Cheon-oh, frozen stiff, lifted his head with a stunned expression.

The tears that were about to spill vanished at the unbelievable words. Whether he noticed or not, Master’s face remained incredibly calm, as if nothing was amiss. Listening more closely, he even seemed a bit uneasy inside.

Unable to conceal his profound bewilderment, Cheon-oh spoke up.

“Is that… something you can just eat?”

“I ate it because I could. Of course, you must absolutely never do such a thing. Even if you achieve Impervious to All Poisons state decades from now, you cannot simply go around carelessly swallowing whatever you find.”

“That’s…”

The sheer absurdity of the situation left him so dumbfounded he didn’t even realize his master’s hand and robes had slipped from his grasp. By the time he regained his senses, his master had already moved away and was meticulously inspecting the medicinal herbs arrayed on the table. His voice, as always, remained impossibly calm.

“I burned the feathers and buried the filthy remnants and bones. Since I consumed everything ingestible, Mount Godo should be able to smoothly resolve the rest. It will take a little time, but I will be perfectly fine soon enough.”

“But… you look ill, Master. Are you truly alright? Do you absolutely not require recuperation while you recover?”

“We have no more time to delay. Finish your preparations.”

“Master…”

“I will explain everything after we resolve the immediate crisis, so hurry.”

Since his master was asserting it with such finality, Cheon-oh couldn’t stubbornly insist any further. With no other choice, he simply bit his lip tight and rose from his chair. Pulling out a rucksack, he meticulously packed his master’s clothes and cotton cloths, adding only the absolute bare minimum of his own belongings.

After including various necessities—such as the dry rations he had prepared for snacks and travel funds for unforeseen circumstances—the pack was bulging full.

Meanwhile, his master had quickly begun concocting medicine, combining three root plants he had pulled from his robes.

Even without a word of explanation, Cheon-oh could tell they were potent, mystical elixirs.

Herbs that normally required long, grueling grinding in a stone mortar were reduced to fine powder simply by being pressed between his master’s palms, and raw herbs that needed to be dried in the shade instantly withered bone-dry the moment his master’s hands swept over them.

Meticulously dividing the exact dosage of herbs onto dozens of square cotton cloths—each half a ja wide—and binding them tightly with silk threads to create round medicinal pouches, his master spoke.

“Bring me the zither resting beside the herbal cabinet.”

Cheon-oh—who had finished his packing and was hungrily devouring his master’s divine techniques with his eyes—snapped his head up. Asking absolutely no questions, he immediately approached the herbal cabinet and lifted the dust-covered zither.

As he did, a distinct clattering sound echoed from within the instrument, which should have been completely hollow.

The seven-stringed zither, leaning diagonally beside the herbal cabinet, was an object that had resided in the Estate of Deep Mists since the very first day Cheon-oh opened his eyes here.

Crafted from exquisitely luxurious wood that starkly contrasted with the cabin’s humble furnishings, it was exceptionally conspicuous.

Yet, he had never once seen his master play it.

The seven-stringed zither was simply left neglected, only ever wiped clean during chores—a meaningless prop that might as well have not existed for the past eight years.

As Cheon-oh carried the zither over and placed it before his master, Cho Yoon instructed.

“If you open the head portion, you will find a sword inside. Take it out carefully.”

Glancing between his master—who was pouring all his concentration into the herbs—and the seven-stringed zither, Cheon-oh inspected the head portion. Just as his master said, there was a small groove carved into the wooden board. Slipping his fingernail inside and prying it open like a lid, the hollow interior of the zither was revealed.

And resting within was a single, pristine white sword.

“…You haven’t shown this to me even once since I was a child, so I always wondered, but you kept it hidden in a place like this?”

Carefully gripping the scabbard beneath the Paulownia wood, Cheon-oh pulled it out, revealing the full, unblemished form of a three-cheok-long sword.

Both the scabbard and the hilt were wrapped in white leather that adhered perfectly to the hand, elegantly accented with wave-patterned white jade and silver metal.

A white tassel hung from the pommel, upon which the characters ‘驟雨’ (Sudden Rain) were minutely engraved; despite the passage of countless years, not a single thread had frayed.

It was the very sword his master had wielded when demonstrating a sword dance for him years ago.

Slight Fog (瀰霧), Solar Eclipse (日蝕), and next is Sudden Rain (驟雨). Just like its name, its form evokes the image of a sudden raincloud.

Momentarily forgetting the dire situation, Cheon-oh marveled at his master’s sword. Seeing it again after having achieved a certain degree of mastery in sword arts brought a fresh wave of profound emotion. Having finished crafting the medicinal pouches and placing his pre-made medicines into his wooden chest, Cho Yoon asked.

“I believe this is the first time you are holding it with your own hands. How does it feel?”

“…Perhaps due to the white jade forming the hilt, it is slightly heavy. However, its balance is so absolute that I feel the more I swing it, the lighter it will become.”

“…Correct. It is not exceptionally sharp, but it is a dependable child.”

Considering it didn’t emit even a hint of rust despite not being maintained for eight years, it was undoubtedly far beyond ‘dependable’—it had to be close to a legendary blade. However, having never faced a real sword since plundering the masked men’s blades four years ago, and with his entire standard for life calibrated exclusively to his master, Cheon-oh’s assessment of the Sudden Rain Sword was purely instinctual; if his master said it was so, then it was so.

Hoisting the fully packed wooden medicine chest onto his back and slinging the sack containing dozens of medicinal pouches over his shoulder, Cho Yoon retrieved a sash from deep within a drawer and fastened it around his waist. He then accepted the sword from Cheon-oh and secured it to the left side of his sash.

Though he had heard his master learned sword arts before poison arts, Cheon-oh—having never once seen his master dressed as a true martial artist—stared at the sight, utterly mesmerized.

“We have a long road ahead of us. I will explain the details as we move, so follow closely.”

“Yes, Master.”

Brushing past Cheon-oh, Cho Yoon stepped outside. Lingering for a fraction of a second on the white hair fluttering in the air, Cheon-oh hastily snapped back to reality, grabbed the luggage, and chased after him.

The silhouettes of the two men vanished in an instant.

***

Perched atop Mount Wonik’s Bird Head Rock—at a sheer height where a single misstep meant plunging to certain death—sat a figure, casually cross-legged.

Bizarrely, it was a woman dressed in skin-tight leather, her head entirely engulfed by a coarse sack devoid of even eyeholes, a thick rope coiled tightly around her neck like a condemned prisoner.

Because she also wore leather gloves, absolutely not a single inch of her bare skin was exposed. She had been staring boredly out at the endless, ocean-like forest when she suddenly snapped her head up.

“Uh… over there, isn’t that them? Captain, over there.”

“What?”

Another figure, dressed in an identically bizarre outfit, popped out from behind the rock. The one addressed as ‘Captain’ scrambled atop the rock, narrowing his eyes behind his sack.

“There’s two of them?”

“Indeed. That must be his disciple.”

“Didn’t they say he took three kids to Sichuan? Can you see what the disciple looks like?”

“Uh… he looks like a human.”

“Since you don’t even treat anyone as human unless they’re a woman, he must be quite the handsome boy. They said it was one older sister and two younger brothers, so it must be one of the brothers… How old does he look?”

“He appears to be around seventeen. If he is younger, then he is exceptionally robust. Judging by his lightfoot technique, his martial foundation has been flawlessly polished. He appears to be at the very edge of first-rate mastery. And… the Immortal Healer is wearing a sword.”

“What? Seriously?”

His face lighting up, the Captain frantically scribbled down the woman’s report. As if she had finished her job, the woman flopped onto her back atop the precarious rock and drawled.

“But why does it matter that the Immortal Healer is wearing a sword? Aren’t martial artists supposed to use swords? Did we really suffer all the way from Guangdong Province and melt down all our kids just to see this?”

“It is incredibly important. Monumentally important. Think about it, Gye-wol. When do you think the Immortal Healer last used a sword?”

Even just hearing his voice, it was obvious the Captain was grinning from ear to ear in wicked delight. The woman named Gye-wol spun her less-than-brilliant brain, pondering deeply for a moment before answering.

“Uh… twenty years?”

“Don’t just spit out random numbers, you idiot. It’s been well over a hundred and fifty years. Ever since the White Chivalry Alliance barely managed to seal the Dark Venerable, the Immortal Healer hasn’t even glanced at a sword. Then again, I suppose he had every right to be sick of it.”

Briefly immersing himself in the Immortal Healer’s past history he had heard about, the Captain smacked his lips before continuing.

“Anyway, there’s absolutely no record of the Immortal Healer wearing a sword after that. Yet, right after disposing of the Zhenniao’s corpse, he suddenly dug up a buried sword and strapped it on. What do you think that means?”

“Uh… well, does it have to mean something? If he wants to use it, he uses it. If not, he doesn’t.”

“That lack of critical thinking is exactly why you’ll never be a Captain.”

Squatting beside the woman’s head, the Captain raised his index finger. Lowering his voice as if sharing the most intimate secret, a sly, sickening grin practically visible through the sack, he whispered. At the same time, Gye-wol frowned slightly in disgust.

“It means the Immortal Healer cannot use his poison arts right now. He was probably poisoned while dealing with the Zhenniao. Seeing him flying around so vigorously, it clearly won’t kill him, but it means we can seal away the Immortal Healer’s most lethal weapon—at least for the time being.”

“…”

“A Immortal Healer who cannot use poison can absolutely be subdued if we exploit the right elemental matchups. Sure, we’ll need a poison that surpasses the Zhenniao, figure out how the hell to make him ingest it, and suffer catastrophic losses to our combat forces, but the fact that a method exists at all is monumental! He’s a master of the Profound Realm, for heaven’s sake.”

Having concluded his lecture, the Captain let out a groan as he stood up. Placing both hands firmly on his hips, he stared out at the densely overgrown mountain range.

“Alright, pack it up! We’re done here. Once I leave this place, I swear I’ll never even sleep with my head pointed toward this wretched, horrifying mountain again! Grab everything! Especially the Concealment Artifacts; do not leave a single one behind. If those break, we’re dead. Understood?”

“…Yeah, whatever.”

Speaking with immense relief, the Captain marched down the rock, swinging his arms wildly back and forth. Gye-wol lay blankly for a moment before finally sitting up. The dirt mound burying the squad members who had melted into puddles of bloody slurry while transporting the Zhenniao lay just beneath the rock.

Well, at least the scenery is nice. 

That was Gye-wol’s final thought before she turned her back on the mountain.