The Thirteen Forms originally belonged to the Pavilion Lord, so I added the plum blossoms to it and returned it to him. Whether it suited his taste—I couldn't tell just yet.

“Pavilion Lord, did you see it well?”

The Plum Blossom Pavilion Lord looked at me in surprise.

“Yes.”

As I sheathed the Demon-Slaying Sword, I asked,

“How does it feel? Your impressions of the sword technique, maybe.”

After a moment of thought, the Pavilion Lord responded in a serious voice.

“Everything is connected.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. I’ve taken in so much that it’s difficult to express it in words.”

A response fitting a man of sincere character.

He must have confirmed that the linking process had been resolved. The Pavilion Lord’s main dilemma was that the sword techniques didn’t flow naturally. So he had interpreted what I demonstrated according to his own insight. But swordplay isn’t all about seamless transitions, so I added a few words that might help.

“Of course it connects. But it also has a beginning. And an end.”

“That’s true.”

“If you grasp the sword intent, you can add to it—or strip it down to just three forms. Sometimes, you might reduce it to a single slash. Do you know why?” 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

“Because some battles end with a single sword stroke...”

“Then wouldn’t that one stroke contain all of this? Let’s call that the sword intent. Do you understand sword intent now?”

“Ah.”

Judging by his expression, it looked like the Pavilion Lord had understood.

In truth, sword intent is difficult to explain even briefly. I didn’t want to complicate things with more words. This was enough. He needed time to digest and process it on his own.

Then the Lecher, who had been quietly observing, asked me a question.

“So if you understand the sword intent, you can add or remove from it. Even modify it—that’s what you mean, right?”

Was it the Lecher’s turn now?

“That’s right.”

Like changing shifts with me, the Lecher stepped into the open space and turned to face us.

He wore the expression of someone meditating on the insight gained from the Plum Blossom Thirteen Forms I had shown.

The Lecher spoke to us.

“To say I’ve gained sword intent means...”

And then he began executing the Plum Blossom Thirteen Forms using palm techniques. As expected of a martial genius, he performed it without a hair out of place.

As the Pavilion Lord had said, it was a form where everything connected.

I got the feeling the Lecher was intentionally copying it exactly. And sure enough, starting from the second repetition, the plum blossoms blooming from his hands began changing with the seasons.

His footwork shifted distinctly...

The palm technique grew longer, as though refining his own understanding. But even with the changes, each move still seemed to fall within the boundaries of sword intent. The second demonstration looked more chaotic, but once it ended, the Lecher stood still, both hands wrapped in frost.

And then, a palm technique the world had never seen before emerged.

It was my first time seeing the Lecher formally perform his footwork. He glided across the ground, yet every move was disciplined and controlled.

The palm techniques evolved atop the footwork.

Just watching it, I could tell it’d be hard to defend against.

It was an extraordinary palm art.

Impressive.

The transitions of the Thirteen Forms had been adapted into the footwork, and the palm techniques flowing from that footwork became—at times—weighty and fierce, and at others—light and sinister.

Because his footwork looked like gliding, it was impossible to predict the point of impact. And with frost scattering now and then, it looked like a palm technique that would be hard to handle even in a drawn-out fight.

Where I had scattered petals of purple energy with my sword—

The Lecher filled the surroundings with white frost blossoms.

Even for that damn Bedwetter, it must’ve been a historic moment. Fixed preconceptions are hard to break. Watching those fluttering white petals made me want to pinch my nose, but I barely held it in.

The guy was dead serious. I couldn’t possibly attack with shit-talk at a moment like this.

Anyway, that genius Bedwetter had just invented a new palm art. After performing it, he turned to look at us. His face was a mixture of surprise, admiration, and something like cathartic relief.

Eldest Brother asked,

“You created that just now? Have you named it?”

The Lecher replied,

“...Since I developed it at Mount Hua, I’ll call it White Blossom Palm Art.”

A fitting name—white symbolizing ice arts, combined with Mount Hua.

The Lecher added,

“I’ll need to refine it further before teaching it to Yoran. Since I didn’t make this alone, I’ll pass it down as a palm art created with my masters.”

Eldest Brother nodded.

“Good.”

He didn’t say anything about the Thirteen Forms. I didn’t even know how he’d been training while I was out of it.

Lately, Eldest Brother just seemed relaxed.

He would stare at flowers in the courtyard for long periods, respond briefly to the Pavilion Lord’s questions, then fall quiet again. I didn’t know what he was thinking about martial arts, but if I had to pick the person who’d changed the most recently, it was definitely him.

At some point, Eldest Brother had even learned to say things like this:

“A disciple has created a new technique, and the third one has descended the mountain. Let’s have a drink tonight.”

“Let’s do that.”

When a man who normally doesn’t drink says he wants to—well, the answer is obvious.

Soon, we set out drinks at the garden table.

The Pavilion Lord was a man who lived simply with only a few retainers, so his life beyond training centered around small hobbies. One of those hobbies was brewing, and the drink he served us was something you’d never find at an inn.

He buried the jars underground, and depending on age, he named the brews Ilmae (One Plum), Imae (Two Plum), and so on. What we were drinking was Palmae (Eight Plum).

We were almost out of Palmae, and I was about to suggest fetching Chilmae (Seven Plum) instead...

When we all set our cups down and looked toward the entrance.

A man soaked in blood was walking in—and it was a face we all knew. The appearance was so absurd it was almost comedic.

Why he appeared, and why he was covered in blood, I had no idea.

The former Right Guardian, the Blood Cult Leader, looking utterly exhausted like he hadn’t slept in days, came to the table and said to me:

“Pour me a drink.”

Who the hell had pushed this guy this far?

I poured the last of the Palmae into a cup and handed it to the Blood Cult Leader. He downed it like water and let out a long breath, like he’d finally quenched a desperate thirst.

“...Tell the Cult Leader—I mean the Demon Cult Leader—that I’ve arrived as promised. And also—was it you?”

He glared at me. I replied, confused.

“Blood Cult Leader, what the hell are you talking about? Barging in here without even explaining.”

He looked at me, then burst out laughing like a madman.

“You can be honest. I won’t blame you.”

“Blood Cult Leader, are you in Deviation of the Heart?”

Eldest Brother stepped in.

“Explain what happened. The Pavilion Lord has been focused solely on training at Mount Hua recently.”

The Blood Cult Leader scowled at Eldest Brother.

“So this damned Demon Cult Leader summoned me, and I set off for Mount Hua.”

“And?”

The Blood Cult Leader crumpled the cup in his hand like paper and said,

“I was blocked every step of the way.”

“Hm.”

“First it was some old beggars nosing around, then a high-level master who supposedly used to serve the Murim Alliance showed up. Then came dark-path bastards and scholar types. Who else but the Pavilion Lord could summon all those damn factions at once?”

Everyone looked at me. I shook my head—I hadn’t called anyone.

The Blood Cult Leader went on.

“It was as if the entire Jianghu knew I was headed for Mount Hua.”

I gave him the only explanation I could.

“Probably because of that incident at Tongcheon Faction last time. The Heavenly Alliance and the dark-path guys don’t forget grudges.”

“That, I understand. But how did the others find out?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why the hell is everyone targeting me?”

I more or less grasped the situation now. The Blood Cult Leader was trying to find the culprit—and glaring at me like I was it. That madman’s stare made me feel a little guilty—but in the end, I couldn’t help laughing.

“Hahahaha...”

“You think this is funny?”

Which meant the Tongcheon Faction must’ve spread his description and sketch everywhere. If they knew, then so did the Heavenly Alliance. And the Beggars’ Sect would’ve passed the info along too. Which meant the Murim Alliance had likely added him to the watchlist.

Jianghu never forgets revenge.

It was amusing mostly because even white-path and dark-path folks, beggars, and scholars had teamed up this time.

And then the Lecher—understanding the situation—burst into sudden laughter.

“Hahahaha.”

Eventually, even Eldest Brother leaned back and laughed aloud. The Blood Cult Leader glared at the three of us, equal parts angry and embarrassed.

I explained.

“It’s not our fault. Looks like Jianghu tried to stop a dark-path master from reaching Mount Hua. That’s all.”

This was basically the opposite of what happened at the new Zaha Inn. This time, it was the Cult Leader summoning dark-path masters—and the white-path side intercepting them one by one.

Jianghu never forgets revenge.

It’s not even fair to call it the white-path this time. Even the Heavenly Alliance and scholar types—close to dark-path themselves—had joined the blockade.

The Blood Cult Leader’s sudden visit was absurd—but the news he brought felt like hearing updates from old friends.

Just then, an old master in a ragged gray robe landed lightly at the garden entrance and approached with hands behind his back.

“...Finally caught up. Blood Cult Leader. Stop running.”

The Blood Cult Leader let out a deep sigh.

“Can’t you just stop chasing me?”

“I can’t.”

“How about we take a break first? This place can be our duel ground. Let’s call a temporary truce.”

The old master replied,

“Why do we need a ‘duel ground’ just for the two of us? Let’s continue. Oh—and for what it’s worth, the others looking for you don’t seem to want a duel. What do you think about that?”

The Blood Cult Leader cursed, used light footwork, and vanished. The old master gave me one glance and chased after him. Though his figure disappeared, his voice lingered faintly in my ear.

“...Pavilion Lord, it’s been a while. I won’t be joining you for drinks today.”

To the old master who departed in such a rush, I responded with a voice infused with internal energy:

“You’ve been working hard. Let’s meet again.”

I didn’t mention “Swift Party Leader” on purpose.

I honestly wasn’t sure why the former Chief Strategist, Gongson Sim, was chasing the former Right Guardian. It was an unexpected pairing. If I had to sum it up—it looked like the Cult Leader had summoned the Blood Cult Leader for the Mount Hua showdown, but his movements were exposed and now even Gongson Sim was chasing him.

What made me laugh was...

Gongson Sim is ridiculously fast.

He’s old enough that I don’t know his current martial level, but there probably aren’t more than five people in Jianghu who could escape pursuit from the Swift Party Leader.

“...So the former Chief Strategist’s retirement was temporary.”

To be hunted by the Swift Party Leader...

Once you understand the situation, it’s not so strange. He was always like that. It looks more like he’s finally returned to his original duties after leaving the Murim Alliance.

A dust storm had passed—but the alcohol tasted better than ever.

Eldest Brother said,

“The Right Guardian never did manage to escape the Cult Leader’s shadow.”

“Indeed.”

With the madman and the fast old man gone, a new stranger stood at the garden entrance.

He looked around the same age as Eldest Brother.

A middle-aged man with an unusual look—only the hair near both ears had turned white. As soon as he saw us, he spoke.

“Left Guardian, may I come in?”

Eldest Brother held out his hand.

“Come in. Where are your men?”

“It was too chaotic, so I told them to wait nearby.”

Like many dark-path masters, he was a man of few expressions. But since he knew Eldest Brother, I got a sense of who he was.

The unfamiliar guest walked to the table, sat down, and looked at us.

“Would you introduce me?”

Eldest Brother gestured toward me and the Lecher.

“The Lord of Haomun. And this is my disciple.”

Then, he introduced the guest to us.

“A man known as Ilmajo, also called First Demon Ancestor. Even I don’t know his real name.”

The First Demon Ancestor—uncle of the Grand Prince—had arrived.

Ilmajo looked me up and down, then spoke.

“Nice to meet you, Lord of Haomun.”

It felt like a great bird had perched in front of me and was staring me down. His aura, tone, and gaze were terrifying. Not an ordinary man—he was someone who’d earned the title of Iltaegong even within the Demon Cult.

He spoke informally right away, so I nodded and responded accordingly.

“...Nice to meet you, too.”

Does a dark-path master value formality?

He furrowed his brows and glared at me. At that moment, the Lecher, who had been ignored entirely during the introduction, chimed in with a /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ cheeky tone.

“Nice to meet you. I’m the Lecher of Baek Eung-ji.”

Eldest Brother and I quickly turned to look at the Lecher. We were always one moment away from falling into Deviation of the Heart, so we needed to check on his state.

But since the Lecher was always a madman, it was impossible to tell.

Then, unexpectedly, the Pavilion Lord introduced himself too.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m the owner of Plum Blossom Pavilion. Have you eaten? If not, I can prepare something.”

“....”

Ilmajo said nothing. It takes time to adjust to the mood here.

With a mix of normal and insane conversation going on, even I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.