The Great Rakshasa, sitting not on some small Black Path sect’s stage but as if on a throne, looked me over and extended his hand.

“Come, come.”

Thinking of the dead Red Snake, I asked the Great Rakshasa how he’d been.

“Master, how’s your back these days?”

The Great Rakshasa nodded.

“Not bad.”

“And your legs? No discomfort there?”

“There is discomfort, but that’s part of getting old. I manage when it’s time to fight, so don’t worry.”

“Right. Are you sleeping well? Life in the martial world takes a toll on the mind—you need good rest.”

The Great Rakshasa nodded again, as if agreeing with me.

“Sleep grows shorter with age. I’ll get plenty of rest once I’m dead, so no need to worry. Who’d you kill on the way here this time?”

He was speaking to me as if I were one of his own Red Snakes.

“Just beat a few fools to death who were scurrying around like headless chickens.”

The Great Rakshasa let out a brief sigh.

“My cherished disciples are dead, so now I suppose I must take revenge.”

“Of course, you should.”

“How did the Red Snake die in the end?”

“We went headfirst into a wall, and only his skull cracked. He’s probably waiting in line at some entrance to hell by now.”

“He was the disciple I cherished the most. A shame.”

There was something I’d long been curious about, so I asked the Great Rakshasa.

“Your disciple has always wondered something—will you give me an answer?”

“Ask freely.”

“Why the mask? What’s the reason for wearing it? The Red Snake seemed curious about that until the moment he died.”

The Great Rakshasa bared his teeth in a grin.

“Curious, huh. Truly curious.”

“……”

“No one ever really asked me that before. Not in detail. Even though I’ve had so many disciples. It’s simple, really. When you hide behind a mask, doing bad things becomes easier. You start to blur the line—whether it’s really you doing the deed or the mask.”

The Great Rakshasa leaned forward from where he sat, pushing his face out.

“Only those chosen by me can wear a mask. And if you assign them a rank, they’ll do anything to climb higher. That’s the true nature of fools.”

He grinned again, revealing large teeth.

“And this is an old tradition. My master’s master used to perform masked plays. He had to wear a mask just to eat. But he never mastered the skill of switching masks quickly enough, so he got kicked out. That outcast became my master.”

“Damn.”

The resentment of the weak spreads like a plague—harassing anyone and everyone, creating monsters like this.

The Great Rakshasa, still smiling, said to me:

“Since I’ve told you the secret of the mask, why don’t you show your face too? One of us is going to die anyway—shouldn’t that be fine?”

“Ah… my face.”

I replied while gently touching the Red Snake’s mask.

“I’m about to do something bad. Can’t be showing it now.”

I chuckled along with the Great Rakshasa.

The beetle laughed, the dead Red Snake laughed from somewhere, and I laughed too. We each thought about the other’s death and laughed in our own way.

The Great Rakshasa stood and spoke.

“You should’ve been my disciple.”

“Even if I were, I’d have run off somewhere and become Jomsoi.”

“Why choose something so lowly?”

“It doesn’t matter what the job is. While scrubbing floors, I’d probably keep thinking about my pathetic master. Eventually, I’d learn martial arts somehow, return to kill you, and ask you—just like now—why you put a mask on me.”

The Great Rakshasa nodded.

“Right. That’s how a man should live.”

As the Great Rakshasa came down the stairs, the wind made his sleeves flutter.

While I kept my eyes on his sleeve, he closed the distance considerably.

That kind of approach meant confidence.

It was psychological warfare.

If I backed away to create distance, he’d strike immediately, having taken the initiative.

The Great Rakshasa was shorter than me.

And rather ugly.

I’ve seen plenty of people as ugly as him. But I also know that a person’s charm isn’t all in their looks.

I’m considered pretty good-looking, yet I’ve never been popular with the conventionally attractive ones.

Suddenly, a surge of anger…

The Great Rakshasa smiled.

“So, what shall the disciple choose for combat? Palm techniques? Fist? Saber? Sword? Internal energy? Anything you like. Since I’ve trained longer, I’ll give you the first pick.”

“What are you confident in?”

“An old man’s strength is in internal energy. But that’d put you at a disadvantage—pick something else.”

The Great Rakshasa gave a faint smile, baiting me into a psychological game.

I nodded.

“Then let’s go with internal energy first.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The thought of engaging in an internal energy duel made my heart pound.

The Great Rakshasa laughed heartily and slowly extended his left hand.

“If you’ve no regrets, place your hand against mine.”

Internal energy duels are something only top-tier madmen engage in.

No soldier or man from any normal nation fights like this.

Only deranged monkeys would stake their lives on a battle of pure internal energy, full of openings.

Watching the Great Rakshasa’s expression closely, I slowly reached out with my right hand. We were so close that even if one of us broke the pact and launched a surprise attack, it wouldn’t seem strange.

But neither of us struck first—we pressed our palms together without a word.

The Great Rakshasa’s palm felt hard, like touching a beetle’s shell.

We both stayed silent.

As if we’d silently agreed on the rules, the amount of internal energy flowing into each other’s palms began to steadily increase.

To someone who doesn’t understand martial arts, two grown men standing still with palms pressed together must look like utter fools.

But if you look more closely—they’re even greater fools.

Because this is a matter of life and death.

Even now, I kept my guard up against the Great Rakshasa’s right arm.

He might’ve attached a spike to the stump and could stab me at any moment.

The two pressed palms began to tremble. The Great Rakshasa’s grinning face wavered like the surface of water.

The Red Snake mask I wore also began to tremble.

The Great Rakshasa’s eyes flicked to my left hand. I stared at his empty sleeve.

The tension rose another notch.

I’d been preparing for a drawn-out battle using the Wood Meridian’s power but shifted to the Flame Meridian’s strength. As my palm slowly turned red, the Great Rakshasa’s eyes moved to our joined hands.

Now the tendons in our palms looked swollen to the point of bursting.

As if it were natural, the Great Rakshasa’s right arm moved.

To swing an arm mid-duel like this meant he’d been holding back reserves.

Of course, I had some left too.

Turning my head to the right, I grabbed the Great Rakshasa’s forearm. A silver blade extended past my neck with only a sliver of space to spare.

He’d attached a blade to the stump of his severed arm.

Still gripping his hand and forearm, I injected internal energy into him.

The Great Rakshasa was cunning, but cunning alone doesn’t win every fight.

In the end, an internal energy duel is won by the one with deeper reserves.

When I channeled Flame Meridian energy into my left hand, which held his forearm, the sleeve began to scorch as if burned by fire.

Only then did I clearly see the shape of the arm.

A metal cover was affixed to the stump, and a blade was mounted on top of it.

A sneak-attack blade made specially for the Great Rakshasa.

While looking him in the eye, I deployed Flame Palm Force with my right hand, and the Absorption Technique with my left.

Split-Mind Technique—an art the dull never even attempt.

His internal energy flowed into me through my left, while my Flame Palm Force heated his arm through the right.

A fleeting regret passed through me—I wish I’d trained in Ice Arts too.

With that thought, I reversed it. Right hand: Absorption Technique. Left hand: Flame Palm Force.

The severed arm was indeed defenseless. His right side caught fire, his clothes slowly burning.

This is it.

The Great Rakshasa’s level of internal energy wasn’t far behind mine, but now that I was using Split-Mind Technique combined with the rare Absorption Technique, he was visibly shaken. And being one-handed was undeniably a disadvantage.

He’d likely won many duels using that hidden blade.

Even now, the Great Rakshasa was desperately enduring with the internal energy he’d cultivated all his life.

Then, from inside his mouth, I heard a faint click.

Poison… or a hidden dart.

Some hide poison pellets where their teeth are missing.

The moment the Great Rakshasa inhaled—

—I yanked both hands and slammed my forehead into his face.

Thwack!

The Red Snake’s mask cracked.

Thwack!

Next, the White Porcelain mask cracked.

Thwack!

Finally, my forehead smashed the Great Rakshasa’s nose into pulp.

Only then did I face him with my bare face—bloody and battered, his front teeth broken, his nose crushed.

I’d never killed a man with a headbutt before, so I unleashed the Absorption Technique with both hands.

The Great Rakshasa’s composure shattered, his vital energy reversed, and the dam broke—his lifelong internal energy was sucked into me like a flood.

Whenever I used this technique I’d gained by a mix of chance and fate, I had one rule:

Never take a life with it.

I absorbed exactly half of his energy and offered it up to the Heavenly Pearl as a snack, then released both hands.

The moment I let go, the Great Rakshasa collapsed to the ground.

He was still breathing.

His eyes wandered over my face, as if his last curiosity had finally been satisfied.

Looking down at him, I spoke in a calm tone.

“This is our first meeting. I am Yi Zaha, Master of Haomun.”

The Great Rakshasa muttered my name as if hearing it for the first time.

“Yi Zaha…”

“If we’d fought like this from the beginning, more of your foolish disciples might still be alive.”

The Great Rakshasa spat out a mouthful of blood and said:

“Who’s your master?”

That short question carried a deeper meaning: how could someone so young be so powerful?

I squatted down and looked him in the eyes.

“I don’t have one.”

“You’re lying.”

“From now on, not only the Twelve Divine Generals but everything under your control will fall into my hands. You were never fit to lead fools like this. Whether you want it or not, it’s all going under Haomun now. Still, as the leader of this group, say a few words to your disciples.”

“Where are my disciples? You killed them all.”

From within the Black Cat Pavilion’s ranks, Hongshin and Geum Hae appeared, looking conflicted.

On the wall nearby, the survivors Baek-in, Cheongjin, and Baek-yu showed themselves. They hadn’t interrupted the duel, only listened from beyond the wall, curious about the outcome.

The Great Rakshasa let out a long sigh and looked around at the disciples still alive, then spoke honestly.

“This mad bastard… you let more live than I expected. Impressive.”

I saw the light return to his eyes, just as before.

The glow of death… A final moment of clarity before passing.

The Great Rakshasa straightened his back from where he sat and addressed the disciples still breathing.

“…You all worked hard, putting up with an unworthy master. From now on, serve the Master of Haomun with sincerity. And live without your masks. More than I…”

His last words never came.

Death took him with his eyes wide open.

I stood there, looking down at the lifeless Great Rakshasa for ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) a long time. That wicked face finally looked peaceful.

And because I knew that in the end, he’d still thought of his disciples, I reached out and personally closed the eyes that had seen this world.

The Great Rakshasa’s eyes closed.