In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever practiced breathing meditation with such peace of mind. But by the third day, things inside me weren’t so peaceful.

At times, I felt unbelievably cold, shivering as if I might freeze to death. The kind of cold that brings creeping terror with it.

When you concentrate deeply enough, sometimes it’s like dreaming—only more vivid than any dream.

That’s how it was now.

Saying a hallucination is vivid sounds contradictory, but…

When you get deep enough into martial cultivation, you reach places that are impossible to explain with words. And I wasn’t just feeling cold—I was cold.

It felt like I was being punished in the Ice Hell before I could even use ice techniques to torment my enemies.

In the hallucination, my feet froze first. Then I pushed through waist-deep snow, dragging myself toward the peak of a snow-covered mountain.

Who knows how much time passed?

You lose all sense of it in that state. All I could do was walk, while icy wind and snow battered my frozen face.

If I tried to rely on the Gold Tortoise Wandering Art or looked for an easy path, I’d fall off a cliff or get frozen solid in my dream, never to wake again.

Naturally, I had to take the hard road.

It was bitter cold. Isolated. My mind swirled with every kind of fear and doubt imaginable. But every so often, I laughed and kept climbing.

For half a day I clawed my way up the blizzard-swept slopes, until I reached a wide highland plateau of snow. The air was thin, hard to breathe, but at least the wind was starting to settle.

I figured I must’ve broken through to a new level in my ice arts.

I felt like I had reached the edge of the Crescent Moon level of the Moonlight Cold Heart Technique.

“That’s enough for today.”

The Full Moon level? I didn’t even dream of reaching it. The Moonlight Cold Heart Technique didn’t have as many subdivided levels as the Gold Tortoise Wandering Art, but I was sure it was just as vast.

I sprawled out on the frozen plateau and closed my eyes with a peaceful heart.

At the same time, I opened my eyes in the real world and let out a long breath.

“Fuuu…”

Cold mist streamed from my lips. I tried to open my eyes wider and felt like my eyelids were tearing.

Apparently, the effects of the cold arts had lingered in my body—my whole body felt damp and clammy. When I finally forced my eyes open, I saw the Four Great Villains all staring at me.

“Ah, shit. You scared the hell out of me.”

“……”

My heart dropped.

I hadn’t regained full awareness yet, and here I was, surrounded by monsters like the Lecher, the Drunk, and Geomma. Their faces were grim as hell. Just as I was pulling myself together, the Drunk let out a sigh and said,

“Lord, are you all right? We thought you fell into deviation.”

“No way. I’m fine.”

I’d already experienced Juhwaipma (a cultivation deviation caused by internal energy backlash or mental collapse) in my past life as the Crazy Demon. I never wanted to go through that again.

The Lecher glared at me briefly, then turned away without a word. Geomma gave me a nod.

“You’ve worked hard.”

I looked at each of their faces—seemed like they’d been keeping an eye on me in case something went wrong.

I remembered starting my meditation when it was already dark out, but now sunlight was pouring in—looked like the sun was high in the sky.

“How long was I out?”

The Drunk answered,

“About a day and a half. Your sessions keep getting longer.”

I nodded.

“Good. Damn near froze to death. Shouldn’t do this stuff recklessly like I do.”

The Drunk chuckled through a mouthful of food.

“Go clean yourself up. So you’re done with breathing practice for now?”

“Gotta recover. I’ll go wash up.”

My whole body felt soaked and gross, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. On my way to the back of the inn to wash, I heard clattering in the kitchen and peeked inside.

Sam Bok, cooking, jumped in surprise.

“Lord, you’re awake? Oh, right, you weren’t sleeping. I’m preparing lunch.”

“Got it.”

I went out the back door, stripped off my clothes, and headed for the well. When I stirred the water we’d set aside earlier, it felt almost warm in comparison.

***

We pushed two tables together, and now Geomma, the Lecher, the Drunk, the Third Young Master, Sam Bok, and I were seated, eating with chopsticks. As I looked at the meal Sam Bok had prepared, I thought to myself,

“If it weren’t for Sam Bok, we’d all have starved to death.”

The Lecher said,

“Come on, we wouldn’t have starved to death.”

I replied confidently,

“No, we would have. We’d have been too lazy to go out for food and just sat here suffering. Or we’d have eaten my cooking, and it’d have tasted so bad we’d all have dropped dead.”

The Drunk laughed as he chewed and said,

“Is your cooking really that bad?”

I answered while picking up a side dish.

“Once, I made noodles for a guest, and after one bite, he threw the bowl at me.”

The Drunk blinked.

“And then what?”

“What do you mean? I dropkicked him, grabbed him by the hair, and we brawled.”

“Hahahahahaha…”

Sam Bok burst out laughing, and everyone turned to stare at him. Looking flustered, he said,

“Why am I the only one laughing…?”

“……”

“…Sorry.”

Truth is, I was holding back my laughter too. So I just kept holding it in.

“Let’s eat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Geomma, eating with his usual stern face, suddenly asked curiously,

“Who won that fight?”

“Well, in my hometown, we have a term for it—we both chickened out. When a fight drags on long enough, you just stop. I mean, the guy was wrong for throwing the bowl, and I was wrong for making food that bad. It evens out. No one kills over a bowl of noodles. Not even thugs. So let’s just call it a draw.”

Geomma nodded.

“So even you’ve had a draw before.”

As I kept eating, I asked him,

“What do you think? The lunatics who want your sword should be showing up soon, no?”

Geomma answered,

“‘Retrieve the Bright Sword’—it sounds like an order on the surface, but it’s really an excuse to have the former Left Guardian eliminated.”

The Lecher frowned.

“Is that so?”

Geomma nodded.

“Some of them probably know it’s a trap. But they’ll still come—everyone wants to earn merit. Some will demand a one-on-one fight, others will charge in like a mob. Someone will wait until the dust settles and try to steal the Demon Sword last minute. Some applicants from allied families will see this as a chance to rise in the cult’s ranks. In other words, the Cult Leader just dumped the trash collection on me.”

The Drunk asked,

“How is this trash collection?”

Geomma replied,

“The Cult Leader can just appoint a new Left Guardian.”

The Third Young Master nodded.

“That’s true. Everything in the cult depends on the Cult Leader’s will. He could show up with a total stranger tomorrow and say, ‘This is the new Left Guardian,’ and that would be the end of it. Who would dare object?”

After hearing all that, I asked Geomma,

“Is the Cult Leader just bored?”

He gave me a strange look.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, is there a chance he’ll actually show up to watch the fight? What do you think, Third Young Master?”

The Third explained his father’s tendencies.

“If people expect him to come, he won’t. If they don’t expect it, he might. Honestly, no way to know.”

I looked back to Geomma.

“And your guess?”

“I don’t think he’ll come.”

“Why not?”

Geomma glanced around at the Four Villains and the Third Young Master.

“He hasn’t decided to kill all of you yet. He’s just curious about how things will turn out. But if he does show up, don’t act tough. Just scatter in every direction. I don’t think he will, but keep that in mind.”

If Geomma says to run, we run.

I kept it simple.

“Understood.”

Just as we were finishing up, Geomma set his chopsticks down and said,

“We have guests.”

“Already?”

We all got up like people avoiding dishwashing and left Sam Bok behind.

***

We pushed two tables together, and now Geomma, the Lecher, the Drunk, the Third Young Master, Sam Bok, and I were seated, eating with chopsticks. As I looked at the meal Sam Bok had prepared, I thought to myself,

“If it weren’t for Sam Bok, we’d all have starved to death.”

The Lecher said,

“Come on, we wouldn’t have starved to death.”

I replied confidently,

“No, we would have. We’d have been too lazy to go out for food and just sat here suffering. Or we’d have eaten my cooking, ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) and it’d have tasted so bad we’d all have dropped dead.”

The Drunk laughed as he chewed and said,

“Is your cooking really that bad?”

I answered while picking up a side dish.

“Once, I made noodles for a guest, and after one bite, he threw the bowl at me.”

The Drunk blinked.

“And then what?”

“What do you mean? I dropkicked him, grabbed him by the hair, and we brawled.”

“Hahahahahaha…”

Sam Bok burst out laughing, and everyone turned to stare at him. Looking flustered, he said,

“Why am I the only one laughing…?”

“……”

“…Sorry.”

Truth is, I was holding back my laughter too. So I just kept holding it in.

“Let’s eat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Geomma, eating with his usual stern face, suddenly asked curiously,

“Who won that fight?”

“Well, in my hometown, we have a term for it—we both chickened out. When a fight drags on long enough, you just stop. I mean, the guy was wrong for throwing the bowl, and I was wrong for making food that bad. It evens out. No one kills over a bowl of noodles. Not even thugs. So let’s just call it a draw.”

Geomma nodded.

“So even you’ve had a draw before.”

As I kept eating, I asked him,

“What do you think? The lunatics who want your sword should be showing up soon, no?”

Geomma answered,

“‘Retrieve the Bright Sword’—it sounds like an order on the surface, but it’s really an excuse to have the former Left Guardian eliminated.”

The Lecher frowned.

“Is that so?”

Geomma nodded.

“Some of them probably know it’s a trap. But they’ll still come—everyone wants to earn merit. Some will demand a one-on-one fight, others will charge in like a mob. Someone will wait until the dust settles and try to steal the Demon Sword last minute. Some applicants from allied families will see this as a chance to rise in the cult’s ranks. In other words, the Cult Leader just dumped the trash collection on me.”

The Drunk asked,

“How is this trash collection?”

Geomma replied,

“The Cult Leader can just appoint a new Left Guardian.”

The Third Young Master nodded.

“That’s true. Everything in the cult depends on the Cult Leader’s will. He could show up with a total stranger tomorrow and say, ‘This is the new Left Guardian,’ and that would be the end of it. Who would dare object?”

After hearing all that, I asked Geomma,

“Is the Cult Leader just bored?”

He gave me a strange look.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, is there a chance he’ll actually show up to watch the fight? What do you think, Third Young Master?”

The Third explained his father’s tendencies.

“If people expect him to come, he won’t. If they don’t expect it, he might. Honestly, no way to know.”

I looked back to Geomma.

“And your guess?”

“I don’t think he’ll come.”

“Why not?”

Geomma glanced around at the Four Villains and the Third Young Master.

“He hasn’t decided to kill all of you yet. He’s just curious about how things will turn out. But if he does show up, don’t act tough. Just scatter in every direction. I don’t think he will, but keep that in mind.”

If Geomma says to run, we run.

I kept it simple.

“Understood.”

Just as we were finishing up, Geomma set his chopsticks down and said,

“We have guests.”

“Already?”

We all got up like people avoiding dishwashing and left Sam Bok behind.

***

Three carriages arrived at the clearing to the left of Cheolli Inn. People climbed out, bowed to us, and one of them looked at me and said,

“Lord of Haomun, we’re not here to fight. We’re just setting up a temporary camp.”

They unloaded frames and materials from the wagons and started building tents. Some erected shade canopies, set up tables and chairs, and even arranged the Four Treasures of the Study—inkstone, brush, paper, and ink—on the desk.

I asked Geomma,

“Does the Demonic Cult have judges?”

“No.”

“Any high-level experts obsessed with documentation or observation?”

“None that I know of.”

“Must be from an allied faction, then.”

I left the Four Villains by the door and walked over to the camp, hands behind my back.

“…Hard at work, I see.”

Everyone froze mid-task and gave me a martial salute.

“Greetings to the Lord of Haomun.”

I waved off the courtesy with practiced indifference.

“Right.”

Their skin was sun-darkened, maybe from farming. Judging by how quickly they were assembling the tents, they were all well-trained in external martial arts.

I turned to a capable-looking man in his thirties.

“How did you hear about the fight and get here so fast?”

He replied,

“We simply followed orders. We didn’t expect to arrive first, Lord.”

“Who do you serve?”

He lowered his head.

“Please forgive me, but I cannot say.”

“I see. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I look around inside the tents?”

He pointed to one they were finishing up.

“Of course. Feel free.”

I inspected the tent, checking for banners, symbols, or crests—nothing. I studied their swords and wagon design—still nothing. Not a single clue as to who they were.

But that was fine.

Like a nosy neighborhood guy, I wandered around, watching their movements and expressions. I even listened to their breathing. Then I turned to the man in charge and said,

“…Is the Scholar in White coming to watch?”

One guy’s eyes twitched. Another gave me a side glance before quickly looking away. No one answered.

With these kinds of questions…

If no one answers right away, the silence is the answer.

I asked again,

“So, is he coming to watch, or to fight? Be clear. I can’t just kill all of you here for no reason.”

Finally, a middle-aged man standing at a desk organizing calligraphy supplies stood up.

“Lord, of course he’s not coming to fight. We received word from the cult, and it seems someone from the former Left Guardian’s group…”

Someone interrupted in a low voice.

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man tying a tent rope without turning around replied,

“He’s just coming to observe. No need to kill us, Lord. If we talk too much, our tongues might be cut out, so please show mercy.”

I nodded.

“Understood. Your tongues matter. Tasting, speaking—what’s life without a tongue, right? Tongue-ripping… ugh, nasty.”

I cackled among the workers, poking around on purpose. Every time I got closer, some of them sweated nervously—maybe from the heat, maybe from fear.

I already knew the Gentle Demon was of demonic origin. I just never expected him to be part of a cult alliance. But if the Cult Leader is the current overlord of the demonic factions, maybe it’s not so surprising.

Eventually, I returned to Cheolli Inn and said to my eldest brother,

“Senior, looks like we’ve got neutral observers showing up.”

Geomma nodded.

“Who?”

“The Scholar in White, like I mentioned before. Gives me the chills.”

I rubbed my arms. The Four Villains and the Third Young Master stared at me as I added,

“Come to think of it, he technically owns part of this inn. The last owner was the Butcher, and I took it from him. Hopefully, he’s not here to repossess the place.”

Even as I said it, it felt like my prediction was off.

Probably not that.

The Lecher looked at the workers setting up tents and asked his master,

“Master, should we just kill them all now?”

Geomma shook his head.

“Leave them be. If they’re using elites as labor, they’re here just to watch. No need to make enemies unnecessarily.”

“Yes, sir.”

We watched the workers with confused expressions, digesting our meal in awkward silence.

I picked my teeth and muttered,

“Anyway… there really are too many damn lunatics in this world. Tsk tsk.”