I ran with a calm mind.

At first, I couldn't catch up easily, but the longer I ran, the faster I became. It felt as if my tangled organs had been startled by the light footwork and were returning to their proper places. For nearly half a sijin, I pursued the White-Faced Lord without rest.

Even while running, I couldn't help but laugh.

My enemy’s pain is my joy. If I could make the enemy suffer more by enduring my own pain, then I could run all night laughing. And if that enemy belonged to the demonic path? I could run from the Central Plains to Tibet, skipping meals and sleep.

After a while, the White-Faced Lord glanced back and held out a hand, bending at the waist.

“Wait, wait a second.”

“Tired already?”

Catching my breath, I spoke to him.

“Sure. Rest all you want.”

Still hunched as if preparing a sneak attack, the White-Faced Lord slowly straightened with a cold expression and glared at me.

“Why? Rest a little longer.”

“Come at me.”

We were about five jang apart—around fifteen meters. I slowly grasped my wooden sword and prepared my stance.

“Shall I?”

After a brief breath, the White-Faced Lord turned tail and ran again. I kept my sword sheathed and used light footwork to chase him.

The dantian, now docile, no longer hindered me. I picked up speed until I was running side-by-side with the White-Faced Lord, casually speaking.

“You’re not running fast enough. Come on, faster, faster!”

My goal wasn’t to kill him here.

A master of this level in the demonic path was bound to be a tenacious bastard. Even in death, he might pass on false information. Beating him down was important, but breaking his spirit was just as vital.

Again, the White-Faced Lord stopped, exhaling heavily.

I crossed my arms and looked at him.

“Go ahead, rest and let’s continue after.”

Then, as if he’d finally figured out my intentions, he asked,

“So the reason for this whole farce is to find my base, is that it?”

I casually replied,

“Well, that’s one way to look at it.”

“You’re insane. If I lead you, will you just follow?”

“Sure. Sounds great. Lead the way. But don’t be stupid enough to guide me to the main cult. I already know that path.”

The White-Faced Lord nodded and said,

“Follow me. If I led you there, I’d be dead. I don’t know what gives a sect leader I’ve never even heard of such confidence. I’ll show you.”

With a blank expression, I followed him.

I needed to figure out how to counter the antidote withdrawal, and I wanted to pinpoint the exact location of this demonic force. The problem was my own temper. So far, I’d been patient—but people are unpredictable creatures.

I walked as naturally as if I’d always been part of his group and said,

“White-Face, your brain’s grinding gears way too loudly. You can’t shake me, you don’t like taking me to your base, and you’re not confident you’ll win in a fight. That about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

“What is it you want, Sect Leader?”

“What do I want? You lot are the ones who sent assassins after me. You probably thought I was a joke, told some lackey to bring a squad and handle me. And yeah, Haomun’s got its fair share of idiots, sure—but its sect leader is not to be underestimated. Today, I’ll make that crystal clear.”

“And that justifies this absurd behavior?”

“If I killed you here, no one would understand how scary I am. That wouldn’t be the proper way to send a message.”

Suddenly, the White-Faced Lord stopped and looked at me, letting out a long sigh. His energy had shifted. I locked eyes with him.

“What’s wrong? Changed your mind?”

Then, without warning, the White-Faced Lord moved sideways. His body split—identical duplicates began to appear. From one, to two, to four.

I watched him, arms crossed.

“Oh, so it’s a family of illusionists, huh?”

That didn’t mean the White-Faced Lord himself was one—most likely, the bastard who married off his daughter to the cult leader was. If he still wore his trademark white mask, this Illusory Phantom Art might’ve been more convincing. By now, the duplicates had multiplied considerably.

Clearly, he’d decided this was the best technique he had left.

I picked at my chapped lips as I watched with mild interest. With so many phantoms, pinpointing the real one would be tough.

“…You’ve forced my hand.”

As expected, his voice echoed eerily from nowhere.

I said,

“White-Face, cut the crap and let’s go.”

But suddenly, the illusions all drew their swords and charged. I stood still, letting them strike me.

A user of illusion techniques would rarely reveal himself in the first attack.

Four swords pierced through me from all directions—but as I expected, they were just illusions.

I looked around.

“Too bad, huh? Didn’t think I’d stand still, did you? Dumb bastard.”

None of the fake swords made a single sound slicing through the air. Not even the rustle of clothes.

Every martial art has a flaw.

To use Illusory Phantom Art properly, one needs assassin techniques as well. Only by combining the two could someone like me be made to run around like a fool.

But he wasn’t at that level.

I let the illusions stab through me while strolling like I was taking a walk in the park.

Still, I had to admit—he picked a good battlefield.

No wind, a flat open space, and a steady stream of water nearby.

I wandered about, slapping the illusions as they attacked. Each one disintegrated like mist upon impact.

If someone lacked experience, they’d exhaust themselves swinging at illusions and get caught off guard the moment a real strike came.

Clink clink clink…

Hearing the sound of clinking beads above, I quickly drew my wooden sword. So he realized I was tracking him by sound. Tiny metal beads collided in a tight space, creating a consistent rhythm.

As I swung my sword at the oncoming illusions, I muttered,

“Put beads in the hilt? What a childish trick. Nice try.”

With exaggerated shouts—“Hoit! Haaa! Hiyah!”—I danced, slicing as if I were pruning plum blossoms.

It felt oddly enjoyable to swing a blade like this. I treated each illusion like a blooming flower.

“Not bad. Good training.”

Like Jomsoi sweeping the floor while humming tunelessly, I swung the sword in chaotic, meaningless motions.

“Still hot today, huh?”

I threw in some of the Three Disaster Sword Forms and even some bizarre movements not found in any known sect.

“Rain starts, stops, starts again—what a mess all day long.”

I danced lightly, shuffling my feet, swinging the sword while swaying my hips.

“Goddamn, this is exhausting. I eat and I’m still hungry. A beggar in my stomach. Some bastard spit on the floor—oh, it was phlegm. Son of a bitch…”

Lost in nonsense, I suddenly snapped out of it, chills crawling up my spine. For a second, I thought I was Jomsoi again.

“This illusion shit is dangerous. I nearly became Jomsoi.”

“….”

Eventually, the illusions faded, leaving the real White-Faced Lord standing alone at a distance, quietly staring at me.

“Haomun Lord.”

“What?”

“There’s definitely a gap between us. I’ll guide you properly now.”

I nodded.

“Good. Smart decision. Lead the way. Don’t try anything stupid. And keep in mind—I’m calm right now, so don’t push your luck. If you want to avoid joining Yeop Yahong, behave. So long as I’m sane, your life is intact. Got that?”

He nodded and turned to walk.

I instantly shortened the distance and walked beside him. Startled, he flinched and sighed.

“Shit…”

I finally sheathed my sword and spoke casually.

“White-Face, chat with me while we walk. Hey, was your maternal grandfather a Phantom Demon? One of those clans that married their daughters off to the Cult Leader? That…”

Mid-sentence, I reached out at my fastest speed, grabbing his left arm and infusing it with Cold Moon Technique.

“…!”

His arm froze instantly.

He countered with his right, unleashing powerful force. I met it with Chicken Fighting Force, broke free with my left hand, and punched him in the face.

Thwack!

He tried to block, but the frozen left arm was useless.

As his energy dispersed, I grabbed him with Absorbing Star Technique, punching his face, chest, and gut in rapid succession.

Smack! Thud! Slam!

“Guh!”

While draining his energy, I glared into his bloodied eyes.

“…Did I look easy to you?”

Only now realizing he was being drained, the White-Faced Lord screamed.

“AAAAAAGHHHH!”

I clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Shut it. Almost done. Hold still.”

I lifted him by the collar and slammed him into the ground. Blood burst from his mouth. I dodged it with a quick tilt of my head and # Nоvеlight # continued draining his energy.

“Keep it down.”

Another hand over the mouth. I had to focus—I didn’t want him to die before I was finished.

Somehow, I could see his internal energy flowing into the Heavenly Pearl inside me, like a single thin waterfall pouring into a vast lake.

Locking eyes with him, I said kindly,

“Don’t die, White-Face. If you think you’re dying, beg me to save you. That’s how you survive.”

When I released him, his voice came out pitifully.

“Save… me…”

I tilted my head and drew in a bit more.

“Just a sec. People don’t die that easy. Not yet.”

As his skin cracked like a desert, I let go. He collapsed, foaming blood from his mouth.

I placed my fingers on his neck, checking his pulse.

“Wow. Almost killed him.”

I slapped his cheek to wake him up.

“If you don’t open your eyes, I’ll send you to Yeop Yahong.”

At that, he opened them.

I squatted down and stared at him.

“What’s with that look? You not in your right mind yet? Looks like you’ve still got energy to take another beating. Fine.”

I prepped a finger flick and blew on it.

Then his voice came.

“Please… spare me.”

I flicked his forehead lightly.

“Spare you?”

“I lost. Please, spare me.”

I leaned in and whispered,

“Alright. I’ve got one question. Think very carefully before you answer. If I don’t like your answer, I’ll kill you on the spot. Got it?”

“…”

Clearing my throat, I asked,

“…How does it feel to be weak?”

His expression shifted—clearly, he expected me to ask about his base.

“How does it feel? I bet you’ve never been the underdog before. This your first time? I’m genuinely curious. Answer me. Right now, your internal energy’s basically gone. You’re crippled. Which means you couldn’t beat the weakest guy in Haomun right now. Ever imagine you’d end up like this, Lord White-Face?”

His complexion was ghostly pale, like he could drop dead at any second.

I grabbed his collar again and said coldly,

“Hey, you piece of shit. Who told you to pass out? Answer me. I’m more curious about this than your base.”

And then—he fainted.

“Seriously? Didn’t even answer…”

I sat right by his head and stared down at him.

Until he wakes up.

Because when he does, that’s the first thing I’m asking again.

Every now and then, I gave him a little shake.

“Hey. How does it feel to be weak?”

Still no answer.