Has anyone ever been chased by the Martial Alliance, the Demonic Cult, and Confucian scholars?

Only me.

And yet, I seem to be adding one more to the list. I had a hunch that soon, I’d be chased by the wraiths too.

The Martial Alliance, the Demonic Cult, scholars, and now wraiths.

At this point, it’s a historic, unprecedented achievement in Jianghu.

Looking at it that way, I’ve lived quite a colorful life. Of course, life isn’t all gloom and doom.

If I had to pick a bright side...

I’ve gained a friend in the Martial Alliance—he’s older than me and pretty skilled in martial arts.

My friend, Im Sobaek.

And in that sense, I’ve got a friend from the Demonic Cult too—he’s older than me and pretty skilled as well.

My friend, Sword Demon.

Thinking even more positively, although he’s not quite a friend, there’s also that bastard who invites me out for tea, trades insults like a neighborhood pal, arranges opportunities for me to shine on flashy stages, and collects and delivers information I never asked for.

Meaning, I’ve got a connection on the scholar side too.

My network is dazzling. No wonder I feel confident I could make connections with ghosts as well—but come to think of it, that ghost already gave me the Heavenly Pearl.

Creepy...

Needing some time to think, I sat cross-legged in my room at Wolhagwan.

At this rate, it’s not the wraiths of the old headquarters I should be worried about—it’s the whole martial world that should be worrying about me.

Gongson Sim predicted the wraiths would be on par with the Emperors. What would happen if people like the Seomun Clan Head, the Sword Judge of Namgung, the Blade King, the Fist King, the Sword Saint, Shin Guk, and the White-Robed Scholar all came at me at once?

Even running wouldn’t be easy.

Because the White-Robed Scholar’s light footwork isn’t slower than mine. I might get my arm chopped off by the Sword King or the Sword Judge while preparing the Heaven-Piercing Sun-Moon Radiance, get caught by the Fist King, or be skewered by Shin Guk’s spear—not a lot of time to fall before I’m done.

Even Im Sobaek probably wouldn’t hold out long.

But I had the feeling the Beggars’ Sect Leader and Cheonak could endure. They’re a tier above even the Emperors. Which made me wonder—if the wraiths had appeared near the Martial Alliance in my previous life, wouldn’t Im Sobaek have been helpless too? As far as I know, no such incident ever happened.

Though, there were times when various regions were attacked by Baekdo, so it’s possible the Emperors did suffer.

Using that, I tried cross-referencing my past and present lives to reinterpret what was happening.

First of all, the idea that they’re coming to boil me in medicinal soup is just a theory. While imagining a more plausible Jianghu scenario, I came up with two hypotheses.

First hypothesis.

People believe only what they want to believe—so what if they’re not coming to kill me?

If the Four Heavenly Kings are coming as part of their training tour, maybe they’ll propose life-and-death duels to the Emperors, and the wraiths will either spectate or support. Of course, there’ll be some trying to challenge me too.

Second hypothesis.

If the Four Heavenly Kings don’t show up and only the wraiths appear, then yes, they’re definitely here to cook me.

But they’ll probably fight each other. They’re not the type to sit around and share a meal. Wraiths don’t see anyone but the Cult Leader as human.

Same goes for among themselves.

There’s no hierarchy, and they’re likely just a bunch of delusional drunkards. So while each wraith is individually powerful, there’s still room for discord among them.

If I combine these two hypotheses however I like, a bizarre conclusion emerges.

The wraiths are likely strong enough to rival the Emperors, but because they are wraiths, they must have weaknesses.

They’re disorganized, and that disorganization itself is the weakness. If they could follow orders, command subordinates, or cooperate with peers, the Cult Leader would’ve already summoned them and given them high-ranking positions.

Maybe they’re called wraiths because they lost those very human abilities. After all, who would pay to hire people who just get drunk and spout nonsense every day?

From what I’ve picked up, I analyzed the word "wraith."

The word mangnyeong has two meanings: one refers to the soul of a deceased person, and the other refers to an old or mentally deteriorated person whose behavior and speech fall outside the bounds of sanity.

The wraiths of the old headquarters are the latter.

If I were alone, I’d probably be tormented by them quite a bit...

But I’m not alone.

Sure enough, without warning, the door suddenly burst open and the Lecher, the Drunk, and Sword Demon entered.

Sword Demon asked bluntly, “What did he say?”

I shared the situation with the three warriors.

“The White-Robed Scholar said the wraiths have left the old headquarters.”

“And the reason?”

“Apparently, they’re planning to cook me into medicinal soup.”

The Lecher crossed his arms and responded.

“So, cannibals are coming? Interesting taste.”

The Drunk looked at Sword Demon.

“Eldest brother, do the wraiths have a specific reason to go after our third?”

Now that I think about it, Sword Demon would know more about the wraiths—so why had I locked myself in this room and let my imagination run wild?

Sword Demon looked at me.

“There are so many reasons, it’d be harder to figure out which one isn’t it.”

I stroked my chin.

“Is that so?”

The Lecher chimed in.

“Maybe the Cult Leader tattled on you. Said he’s got a great ingredient for soup, maybe they should stop by.”

“Disciple.”

“Yes, Master?”

“If the third ends up in the soup, there’s a high chance you’ll follow right after.”

The Lecher blinked and fell into thought.

“Hmm, why’s that?”

It was a question that didn’t need answering.

Sword Demon would try to help me. His disciple wouldn’t abandon his master. So if I go into the soup, Sword Demon will too, and then his disciple, and the Drunk will probably bumble in after us.

No one said anything, so I decided to speak up.

“Nutritious as hell. Actually sounds good.”

“.......”

The Lecher responded seriously.

“That doesn’t sound good at all. Let’s discuss a strategy.”

“We’re doing that now.”

“Ah. True.”

Sword Demon said,

“There’s no need to define what wraiths are—they’re all different. Some went to the old headquarters with heavy injuries. Some were there from the start. Retired elders, banished figures, those who lost their minds due to internal deviation... But not all of them became wraiths.”

The Lecher asked,

“Then who did?”

“Only the ones who survived among them became wraiths. There’s no guarantee the Four Heavenly Kings even survived at the old headquarters. They might’ve gone into the soup before our third.”

Listening to him, I defined the wraiths in my own way.

“Pathetic bastards.”

The Lecher looked puzzled.

“You mean the Four Heavenly Kings are pathetic?”

“No, the wraiths.”

“They don’t seem that pathetic. Why feel sorry for cannibals?”

“They’re ignorant and pathetic bastards who don’t even know what they’re cooking. It’d be better for them to die. We should hunt them down and send them to a soup-less afterlife. Now I’ll explain the general strategy. I should be left alone. You three should join in as assassins. If a wraith comes for me, the three of you trip it up. The target is me anyway. If we stick together, the wraiths won’t let their guard down. But if I’m alone, they might. Like a cat toying with a mouse. Those who play around always have openings.”

The Drunk nodded.

“I get what you mean.”

The Lecher nodded too.

“What a load of crap.”

“I’ve always been good at talking to drunks. If we fought head-on, I’d probably lose. But I could’ve killed them all when they were distracted—I held back. Now I’ll take out that frustration on the wraiths.”

The Drunk asked,

“You’re not going to tell Alliance Leader Im?”

“He should leave the Alliance alone and help me with full force. But he’s a busy man. I can’t expect that. Besides, he can’t just act on a whim when the timing of the fight is uncertain. I’m not expecting that from him either. To be honest, I can’t even form a concrete strategy. I’ll have to react based on what happens.”

Sword Demon asked,

“When will we depart?”

I looked around at the three of them. There was nothing more to do in the Martial Alliance. We’re not the type to say emotional goodbyes over small talk with Im Sobaek. Truth be told, I wanted to leave immediately—but I held back.

“Let’s stay one more day. Meals without poison, beds without ambushes, guards standing watch—the nights here aren’t bad. Let’s rest well and leave in daylight. It’s not like the wraiths will appear just because we step out now. It’s not like we made a soup appointment.”

Sword Demon nodded.

“Everyone, rest up.”

I watched the three head off to their rooms, then laid down and closed my eyes. I was a bit hungry, but soon lost consciousness.

I dreamed strange, meaningless dreams over and over.

Eventually, I dreamt of being tormented by a drunkard. The drunk reeked of booze and hurled curses—not at me, but at the world. The syntax was wrong, the meaning unclear, the order jumbled, and the target nonsensical.

Summed up, he said things like:

“Sky, you damn dog of an earth, you eyeball bastard... What’re you looking at? Wanna die? You rude little punk, glaring at me like that—your grandpa teach you that? Get over here! Hey! Today’s on credit, dammit! You brat, if you keep making noodles like that, I’ll kill you with my own hands, got it? Answer me! Ugh, rude little bastard.”

When I came out of the kitchen holding a cleaver, the drunk ran away. Sitting at a table and organizing the nonsense, the message was:

“Today’s on credit.”

That’s the speech pattern of a pitiful drunk. His head’s so full of garbage that even while begging for credit, he drags in heaven and earth. Sometimes, while explaining why it’s on credit, he’ll mention the Emperor or claim to be friends with the Martial Alliance Leader.

But thinking about how Im Sobaek is my friend, I went back to sleep. Occasionally I woke from my own snoring, but I drifted in and out of sleep until noon.

Fortunately, the wraiths didn’t show up in my dreams, so I was able to get a rare sleep that restored both my body and mind.

***

After stuffing myself, I told only the Wolhagwan host that we were leaving, and then parted ways with the Martial Alliance.

We walked through seemingly uneventful streets. I didn’t expect to meet the wraiths immediately. I figured we’d have to travel for ten days before our route would be discovered and the wraiths would quietly show ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) up.

Still, I didn’t let my guard down...

To avoid causing collateral damage, we traveled only through sparsely populated areas. We didn’t have to camp just yet, so we stayed at inns and ate at decent restaurants.

On the third day since leaving the Martial Alliance...

The Four Great Villains and I were walking along an unusually empty street. It looked like a bustling market that had just been attacked by bandits. Maybe it had always been like this, or maybe something had happened and people fled.

From the opposite side, an old man dressed like a Taoist was walking toward us...

Naturally, no one else paid him any mind, so the four of us watched him. The Lecher, being the rude bastard he is, mumbled as the Taoist approached.

“Isn’t that a wraith?”

But as he got closer, we recognized the clothes—those were famous Taoist robes.

The Drunk murmured in a low voice.

“That’s Kunlun Sect attire.”

If we were righteous experts, we might’ve stopped to greet a Kunlun swordsman. But we’re not that nosy. We glanced sideways once or twice and just kept walking. More than anything, his greasy, unwashed hair covered most of his face, so we couldn’t even see his eyes.

As we took a few more steps, the footsteps behind us stopped. The man we assumed was a Kunlun Taoist had turned around.

“Hey...”

“Hey?” 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The four of us stopped and looked at him. Now that we saw him clearly, he didn’t seem like a Taoist at all. He was just wearing Kunlun’s robes and carrying their sword. A gust of wind blew, lifting his left sleeve and scattering his hair a bit.

The Drunk asked the one-armed Taoist,

“What is it?”

The one-armed man, likely someone who’d stolen the Kunlun uniform, spoke to Sword Demon with an unpleasant expression.

“Hey, Number Thirteen.”

“......”

“If you see me, you should greet me. Why didn’t you?”

Naturally, I looked to check Sword Demon’s face. For a moment, a flicker of surprise passed across his expression—then joy began to rise. I couldn’t tell if he was looking at a friend or an enemy.

Sword Demon smiled in a rare, exaggerated way and said to the man,

“Old man, are you here to die?”

The man brushed his hair back with his hand and replied,

“For a heretic to speak with such confidence... has the authority of the teachings fallen that far?”

What the hell is this situation?

So he was the soup ingredient all along?

Sword Demon gazed at the Taoist and explained to us.

“He’s a wraith. He came to reclaim the Bright Sword.”

And in that moment—our predictions, and the White-Robed Scholar’s predictions—were shattered.

A chill ran faintly down my spine.