It must have been those poor young maids who had to witness such a sight again.

After finally gathering himself and getting up, he saw Cheonma lying next to him. He had always imagined the Demon Lord would sleep sprawled out wildly, but his sleeping form was surprisingly neat. With his long hair swept back from his neck, he lay perfectly straight on his back, like a well-mannered nobleman.

His features were so handsome they stood out even in the dim moonlight. With his expression gone, Cheonma's face was as exquisite as a sculpture.

An extreme beauty that made it hard to believe he was human. A sublime beauty that captured one's gaze even knowing he was a man.

Munpyeong looked down at Cheonma for a moment, then shook his head and looked away. As he came to his senses, he heard a regular sound from a corner of the room.

**Tick, tock. Tick, tock.** It was the sound of the thing Cheonma called a 'clock' moving its hands. When he first saw it, he had wondered about the strange device's function, but now he knew it was a 'clock' from the West, a tool for telling time.

But even knowing that, Munpyeong still didn't understand why it was necessary. You could always tell the time by listening for the bells that chimed the hour. He didn't see the need to constantly know the time while enduring the bothersome noise of such a device.

Still, over time, he had gotten used to its presence. He had even adapted to the point where he could ignore its constant noise.

`Adaptation.`

Munpyeong silently repeated the word that had come to his mind. Adaptation. *Adaptation*. He let out a bitter, low laugh.

Lately, no word frightened him more. He never thought a single word could be so difficult, but now he was hesitant to even use it.

People say the most frightening thing in the world is time. They were right. Munpyeong thought so too. Time is the most frightening thing in the world because it makes people adapt. It makes the unfamiliar and frightening feel familiar, the distant feel close. Time changes everything, alters everything. Even the things you desperately want to remain unchanged.

Everything in this room was something he initially thought he could never get used to.

The exotic objects with their foreign feel, the instruments whose purpose he didn't know. The lavish lifestyle that seemed to cross a line, and Cheonma's taste for excessively grand and bold things.

But now, Munpyeong was slowly beginning to appreciate the taste of the fragrant Qimen tea, and he was no longer surprised by the constant influx of foreign goods Cheonma brought in. He felt something was missing if the floor wasn't cushioned when he walked, and he no longer thought anything of sleeping under a silk brocade quilt.

The things he had initially feared and been wary of were now so close. Closer than the distance he had originally intended to keep. But among them all, the closest, and therefore the most frightening, was the man lying next to him.

Cheonma. Hyeokryeon Sang.

This man, so different from the one he had vaguely imagined from rumors, had felt like a monster stepping out of a legend when he first saw him. A distant legend that would have no connection to his ordinary self had suddenly become a reality, baring its fangs before him.

Munpyeong remembered vividly how dizzying and terrifying that feeling had been. And how unfamiliar and alien his feelings toward him were.

But what about now?

Now, he was calmly looking down at Cheonma lying next to him. His body was filled with the traces of their passionate lovemaking, and he was lying under the same blanket, thinking about him.

Who would have thought such a day would come? Even he himself couldn't have imagined it.

Cheonma was a heavy man. His name was the heaviest in the world, and his influence covered the nine provinces and eight wildernesses. A living god to the Demonic Cult, an eternal enemy to the Orthodox Faction. There were few beings who could bear such weight in a single human body.

But to Munpyeong, he was heavy in a different sense. A weight no one could bear. In his presence, Munpyeong had to forget his own identity and accept being treated as a toy or a plaything. It wasn't just that he was treated that way; Munpyeong himself began to think that way. Before his immense presence, Munpyeong always felt as small and pathetic as a naked child.

*"You must throw away the heaviest thing. What other way is there to keep a ship from sinking?"*

The words he had heard from him echoed in his mind like an auditory hallucination. Did the one who said them know? That the heaviest thing for Munpyeong was him? That the very existence driving his small boat, which he had barely managed to launch into the world, to the brink of capsizing was none other than him?

Perhaps he knew, perhaps he didn't. But whether he knew or not, the fact that he wouldn't care remained unchanged.

Wasn't he a man who could casually toy with another's life and find it amusing, and then simply abandon the person he had broken when he lost interest? In his eyes, a "weed" was just a weed on the path, something to be stepped on without a second thought.

Munpyeong was afraid of changing because of such a person. He wasn't just talking about getting used to luxurious clothes or a comfortable life.

He was afraid of becoming a sycophant, relying on his power, becoming dependent on him, and finally, becoming a person who couldn't exist without him.

Just because Cheonma was dealing with him didn't mean his own status was elevated. No matter how much he struggled, the gap between him and Cheonma would not close. It was an eternally uncrossable chasm. They were on different starting lines from the very beginning.

Munpyeong knew he was by no means strong. He wasn't capable of protecting himself with a steadfast spirit at Cheonma's side. The best he could do was to stubbornly resist and slow down the pace of change, even if he was being dragged along without being able to hold his ground.

There was no guarantee that any of this would last forever. A day would surely come when he would have to stand on his own.

Munpyeong was afraid of becoming addicted to Cheonma, to the comfort and privilege he provided. He could clearly see what kind of end awaited him if he did, yet he couldn't stop himself from changing.

If he hadn't realized it, he would have continued to be dragged along. But he had realized it, and once he had, he could never forget it.

Munpyeong now truly wanted to escape from this man. He wanted to run away if he could, to abandon him if possible. Before he became so completely useless that he couldn't survive in the world on his own.

But he didn't know how. He knew he had to discard this heavy burden to survive, but he didn't know the way.

***

“To part like this, it is regrettable.”

Inside a dilapidated Guan Yu shrine, two men sat around a bonfire made of dry twigs. Both were tall, handsome, and well-built, clearly traveling together.

Hyeokryeon Sang looked up at the man sitting across from him, who had spoken with such genuine regret. The man’s eyes, fixed on him, held a desperate wish.

“Weren’t we always fated to part here? This is nothing new.”

Despite his blunt, short reply, the other man offered a good-natured smile.

He had a kind, honest face. The face of a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, a man who trusted others to a fault.

“Still, a regret is a regret. Traveling with you, brother, has made the long journey less tedious. To think that tomorrow we go our separate ways… It was good to have someone to talk to. Well, of course, you mostly listened while I did all the talking. But it was fun to talk because you were a good listener. At least, I had fun.”

The man blushed boyishly and stumbled over his words. Perhaps because he had grown up with Daoist masters in the mountains, he was awkward with words but full of affection. He had been warm and talkative even to a stranger like him, whom he had met by chance on the road.

Hyeokryeon Sang studied the man’s face, illuminated by the fire. He had thought they looked alike from a distance, but up close, the resemblance was uncanny. It was like looking at his own face in a mirror from five or six years ago. Their features were a perfect match.

It was for that reason that he, who had only intended to observe from afar, had ended up approaching and speaking to him.

They were alike. But they were also different. The other man was a completely different kind of person. If he had been in his shoes, he would never have greeted a stranger who appeared out of the darkness asking to borrow a light with such a bright smile. He wouldn't have readily accepted a foreigner as a travel companion just because their paths aligned, nor would he have trusted him so implicitly and treated him so warmly throughout their journey.

That was what made them seem both the same and different. Though their facial features and builds were nearly identical, the expressions that crossed their faces were worlds apart. Unlike himself, who always wore a stern expression, the other man was always smiling.

Even if the basic structure of their features was similar, such a stark difference in impression and atmosphere made them appear to be different people.

Perhaps that was why the resemblance so obvious to Hyeokryeon Sang was not apparent to others. The fact that no one had ever asked if they were related during their long journey together was proof enough.

The other man, after traveling with him for nearly a month, was a bit clueless not to have realized Hyeokryeon Sang’s identity. But he couldn't entirely blame him. The things that were obvious to Hyeokryeon Sang, who knew the truth, would be invisible to him, who knew nothing.

The last time Hyeokryeon Sang had seen him, he had been very young. They had been separated too early and had never had a chance to meet again, so it was no wonder he didn't remember him.

“Brother? Are you really sure you don’t want to visit East Lake?”

When Hyeokryeon Sang remained silent, the man also fell quiet. But the silence didn't last long.

Soon, the man was once again trying to persuade him. He had already stated that his destination was Wuhan, where the Righteous Path Alliance was located. Suggesting a trip to East Lake was tantamount to asking him to travel with him all the way.

East Lake was in Wuhan, Hubei.

“If this is your first time in Hubei, you can’t have been to East Lake, right? It would be such a shame to come all this way and not see Dongting Lake. And what is Dongting Lake? It’s where the Eighteen Fortresses of Dongting are! The very place where the one hundred and eight heroes of the Water Margin roamed! As a man, shouldn’t you see such a place at least once?”

“Dongting Lake may have the Eighteen Fortresses, but it won’t have Liangshan Marsh. Liangshan is in Shandong.”

Hyeokryeon Sang coolly corrected the man, who was grossly misinformed.

“Oh, is that so?”

The man, who had tried to entice him with things he didn't even know for sure, was immediately crestfallen. Seeing him like that, Hyeokryeon Sang felt as if he had kicked a puppy in the stomach, and his heart soured. He offered what could only be an excuse.

“...I appreciate your kindness, but I have urgent business and must take a boat from Zhijiang.”

He didn't lack the desire to stay with him a little longer, especially seeing how much the man wanted him to. The affairs of the Cult were mostly settled, and the ones to be purged had been purged. With the cleaning done, there was no one left to cause trouble if he were to leave the Cult for a while.

But the boy’s destination was Wuhan, the den of the Righteous Path Alliance. He was already uneasy about having entered their territory, and if he were to follow him there and his identity was revealed, it would cause problems not only for himself but for the boy as well.

For him, a rising star of the Orthodox Faction, even being acquainted with someone like him would be a great stain on his reputation. And if it became known that they were related by blood, it was certain that not even his own sect would be able to protect him.

“I know I’m bothering you, brother. And I know I shouldn’t be pestering you like this. To you, I’m probably just a stranger you traveled with for a short while. I apologize for being so stubborn, knowing all this.”

The man spoke up. He seemed a bit embarrassed after being rejected to his face, but he didn't seem to hold any resentment. Instead, he apologized for making Hyeokryeon Sang uncomfortable. It was the conduct befitting a disciple of a prestigious sect.

“This might sound strange coming from me, but when I look at you, brother, I feel a strangely deep sense of familiarity. It’s like meeting someone I’ve known for a long time. Hahaha. Saying it out loud, it does sound strange. Please don't misunderstand, brother. I don't mean anything else by it.”

Clumsy with words, he couldn't properly express what was in his heart. He repeated himself, contradicted himself, but stubbornly continued.

“It's just… you feel familiar. Truly, you don't feel like a stranger, brother.”

He didn't know anything, yet his blood must be calling to him. `Is that it? Is that why you were so open with me?`

The man’s simple, heartfelt words made Hyeokryeon Sang’s fingertips tremble slightly. An unfamiliar emotion he hadn't felt in a long time welled up in his chest.

Hyeokryeon Sang didn't know what to call this feeling. For him, a man who had only ever known martial arts, martial arts, and more martial arts, and had never learned or heard of anything else, emotions were just a strange, incomprehensible thing.

The other man didn't know he had an older brother. At the tender age of six, his family had been annihilated, and he had been saved by a Daoist from the Kunlun Sect, living in the Daoist sect ever since. He believed he was an orphan. The Kunlun Daoist who had saved him with his own hands had confirmed it, so he had no choice but to believe it. But he still had one blood relative left.

And he was right in front of his eyes.

Hyeokryeon Sang, or rather, Baek Un-gang, looked at the man with an indescribable feeling. His younger brother, who had lost his parents and become an orphan simply because his older brother’s talent had caught the eye of the Demonic Cult Master, was sitting before him after decades of separation.

His younger brother, Baek Un-jeong, remembered nothing about him, but Baek Un-gang was different. Unusually intelligent and thoughtful from a young age, he remembered clearly what his master had done to possess him completely.

His master had annihilated his family to eliminate any place he could return to. To turn Baek Un-gang, a heaven-sent genius, into Hyeokryeon Sang, the son of the Demonic Cult Master, and thus make him the next leader of the Cult, he had committed such an unbelievable atrocity.

Baek Un-gang had never feared anything in his life. He had never feared the master who had massacred a family to possess a single talent, nor had he feared the master’s wife who, captivated by his beauty, had raped him since he was fourteen. He had only endured because he had no power. Once he had gained the strength to take responsibility for himself, he had made sure that neither his master nor his master's wife were left alive.

But even for him, his younger brother was a source of fear. The only being in the world for whom he felt guilt, and perhaps the only being in the world he truly loved. Un-gang genuinely cherished Un-jeong. It was because Un-jeong alone had survived that Baek Un-gang had been able to endure those long, arduous years. No matter how difficult it was, he had come this far with the thought of meeting that boy again.

But now that the time had come, Un-gang couldn't confidently reveal himself to his brother. Baek Un-jeong was a disciple of a prestigious Orthodox Sect, while he was the master of the Heavenly Mountains Demonic Cult.

The Righteous Path Alliance, which turned a blind eye to the Demonic Cult regardless of whether it was in the Heavenly Mountains or the Hundred Thousand Mountains, was hell-bent on finding a weakness in him, the young man who had newly ascended to the position of master. The Righteous Path Alliance, for all its talk, was a place where old, hypocritical masters of the Orthodox Faction spread their filthy mud into the world.

A pack of trash who committed acts worse than the Unorthodox Faction under the name of the "Righteous Path," and who created a climate of fear by issuing kill orders whenever they were at a disadvantage. If Un-jeong were to be noticed by those wolf-like men, his life would be ruined once again.

And once again, it would be because of him.

`It's enough to have seen him like this. He's grown up well, grown up kind. The old geezers of the Kunlun Sect are at least discerning and strict, so he should be able to live a proper life within their sect.`

With that thought, Un-gang tried to shake off his lingering regret. Nearly a month together after decades of separation. The one who truly felt the time was too short was not Un-jeong, but Un-gang.

“...Can we meet again?” Un-jeong asked cautiously, as Un-gang was lost in his complicated thoughts about the brother he could never meet again. For a moment, Un-gang was speechless. `I want to see you again.` He felt the same way.

“They say that to meet is to part, but isn't it also that to part is to meet again? It’s a shame to part just like this. Can we truly not meet again?”

Drawn by a bond he himself didn't understand, his brother spoke earnestly. A sudden impulse surged through Baek Un-gang. The thought that he couldn't live forever severing the bond of blood, thicker than water, suddenly possessed him.

Un-gang knew it was not an impulse but his own selfish desire. But he couldn't resist it. Baek Un-gang took out the jade pendant from his waist and cut off the decorative tassel. Baek Un-jeong watched his sudden action with wide eyes.

“Brother, what is this...?”

“From now on, the name of this object is… the Qilin Plaque.”

Baek Un-gang looked down at the pattern on his pendant and quickly decided on a name. The decorative piece he had just cut off was exquisitely carved with the image of a Qilin with its hooves wrapped in cloth.

“This is a token that will allow you to meet me again. Three times in your life. Use this tablet only when you truly need to.”

“...What are you talking about, brother? Why are you suddenly saying such strange things?”

“It would not be good for us to meet often, so I am setting a restriction. If you are fine with this, I would like you to accept the tablet. It will not be difficult to summon me with this. I will make arrangements with the Gold and Silver Bank, which has branches all over the continent. Make a rubbing of this tablet, then write your signature and the date on the back. I will see it and come to you.”

The bewildered Baek Un-jeong hesitated, then looked down at the Qilin Plaque. Even to his untrained eye, it was a considerable treasure. He couldn't understand why this man would casually give such a thing to a stranger. Of course, he felt a deep affection for this man and wanted to meet him again, but it was hard to adjust to his sudden change in behavior after he had been so reserved throughout their journey.

But Un-jeong had not been raised to ignore another's sincerity. Moreover, the person he felt goodwill toward was returning that goodwill. He felt grateful and happy.

“I still think it's strange, but yes. Thank you. I will accept it gratefully. I hope that the bond of our connection can be preserved in this way.”

Baek Un-jeong reached out and took the tablet from him. As they exchanged the object, their hands brushed lightly. Un-jeong took the tablet without a second thought, but Un-gang could not. He let his hand, which had just been touched by Un-jeong's, linger in the air for a moment before slowly lowering it.

It was too short a moment, a fleeting encounter. The precious time that he could never have again passed by just like that.

***

Cheonma had been in a bad mood since morning.

He had dreamed of his younger brother for the first time in a long while. After his death, he had consciously tried not to think about him. He rarely dreamed of him, but for some reason, he had seen him today.

Normally, he would have been happy, but given the timing, his mind was troubled. He knew it was a foolish thought, but various things weighed on his mind. He was getting old, and dreams were starting to bother him. It wasn't even a prophetic dream.

`The Zhuge girl is on her last legs. Is this the turning point? Well, they said she wouldn't make it past the new year, so it must be soon.`

His troubled mind naturally turned to Zhuge Hui-ryeon. The wretched woman he had first thought should not be allowed to die peacefully, even when he heard she was dying. The one who had brandished the Qilin Plaque that had left Un-jeong’s hands, turning his insides out.

Whether she had received her just deserts for her sins, she was on her deathbed from old age while he was still hale and hearty. It was a satisfying thought for him, but not for others. Many were unsettled by it. The mood in the Orthodox Faction was particularly gloomy.

The fools who believed she had defeated the Demonic Cult at Mount Longzhong were genuinely mourning the passing of a great elder who had upheld the righteous path.

`A great elder. A great elder.`

For Hyeokryeon Sang, who only remembered her youthful appearance, the term attached to Zhuge Hui-ryeon was very unfamiliar. To him, she would always be the venomous young woman with eyes full of green poison.

He vividly remembered her wailing for revenge, clutching Un-jeong's corpse, and the way she had brought Baek Woo-gyeong before him, declaring, "That man is your father's enemy." Yet, time had passed so quickly that she was now on her deathbed, and he was contemplating retirement.

`Are you telling me not to harm your lover on her way to the afterlife? Or are you telling me not to touch Baek Woo-gyeong?`

Hyeokryeon Sang mentally asked Un-jeong, who had appeared in his dream. But the Un-jeong in his mind, with the young face of his early twenties, just smiled innocently and didn't answer. That boy had such a kind heart that he never appeared in a frightening form, even in dreams. He always saw him as he was at his best, in that fleeting moment. The tragic second meeting never appeared.

Perhaps it was for the sake of his remaining bloodline rather than for Hyeokryeon Sang himself. If he had seen that sight in reality and lost his sanity, he wouldn't have been able to bear seeing it in his dreams as well.

If he had seen that sight again, if he had seen himself killing that boy again, Cheonma wouldn't have been able to endure it twice. He would have forgotten Un-jeong's dying words, raised his sword, and struck down the Zhuge Clan without a thought for his nephew, Baek Woo-gyeong.

He would have broken the neck of that woman, Zhuge Hui-ryeon, who had tricked the man she called her husband into his death and shamelessly paraded as his widow. He would have torn the other Orthodox martial artists who had led Un-jeong into a trap limb from limb and scattered their remains in the fields for wild beasts to feast on.

Now that he was older, that intense bloodlust had subsided somewhat, but the thought of his brother still weighed heavily on his mind.

`Hah. Such a great and terrible fate between blood relatives.`

It was hard to tell if he was Un-jeong’s ill fate, or if Un-jeong was his.

He ate breakfast in a foul mood and remained cooped up in his room all day. He couldn't focus on anything. He felt Munpyeong's curious gaze on him, but even that couldn't calm his restless heart.

Perhaps because of her master's beast-like pacing all morning, Yehwa came to the bedchamber in the afternoon with a few books in her arms. They were books from the West that Cheonma usually enjoyed reading.

“What is it?”

Hyeokryeon Sang, who had been lost in thought at the tea table, the aroma of his Qimen tea long gone, finally noticed Yehwa and asked. She bowed respectfully and presented the books with both hands.

“These are books purchased from the Hualan merchants who passed through the northern route yesterday. Please confirm if these are the ones you ordered.”

Yehwa was smart enough not to be just a maid, but she couldn't read Western languages like latin. Although she was in charge of purchasing Western books, she could only distinguish them by taking the paper Cheonma had written on, giving it to the merchant, and then comparing the symbols on the books she received with the ones on the paper, like matching pictures.

But sometimes, books had the same title but were different works, so whenever new books arrived, Yehwa would bring them to Cheonma for inspection.

Fortunately, she hadn't made a mistake this time either. Yehwa’s face brightened, and she left, leaving Cheonma with the Western books. He stared at them for a moment, then reached out and picked one up.

The book he chose was a kind of illustrated album of customs, a collection of woodblock prints depicting the daily life of people in the West. The style was rough and often exaggerated, but it was a good way to learn about their daily lives and thoughts, and it was popular among the connoisseurs in Beijing.

Cheonma, being a curious man, was particularly fond of such albums and even collected them.

It was just what he needed, a catalyst to dispel his troublesome thoughts. He cleared the large tea table and opened the album.

Western books, with their custom of heavy, sturdy bindings, were usually larger and thicker than those from the Central Plains. Albums were even larger, sometimes the size of a man’s torso. The one that arrived today wasn't that big, but it was still a considerable size, better viewed spread out wide.

The first page he opened showed a depiction of a direct-spinning machine. Westerners preferred to create efficient machines rather than doing things by hand. At first glance, it was hard to tell what a machine was for, but as you got used to them, you could distinguish their functions and even tell what was being made just by the clothes of the people sitting in front of them.

`Jin-mu would like this.`

Cheonma thought of his disciple, who was so obsessed with mathematics and engineering that he would probably ejaculate at the sight of a spinning machine, and stared blankly at the picture.

Page after page. Some were familiar scenes, others were new and strange. As he was looking at the pictures with a thoughtful expression, he turned a page and realized there was a thin piece of paper tucked between the pages.

Unlike the sturdy Western paper, a light, fluttering piece of Central Plains paper was stuck between the pages. Even though it was folded, the ink was so dark that it was clear someone had used it.

`What’s this?`

Cheonma unfolded the paper, which was lightly folded in half. A clear, sharp-lined drawing, an ink rubbing on a sheet of Hanji paper, was revealed.

The drawing depicted a beast with the body of a deer, the legs of a horse, the tail of an ox, and a single horn on its head. Its four legs were wrapped in cloth like socks, and it did not touch the ground. The unique and characteristic form of the beast was unmistakably a Qilin.

`The Qilin Plaque!`

Cheonma was shocked by the unexpected appearance of the Qilin Plaque. He was surprised that it had returned without a word, and he was surprised by the manner of its return. He knew that unless someone had secretly infiltrated the Cult, the tablet could not have returned in this way.

His face hardening, Cheonma looked at the back of the paper. If the Qilin Plaque had returned to him, there should be a signature and a date for their meeting. And indeed, his prediction was correct. A clear signature was written on the back.

「梟」

A single character, "Hyo", meaning "owl."

Owls were known to eat their own parents. Thus, owls, along with the legendary beast "Gyeong", which was also said to eat its parents, were called "Hyo-gyeong", a term for a very ungrateful person.

Cheonma knew a man with a name that sounded the same. Gwak Hyo, the Gentleman Sword Demon. As far as he knew, he was the only one who could openly admit his own ungratefulness and take pride in it.

But behind the rubbing, there was only the signature and nothing else. It was as if he had simply made a rubbing of the Qilin Plaque and sent it with his signature as a taunt. Cheonma knew that this act by Gwak Hyo was a direct provocation aimed at him. He knew he had been sharpening his blade in the darkness for a long time, but to think he would steal the Qilin Plaque...

Cheonma’s eyes turned cold. He looked at the image of the Qilin Plaque in his hand and said in a low voice, “Summon Wan-pyeong.”

Hearing his grave command, Seok Munpyeong, the only other person in the room, quickly ran outside. He had never seen Cheonma, who rarely got stern, display such a serious aura, so he used his movement technique and ran with all his might to Ho Wan-pyeong’s office.

Facing the reappearance of the Qilin Plaque, Cheonma clenched his fists tightly. A reddish, bloody light appeared in his eyes, which rarely showed anger. He clenched his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his palms, and he gritted his teeth.

If Gwak Hyo were in front of him right now, he would have suffered the agony of being flayed alive. Cheonma had no intention of letting this son of a bitch die peacefully. He would slice him into a thousand pieces, cut him into ten thousand, and scatter him to the four winds to comfort his brother’s spirit.

The Qilin Plaque was not just a symbol; it was a relic honoring his brother’s soul. A possession of his own that he had not taken back from his brother's wife's hands. The first and last expression of his heart that he could offer for his brother.

For that heart to be sent back as a mockery, it was only natural that Cheonma’s rage would pierce the heavens. He barely suppressed the storm raging within him and waited for Ho Wan-pyeong to arrive.

“Was the Qilin Plaque stolen?”

Ho Wan-pyeong, who had rushed to the Thunder Palace after hearing the urgent summons, dropped to his knees the moment he entered and was met with Cheonma's sharp, cutting voice. Realizing the situation from his master's enraged tone, he lowered his head deeply. A look of dismay crossed his face.

`How did he find out already? I blocked all the channels through which Master could get information. How on earth...?`

Ho Wan-pyeong quickly reviewed his actions, his mind racing.

“Answer me. As the one who commands the Cult’s affairs, you couldn't have been unaware. Was the Qilin Plaque truly stolen?”

Knowing the tablet was in Gwak Hyo’s hands, Cheonma had figured everything out. The secret channels he had painstakingly built couldn't have become useless all at once, so information must have reached the Cult. The fact that he alone hadn't received the report meant someone had deliberately intercepted it.

It wasn't hard to guess who that person was. Who else but the one who never interfered when encouraged but always acted on his own in moments when he absolutely shouldn't, always out of step?

Realizing only then that he had been deceived, Cheonma did not hide his surging anger.

**Rumble. Rumble. Rumble.**

As his aura filled with intense rage, the furniture in the room began to shake. The savage energy of a beast, growling as it searched for prey, whipped through the room like a storm. Precious Indian silk tore, and the glass panel of the grandfather clock shattered. Even the tea on the table before him vibrated and overflowed.

Terrified, Munpyeong couldn't even enter the room. Ho Wan-pyeong could withstand that pressure only because it was him; he himself would have been crushed long ago. The maids, startled by the tremors that shook the entire building, rushed out in a panic.

Yehwa and Ranran peered worriedly into the bedchamber, but realizing it was not their place to eavesdrop on their superiors' argument, they led the other maids away.

“Y-yes. It was, Master.”

Ho Wan-pyeong forced himself to answer, suppressing his own internal energy which was churning in response to Cheonma's ferocious aura. But speaking while trying to control his energy was a futile effort.

The moment he opened his mouth, his disordered energy caused blood to rise in his throat. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

The energy in his body was boiling like water. It felt like being inside a giant bronze bell. The immense barrier surrounding him vibrated with a sound his body couldn't withstand. The rampaging energy tore through his insides, and the internal power he had accumulated, now feeling as if it wasn't his own, ran wild, wreaking havoc in his stomach and causing excruciating pain.

“Keuk.”

Ho Wan-pyeong couldn't hold it back any longer and vomited blood onto the floor. A dark, clotted stream poured from his mouth. Even as he watched him cough and spit blood, Cheonma remained cold. He stood there like a judge of life and death, offering no forgiveness to the sinner.

“Tell me. What happened.”

Cheonma commanded in an unforgiving tone.

Ho Wan-pyeong, barely able to breathe, managed to look up at him. In his blurry, tear-filled eyes, he saw his master's icy face. A face as beautifully sharp as a sculpture carved from ice, but one that held not a single shred of human emotion. It was the face of a reaper.

“M-Master.”

“Wan-pyeong, do not think of deceiving me again. I have tolerated you until now because I knew your actions stemmed from a sincere desire to protect me. But if that sincerity turns to deception, I will no longer forgive you. Tell me the truth. If you do not, I will take your life this time.”

The man who rarely gave direct warnings was now issuing one openly. Ho Wan-pyeong knew this was a final ultimatum. He had long known that Cheonma disliked his actions but had tolerated them.

Cheonma, his anger still seething, released the oppressive aura he had used to intimidate him. The air, which had felt as heavy as a mountain, lifted, and he could finally breathe. Ho Wan-pyeong gasped for air, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth was filled with the thick, metallic taste of blood.

He could hide it no longer. Seeing Cheonma's furious aura, Ho Wan-pyeong realized the gravity of the situation and had no choice but to speak. The information he and Po Yeong-ui had gathered was laid bare before his master.

“A few days ago, **cough**, on the very day Lady Baek passed away, **cough**, the Qilin Plaque disappeared.”

At those words, a fierce light blazed in Cheonma’s eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then gritted his teeth and barely held back. Ho Wan-pyeong, fearing his master's reaction, continued his report.

“There was a testimony of three masked men, **cough**. Bone Melting Powder was used, and eight members of the Zhuge Clan were killed. One was the steward, and the other seven were guards on duty at the inner vault. The guards' bodies were not even found. To have killed the guards hidden within the traps and formations like that means information was leaked from the core of the Zhuge Clan. It was information that even our highest-level agent, Go Heum-won, couldn't obtain, which means there was a traitor among the family elders or direct descendants.”

“...”

Cheonma said nothing, his eyes glinting.

“Our agent, Go Heum-won, seems to have encountered these unknown individuals right before his death. He shouted that the Qilin Plaque was being stolen to alert people, but, **cough**, by the time the Zhuge warriors found him, he was already dead. Immediately after, Lady Baek also passed away, and the Zhuge Clan was thrown into chaos. At first, they thought it was our doing, but when it was revealed that the deceased Steward Go was a spy for the Demonic Cult, we were cleared from the list of suspects. With things as they are, they must have realized there is a third party. **Cough**. That's why the Jade Qilin has assembled a pursuit team.”

“A pursuit team?”

Only then did Cheonma finally react. Ho Wan-pyeong quickly nodded and said, “Yes. They call it a team to track the Qilin Plaque, but in reality, I believe they are trying to hunt down the mysterious faction that stole it.”

“They wouldn’t call them a mysterious faction just because they appeared once and stole the tablet. There must have been something else related to this, wasn't there?”

Cheonma’s gaze was sharp enough to pierce as he got to the heart of the matter. A man who had led a faction his entire life—it would be ridiculous if he couldn't discern what was important in such a story.

“Yes, there was. The news hasn't really reached us here, as it's so far from Xinjiang, but recently, there has been a spate of kidnappings in Guangdong, Fujian, and Shandong. At first, they thought it was the work of pirates, as those coastal areas are rife with them and it’s common for Japanese pirates to kidnap people and sell them as slaves. But among those villages, there were a few where all the adults were killed and only the children disappeared. They followed the trail and found a clue.”

“And that was their doing?”

“Yes, it was.”

“How? Is there proof?”

“The highly corrosive Bone Melting Powder used in the kidnappings was also used in the Zhuge Clan incident. The composition is apparently unique, a type never seen before. The Jade Qilin discovered that the two batches of powder were the same and confirmed the evidence.”

Hah. Hearing Ho Wan-pyeong’s words, Cheonma let out a cold laugh.

`Gwak Hyo made such a basic mistake?`

Knowing how meticulous and terrifying Gwak Hyo was, Cheonma didn't believe it. If he had revealed his tracks in such a way, it was no mistake. It was bait.

In Cheonma’s mind, the careless exposure of the Bone Melting Powder was nothing more than bait to lure out the Jade Qilin. He had deliberately left such a trace so that the Jade Qilin, realizing the two incidents were connected, would pursue him.

`A good fisherman, Gwak Hyo. You'll use the Qilin Plaque to catch the Jade Qilin, and use the Jade Qilin to catch me?`

Fujian province and the Jade Qilin. The Jade Qilin and the Qilin Plaque. They were all a single line leading back to Cheonma.

Gwak Hyo was one of the few people who knew that the Jade Qilin was his nephew. He had figured it out by piecing together clues he had carelessly dropped when he had trusted him. At the time, he hadn't thought it would be a major problem if Gwak Hyo knew, so he had just told him to keep his mouth shut. He never imagined it would come back to haunt him as such a disaster.

`Thank you for teaching me that trusting a black-haired beast is a foolish thing, Gwak Hyo.`

Cheonma thought, inwardly grinding his teeth.

Hearing about the Bone Melting Powder, it was easy to see what Gwak Hyo was up to. In fact, anyone who knew the full story could easily deduce it.

Cheonma, who held deep regret over his brother’s death, could never ignore the Jade Qilin. Although he had complicated feelings about him, the Jade Qilin was his only remaining blood relative. How could Cheonma stand by and do nothing when he knew that his nephew was being targeted by someone like Gwak Hyo, and because of him?

But Cheonma couldn't lead his forces down to the Central Plains. It was something he couldn't dare to do unless he planned to announce to the world that the Jade Qilin was his nephew. Besides, he had made the Longzhong Pact.

It was called the Longzhong Pact, but in reality, the promise began in Qinghai.

If the Demonic Cult in Xinjiang were to push into the Central Plains, the first to fall would be the Kunlun Sect in the Kunlun Mountains. During the Hunan Bloodshed, when he had personally led the Cult, he had spared them for his brother's sake, but if there were another invasion, the Kunlun Sect would be the first to be turned to ashes.

Un-jeong, worried about the future of his sect, had begged Cheonma for mercy. He had asked him not to harm the people of the sect who had raised and loved him.

It was the dying wish of his brother, so Cheonma had no choice but to promise. As long as he lived, he would not lead his forces through Kunlun.

That promise was the Longzhong Pact. The reason the Demonic Cult, which boasted the greatest power in the world, was still tied down in Xinjiang, and the reason the Orthodox martial artists, who had been nearly wiped out by the Hunan Bloodshed, were able to recover, was all thanks to Baek Un-jeong's last words.

With such circumstances, if he were to keep the Longzhong Pact, Cheonma could not lead his forces south. But to protect the Jade Qilin, he had to go himself.

In the end, this was all a scheme by Gwak Hyo to lure Cheonma out of the iron fortress of the Demonic Cult, alone.

`So, you think you can take me down if I'm alone? Do you think I'm so easy that you'd call me out?`

Understanding the meaning behind the provocations of the Qilin Plaque and the Jade Qilin, Cheonma curled his lips into a cold smile.

That man with the heart of a wolf, trapped in his own narrow view, was judging even Cheonma by his own standards. He seemed to believe that even the strongest tiger would lose its fangs and claws without its forces and followers.

And this, despite the fact that it was Cheonma who had turned the Demonic Cult, which had been cowering before the Righteous Path Alliance, into the most powerful force in the world, who had single-handedly annihilated the Kongtong Sect, and who had started the Hunan Bloodshed and nearly wiped out the Orthodox forces.

Gwak Hyo seemed to be mistaken, but it wasn't the Demonic Cult that had made Cheonma. It was Cheonma himself who had made the Demonic Cult of today.

`You still haven't forgotten the taste of sneaking up from behind and getting a lucky shot, have you? Not knowing that was your last chance. I show my back to those I trust, but I never give an opportunity to those I don't.`

He had been caught off guard then because he trusted Gwak Hyo, but now he didn't. How could he not know what a big difference that made? He thought Gwak Hyo was cunning, but he was just a fool.

“But how did you find out about this?” Ho Wan-pyeong asked, curious as to how the secret he had kept was revealed.

Cheonma snorted coldly and dropped the rubbing of the Qilin Plaque at his feet.

“You’ve managed the Cult so well that I found this tucked inside one of my books.”

Ho Wan-pyeong, still clutching his stomach in pain, picked up the rubbing.

`Hah. So he provoked Master this blatantly.`

Like Cheonma, Ho Wan-pyeong had suspected the culprit was Gwak Hyo, but he had never imagined he would deliver the Qilin Plaque directly to his master. He was simply dumbfounded.

`Fine. If meeting me is your wish, then I'll grant it. I've been wanting to see you for a long time too.`

Cheonma twisted his lips into a chilling smile. The Jade Qilin's safety was one thing, but he couldn't let Gwak Hyo go either. He was a man he had to kill himself. For the sake of Yeo-yeong, who had died in his arms, for the tears of blood she had shed at the end, he would kill that bastard with his own hands.

“You can’t, Master!”

As Cheonma started to move, Ho Wan-pyeong frantically blocked his path, shouting. Cheonma looked down at him with eyes of ice. Though his legs had given out and he couldn't even stand properly, Ho Wan-pyeong’s desperate attempt to block him by crawling was pitiful, but Cheonma didn't even blink.

“Move.”

Cheonma said, his voice still laced with anger.

“I knew you would do this, Master, which is why I didn’t tell you. I knew that if you found out, you would go to the Central Plains alone. But you can’t. You mustn’t. You are not alone, Master!”

The quick-witted disciple had understood his intentions just from his demeanor. He pleaded with him in a tone that sounded like he was coughing up blood.

“You are Cheonma. Cheonma is the Demonic Cult itself. If you go to the Central Plains alone and something happens to you, the entire Cult will be like a candle in the wind. Don't you see? Are you truly planning to abandon the hundred thousand members of the Cult, the people who live with pride because of you?”

But Cheonma only scoffed at Ho Wan-pyeong’s words.

“I’ve given them enough wealth and honor. I’ve done everything I can for them. I’ve done my part. How long do you expect me to be responsible for all of you?”

“For the sake of the hundred thousand members who revere only Cheonma, please reconsider. For the sake of us, your disciples, who trust and rely only on you, please...”

“Fool! How long are you going to cling to me using affection as an excuse? If you hadn't pulled that pathetic stunt at the last Dragon Tournament, the position of Master would have already been passed to you. How long are you going to run away from responsibility? Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you're doing this because you're afraid to inherit the Demonic Cult, afraid to bear that great burden alone?”

Seething with rage, Cheonma kicked Ho Wan-pyeong hard in the shoulder. The forceful kick, delivered without restraint, sent Ho Wan-pyeong flying backward. His already damaged qi and blood were injured again, and he coughed up another mouthful of blood.

“Stop this foolishness and get out of my way. From today, you are the Master of the Demonic Cult!”

“Master!!”

“Shadow Guards, listen! From this day forward, you will guard the new Master. The new Master is gravely ill, so escort him to the Thunder Palace and forbid him from leaving the Cult for the time being!”

It was less a prohibition and more an imprisonment. Cheonma strode out, giving the curt command, and the loyal Shadow Guards closed the doors of the Thunder Palace. Ho Wan-pyeong, who was in a truly bad state, screamed his master’s name, but he didn't even look back.

Seok Munpyeong, who had been watching the storm of events unfold in a daze, realized that Cheonma, now outside the bedchamber, was staring directly at him. His eyes were blazing. Though he wasn't directing his aura at him as he had with Ho Wan-pyeong, the sharp light in his gaze alone was enough to make his heart drop. Munpyeong quickly lowered his eyes and assumed a respectful posture.

“Whatever the new Master commands, do not follow me.”

Cheonma issued the warning in an icy tone.

“This is a path where I might not be able to protect even you. If you don't want to die a dog's death by my side, do not follow me.”

Even if he hadn't said it, Munpyeong had no intention of following. Though he didn't know the full story, he knew that any matter that resulted in Ho Wan-pyeong getting beaten up and suddenly becoming the new leader, and Cheonma storming out of the Cult alone, was not something to be taken lightly.

“...Stay put.”

But Munpyeong, lost in his own thoughts, didn't hear Cheonma's last words. The man had muttered something under his breath, then suddenly turned on his heel as if in a fit of anger and left.

Using his movement technique, Cheonma quickly disappeared into the distance. Seok Munpyeong stared with a blank expression at his retreating back. He had only watched for a moment, but soon, even his shadow was gone.

Every time he saw Cheonma use his movement technique, he felt the same thing: it was a truly inhuman movement.

`What in the world just happened?`

It had been an ordinary day like any other, and then suddenly, something tremendous had happened. It was as if thunder had suddenly roared from a clear sky and lightning had rained down like hail. Wasn't this what they called a bolt from the blue? Munpyeong clutched his startled chest and stared in the direction Cheonma had disappeared.

***

He had seen them individually, but this was the first time he had seen all four of Cheonma's disciples gathered in one place.

Munpyeong stood nervously at the edge of the room. With Cheonma gone, a meeting of all four of the Demonic Kings was essentially a summit of the highest leadership. Munpyeong, who had been suddenly summoned to this momentous occasion, had no idea why he was there.

“So it has come to this.”

Po Yeong-ui spoke quietly, his expression as cool as ever. His voice was so devoid of emotion that it was impossible to tell if he was genuinely concerned or if he was saying, I knew this would happen, why didn't you?

“I fear I am the one who made this situation worse. If I had reported things in order from the beginning, it wouldn't have blown up like this.”

Ho Wan-pyeong’s face was a mask of illness as he spoke with difficulty. He was the only one in the room lying on a sickbed, a man who should have been on absolute bed rest, not presiding over a meeting. Cheonma had kicked him so mercilessly and without restraint that he had suffered broken ribs and shattered bones.

“...”

Gwak Jin-mu had been silent for some time. He was the last of the four to get the news and had only learned upon arriving that Gwak Hyo had reappeared. A man who was usually so carefree that he seemed almost frivolous, he hadn't smiled or spoken since hearing the news.

Cho Gyo-yeon watched Gwak Jin-mu with worried eyes. She looked as if she wanted to go to him and take his hand, but his rigid demeanor didn't permit anyone to approach.

“Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter now. The problem is how we resolve this situation,” Po Yeong-ui said, cutting off Ho Wan-pyeong’s useless self-recrimination.

“Yes. You’re right. What we need now are solutions, not self-pity.”

Ho Wan-pyeong’s face paled every time he spoke, as if a sharp pain shot through his chest, but he maintained a firm demeanor. Cho Gyo-yeon turned to look at her eldest martial brother.

“So what’s the plan, First Brother?”

“We must follow Master.”

The first to object to Ho Wan-pyeong’s resolute opinion was Po Yeong-ui.

“And how do you propose we follow him? Have you forgotten that our forces cannot cross the Qinghai border?” he said coldly. He too was worried about their master's safety, but as the one in charge of strategy, he had to point out the objective problems.

“In a situation where the Qilin Plaque is missing, if our forces cross into Qinghai, the Orthodox Faction will consider the Longzhong Pact broken. It will tarnish the reputation of our master, who swore to uphold the pact as long as he lives, and it could even trigger a great war between the Demonic and Orthodox Factions.

"If we do something so foolish, the only one who benefits is Gwak Hyo, who is hiding in the shadows. Isn't that exactly what he planned for?”

It was a logical and well-reasoned rebuttal. Ho Wan-pyeong nodded with a serious expression.

“I know that as well. And I know we cannot act rashly in a situation where we don't know what kind of traps Gwak Hyo has laid for us. What I mean is not to follow him with our forces, but as individuals.”

Ho Wan-pyeong proposed this in a firm tone. But no one who heard him agreed.

“If you’re going to say something as idiotic as going after him alone, First Brother, I will break another one of your ribs.”

Cho Gyo-yeon was as serious as Ho Wan-pyeong. She spoke in a cold tone, glaring at him.

“I know you lose your head when it comes to Master, but you can’t be like this in a situation like this. With Master gone, aren't you the one who should be leading us? You’ve been named the new leader, even if it’s temporary. How can you be so selfish?”

The word 'leader' in her tone felt particularly sharp.

Ho Wan-pyeong gave a bitter smile at her words.

“I’m not saying I will go myself. If I, the one in charge, were to leave, the entire Cult would be shaken. Even I am not foolish enough to do that. Besides, if I were to follow him again, Master would surely kill me.”

For once, Ho Wan-pyeong seemed to have a proper grasp of the situation. In that case, there was nothing more to say. His martial siblings, who had been quick to judge based on his usual behavior, fell silent. Cho Gyo-yeon closed her mouth, and Po Yeong-ui stroked his chin thoughtfully. Ho Wan-pyeong, his lips pale and dry, seemed to find it difficult to hold his head up any longer and rested it back on the pillow.

“Yeong-ui, deploy the secret birds and have them monitor the area around the Jade Qilin. Master will undoubtedly go there.”

Ho Wan-pyeong first gave Po Yeong-ui the most basic order. Po Yeong-ui bowed his head silently, indicating his compliance.

“You think he’ll meet the Jade Qilin in person? Master has never met him before, has he?” Cho Gyo-yeon murmured, surprised. She had a rough idea of the relationship between the Jade Qilin and Cheonma.

Ho Wan-pyeong smiled weakly and answered, “It seems Gwak Hyo, **cough**, is targeting the Jade Qilin directly, so he has no choice. Master must have realized that, so he will inevitably move in that direction.”

“But that will make it harder to find Master. If he’s going to the Jade Qilin, he won’t be using his true form, will he? And he doesn't look his age; he looks almost the same as the Jade Qilin now. Anyone would think they were related by blood.”

She knew well that anyone who knew both their faces would suspect they were related. It was through that very experience that she had come to guess their relationship.

“If anything, people would probably suspect Master is the Jade Qilin’s *son*. Master looks like he’s in his twenties, but the Jade Qilin is already in his forties.”

As if he had taken a bad hit from Cheonma, Ho Wan-pyeong made an uncharacteristically dark joke. Cho Gyo-yeon, momentarily taken aback by his inappropriate humor, looked at him with concern.

“Are you okay?”

At her words, Ho Wan-pyeong gave a bitter smile. Okay? If she knew the emotions he was feeling right now, she wouldn't have asked so casually.

`He’s finally gone to meet the Jade Qilin. His own flesh and blood, the Jade Qilin…`

Just repeating that fact made his heart pound deep in his chest. Ho Wan-pyeong pictured the Jade Qilin’s face in his mind.

The man, whose face was so strikingly similar to Cheonma’s that he had been startled when he first saw him, was the very thing Ho Wan-pyeong had wanted to be more than anything else in the world, something he was born with.

He was Cheonma’s son.

It was purely speculation, but Ho Wan-pyeong was almost certain of it. The story of the Qilin Plaque, the matter with Lady Baek—it all pointed to it. Cheonma would never have made such a disadvantageous agreement as the Longzhong Pact if not for his own son, and he would never have left the Qilin Plaque in their hands if he weren't his blood.

Lady Baek had given birth as a virgin. She claimed the Jade Qilin was the son of the Sword Hero who had died at Mount Longzhong, but it was absurd to say the Sword Hero's son looked like Cheonma. She also claimed to have secretly married the Sword Hero, but there were no witnesses.

Ho Wan-pyeong dismissed all of Zhuge Hui-ryeon's claims about the Sword Hero as lies. She had given birth to a child whose father she couldn't reveal, so she had used a dead man as a shield.

Baek Woo-gyeong’s real father was Cheonma.

That was why Ho Wan-pyeong had always been jealous of Baek Woo-gyeong. Though they were a father and son who had never met, they were connected by something deeper than outward appearances. Baek Woo-gyeong, despite not being raised by Cheonma, looked exactly like him, and possessed his talent and genius. He was a perfect copy of Cheonma, in a way that Ho Wan-pyeong, who had spent his entire life trying to be like him, could never achieve.

So Ho Wan-pyeong did not want Cheonma and the Jade Qilin to meet. For Cheonma to meet his own son, a man who possessed by birthright all the things Ho Wan-pyeong had struggled for, meant that he would no longer be needed. For Ho Wan-pyeong, who had dedicated his entire life to Cheonma, there was nothing more terrifying.

Thinking of the Jade Qilin left a bitter taste in his mouth again. But Ho Wan-pyeong forced himself to pull himself together.

His secret jealousy toward Baek Woo-gyeong was an emotion that had tormented him his entire life, but he couldn't show it in a situation like this. What kind of situation was this? If things went wrong, even Cheonma’s life could be in danger. Now was the time to forget his own baseness, at least for a while, and do everything he could.

“Master may be the greatest under heaven, but one hand cannot fight ten. Gwak Hyo... I’m sorry, Jin-mu. Please understand.”

Ho Wan-pyeong tried to shake off his mental turmoil and spoke again. Then his eyes met the hard-faced Gwak Jin-mu. Only then did he realize his mistake.

He knew his second martial brother was here, yet he had been carelessly throwing around Gwak Hyo's name. Realizing his thoughtlessness, he apologized.

But Gwak Jin-mu couldn't respond. He was too emotionally distraught to react at the moment.

“Gwak Hyo must have judged the situation the same way and lured Master out. We cannot fall for his trick. We must at least send a personal guard to be Master's hands and feet.”

The measures he was proposing were the bare minimum. But his plan was to put out the immediate fire and then sort things out gradually.

“So who are you thinking of sending, First Brother?”

“I will send the Shadow Corps.”

“Not a bad choice. They are the best when it comes to stealth.”

Considering the objective strength of the Shadow Corps, Po Yeong-ui agreed. As the Master’s secret guard, whose greatest strength was stealth, there was no one more suitable for this job.

“But how will we track Master? Who can possibly keep up with his movement technique? He’s probably long gone by now.”

Cho Gyo-yeon raised another concern. The problem was how to track Cheonma, a man who had reached the pinnacle of attainment and whose movement technique, like all his other martial arts, was at a transcendent level.

She didn't think he would leave traces like other ordinary masters. The fact that her martial brothers, who had tried to tail him out of concern during his frequent excursions, had failed every time was proof of that.

“We don’t have to worry about that. Master has left us the perfect tail.”

Surprisingly, Ho Wan-pyeong didn't seem to share Cho Gyo-yeon's concern. Despite his pained expression, he confidently asserted that they could track their master.

“A tail?”

“Yes, a tail. The only one who ever managed to follow Master all the way to Kunlun. The best tail in the entire Demonic Cult.”

With a meaningful tone, Ho Wan-pyeong's gaze shifted to Seok Munpyeong. Following his lead, Cho Gyo-yeon looked at the man she had been wondering about since the beginning.

`Why me again?`

Seok Munpyeong, who had been listening intently to the serious conversation, flinched as the topic finally turned to him.

“Cheonma himself ordered me not to follow.”

Thinking that if he got roped into this, he might be jumping into a deadly situation that even Cheonma had warned against, Seok Munpyeong tried to back out with an excuse.

“He gave the same order last time, but you disobeyed it,” Ho Wan-pyeong said, conveniently forgetting to mention that he had been the one to pressure him into it.

“But this time, he really said he couldn't guarantee my life. Not that he would harm me, but that he wouldn't be able to look out for me.”

“If you follow him, you must look out for yourself. Do you dare to think of becoming a burden to him?”

Ho Wan-pyeong’s sharp question left Munpyeong speechless.

“There is no other choice but you. This isn't like before, where I was just bluffing. His life is truly in danger. I’m asking you, Munpyeong. Please, track our Master.”

He should have known when Ho Wan-pyeong personally ordered him to come. He had never had a good experience following that man's summons. What glory did he think he would gain by trotting into this place?

Munpyeong truly wanted to refuse. If he could, he would have said no a hundred times over.

`Your master really told me not to come! Why do you people refuse to listen to him?!`

But as always, Munpyeong was powerless. And this time, it wasn't just Ho Wan-pyeong, but all four of the Demonic Kings pressuring him. They said things like "you're the only one," but their attitude was nothing short of unilateral coercion.

`That Old Man Man, why did he have to teach me this damn skill! He should have just taught me martial arts. Why did he have to teach me something that only brings me so much trouble?!`

As always, Munpyeong cursed Old Man Man in his mind, but in the end, he could only nod his head helplessly.

It was the beginning of the Shadowless Pursuit, a chase not just to Kunlun, but across the entire Jianghu.