The next day, a meeting was held at the Wudang Sect, the first since the recent battle. Attendance wasn’t strictly regulated; it was more about showing up if you felt it was necessary.

Following tradition, the meeting took place in front of Hyuncheondang. Despite being a place rarely visited by outsiders, whenever there was an important matter to discuss, the Wudang masters would gather there. This tradition extended to outsiders as well, partly because there weren’t many other places that could accommodate a large group.

As Tang Mujin arrived near Hyuncheondang, he spotted an unexpected figure—Gwang Eolla, lurking around the area.

Tang Mujin approached him with a curious look. “What are you doing here?”

Gwang Eolla replied immediately, “Are you giving me the cold shoulder now? That’s harsh.”

“No, it’s just… you disappeared into the forest yesterday. I thought you were leaving Wudang Mountain for good.”

“I just wanted a night away from all the noise. I was sleeping well until others woke me up…”

Despite the surprise, having Gwang Eolla at the meeting was a good thing. No one knew the affairs of the Demonic Sect better than he did. Tang Mujin couldn’t help but raise his opinion of Gwang Eolla, who had chosen to attend despite knowing he’d be under scrutiny.

After Tang Mujin finished speaking, Murong Wuhong, the head of the Murong family, raised his hand, indicating he had something to say. Hyungong, the meeting’s facilitator, acknowledged him.

“Go ahead, Master Murong.”

“Given the current situation, isn’t this our chance to strike back?”

“What do you mean by chance?”

“Although we suffered more casualties in the last battle, the Demonic Sect lacks healers for internal injuries. We can recover faster, and if we strike again during this window, we might have the upper hand.”

Tang Mujin frowned at the suggestion. The last thing a healer wants is for patients to return to battle before they’re fully recovered. He was no exception.

Others knew this too, but Murong Wuhong’s argument was compelling. All eyes turned to Tang Mujin, and Hyungong asked him directly.

“Mujin, do you think it’s possible?”

“It’s not about whether it’s good or bad; it’s about whether it’s possible.”

Hyungong wasn’t fooled by the wordplay. Tang Mujin answered honestly, “It might be possible, but if those injuries worsen, it could be disastrous. We might not be able to treat them next time.”

Despite his warning, the others seemed to dismiss his concerns, trusting that Tang Mujin could fix any future problems.

Tang Mujin sighed and added, “Besides, the Demonic Sect might have their own methods for treating internal injuries. We should fully recover and wait for a better opportunity…”

Before he could finish, Sang Wanbo interrupted, “As far as I know, they don’t have such methods. Unless they’ve learned some new internal techniques, they’ll just have to wait it out.”

“Things could have changed since you left the Demonic Sect. They might have found new ways or new people to help them.”

Naturally, everyone’s gaze shifted to Gwang Eolla, who confidently stated, “There’s nothing like that. It’s rare for a skilled healer to venture to their remote location.”

Tang Mujin sighed again, thinking how stubbornly naive they were.

The meeting was progressing quickly. Hyungong clapped his hands. “It’s a good idea, but we shouldn’t gamble the fate of the righteous martial world on mere speculation. It would be great if someone could scout the Demonic Sect’s condition. Any volunteers?”

No one responded. It was a dangerous mission, requiring someone to get close enough to assess the enemy’s state without being detected. If caught, it could mean certain death.

The real reason for the hesitation was that Namgung Myung had a different plan. He was more interested in assessing the power of the Demonic Sect’s weapons up close.

Namgung Myung’s penchant for thievery was more of an addiction than a hobby. Recently, he hadn’t had many opportunities to indulge, surrounded by too many skilled martial artists who didn’t know his reputation.

As Namgung Myung and Hong Cheolgae wandered through the night, Hong Cheolgae noticed something off about Namgung Myung’s expression.

“What’s with that look on your face?”

“Me? What look?”

“You look… unsettlingly pleased.”

Namgung Myung touched his face, realizing he was smiling. His heart was pounding, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time outside of life-or-death situations.

‘Why am I feeling this way?’ he wondered, struck by a sudden realization.

“Ah,” he murmured, “I get it now.”

“What do you get?” Hong Cheolgae asked, skeptical.

“I became a master too quickly. That’s the problem.”

Hong Cheolgae grumbled, “If you’re going to spout nonsense, just keep quiet.”

“No, I’m serious. My heart’s racing. I’ve been missing something important.”

The thrill of stealing Tang Mujin’s sword, the excitement of returning to the Namgung family with a legendary weapon, and the foolish hope of impressing his father—all of it had made his heart race. But more than anything, it was the tension of knowing that getting caught could ruin him.

Namgung Myung and Hong Cheolgae soon arrived at their destination. They didn’t need to ask around to find the Demonic Sect’s hideout; the distinct aura of martial artists was enough to guide them.

Namgung Myung pulled out two masks, handing one to Hong Cheolgae. “You know what happens if we get caught, right?”

“Of course. But why are you grinning?”

“Just because.”

“You’re really asking for it…”

The two of them quietly scaled the wall of an abandoned mansion, slipping into the shadows without a trace.