The White-Robed Scholar, who had been staring at the sky, spoke.

“...Look. The kind ones were the first to go.”

He glanced around at us and continued.

“In the end, it’s the wicked who survive the longest. Isn’t that right?”

I nodded.

“You’re not wrong.”

There was no need to argue. I already knew it to be true.

It wasn’t hard to guess that the White-Robed Scholar was thinking of Makgunja.

“...That damned master bastard deliberately killed the youngest first. He was younger than us, but even in hell, he was the kind of man who never complained or blamed others. It’s rare for someone to be liked by both seniors and juniors. Even the master used to praise him as a strange one. So what kind of psychological warfare was it when Heukseon killed that youngest one in a single strike?”

I nodded again.

“Establishing dominance. He wanted to shock the rebels. And since the youngest among the attackers was probably also the weakest, he likely aimed to take him out in a single blow.”

“Right. It was so easy to see through his thoughts that it made it hard to keep my composure. Honestly, it might’ve been better if we had all died and the youngest had led in our place. Even in that hell, he was the only one who truly lived up to the title of scholar.”

I looked at the White-Robed Scholar.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”

“You seem to think you lost a battle of wits with your master, but that’s not necessarily true.”

The White-Robed Scholar glared at me.

“You think it was a battle of wits?”

I looked around at the Four Villains as I replied.

“The fact that the White Robes brought the youngest with them to the ambush... You were probably trying to deliver a psychological blow to your master. ‘Look at this. Even the one with the most respect and admiration inside and out wants you dead.’ You intended to deal a mental wound. But from the start, your master was far more of a perfected monster than you assumed. He just sat there on his bed, glanced around, and decided to kill the weakest one first. It just happened to be the youngest. It wasn’t a loss in a battle of wits. It was just rotten luck.”

The White-Robed Scholar had likely included the weaker youngest disciple in the ambush to strengthen the impact of his psychological play. But when the youngest was killed in one strike, it must’ve wounded his pride—and shattered his understanding of the master's mind.

Even though he himself had the nature of a villain, a hatred for villains had likely bloomed within him.

Still, when I told him it wasn’t his fault, the White-Robed Scholar rejected it.

“It was my fault.”

I nodded, then looked at him.

“Then fine. It was your fault. Makgunja died because of you.”

“......”

“Spend your life atoning to him. What a pathetic senior brother you are.”

Still, I believed that if the White-Robed Scholar raised a disciple as good as Makgunja, the one in the heavens would rejoice. But I couldn’t bring myself to say something so sentimental to this sharp man.

Instead, I stared into the campfire and said,

“That’s why we have to become stronger. There are exactly 28,680 reasons we must.”

“......”

I looked at the Four Villains.

“Same goes for us. No one can treat us lightly anymore. But it’s time for us to cross the next bridge.”

I turned to the White-Robed Scholar and spoke with as much sincerity as I could.

“When you’re crossing a single-log bridge, if you keep looking back, you won’t make it across. It was your fault, sure, but do you think Makgunja would want to see you standing frozen in place on that narrow bridge? In the end, we’re all going to grow old and die someday. Save your apology for when you reunite.”

The White-Robed Scholar said nothing.

While listening to his story, I began thinking about the next realm of martial arts.

The martial arts I knew that were born from emotion—or at least could not easily be mimicked by others—were only two.

The Zaha Divine Art I used, and the Six Combat Blade wielded by Alliance Leader Im.

But from the White-Robed Scholar’s story...

It seemed that even Cheonak might have used an emotion-driven martial art—or perhaps he had broken through a blocked realm through some kind of mental awakening.

If so...

Then for people like me, Cheonak, Im Sobaek, and the Four Villains to reach an even higher realm, what would we need? Especially for me—wasn't it overcoming the realm of emotion-born martial arts?

What I suspected was this: even if one performed incredibly emotional techniques rare to Jianghu, there would still be a limit—an invisible ceiling—when it came to surpassing the barrier of the Three Calamities.

Just like how even now, someone like Cheonak couldn’t defeat the Cult Leader.

Our conversation ended without warning, and as silence fell, we each sank into our own thoughts.

Suddenly, the Drunk stood and walked off, then returned with a flat stone and placed it near the fire.

We all watched him wordlessly.

The Drunk washed the stone with the remaining Dugangju, pulled out his Muga Dagger, infused it with internal energy, then began pressing it down, chipping away at the surface, carving, then peeling—repeating this until he made a flat stone plate.

After placing the stone plate on the ground, he took the two remaining fish and quietly began preparing them.

With each sweep of his dagger, the fish transformed into neat, symmetrical fillets. He then cut them into bite-sized pieces perfect for chopsticks.

He took salt from his pack and sprinkled a bit over the fish, then finely chopped jerky and scattered it around the fish cuts.

Carrying the stone plate to his brazier, he began grilling the seasoned pieces. Since there were two large fish, the amount was plentiful. As the meat cooked, the Drunk spoke.

“Each of you, hold your bamboo tube.”

“Like this?”

“No, lay it flat like a meal tray.”

After stoking the fire further, he looked at the meat sizzling on the hot stone. I now realized he’d cut it to fit perfectly on the bamboo tubes.

The aroma of the Drunk’s seasoned grilled fish now reached my nose.

I flared my nostrils and savored it.

“Damn, that smells amazing.”

At last, the Drunk picked up the stone plate and approached the White-Robed Scholar.

“White Robes. Your tube.” 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

The Scholar awkwardly held out his bamboo tube, and the Drunk used his dagger to neatly place a portion of golden-brown meat onto it. Since we were already full, it was more than generous.

The Drunk then went in order—Sword Demon, me, the Lecher—placing meat into our tubes before returning to his seat with the rest.

We stared at the newly revealed Chef of Manjang Gorge.

“......”

For some reason, it felt like we weren’t allowed to eat until the chef gave his blessing.

Looking around at us, the Drunk finally spoke.

“Let’s consider what we ate earlier as medicine. It was so potent we couldn’t even drink. But this time... let it just be a delicious meal. Eat well. Drink the rest of the liquor. Elder Brother? Let’s eat.”

Sword Demon smiled and nodded.

“Alright.”

The Drunk looked at the White-Robed Scholar.

“Thanks for saving me last time. Eat comfortably.”

So this meal was something the Drunk had prepared entirely for the White-Robed Scholar.

The Lecher licked his lips and asked,

“Can we eat now?”

The Drunk nodded.

“Let’s eat.”

I deliberately pulled out my own Muga Dagger, scraped a piece of meat, and brought it to my mouth.

The salt and jerky added a savory kick, and the thick meat’s juice spread through my mouth. Since it was naturally oily fish, there was sweetness and fat in every bite.

We were busy eating.

But even while doing so, we maintained a defensive formation, silently cleaning the bamboo trays like skilled assassins devouring their targets. It was a dish unlike anything we’d ever had before.

Wiping the grease from my lips, I said,

“That’s some incredible flavor.”

Sword Demon spoke to the Lecher.

“Disciple, let’s have some of that hoarded liquor.”

“Yes, Master.”

The Lecher finally pulled out a bamboo tube from his pack and went around pouring drinks. We filled our tubes, now emptied of fish, with liquor and looked at each other’s faces.

There wasn’t much to say—but faint smiles spread naturally.

It was that kind of feeling—the realization that life really doesn’t need much. Meat and liquor among comrades. What more could we ask for?

Seeing the White-Robed Scholar and the Four Villains silent, I said,

“...Since there’s nothing to say, let’s just drink.”

“Alright.”

I took a deep gulp of the Dugangju the Lecher had been saving. The liquor mingled with the fish oils in my mouth and flowed down my throat, hot and cool at the same time.

Even as a former inn worker, I’d never had such satisfying liquor.

If I felt this way, what about the White-Robed Scholar...?

But unsurprisingly, he was the kind of man who couldn’t say things like “delicious,” “refreshing,” “nice drink,” or “thanks.” He simply stayed silent.

We understood—and said nothing.

Thankfully, the crackling bonfire gave us something to look at.

Finally, we had a moment of peace.

A rare, genuine rest.

My breathing naturally slowed.

As I stared at the flickering flames, I suddenly realized I wasn’t thinking of Ja-Ha Guest House engulfed in fire.

The flame was just a flame.

Even to villains like us, it was a fire that shared warmth.

Strangely, even as the sun set, we continued to silently toss in firewood and stare at the flames.

When the darkness had fully fallen, and we could no longer make out each other’s faces—

The White-Robed Scholar’s voice rose faintly in the night.

“...It was a good meal.”

The Drunk replied.

“I’m glad.”

A painfully ordinary phrase, spoken with great difficulty. We could have camped all night like that—but the fire in our bellies still danced. Even with liquor, the medicine was still medicine. Round two of internal cultivation awaited.

I crossed my legs and said to the others,

“Close your eyes. When darkness sweeps in—”

“......”

“Let death, fear, or deviation not drag me down. Even if a gust strikes as I cross the single-log bridge, even if towering waves try to swallow me, let me not fear. Let me entrust both body and spirit to complete internal cultivation, and cross the bridge. However long or dangerous it may be. And when I open my eyes again—let me be stronger than before. So that I may save those who should not die, protect those who should not fall, and slay those who must be killed. Even if I face an enemy so strong it feels unjust—I won’t need to blame anyone if I can fight with all I have.”

With that, I closed my eyes and entered the breath-guided meditation of Geumgu Soyo Gong. In an instant, the world went dark, and I stepped onto the single-log bridge, holding the fire I had watched in my hand.

Darkness surrounded me.

...The White-Robed Scholar looked at Sword Demon, Master Yukhap, and Mongrang before looking again at the Master of Haomun. He had been chanting something like a sutra but was already deeply breathing in a state of internal cultivation.

He looked more peaceful than ever.

Sword Demon, who had been silently listening, followed into cultivation. The Drunk also straightened his posture, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

The White-Robed Scholar stared at Mongrang, the last one still awake.

“......”

Mongrang glanced back, calmly rested his hands on his knees, and gently closed his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, all had entered internal cultivation.

The White-Robed Scholar looked around, incredulous.

‘What the hell is wrong with these guys...?’

Having nothing to do, he stared at the fire, then looked around. He focused his ears and heard the soft rustle of leaves and chirps of insects carried on the wind.

It was mostly peaceful.

With nothing ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) to do and no need for vigilance, the White-Robed Scholar eventually lifted his head and looked at the night sky. Countless stars had suddenly appeared, blanketing the heavens in their glow.

While watching the stars, the usual emotions—fear, regret, anger, hatred—dissipated without form. It felt like the longer he stared, the more he’d start remembering the dead, and that sentimentality was creeping in...

So he looked back at the fire.

Then crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began internal cultivation.

At the base of Manjang Gorge, no guards were needed.

The stirring energy in his belly demanded it.

And so, entrusting himself to the chill wind blowing from the gorge, the White-Robed Scholar shut his eyes.

Some time later, the fire went out...

But the five figures cloaked in darkness remained unmoving, lost in their breath-guided meditation.