“What’s your intention in having me drawn?”

I looked at the White-Robed Scholar.

“Hey, White-Robed Emperor.”

“......”

“You can’t go around suspecting malice in every word someone says. Listen carefully. It’s not like I need your portrait. The entire Martial Alliance has already seen you—I could draw it with my eyes closed.”

“That’s true.”

“He’s an exceptional painter. The piece won’t have a background. Just a scholar in clean white robes holding a folding fan. The title will be White-Robed Emperor. And in the blank space, I’ll include the poem I recited. So then—what kind of painting would that be?”

Only then did the White-Robed Scholar understand my meaning.

“A commemorative piece for defeating Seomun’s Martial Emperor.”

“Exactly. The negative space won’t be completely empty. There’ll be clouds drifting through. So what does that signify?”

“Jeunjong.”

“Right. Just two well-placed lines atop the clouds would do. ‘Though the Martial Emperor of Seomun gives chase, the White-Robed Emperor remains unbound.’ It becomes both a lasting record and a painting that captures the moment for eternity. That, perhaps, is the essence of art. People all ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) have limited lifespans. Eventually, we disappear. But art like this is immortal. Just like how you cling to books.”

The White-Robed Scholar, who had been listening quietly, replied.

“Fine. Why are you giving me such a gift of art?”

I answered in line with his worldview.

“You don’t need money.”

“Why?”

“Because if you ever wanted to become rich, you could do so at any time. Hoarding wealth isn’t your interest. It’s not your goal.”

The White-Robed Scholar tilted his head and looked at me.

“Then do you know what my interest is?”

Why bother asking that now? My immediate guess was martial arts—but since he was asking in this manner, I figured that wasn’t it.

As he poured himself another drink, he asked again.

“You really don’t know?”

I looked around the empty second floor, and the answer came easily.

“Of course I’ve known all along.”

“And what is it?”

“Humans.”

The Scholar muttered while sipping his drink.

“Humans... And more specifically?”

I tilted my head and answered.

“Slaves.”

“I’d like to think I’m rather well-versed in the affairs of the world, but I still can’t figure out what’s going on inside your head. How did you come to that conclusion?”

I answered plainly.

“There were too many clues. But if I tell you the basis for the deduction, you might get offended.”

“Better to satisfy curiosity than worry about offense.”

I nodded.

“Back when you fought Senior Shin Gae, we had a little conversation afterward.”

The White-Robed Scholar nodded.

“More like I had to listen to your threats.”

I looked him in the eyes and said,

“That’s when I realized—it wasn’t just Senior Cheonak who had been a slave. You were, too.”

“......”

“That’s my deduction.”

He must have already suspected as much. Even so, the Scholar swallowed hard and stared down at his cup with a troubled expression. His silence said plenty.

He looked back up at me and said,

“I suddenly feel like smashing your skull in, but I’ll hold back.”

“You know... There are a lot of people who don’t even realize they’re slaves.”

“......”

“For instance, the Sword Demon—until he left the Demonic Cult, he was a slave. The title ‘Left Guardian’ was just a more elegant word for it. If I had continued running an inn and the money I worked hard to earn kept getting taken by the dark sects, I’d still be a slave. Whether it’s mental or physical, you only become human once you break free from a situation you can’t escape. That’s when you’re no longer a slave. You became a scholar. I became the Lord of Haomun.”

The Scholar looked at me and asked,

“And the Sword Demon?”

“He became a swordsman.”

The White-Robed Scholar held his chin and fell into thought, as if recalling the past.

After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve studied slavery.”

“And?”

“I’ve pondered and researched the end of slavery. Who are the ones who’ve reached the end? It’s something no one else cares about, but I’ve studied it. And I’ve learned a few things. Those who’ve truly reached the end of slavery... who are they?”

Since he was explaining so kindly, I answered.

“The ghosts of the old main base.”

“My estimate is that if those ghosts banded together, they could kill even one of the Three Calamities.”

“No way.”

“No way? Even Cheonak and the Beggars’ Sect Leader couldn’t deal with them all. And there’s only one being these ghosts revere. Do you know who?”

“The Cult Leader, obviously.”

“I don’t just mean the current Cult Leader. I mean past, present, and future ones. These ghosts revere anyone who holds that position. Maybe it’s a tradition of the demonic path. Even if the Cult Leader changes and some wet-behind-the-ears brat takes over, the ghosts will still revere him.”

“That can’t be right.”

“You still don’t get it.”

“You’re saying the demonic sect can revere someone weaker or younger as a leader?”

“Something like that.”

“On what grounds?”

“The ghosts know they’re broken. But what were they chasing when they broke? Their goal on the Path of Demonic Deviation was never just to become Cult Leader—it was to become Heavenly Demon. The Cult Leader is the closest candidate to that. Before becoming the Heavenly Demon, the one who stands below none but heaven is the Cult Leader. The position of Heavenly Demon is always vacant. So they respect the Cult Leader because they hope he might become the next Heavenly Demon. That’s a deeply rooted madness. Most people can’t understand it. That’s why uttering the word ‘Demonic Cult’ can get you killed.”

“Heavenly Demon Cult...”

“Right. They consider themselves the Heavenly Demon Cult, so they despise it when outsiders call them the ‘Demonic Cult.’ Anyway, that’s what I believe is the end of slavery. So how does one create such slaves? You killed the subject of my experiment.”

“You mean the Butcher?”

“What I was experimenting with was whether the Butcher could come to believe that he’d surpassed me. That was the next phase. I was going to make him believe it—then still treat him like a slave. Could I enslave someone stronger than myself? The moment he resisted, a more brutal despair would have awaited. I was planning to create my own ghost... but you ruined it.”

The man who had been the White-Robed Emperor had now shifted—into the Monarch of Malice, glaring at me.

I met his bloodlust head-on and replied.

“So what if I ruined it? Why are you staring like that? Want me to pluck your eyes out?”

The Scholar chuckled.

“Lord of Haomun, how are you so shameless? You ruined my years-long experiment, and this is how you respond?”

I clicked my tongue.

“You bastard, maybe I should start lopping off limbs until you come to your senses.”

“Don’t get cocky. Your skills are still below mine. Are you going to threaten me again?”

I tapped my temple with a finger.

“No matter how strong you get, always remember how the Blind Scholar died. You couldn’t even understand his death. And just so you know, the Number One of the Evil Path was stronger than the Blind Scholar. But guess what happened.”

“What?”

“His head got smashed.”

“Quite a flashy end.”

I nodded.

“Since you’re so obsessed with slavery, of course you’d research ghosts. Which means you’ve been tracking their movements, too. Scholar, do you have any schemes to pit the ghosts against the Cult Leader? If so, report them.”

The White-Robed Scholar smirked.

“Strategist Zaha, isn’t that your department?”

“Is it?”

“But it won’t be easy. This isn’t the first time the ghosts have appeared. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have earned the name. Even the Sword God, who was thought to have no equal, suffered serious injuries when he encountered them. Not only that, but high-level warriors have vanished without a trace every time they show up. We only began taking this seriously after even one of our scholars fell victim. Though the ghosts probably didn’t even realize who they’d killed. But we did prepare for years and eventually managed to drag one out and kill it. Do you know who?”

“How would I?”

“Let’s move on.”

“Now that you say that, I think I know.”

“Who?”

“Your master, probably. Or not.”

The White-Robed Scholar continued with a sour look.

“Hey, Lord of Haomun. Do you know why I brought up the ghosts? Whenever they appear in Jianghu, certain experts disappear along with them. Sometimes it’s just powerful martial artists. Other times, those with deeply cultivated yin-type internal energy. The scholar we lost was of the latter kind. He got dragged off like a pig to slaughter. So when the ghosts move, it means they have a target. I couldn’t ask them directly, so I can’t know for sure... but what do you think? Who are they after?”

“Ah, damn it. Don’t tell me...”

Seeing my expression, the Scholar clapped and laughed.

“Hahaha!”

“It’s not me, is it? I’m too skinny.”

“No need to deny it so hard.”

“If it’s someone with yin-type internal energy, then there’s that expert named Mongrang under Baek Eung-ji. They can take him. Anyway, why are you telling me all this?”

He tapped the table with a finger.

“If the old main base is here...”

He drew a line.

“Then the current cult is here. If the ghosts stayed confined to this area, it wouldn’t matter. But they’ve broken out, which is why the reports reached me. That means they’ve already traveled far. Just giving you this intel should earn your thanks. Even the Martial Alliance couldn’t dig this up. And you think this can be paid off with a painting?”

“What do you want, then? Is this about the Six Combat Blade? Even seeing it wouldn’t help you understand the technique. Besides, even if Alliance Leader Im recorded it in a book, no one would be able to master it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think it goes slightly beyond the realm of martial arts. It touches on the level of craftsmanship.”

“Not martial arts, but craftsmanship?”

I nodded.

“It’s a kind of cultivation. Even if someone understands the method, they can’t reproduce it. It takes time. My explanation too difficult?”

“Sounds like wordplay. So you’re saying it can’t be done?”

I tapped the table with my finger, just like him.

“This is the starting point of cultivation.”

Then I drew a line to the edge.

“...And this is the endpoint. Most people don’t even get here. But the Six Combat Blade lies beyond this range.”

I twirled my finger in the empty space beside the table.

“It exists out here. Most people can’t replicate it.”

The Scholar’s head turned toward the empty air where my finger hovered.

“What’s in that space?”

I stared at him.

“Many things. Subordinates. Comrades. The Six Combat Division. Past leaders. Rage. Loss. Regret. Revenge. Obsession. Insight. Emptiness. Insomnia...”

I paused, then added one more—perhaps the most important.

“Responsibility.”

“You’re saying one has to inherit all that to master it?”

“Even then, it’s impossible. The Six Combat Blade belongs to Alliance Leader Im. Quit playing with slaves and stealing others’ martial arts. Find your own path. You think you’re smarter than Alliance Leader Im—then why are you chasing after his technique? Make your own. Stop coveting what isn’t yours like a damn thief.”

The Scholar grinned.

“Getting dragged into a duel with Seomun’s head was unexpected, but it was fun. Still, I plan to disappear for a while. Try to stay alive. If you get killed by a ghost, I’ll lose my entertainment. If you die, it’s not my fault. If you live, it’s thanks to me. Don’t forget that. Ghosts... terrifying things. Sometimes hiding is the answer.”

“You didn’t provoke the ghosts, did you?”

“You shouldn’t assume there’s malice in every word someone says.”

He threw my earlier words right back at me.

“No one can communicate with the ghosts. That’s why they linger at the old base. Not even the Cult Leader can summon them easily. They avoid each other. It’s unlikely the Cult Leader mentioned you. But apparently, one of the Four Heavenly Kings you defeated went there. They might have said something. This is why you don’t mess with the Demonic Cult lightly. Now then, you arrogant bastard, I’ve said what I came to say. Get lost.”

I stood up and offered him a formal salute.

“Emperor, my thanks. You disappear well too.”

“......”

“Ghosts are especially terrifying. You should dig yourself a cave and hide out. Who knows? Maybe it was your name the Four Heavenly King snitched.”

“As if.”

“‘Seniors, we were fighting the Lord of Haomun, and there was some bastard just watching and sketching the whole thing.’ Is that so? ‘Fascinating bastard. I’ll come out of retirement and take a look at his face.’ ‘What’s his nickname?’ ‘White-Robed Scholar.’ ‘Damn it, I hate guys in white robes the most.’”

We stared each other down, then forced out fake smiles simultaneously.

“Comrade, be careful. Wear black for a while.”

As I headed toward the stairs, I paused.

“Ah, right. You’re the White-Robed Emperor. It’d be embarrassing to wear black.”

He didn’t reply, so I muttered as I descended the stairs.

“Emperor... now that’s a title. But ghosts are scary. Real scary. These slave bastards... you digging your caves deep enough? Dig deeper.”

His voice echoed from above.

“Shut up.”

“Yes, yes.”

He was far too cunning to believe everything he said. But one thing was certain—ghosts were on the move. They’d likely be far stronger than expected, yet strangely, I didn’t feel any fear.

Even I didn’t know why.

As I walked back toward the Martial Alliance, I realized what kind of beings the ghosts truly were.

They were the same type as the drunken bums I used to see in taverns when I was young. Anti-social, endlessly babbling nonsense, utterly useless to others. The only difference between ghosts and drunks was whether or not they had strong martial arts.

Analysis complete.