We didn’t move until the White-Robed Scholar opened his eyes. We didn’t make any unnecessary noise either, so as not to disrupt his energy circulation.

Because this was the etiquette of guardianship.

Truthfully, even if a terrifying martial master were to suddenly fall from the sky, the Four Villains could step in and buy enough time for the White-Robed Scholar to complete his meditation.

Of course, no one actually showed up here.

Instead, someone seemed to appear within the White-Robed Scholar’s mind. As he continued his meditation, his expression grew increasingly distressed, and before long, sweat was streaming down his face.

Had a heart demon suddenly plunged into his mind like a splash in Manjang Gorge?

The strength of a heart demon depends entirely on the imagination, and the White-Robed Scholar now wore the face of someone struggling desperately.

“......”

The moment I exchanged glances with the Four Villains, I realized we were all thinking the same thing.

The reason the White-Robed Scholar was having such a hard time was likely because he was still wary of us. Even though we had no intention of ambushing him in this defenseless state, he was unable to shake off his fear and ended up manifesting a heart demon.

I watched his troubled expression for a while.

What kind of punishment is he receiving in there?

Maybe the master he once killed had appeared in his thoughts and was now strangling him. If I left him like this, he’d probably die from eating fish and become the first person in history to be killed by grilled carp.

So I spoke in a calm tone.

“White Robes.”

“......”

“Calm down. There’s nothing happening here.”

Even though his eyes were closed, I could see his pupils twitching beneath the lids. It really did look like he had fallen into internal deviation.

I looked over at the Sword Demon and gave him a nod, as if to say, Do something.

The Sword Demon spoke in a quiet voice.

“White Robes, focus only on your breathing. Calmly erase each stray thought one by one.”

“......”

“An enemy? That’s an illusion. Around you are nothing but fish bones, a campfire, the brazier you complained about while making, Dugangju, and the jerky we shared on the way here. If we were going to attack you, like Third Brother said, we would’ve done it before you ever came down from the gorge. Isn’t that right?”

I looked at the Sword Demon, who rarely spoke this much. Every word he said was correct, and I found myself nodding.

“That’s true.”

The Ghost Demon also looked at the White-Robed Scholar and said,

“White Robes, I haven’t forgotten how you helped me when I fought the spirits. I’m not the kind of person who repays kindness with betrayal. Settle your mind. If something happens, I’ll be the first to block it.”

I nodded in agreement.

“That’s right. You threw that chopstick and saved Second Brother, didn’t you?”

The Ghost Demon nodded back.

“Honestly, even I would’ve had a hard time dodging that chopstick.”

I glanced at the Lecher and said in a flat tone,

“You, just shut your mouth.”

The Lecher glared at me.

“What the hell? I was about to say something too.”

“Then go on.”

The Lecher stared at the White-Robed Scholar for a moment, then muttered,

“Nothing. Forgot.”

I held in my laugh and merely smiled with my face, raising a hand to cover my mouth.

“......”

For some reason, it felt like if the four of us laughed out loud right now, the White-Robed Scholar would cough up blood and ascend to heaven on the spot.

Had he heard our conversation?

He was breathing deeply, chest rising and falling as he tried to regulate his breath. He looked like someone lost in a dream—or like someone remembering the past.

His usually cold expression now carried an emotion we had never seen from him before: anguish.

In truth, meditating was like crossing a narrow bridge with your eyes closed.

Sometimes you’d reach the other side without issue, but other times, a gale would blow around you, or you’d imagine spikes and blades beneath the bridge waiting to skewer you if you fell.

Even if you knew it was all in your mind, everyone had ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) their own stories and scars, and those thoughts made you misstep. Emotions like anger, despair, loss, hatred, and regret—those are the friends of internal deviation.

After our little chat to reassure him, we fell silent and simply watched.

At some point, the White-Robed Scholar’s expression hardened with stubbornness, and a long sigh escaped from between his breaths.

“Hoo...”

It seemed he had fallen into a dream mid-meditation. Even in a trance like this, martial artists instinctively continued circulating their energy. His thoughts had merely wandered off down a side path.

His throat bobbed a few times, then his teeth suddenly clenched. His expression twisted with rage and bitterness, and it showed in the tightness around his lips and eyes.

After a while, he opened his eyes, clearly exhausted, and looked around at us.

He steadied his breath and asked,

“...Am I still alive?”

“You’re alive.”

Only then did he release his cross-legged posture and glare at the bamboo flask. If a martial master like him had been that terrified, it meant he’d likely met his master, Heukseon, during his meditation.

I don’t like beating around the bush.

“Did you get lost in delusions and meet your master?”

The White-Robed Scholar cracked his neck, grabbed the flask, and poured liquor down his throat. He gulped so loudly it echoed, then stared at me.

“How the hell do you keep guessing that kind of stuff? Did you learn mind reading or something?”

“It’s obvious. And why the hell are you using that tone with me, you bastard?”

I took a swig of my Dugangju too.

The White-Robed Scholar grabbed some jerky and chewed while glancing around at us.

“While I was meditating, what the hell were you all muttering? It sounded like you were chanting scriptures or something.”

I chuckled and answered.

“It was scripture.”

After downing another gulp of Dugangju, the White-Robed Scholar said,

“Anyway, hearing voices from outside helped me realize that what I was going through wasn’t real.”

The Sword Demon asked,

“Was your master that terrifying?”

The White-Robed Scholar replied with a bitter look.

“He was, once.”

This time, I asked,

“How did you kill him? I’m curious.”

The White-Robed Scholar said,

“Nothing special. I ambushed him while he was sleeping. Killed the guards first and slipped inside. But he sensed something was wrong and had already risen from bed. He stood there, wrapped in his white robe, looking around at us like he’d known all along this day would come. He even called out our names one by one, as if taking attendance. Told us he was proud of us. Then said he didn’t like fighting in the bedroom and invited us outside to somewhere more spacious. Said he’d even wait if more people were on the way.”

I furrowed my brows.

“Hm.”

The White-Robed Scholar saw my face and asked,

“What’s with that look?”

I laughed.

“You actually believed him? What a bunch of idiots. Should’ve attacked him right there. That wasn’t even a proper ambush.”

He gave a resigned sigh and asked,

“What would you have done, Sect Leader?”

I looked around at the Four Villains and replied,

“If it were me, I’d have each attacker bring a bucket of boiling water and douse him in it before charging him like mad. If we didn’t have hot water, we’d dump sewage on him.”

The Lecher muttered,

“You and your obsession with shit. You never miss a chance.”

The White-Robed Scholar stared at me in silence, then looked up at the sky and continued.

“You’re right. While we were pulling back from the initial encirclement, my junior disciple got hit by Heukseon’s energy blast and died. After that...”

“Wait a second.”

I cut him off.

“You have to at least tell us your junior’s name.”

“Why?”

I glared at him.

“What do you mean why? I’ll remember the name.”

The White-Robed Scholar replied in a flat tone.

“Fine. Since he was the youngest, we usually just called him ‘Youngest,’ but he had a nickname—Makgunja. ‘The Quiet Gentleman.’”

And just like that, I finally understood why the White-Robed Scholar had once been called by that nickname. It must’ve been based on part of his junior disciple’s moniker, with the word Mak meaning ‘youngest.’

I raised my Dugangju and addressed the Four Villains.

“A drink for the departed Makgunja...”

We each took a silent sip for the one we’d never met.

The White-Robed Scholar continued.

“After seeing the youngest die, there was no need to move the fight elsewhere. That place became our battleground. We knew our master’s techniques, and he knew all our weaknesses. I fought alongside Cheonak, Scholar Chu, the Blind Scholar, and even Jinhyang and Yukmaek, but we couldn’t defeat him easily.”

I was stunned.

“You’re telling me Heukseon held off six people by himself?”

The White-Robed Scholar shook his head.

“No. The one we called Eldest Brother didn’t join us. He stayed loyal to our master from start to finish. He’d inherited more of our master’s skills than anyone else. By the time he showed up, we were already wounded. It became six against two, but even then, it was a losing battle.”

He brought the flask to his lips, but only a few drops came out.

The Ghost Demon pulled another flask from his bundle and tossed it to him. After taking a swig, the White-Robed Scholar spoke with a heavy expression.

“Maybe because we were so desperate... The moment Jinhyang chose to die together with the Eldest Brother, they both perished.”

I looked at him and asked,

“Jinhyang was a woman?”

“She was.”

“Whose lover was she?”

The White-Robed Scholar gave me an incredulous look.

“What?”

“I asked whose lover she was.”

He muttered,

“Cheonak’s. Anyway, just as I expected, Cheonak lost control right after.”

I felt a chill run down my arm as I stared at him.

“You expected that? Damn, you’re no ordinary bastard.”

He glared at me.

“What? Am I not allowed to anticipate something like that?”

He said it with confidence, but his expression didn’t match.

I took another sip and looked at him.

“...You’re so clever it’s painful. If you predicted even that, then you must’ve already known Jinhyang harbored resentment toward the Eldest Brother.”

He nodded.

“That’s right. Knowing something isn’t a crime.”

“You should’ve told Cheonak.”

“There was no time. Besides, I’d advised Cheonak long ago to learn techniques our master didn’t know. When Yukmaek died during the fight, Cheonak finally shattered the internal wall he’d been stuck behind.”

“That’s emotional.”

I was just stating an observation, but the White-Robed Scholar stopped and stared at me.

“What do you mean?”

“His martial growth... it was emotional.”

“Wouldn’t instinctual be the better word?”

“Whatever it was.”

He continued.

“The four of us wore him down. When morning came, we were exhausted too. I called in the archers we’d stationed in advance and ordered them to fire. As Heukseon deflected wave after wave of arrows, we regrouped and attacked again.”

The Lecher gaped.

“God, that’s brutal.”

The White-Robed Scholar nodded.

“In the end, we were all knocked aside, and Cheonak alone tore our master apart.”

I couldn’t help but ask what happened next.

“And after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened afterward?”

The White-Robed Scholar looked around at us and let out a hollow laugh.

“We all ran. Because of Cheonak... Even the archers waiting outside died, probably by his hand. I hid in a safehouse and didn’t contact Cheonak for a long time. It took a while before we returned to being like we used to.”

“So everyone nearly died by Cheonak’s hand.”

He nodded without hesitation.

“That’s right. The ones who didn’t join the rebellion were all caught by Cheonak and torn limb from limb. The nickname ‘Cheonak’ became widely known because of that incident.”

I looked at the Sword Demon.

“What do you think, big brother? Was Heukseon on the level right below the Sword God?”

The Sword Demon nodded.

“Seems that way. Stronger than the Four Calamities.”

“What about compared to the current Three Calamities?”

“Heukseon probably matched their level. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The White-Robed Scholar nodded too.

“It’s hard to say exactly, but he was never afraid of anyone. Even when we revolted as a group, he was confident he could defeat us. Though I doubt he expected Cheonak to grow that powerful.”

“The man who trained Cheonak with the most cruelty ended up dying by his hand.”

I looked straight at him.

“And you planned the entire rebellion?”

“I did.”

Putting it all together, I finally told the White-Robed Scholar what I really thought.

“You’re definitely not a slave. But if you become a tyrant like Heukseon, then your words mean nothing. If a butcher gained some miraculous opportunity, you wouldn’t be here eating fish with us right now.”

I picked up the fish bones and showed them to him.

“...Don’t waste that smart brain of yours reenacting the life of the man you killed. The youngest disciple watching from heaven would lament it.”

The White-Robed Scholar gave me a stubborn smile. He didn’t argue.

“White Robes, there’s only one way to live a life different from Heukseon’s.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s say our past lives were out of our control. But from now on—why not become a master respected, not feared, even by one person? That’s the only way. You must become a different kind of teacher than Heukseon. Only then will Makgunja smile down from heaven.”

The White-Robed Scholar looked at me.

“......”

“That’s the only way to shake off Heukseon’s shadow and escape internal deviation. As silly as it sounds... it’s also the only way to become stronger.”

Hearing that, the White-Robed Scholar slowly lifted his head and stared at the sky.