I suddenly remembered that whenever my internal energy merged with the Heavenly Pearl, it often made me drowsy. And since the White-Faced Lord was still unconscious, I simply sat down cross-legged and closed my eyes.

After beating the hell out of someone, tearing into them, and making a mess of everything, falling asleep like this was kind of ridiculous—but when you're sleepy, you sleep. Can't help it. This is exactly why I don’t use the Heavenly Pearl Absorption Technique too often.

With my head tilted to the side, dozing somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, I started to dream. A peaceful dream, where I was sound asleep in the most comfortable place imaginable.

A dream about having a good sleep—what a pitiful kind of dream.

Maybe this is what Zhuangzi meant when he wondered whether he dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreamt it was him.

Fearing I might actually fall into deep sleep, I tilted my head back and squinted up at the sky.

“……”

Staring at the indifferent sky and the drifting clouds made my eyes dry and scratchy, as if filled with dust.

I started murmuring like I was reciting scripture, eyes fixed on the heavens.

“Yi Zaha who cannot sleep becomes the Crazy Demon. Yi Zaha who forgets to sleep becomes the Crazy Demon. Yi Zaha who sleeps well is not the Crazy Demon.”

Letting out a long, lazy yawn, I tried to calm my restless heart.

Killing isn’t always the solution.

To take down more of the demonic path in the long run, I needed information—that was how I convinced myself.

At some point, I noticed the White-Faced Lord’s breathing shift ever so slightly. He was still pretending to be unconscious, but I caught it. So I said,

“Caught you. Open your eyes.”

And as soon as I spoke, the White-Faced Lord quietly opened them. He, too, let out a long sigh.

There we sat: one who had lost his internal energy, and one who had lost his sleep—staring each other down.

The White-Faced Lord spoke in a calm tone.

“Haomun Lord.”

“What?”

“Just because I lost my energy and lost one fight—does that make me weak? I honestly have no idea what being weak feels like, so stop asking me. I don’t know. I just don’t. Can’t you ask something else?”

Thinking it over, I figured he might actually have a point.

“So you really don’t know what weakness feels like?”

“I don’t. I was taught that defeat equals death. Do I really need to understand what being weak feels like, too?”

“What the hell… Did you take something? Or achieve enlightenment while passed out? Why are you so calm?”

I pulled open his eyelids, checked his pupils, grabbed his jaw, looked at his tongue.

No signs of drug use.

“Alright, junkie. I won’t kill you for now. If you don’t understand what being weak feels like, I’ll just have to show you. Weakness isn’t anything special. If you’re cold and hungry, you’re weak. If you get beaten to death, you’re pathetically weak.”

I grabbed his collar, hoisted him up, and smacked him in the head.

“Let’s walk.”

He staggered forward, muttering curses.

“You think Haomun will remain standing after this?”

“It’s already a mess. What kind of half-assed threat is that? Do I look alright to you?”

“……”

“Anyway, your martial arts are wrecked. But if you answer a few of my questions, I might let you live.”

“What do you want to know?”

“First of all—how to counter withdrawal from the antidote.”

He answered while walking.

“There is no cure. Just stop taking it. The first thirty days will be hell, then the next twenty will feel like bugs tearing your flesh, then ten more of unbearable itching, and a few days of fever. After that, you’ll gradually recover. Of course, for those who took too much… they’ll live in eternal agony. That’s poison without an antidote.”

I walked beside him and asked,

“Why would you even make something like that?”

“To survive.”

“You threw others into agony just to survive yourselves?”

He spoke flatly.

“Lord Yi… I’ve lived my whole life afraid °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of my Clan Head. And he’s afraid of the Cult Leader. People like us, caught in the crossfire of their power struggle, get dragged into war with no choice. I was born on the battlefield. Only death ends our service—what can we do?”

“If your Clan Head knows there’s no chance against the Cult Leader, why play games like this?”

He nodded slowly.

“He believes the Cult Leader will eventually transcend humanity. Said we had to prepare, to preserve the clan. I asked how you prepare against your own in-laws. He said it’s because the Cult Leader is using forbidden demonic arts. This isn’t about winning or losing anymore. It’s about survival.”

I figured the forbidden art must be the Heavenly Pearl, but I asked anyway.

“What kind of forbidden technique?”

“I don’t know exactly. Something about using martial artists as raw material. If there aren’t enough, they’ll likely frame weaker or less obedient clans as traitors and wipe them out. That could include ours.”

Didn’t surprise me. The Cult Leader was the type to do exactly that.

I turned away from the mountains and instead entered a quiet roadside inn. We took a seat.

Looking pale, the White-Faced Lord leaned his head against the wall across from me.

When a server came to take our order, I waved her off and stared at him.

He looked outside and asked,

“Do you think you can beat the Cult Leader?”

“Not right now. But I’m stopping him from getting stronger step by step.”

“How?”

“By getting rid of bastards like you.”

“That’ll take forever. There are plenty like me.”

“I’m skipping meals, losing sleep, and still training.”

“Still sounds like it’ll take forever. When will it ever end?”

“If I can’t do it, then I hope one day my disciples will.”

“You already have disciples?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why go this far? Is it revenge?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

I stretched and replied,

“Because judging from the state of things, no one else can do this but me. I once met the Cult Leader. He treated me like a bug. It felt… exhilarating. ‘This bastard sees me as a bug? So I’m a bug, huh? Let’s see what happens.’ That was the feeling.”

The White-Faced Lord murmured,

“A true hero of the age. Did you know the Cult Leader killed all his half-brothers?”

“Not in detail.”

“Full brothers, half-brothers, hidden siblings… eight or nine in total. Those in the line of succession expected to kill or be killed, so they can’t complain. But in the end, even those who wanted nothing to do with succession were tracked down and hanged. That’s the kind of man he is. Who do you think he’ll name as Vice Cult Leader?”

“Whoever survives.”

“Exactly. Not his child. The survivor. If you were our Third Prince, what would you do? Your brothers constantly trying to kill you. Your father devoid of humanity. And if you tried to give it all up and walk away, you’d be dragged back and executed. Competing in martial skill is hopeless—the First and Second Princes are far ahead. Their maternal clans hold major positions in the cult. The Cult Leader watches it all. What would you do?”

I fell silent.

Still leaning against the wall, he went on.

“I don’t understand what it feels like to be weak. But what I’ve always wondered is this—what kind of person doesn’t turn into a monster in that kind of environment? You’re a smart man, Lord Yi. Tell me—what’s the answer?”

“…”

“No answer, huh? Honestly, I wish someone like you had been our Third Prince. Feels like you might’ve figured something out. Especially after how you played me. Keeping the ambush in mind and deceiving me from start to finish…”

His head slowly slumped forward.

I slapped the back of his skull.

“Don’t fake being dead, dumbass. What are you doing?”

He raised his head and glared.

“Can’t you just let me pretend a little? You’ve already ruined me—what more do you want? You want me to spill our clan’s location so you can wipe us out? That, I can’t do. Anything else, maybe.”

“You’ve got a sliver of internal energy left. Meaning, with steady breathing and energy circulation, you could recover. And wait a bit—I still need to find the answer.”

“You think there is one?”

Finally, I waved over the server and ordered some drinks and food.

Arms crossed, I pondered his question. Why was I even trying to answer it?

Maybe because… if I’m going to keep facing the demonic path…

Somehow, I feel like I need to know.

No real reason.

What would I have done as the Third Prince?

If I’d killed my siblings to survive, then I’d be no different from these demonic bastards. Him or me—same kind of human.

“This is weird. I can’t find an answer.”

He grinned.

“Right? There isn’t one.”

“No… it’s not quite what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t think I could’ve killed my siblings.”

He snorted.

“Then you’d be dead.”

“Look, having siblings was a childhood dream of mine. I couldn’t kill my dream. I could beat it up a little, sure—but not kill it.”

“If there were a way out, the clever Cult Leader wouldn’t have had to kill his brothers. The so-called ‘white path’ folks should be grateful—they didn’t start life in hell.”

“When you say ‘white path folks,’ who exactly do you mean?”

“People who built their lives through martial skill and are doing just fine.”

“You’re insane.”

I raised my hand—then stopped myself. Any more hits might kill him. The server returned with our drinks and food, and I downed a glass first.

As the alcohol cleared my mind, I said,

“I’ve figured it out.”

He looked up, hands trembling as he poured himself a drink.

“Figured what out?”

“If I were the Third Prince… what I would’ve done.”

He took a drink, waiting.

Lost in the illusion that I was the Third Prince, I spoke.

“First, I’d train my light footwork like hell—then run.”

He looked unimpressed.

“Just run? You’d be hunted.”

“They wouldn’t catch me.”

“Why not?”

I looked him in the eye and said seriously,

“Because I’d run to the ends of the earth.”

“And what would you gain?”

“Nothing. I’d just be running. So they couldn’t kill me. So I wouldn’t have to kill them. I’d treat it like a journey. Maybe sail across the ocean from Zhejiang. Maybe go west past Tibet. Or head north to the islands beyond the Northern Sea.”

As I mentioned Zhejiang, the image of Gwangseung popped into my head. No connection, just a stray thought.

He asked,

“And then?”

I spread my arms wide.

“That’s it.”

“……”

“There’s only one condition for returning: when I’ve gained the overwhelming strength to crush every bastard who caused this. No matter if it takes ten years, twenty—I’d come back.”

“What about those left behind?”

“What’s the point in worrying? Better to train.”

“And when you come back?”

“Beat them all to death.”

He chuckled.

“What a dumb answer.”

I gave him a serious look.

“Now. Either tell me where your clan is, or tell me where the antidote is made. If you know neither, then die right here.”

“If I tell you?”

“I’ll send you on a trip.”

“To the afterlife?”

“No. To the edge of the world. Your ruined dantian and shattered energy will take more than ten years to recover. When you return, check this place. Either your people were killed by the Cult Leader… or the Cult Leader was killed by me.”

He laughed.

As I watched him chuckle, I added,

“And from a strategic standpoint—if you want your clan to survive, the best thing to do is give me intel. On the First and Second Princes. Their power, families, locations. If I kill them, your clan’s chances improve.”

He looked at me with surprise.

I pointed at him.

“Use me. I’m the Cult Leader’s greatest enemy.”

“There are many enemies of the Cult Leader. I doubt you’re the greatest among them.”

I downed another glass and replied,

“It’s me. The one who founded Haomun.”

“You drunk?”

“You’re the Heavenly Demon Cult. I’m Haomun. A battle between a man trying to become a god, and a man who’s crawled through the filth. The Cult Leader sits above the clouds. I sit at the bottom. It’s only fitting he’s killed by someone who used to mop tavern floors.”

A passing server flinched and darted into the kitchen.

Then suddenly, the White-Faced Lord’s eyes widened.

“You… were a Jomsoi?”

I smacked his cheek.

“Why? Mad?”

He clutched his face while I kindly explained,

“See? That’s how it feels. Imagine the Cult Leader taking a slap from me. Just thinking about it… gives me chills.”

I rubbed my arms.

“Goosebumps.”