Geukak Soma was once again sitting alone in a white room, staring at the wall.

After learning that the white walls helped his martial arts training, I no longer worried that he might lose his mind.

The first thing I said upon entering his room was,

“Soma, let’s go fight.”

The eyes of Soma behind the mask lit up with a broad smile. This was Geukak Soma who had even used the Immortal Fire to help me and met with my father.

“Very well.”

Geukak Soma answered gladly. Even knowing the opponent was Yaryul Han, he showed no fear. He was simply glad to fight alongside me.

“We will take care not only of Yaryul Han but also of his four subordinates.”

The eyes of Geukak Soma behind the mask smiled. The stronger the enemy, the more he rejoiced. But he was not arrogant nor careless in assessing the opponent.

“Yaryul Han is a strong man. This fight may be tougher than any we have faced before.”

Geukak Soma was by no means careless. He knew better than anyone the danger of this mission. That’s why I was even more grateful. Knowing the stakes, he still volunteered.

“The problem is that we must eliminate them without leaving any evidence.”

“You are smart, so you’ll find a way.”

“Soma, you must help.”

“I will take care of the killing.”

Though the words were easy, I felt the depth in Geukak Soma’s eyes. He was a man who forced deep thought. In a calm tone, he said to me,

“There are times during battle when I forget who I am. That is the most dangerous moment. But I have seen you, disciple, and you know yourself better than anyone. So I am not worried.”

“I’m not worried because you’re here, Soma.”

We looked at each other and smiled. We treated each other kindly and appreciated each other’s goodwill.

I wanted to joke, to lighten the mood.

But I held back. Mistakes come out at times like this. The closer you are, the more careful you must be—and often, the closer you are, the harder it is to protect. So I treated him with deeper respect than before.

“By the way, another Ma Jon will join this mission.”

“Who?”

“By my father’s order, the Poison King will accompany us.”

At the mention of the Poison King, Geukak Soma showed a slightly awkward look.

“I don’t have a personal friendship with him.”

Who would? That applied to both the Poison King and Geukak Soma.

“During the process of preparing for this, I came to know the Poison King a bit. I think he’s a decent person.”

Geukak Soma still seemed uneasy. He liked me, but his relationships with other Ma Jons were a separate matter.

Geukak Soma walked to the opposite wall and stood at a line he had drawn.

“The Poison King will be somewhere around here.”

He pointed to the start of the line.

“Well, at least he’s on the line.”

I smiled at that ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) and Geukak Soma laughed. It was a done deal, and he accepted the situation.

“I hope the Poison King’s poison doesn’t accidentally kill us.”

I also found it hard to picture the two together. Ma Jon combinations are rarely easy to coordinate. Which two fit best?

“When can we depart?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Then let’s leave tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

As I turned to leave, I said to Geukak Soma,

“This is thanks to you, Soma. Thank you again.”

“If we don’t come back alive, it’ll be ‘responsibility,’ not ‘thanks.’ Save the thanks for after the mission.”

With those words, Soma looked back at the wall.

I stared at the white wall with him for a moment, then said goodbye and left the room.

As I walked out of Evil Song Sect, the gazes of the faceless warriors I passed were friendlier than before. Some even bowed, saying how well I’d done earlier. After barking at the Great Training Ground, my popularity had risen. They just liked strange things more.

After leaving Evil Song Sect, I headed straight to Cheondokrim.

The Poison King was busy packing. I came to inform him of the departure tomorrow morning, but he seemed to have expected it and was busily gathering things.

“How did you know we’re leaving tomorrow morning?”

“It’s a chance won through all that commotion, so naturally we leave immediately.”

“You’re smart as always.”

“If I were smart, I wouldn’t be in this crisis.”

For him, the crisis was not facing Yaryul Han, but leaving Cheondokrim.

The Poison King packed poison in a bag he could carry on his shoulder—some in pockets, some in containers, some in bottles. He took a large variety of poisons.

“Do you really need to bring so much poison?”

The poison he carried on his body alone could likely kill countless warriors. Yet he packed even more reserves.

“I know what might happen.”

Regardless of how much he hated leaving, he was thorough in preparation. That was his character. Without such thoroughness, he couldn’t make so many poisons and antidotes.

The Poison King wore a thin robe to hide the poison pouches at his waist. Inside the robe were several more pockets, all filled with poison.

“I’ll carry one weapon pouch. If you help me, I’ll carry it too.”

“Is there anything about destroying the Satanic Alliance? Forget it.”

“I’m already determined enough for that.”

Pretending not to hear, he packed something else—a leather belt with about twenty poison-coated throwing knives.

“Throwing knives too?”

“I throw better than you.”

I was surprised to hear the Poison King used throwing knives, though I doubted it was true.

He also packed a fan.

It was the Muganseon (Endless Fan), the Poison King’s poison weapon he mainly used in close combat. Spraying poison to kill everyone is easy. Killing exactly one person in a room full of dozens with poison is hard.

We would have to be careful when he waved the Muganseon, as the hellish wind could blow unpredictably.

Later, the next Poison King would evaluate his master—the current Poison King—as the greatest poison master in three hundred years.

“I’ll say this in advance—I won’t kill Yaryul Han. I’m just going along to watch!”

“Then why bring so much poison if you’re only watching?”

“To watch with peace of mind.”

That was his personality—thorough and anxious.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

“I don’t know. We’ll try to finish as fast as possible, but we don’t know what the situation will be when we arrive.”

“Let’s finish quickly and return. Got it?”

“It’ll be faster if you help.”

“At least I’ll deal with that Jin Dokgosa bastard.”

The Poison King seemed annoyed about this matter.

“If you sell poison, at least make it properly. That’s why people curse us. That’s why the sect leader hates me.”

“But if you leave traces of your poison skills—”

“Why leave a corpse to show off?”

He meant to dissolve even the corpse without a trace.

If the Poison King handled Jin Dokgosa, I wouldn’t have to reveal I was Untouchable by Poison.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Leaving the busy Poison King gathering forgotten poisons behind, I exited Cheondokrim.

As I left, the attendant said,

“Please take good care of the Poison King.”

I knew how much the attendant cared about and worried for the Poison King. Since it was his first time leaving the sect in a while, he was especially concerned.

“It feels like I should be the one asking the Poison King a favor. Yes, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Today is your last guided walk. Next time, you’ll come alone.”

He usually led me through confusing or longer paths, but today he took me on the easiest and best route.

After leaving Cheondok Gate, I stopped by the medical room.

Finally, I was able to say to the medic,

“I’m leaving tomorrow to kill Yaryul Han.”

The shocked medic stood blankly, then staggered. I emitted my internal energy to support him. I seated him and brought water.

The medic asked in a trembling voice,

“How did you know it was him?”

Though I had asked for the death of one person, I had not yet named him.

I said nothing. Soon, the medic exclaimed, “Ah!” He assumed my father must have told me, since I had asked him before but was refused.

“Did the sect leader permit it?”

“Yes. Six Ma Jons helped me with this. The visit to the Poison King was also to get permission.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I wanted to speak only after receiving permission.”

Passion surged on the medic’s face.

“I’ve lived only for this day.”

He had lost his family in front of him, survived alone in pain, lived his life treating patients while punishing himself with dreams of revenge. He probably never slept well. Even delicious food tasted like nothing.

I have never had children, but if I saw my child murdered before me, I couldn’t imagine how deep and vast the grief and hatred would be.

“I could tell you after I kill him, but I’m telling you now because this mission means so much to you. I want you to participate from the start.”

The medic would tremble, be nervous, and worry until I returned. He would not sleep. Still, I thought informing him was for his sake.

The medic recalled the day he most wanted to forget but could never.

“When I was young, treating a critical patient, Yaryul Han stormed in. He ordered me to treat the man he brought. I refused, saying the patient I was treating would die if interrupted. Even with a knife to my throat, I kept my medical principles. And that day, I saved both patients—the one I was treating and the one Yaryul Han brought.”

“But why?”

“He said he never spared anyone who disobeyed him. That was his principle, which he would always keep. Since I saved his subordinate, he promised to spare my life. But…”

Tears fell from the medic’s eyes.

“I regret it. I should have done as he said. I regret it dozens, hundreds of times a day. If I could return to that day… I’d follow his orders, even if the patient I was treating died.”

I said nothing. I knew no words could comfort him.

He took me to his private room in the medical chamber. It was so small and shabby I could hardly believe it was the medic’s room. Just a hard bed, a small desk, and a chair. The few books on the desk and a worn lantern seemed to tell his life story.

There was a secret door in that room. Opening a small hidden door in the wall, we entered.

Inside was a faithful reconstruction of the medic’s former home.

Where his wife cooked, where his son played, where the three of them slept.

He was still there, never having left that place even for a moment.

“My young son always wanted to play with me. But I was always busy—saving patients, buying herbs. I kept postponing, postponing. Yet that boy never hated me. He once said, ‘When you’re not busy, you’ll play with me, right? For us, right?’ I still can’t forget the look in his eyes. At those times, my wife told me not to overdo it, to take care of my health. I’m just a doctor who couldn’t save my own wife and child!”

At last, tears streamed freely down the medic’s face. Though he tried to hold them back, the more he tried, the more they flowed. I had never seen the medic cry before.

I approached and embraced him, gently patting his thin back. He squeezed his eyes shut and wept silently. I was not comforting the disciple; I was holding the elder, the man who had lived through that hard and lonely life before regression. “Medic, stop suffering now. I will take care of it.”

After a moment, the medic calmed down.

Our eyes met in midair. He looked relieved—his pain, long bottled up alone, was finally easing.

“…I’m sorry for making you take this dangerous mission for my revenge.”

I spoke firmly.

“I will kill him and return.”

This would be the last time I saw his tear-streaked face.

“He probably forgot I exist.”

That thought would anger him even more.

“I will make sure he remembers.”

I’m usually indifferent to the meaning of an evil man’s death, but this time was an exception.

“So I will whisper into the dying man’s ear: This death is the medic’s answer to your miserable principle.”