Having spoken, Hwi drew his sword in a single motion.

Salwang sprayed blood and collapsed backward. Even before his body hit the ground, he had already died standing.

For now he was merely the head of Myungbu, but in the future he was destined to become King of Assassins and occupy the First Seat of the Twelve Zodiac Kings. This was the moment Salwang perished.

Hwi left neither regret nor residue in Salwang’s death, nor in the battle for which he had staked his life.

Chwaa-aak.

He shook the blood from his blade, then returned it to its scabbard.

As if dismissing the shared violence of the fight, Hwi paid no heed to Salwang’s corpse.

He had ended a killing contest and returned once more to the role of protector.

Geom Mugeuk approached Hwi, bowed respectfully, and spoke no more. At this moment, such words were all a guardian needed.

“Thank you for protecting me.”

Hwi regarded Geom Mugeuk silently for a moment. It was he who should be offering thanks.

Had the Little Pill Master not unleashed the Nine Flames Martial Arts when Salwang and his assassins charged, Hwi would have died then.

And it was not only that art: throughout the entire fight, Geom Mugeuk had fought with the resolve to guard him. Hwi’s best skill surfaced when his heart was set on protecting someone.

Myeongshin watched the two.

The loquacious Geom Mugeuk and the ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) taciturn Hwi.

They were so different, yet Myeongshin felt a sudden sense of similarity between them.

Why?

In that moment, Myeongshin recalled Geom Mugeuk standing before him after slaying the assassins.

He realized that lone, solemn aura resembled that of the man named Hwi.

Myeongshin voiced his impression.

“Somehow, you two seem alike.”

At Myeongshin’s words, Geom Mugeuk grinned and teased.

“There are many things I share with sir. Handsome, dashing, taciturn.”

Hwi offered a faint smile, and Myeongshin looked incredulous at the “taciturn” remark.

In that pleasant moment, the three exchanged glances.

Hwi’s gaze toward Myeongshin had softened from before the fight. He still disliked assassins, but at least today they had been comrades who risked their lives together.

Geom Mugeuk checked on Hwi’s condition.

“Are you all right? Any injuries?”

Knowing Hwi had avoided serious harm, but his body was smeared with blood.

“I’m fine. Fortunately it’s only superficial cuts.”

Hwi opened his chest’s garment flap.

“Thanks to what you gave me, Little Pill Master, I could fight more aggressively.”

Not that a mere pill had won him the duel, but Hwi credited Geom Mugeuk nonetheless.

Such was Hwi’s nature: to deflect praise and quietly protect another.

And it was that very life that had slain Salwang today.

“You were splendid today, sir.”

Hwi offered a faint smile. Geom Mugeuk wanted to lavish praise on him, but Hwi seemed embarrassed by the attention.

So Hwi hastily changed the subject.

“I’ll leave the cleanup here to this Branch.”

“Please do.”

Now Myeongshin addressed Geom Mugeuk.

“And what of me?”

“Why ask me that?”

Of course, it was up to Myeongshin: if he was to serve him, he would; if to die, he would.

Admittedly, that was because Myeongshin did not yet truly know Geom Mugeuk.

“Now you must live your life as you see fit.”

After a pause, Myeongshin ventured carefully.

“Is it truly all right for me to leave like this?”

Geom Mugeuk nodded. Myeongshin could feel that Geom Mugeuk sincerely intended to grant him freedom.

Unconsciously, he muttered to himself:

“What shall I do with my life now?”

Not to Geom Mugeuk, but to himself.

Geom Mugeuk regarded such blankness as pleasure.

“Isn’t this the best time? When nothing is decided yet. Choosing things is a delight, making plans is a delight. So savor this moment.”

You truly are something.

How many times Myeongshin had thought that of Geom Mugeuk.

Myeongshin confessed his honest thoughts.

“You once said it would be good if somewhere in this world, a young child who’d lost his parents unjustly could offer a single coin as payment to an assassin who would slay evildoers. Yet you misjudged me. I am not such a magnanimous man who takes contracts for a coin. I set principles when I undertook this mission, but even so, I was greedy for money.”

Geom Mugeuk looked at him with clear, deep eyes.

“But your future self lived that life. Though I cannot guarantee you will again in this life.”

That was before regression; in this life he was another man. In this life, they would surely live different lives.

“Decide how you will live in due course.”

“I’ve already decided.”

Geom Mugeuk asked in surprise.

“Can one really decide so important a thing so lightly?”

“That is why. If something is too important, you won’t find the answer by overthinking. After plodding thought you’ll only make a poor move. Often the first thought that comes is the correct one.”

Myeongshin realized: having lived an assassin’s life his whole days, how else could he live? Opening an inn to idle away? He’d be torn up by troublesome customers.

“I think I’ll run a small smithy.”

He loved making weapons and devices.

“That suits you.”

Geom Mugeuk pictured him at a tiny forge. Destiny would not let him be left alone after all he’d endured. Perhaps that child unjustly avenged for a coin would be served by the smithy he ran.

“Should you one day strike iron and feel this is not it, seek out Master Gwak of the sect’s smithy. Say I sent you and he will see you. He may give you the answer—be it weariness of your craft or weariness of life.”

Though he spoke thus, Myeongshin sensed it was truly for him. He did not vow never to forget the kindness—such gratitude was answered in deeds.

“Sometimes I’ll send you good wares I make.”

“We are never ones to refuse gifts. I will accept with gratitude.”

They smiled at one another.

Myeongshin bowed politely, offering a formal farewell. His last greeting was most respectful.

“I believe the Little Pill Master will become a Demon Sect worth no second in the martial world. Please realize your great undertaking.”

At this heartfelt send-off, Geom Mugeuk also bowed respectfully. Bound to an organization his whole life, it was fitting.

“Please live freely.”

Myeongshin nodded and then also respectfully greeted Hwi.

“I have learned that a life of protection, rather than killing, is far more difficult and more valuable.”

Hwi too offered a formal bow and saw him off.

“May you live well, wherever you go.”

Thus Myeongshin departed.

Geom Mugeuk watched until his figure vanished entirely.

“It is pleasing even to watch someone begin a new life.”

From Geom Mugeuk’s eyes, Hwi sensed a certain yearning. Perhaps even the Little Pill Master desired that free life more than any.

Geom Mugeuk turned to Hwi. The ambition that had filled his eyes had vanished.

“Sir, shall we return as well?”

Shoulder to shoulder, Geom Mugeuk and Hwi departed.

Father was in the inner quarters of the Demon Sect compound, crafting something.

He was so engrossed that he had his back turned and could not be greeted.

“Could it be? Are you creating a weapon to conquer the martial world?”

It had that atmosphere.

Father looked toward us. Seeing what he held, I laughed heartily.

“No, not the world—just fish.”

He was making fishing rods.

On the journey to Shanseo, I had beaten Father twice in fishing duels.

I had challenged him again on our return, and Father was already preparing to leave. He plainly believed we would return safely.

“We have returned, Father.”

“We have completed our mission, Sect Leader.”

When we greeted formally, Father attended to Hwi before his own son.

“You are hurt.”

Before coming here, Hwi had changed his bloodstained robe, but Father noticed at a glance.

“Only minor grazes.”

I could not ignore Father’s worried gaze upon Hwi.

I raised my hand toward Father.

“And I am your son! I may have invisible wounds!”

Father pretended not to hear, stood, and walked to one wall.

He retrieved something from the hung pouch. Usually he drew items from the void, so what was so important he fetched it himself?

From the pouch, Father produced a small, pure-white vial and handed it to Hwi.

“Apply this.”

It was the Demon Sect’s exclusive Golden Wound Elixir, incomparable to ordinary versions.

“I cannot dare apply the Sect Leader’s medicine.”

“Apply it.”

At Father’s firm command, Hwi could refuse no more.

“Thank you.”

Father’s gaze upon the bowing Hwi was deep. By how badly Hwi was wounded, Father knew how fierce the fight must have been.

“Son! I have a wound too!”

Father gave a wry laugh and extended his hand.

The pouch opened of its own accord, and another bottle flew out to me.

“This is the most uncaring void-item I have seen.”

Yet it was the same Golden Wound Elixir I possessed.

“Outrageous! This is my own supply of the Golden Wound Elixir!”

Father had given Hwi the finest grade; I received the inferior tier.

Hwi, meeting my bewildered gaze, bowed apologetically.

“If you don’t want it, fine.”

When Father held out his hand again, I swiftly pocketed it.

“But it was your first gift of elixir. I will apply it diligently and often.”

Father rose from his seat.

“Since you allowed him to be wounded, you must be punished. Follow me.”

If Hwi was to bear the cost, then I must ensure his safety, for I had broken my promise.

“Father, you misunderstand! I overexerted myself to ensure sir would not be injured! Though perhaps I overdid it myself in the process, Father!”

Father led me to an empty clearing near the inner quarters.

Drawing his sword, he said:

“From now on, do not create opportunities to apply elixir.”

I understood: Father would teach me a lesson through martial sparring. Not a punishment but a reward—both had returned safely, and this was his way of expressing joy.

“Thank you, Father.”

I stood some ten paces away from Father.

That day’s sparring was unlike any other.

Father displayed no invocation, yet the space was charged with an aura.

It was the presence of the Demon Sword.

He seemed to want me to feel only the sword’s qi.

“If so?”

I likewise dispelled every invocation. With not a shred of internal energy, barely existing, I slowly drew the Black Demon Sword.

I felt the sword’s demonic qi.

I felt the Black Demon Sword’s qi.

It had been ages since I focused solely to sense its presence.

‘How neglectful I have been.’

Studying the Nine Flames Art, practicing Sky-Cleaving Technique, increasing internal energy.

In focusing on other things, I had neglected the Black Demon Sword.

I recalled the first time I met Ian after my regression.

I had made similar reflections.

I took her presence for granted, like air—never appreciating its value.

Likewise, I had faced foes with this sword, yet instead of gratitude, I had taken it for granted.

“I have been so foolish. Thank you for teaching me, Father.”

A faint smile curved Father’s lips—one of satisfaction.

Father constantly provided me with instruction and stimulus.

And today’s lesson was not yet done.

“Demonstrate the Nine Flames Martial Arts.”

Before Father, I unfurled the art. I did not hide my progress but unleashed my best.

Father needed to perceive my exact skill. I hoped it would once again spur him onward.

‘Father, how does my Nine Flames Art differ from yours now?’

After observing, Father lectured once more on the art’s hand seals.

Though it was the same art and I had heard the lecture many times, today I perceived differences.

Because my realm had changed, and Father’s realm had changed. Though words were identical, their import differed. Truly, every exchange with Father felt like my skill grew.

Thus, asking and answering, contemplating and demonstrating—by the time our session ended, night had deepened.

We gazed at the full moon riding high with Father for a moment.

Then unexpectedly, Father asked:

“What troubles your heart?”

It was the first question he had ever asked me. Observing my changes since regression, he had perceived the deep anxiety within.

“You gave birth to the perfect son, yet there is one anxiety.”

“What anxiety?”

“The anxiety that some great evil, envious of you and me, will devour us.”

Father looked puzzled.

“Did I not say that we are the only ones who can devour that evil?”

Father remembered the demonic path I had mentioned.

“You fear encountering a foe too great even for us to swallow.”

How would Father address this anxiety?

After staring at me for a moment, Father rose and drew his sword.

“In that case, you must widen both mouth and belly.”

That simple, clear answer defined the path I must walk from now on. Yes—anxiety must be filled by strength.

I opened my mouth wide and leapt to my feet.

“Yes! No matter how great, we will swallow it.”

Thus, Father and I trained through the night.

The moon that watched us sank, replaced by the morning stars, and then by dawn’s light.

When the earth was roused by that bright, reddening glow, a man’s shadow stretched long.

Throughout our training, one person had stood with his back turned, watching over us alone.