Those with energy to spare headed straight down from Mount Wudang to spread the news that the demonic cult’s warriors had been driven out.

The orthodox martial artists, who had been struggling to escape, and those moving towards the heart of Mount Wudang, returned with a mix of disbelief and hope.

Upon their return, they were met with the sight of a Wudang sect free of the demonic cult’s presence. Bodies lay scattered, and many were injured, but the mere fact that the cult had been expelled was heartening.

“How did we win?” “Yeah, it seemed hopeless…”

How had a seemingly unwinnable battle turned in their favor? People wandered around, eager to uncover the mystery. They soon heard many stories from those who had been slow to retreat.

First, the appearance of Hwayeon Shinni. While some knew she was in seclusion, most believed she was long dead. The fact that she was still alive, having lived through several generations, shocked many.

Second, the return of the Blood Rain Guest, who had once laid down his sword. His return wasn’t just a simple comeback. The fact that Jang Il-nam fought against the demonic cult suggested he had switched allegiances to the orthodox side. His swordsmanship was extraordinary, and though his blade was excessively lethal, the orthodox warriors were willing to overlook it.

However, the most talked-about figure wasn’t Hwayeon Shinni or the Blood Rain Guest, but the young master of the Tang clan.

“The Poison King, at such a young age…”

It was a simple yet chilling title. No one in the martial world had ever been called the Poison King. Most martial artists viewed poison as a troublesome trick rather than a martial art. How could one be called a king for mastering such a trick?

Yet, the young man before them had achieved it. The title wasn’t self-proclaimed or given by friends; it was the demonic cult’s warriors who, in fear, called him the Poison King. What better proof of pioneering a new field of martial arts?

Tang Mujin, exhausted, staggered towards the main hall, accompanied by his assistants, Namgung Myung and Hong Gyeolgae.

The Wudang sect’s grounds were eerily silent.

”…We won, but…”

Technically, the battle at Mount Wudang ended in victory. But if asked whether anything good came from it, the answer was no.

It was a fight for survival, a struggle to shift the inevitable losses onto others.

In the courtyard of the main hall stood a large rock where the late Elder Yeongbo often sat. Hyun Gong, still carrying his burden, sat on it, with Elder Yeongbo’s spirit seemingly beside him.

After the skirmish, Tang Mujin learned what had happened to Hyun Gong and Elder Yeongbo. It was hard to believe, even as he listened. Martial arts performed with a burden on one’s back, and even pushing the cult leader to the brink with such strange techniques.

Tang Mujin and Hong Gyeolgae approached Hyun Gong with determination. Though they wanted to share stories of what had happened, the atmosphere wasn’t right for conversation.

Eventually, Hong Gyeolgae began digging. Not metaphorically, but literally, behind the main hall, to create a grave for Elder Yeongbo. It was the best place for it.

Tang Mujin and Namgung Myung joined in, thinking that Elder Yeongbo would be pleased to have his disciple’s friends create his resting place.

After a while, Namgung Myung asked Tang Mujin, “What happened to your master? I thought some strange person had learned transformation techniques to impersonate him.”

“Oh, that…”

As Tang Mujin explained what had happened, Namgung Myung sighed.

“To think Elder Weiji would pass like that. It’s bittersweet.” “Indeed.” “But thanks to Elder Weiji, many lives were saved, so it wasn’t a meaningless death… Oh, don’t tell Elder Jang about this.” “I know.”

Tang Mujin nodded, lost in thought.

If Weiji Banhang had been alive, neither Hwayeon Shinni, Jang Am-tian, nor Nam Yong would have come to Mount Wudang. If the Great Protector hadn’t attacked the Tang family, Guangyeom wouldn’t have betrayed the demonic cult.

In that case, only Tang Mujin and Hong Gyeolgae would have come to aid the Wudang sect. Could the two of them have turned the tide of the battle? Impossible. No matter how he thought about it, it was impossible. Even if Tang Mujin had performed better, it would have been the same.

How many more would have died if things had gone that way?

Countless orthodox martial artists, including Namgung Jincheon and Sam An, would have perished on Mount Wudang. Even Manryeokseung, Hyun Gong, and Namgung Myung might not have survived.

Yet, Tang Mujin and Namgung Myung still felt uneasy.

“I know. But still, it feels so empty.” “You can’t fill the void left by a person. Even if one life saves a hundred, the empty space remains.” “Yeah, I guess so.”

The grave was completed quickly. The soil of Mount Wudang was soft and fine, making it easy to dig even with their weary bodies.

Hong Gyeolgae called out to Hyun Gong.

“Hyun Gong, come here.”

Hyun Gong finally rose and approached his friends, standing silently before the grave. Hong Gyeolgae and Namgung Myung went around the Wudang grounds, gathering the sect members.

By the time all the Wudang members had gathered, it was well past midnight.

There was no formal funeral.

But the Wudang members knew this wasn’t the time for elaborate ceremonies, and that formality wasn’t important. In fact, they rarely held complex funerals even in normal times. They had embraced simplicity, both by choice and necessity.

Instead, every Wudang member gathered to witness the final farewell to Elder Yeongbo. It was one of the few traditions passed down in the Wudang sect.

An old Taoist murmured.

“That sword technique…?”

It seemed like Wudang’s martial arts, but it wasn’t familiar to Tang Mujin.

He glanced at Namgung Young, who looked utterly astonished.

“It must be an extraordinary technique,” Tang Mujin thought, mimicking Namgung Young’s surprised expression. Hong Gyeolgae, seeing their reactions, followed suit.

Hyun Gong’s movements soon ceased. Feeling the need to respond, Tang Mujin maintained his surprised look and asked a vague question.

“What kind of martial art is that?”

The answer came not from Hyun Gong, but from Namgung Young.

“Elder Yeongbo reached beyond the pinnacle to the realm of enlightenment. That’s the sword technique he showed me during our sparring sessions.” “Yes, that’s right.”

Hyun Gong readily acknowledged it and then made a shocking statement.

“The technique was meant to face the cult leader, but it was also to guide me. My master left a clear path for me to follow. And yesterday, I became certain that I could reach my master’s level. With some luck, I might soon surpass the pinnacle and enter the realm of enlightenment.”

Tang Mujin and Hong Gyeolgae felt a growing unease. They had been anxious upon hearing that the cult leader had reached beyond the pinnacle, but this was a different kind of anxiety.

And that wasn’t all.

“That’s good news. I have something to show as well.”

Namgung Young stood up and extended his hand to Hyun Gong, who handed him a stick.

“Watch closely.”

Namgung Young adjusted his stance and began demonstrating a sword technique with the stick.

This time, Tang Mujin and Hong Gyeolgae recognized it. It was the Namgung family’s sword technique, but more refined than what Namgung Young had shown before.

“That’s Namgung Jincheon’s sword…”

“Yes, it is.”

It was impressive, though it seemed slightly less polished than the teachings of Elder Yeongbo that Hyun Gong had demonstrated. But Namgung Young wasn’t finished.

He gripped the stick in an unusual way and lowered his stance.

Then he performed a second technique. Unlike the Namgung family’s sword, which utilized both blades, this one didn’t. It wasn’t as close to perfection as the previous technique.

But it was recognizable. It was the technique they had seen just yesterday.

“That’s… the Great Protector’s saber technique.”

“Yes, it is.”

What had Hong Gyeolgae gained, and what was he striving for?

The three friends each imagined Hong Gyeolgae’s answer.

“Do you think he’s discovered some new potential as a judge or strategist?"
"He hasn’t been practicing his techniques much lately. Maybe he’s reached a new level without anyone noticing."
"It seemed like Chang-il had surpassed the limits of the elders’ teachings… Now that he’s set a precedent, do you think Hong Geolgae will push past his own boundaries too?”

Hong Geolgae responded with a solemn tone.

“I’ve come to appreciate the value of peace.”

The three friends remained silent, waiting for him to continue. Surely, there was more to his story.

“I’ve also learned to be content with what I have. Is a life spent constantly struggling to get ahead really a happy one?”

It was then that the friends realized the truth: Hong Geolgae hadn’t moved forward at all.

With a lighthearted voice, Hong Geolgae added, “Seriously, what’s with those faces? Are your eyes even open?”