When Geom Mugeuk returned to Aneka, preparations for departure were in full swing. Our luggage was already loaded, and Hwi was inspecting the horses and the carriage. Father stood in the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the sky.

Geom Mugeuk approached him.
“Father, I’ve finished handling the Geumryong Clan matter.”

As always, he reported every detail to Father. Father sometimes looked as if to ask why he was so thorough, but Geom Mugeuk spared no detail. He knew these reports had strengthened their relationship—at least now, he was accustomed to the conversation itself.

“I left the final resolution to the parties themselves.”

Fortunately, the Martial Alliance also assisted actively. Through a tripartite meeting, they agreed to root out the hidden powers together, and the Alliance willingly honored our sect’s request.

“In the end, we resolved it by asserting our sect’s authority and strength.”

Gum Woojin, who had been looking up, turned his gaze to his son.
“Our sect’s power is your power.”

Geom Mugeuk smiled with satisfaction. It was an acknowledgment of the Little Pill Master’s authority. What he felt was gratitude:
Thank you, Father, for expressing it this way.

Gum Woojin climbed into the carriage first, and Geom Mugeuk followed.

“Seomseo, stay well!”

At that signal, Hwi drove the carriage away from Aneka, heading toward the Demon Sect’s territory.

“Father and I had talked about sparring to see who’s more popular with the juniors in Seomseo, but I never got the chance. Next time, let’s have a proper match.”

Gum Woojin didn’t refuse, nor did he remark that his son would have the advantage.
‘That’s my father,’ Geom Mugeuk thought, noting the proud expression on his face. Subtle though it was, Mugeuk now recognized it: his father is a man, too.

Leaning out the window, Geom Mugeuk called to Hwi at the driver’s seat.
“Uncle, don’t forget to stop in Zhongjing on the way.”

He had promised the Heavenly River Guild Lord to select treasures from the secret storehouse.

“You said you’d let me pick thirty items there,” he added.

Gum Woojin’s voice replied instantly:
“I never made that promise.”

“Right? Thirty was too many. I’ll pick exactly ten.”

“ … ”

“Actually, ten is still too many. Heavens, you’re the very embodiment of greed! Fine—just eight. It’s fated, after all, since our sect’s Eight Demonic Masters number eight.”

“ … ”

“Agreed? What does the number of masters have to do with gifts? Five, then. No, Father—three items, please! I beg you!”

Hwi, overhearing their banter, smiled to himself. He wondered if he’d ever smiled so much. This journey had been precious—not only a trip for our sect’s leader and Little Pill Master but also a journey made for him. The Guild Lord had allowed them to visit his homeland. The Little Pill Master had let him divide a fortune into thirds and had even granted him a chance to slay the Death King. The leader himself had given him the Golden Spear Pill. And always, in place of stealth, the three had walked together. Hwi was certain no other bodyguard in Demon Sect history had enjoyed such an experience.

‘Thank you, both of you,’ he thought.

A short while later, Geom Mugeuk, having failed to secure even three treasures, pouted and leaned out the carriage window, wind ruffling his hair.
“You’re too harsh! How can you be so cold?”

Hwi glanced back. Despite his complaint, Mugeuk’s face was bright with a pleased smile. In truth, he felt regret: when would he again ride with his father like this? Soon, they would return home, and such outings would be rare. Time flew so quickly—though they were just departing, it would feel like arriving in an instant.

“Uncle, let’s go slowly home. Even slower than coming here. If we see highwaymen on the road, stop the carriage. If we see thieves, stop and let them hold us hostage! Don’t pass by a thirsty traveler or a lost cat—stop for them, too! Please, let’s go slowly!”

He hoped his father felt the same reluctance, but Father remained silent. Only the fishing rod, thrust out the window, wavered lightly in the breeze.

The carriage arrived beneath Yuhwasan Mountain in Zhongjing. The Guild Lord had instructed them to seek Jung Song, an herbalist here. After inquiring his lodging, they found him waiting at his home.

“They said the key’s owner would come,” Jung Song greeted. The Guild Lord had sent word someone would arrive soon, so Jung ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) Song had stayed at home, abandoning his herb gathering to await his guests.

“I will guide you. Please come.”

Perhaps Jung Song—who had safeguarded this treasure longer than anyone—eagerly awaited the moment of handing it over. It would be the instant he gained freedom from his unseen bonds.

Jung Song led the three up Yuhwasan. At the summit, he looked down at the cliff.

“You must leap here. As you descend, you’ll see a protruding ledge mid-cliff. You must land precisely on that spot.”

“Go first,” Mugeuk offered.

Jung Song’s worried glance fell on the younger Mugeuk.

“Don’t worry. My father raised me by throwing his children off cliffs.”

At those words, Jung Song realized he’d guessed correctly: they shared the same nature. Then Jung Song launched himself off. Falling swiftly, he flailed arms and legs to slow his descent. Midway down, a rocky ledge jutted out. Though confident in his lightness skill, his heart raced—leaping from a cliff to land on a narrow shelf was perilous, requiring both mastery and courage, especially with the strong wind today.

Jung Song landed safely on the ledge. Mugeuk looked up, anxious—then, in a flash, Mugeuk fell beside him, landing as lightly as a feather, without flailing or bracing himself.

“Why such surprise?” Mugeuk asked. “I learned from the best.”

Jung Song’s jaw dropped.

From the other side, Hwi had silently appeared beside them—no sound, no sign. Jung Song almost thought Hwi had descended with him. And then Gum Woojin appeared, standing in midair before the ledge, clothes fluttering as if suspended. He looked as composed as if on solid ground.

Witnessing their display of skill, Jung Song spoke words he’d intended never to say:
“You three are no ordinary warriors. To meet one such master in a lifetime is rare—three at once is beyond belief.”

Mugeuk thanked him:
“Thank you for waiting.”

“You needn’t thank me. I did this out of friendship with the Guild Lord—and the pay wasn’t bad, either,” Jung Song replied.

“But I know how hard it is for a warrior to remain bound to one place. You endured much.”

Watching this, Hwi realized at last the sincerity behind Mugeuk’s thanks—this man truly cared, and this conviction propelled him forward as the Demon Sect’s Little Pill Master.

Hwi glanced at Gum Woojin.
‘I see now how arduous the leader’s battles have been.’

Jung Song plucked a small stone from the ledge, revealing a hidden keyhole.

“Insert the key and turn.”

No one would suspect this ordinary cliff to conceal a door—nor that a simple hole was a keyhole. Mugeuk watched as Jung Song leapt away, free once more, his body drifting like the wind.

Gum Woojin walked across the air to where Jung Song had stood and produced the Everlasting Iron key he’d received from Yongja Myung. He handed it to Hwi. Hwi inserted it and turned it.

With a soft grinding, a hidden door in the cliff opened.

“I will wait inside,” Jung Song’s voice drifted from above.

Mugeuk chided gently, “Weren’t we coming together?”

Gum Woojin nodded.
“Let us enter as one.”

The three stepped into the cavern. No traps or defenses barred the entrance—its secrecy relied entirely on Jung Song’s trustworthiness. If he chose betrayal, he could demolish the wall and seize the treasures.

Mugeuk understood: the guild’s wealth owed everything to the Guild Lord’s ability to find reliable custodians—and once he entrusted them, he truly trusted them.

Lantern crystals embedded in the walls lit the interior, and a gentle breeze kept the air fresh. The first thing to catch their eyes was the grand mirror at the center, large enough to reflect their entire bodies. On either side, treasures were displayed.

On the left wall hung garments—no ordinary martial robes.

“Father, isn’t that the Black Dragon Flying Armor?” Mugeuk asked.

The robe embroidered with a black dragon was famed across the martial world. Beside it were other legendary armors.

“That’s the Flying Tiger Iron Armor, and that one is the Vajra Divine Armor.”

From easily recognized relics to older treasures known only to connoisseurs, the room overflowed with armors hung like everyday clothes.

Nearby lay an array of treasured swords, each blade gleaming as if proud to be admired.

“The Supreme Taiji Sword, the Lotus Sword, and that must be the Bloodwind Radiant Sword,” Mugeuk murmured.

Not only swords but prized daggers, spears, even hidden blades filled the space. Manuals of secret techniques—a rarity matching the quality of the weapons—lined the shelves alongside elixirs like the Venom-Purging Wine and lantern crystals. The value was beyond reckoning, amassed over generations by Yongja Myung.

“Our Guild Lord truly found a worthy steward,” Mugeuk said.

They beheld what the greatest martial arts patron had prepared for his gratitude. It was the pride of the martial world’s wealthiest patron.

“Father, look—this white dragon armor is said to be a favorite of orthodox martial artists.”

But when Geom Mugeuk turned, he startled to see his father already clad in armor, standing before the mirror. The black robe suited him perfectly.

“You picked that?” Mugeuk asked.

“My Heart-Stirring Armor. I’ve longed to wear it but never found one.”

Though he’d said he wouldn’t indulge in treasures, his deep knowledge of armaments shone through. His hand reached out, drawing a pair of wrist guards through the air.

“These are the Immaculate Guards,” he said, securing them on his wrists—legendarily impervious to any blade.

He then summoned a dagger.
“The Everlasting Heart Dagger,” he announced, sheathing it in the guards perfectly designed to hold it.

Geom Mugeuk joked, “Now I understand why I become greedy at the sight of treasures—you’re the original embodiment of greed, and your blood flows in me!”

A mocking smile curved Gum Woojin’s lips. In that rare, amused expression, Geom Mugeuk felt warmth. Yes—that was his father. Though he admired the image of him gazing at the sky, his true essence lay here: drawn to artifacts, eager to don armors, test weapons, challenge the strong, and win.

This moment was precious because Father revealed himself without reserve. Standing before the mirror, outfitting himself in these relics, he said suddenly,
“Why aren’t you two choosing anything?”

Geom Mugeuk’s eyes lit up with delight.
“May we choose treasures too?”

In the mirror’s reflection, Gum Woojin nodded.
“Both of you—select your gear. Don’t think of others. Choose for yourselves alone.”