“You are someone who must become independent.”

“…Excuse me?”

Did you plan to stay by my side forever? 

The gentle question echoed in his ears, yet he couldn’t process its meaning. He didn’t even realize he had practically responded with the exact same blank, panicked stammer as before.

Only a single word relentlessly circled his mind.

Independence?

“As your body continues to mature, you will inevitably experience more physiological changes,” Cho Yoon explained mildly. “You cannot continue to feel so intensely ashamed in my presence every time they occur. It is time we cultivated some healthy boundaries. Learn to sleep comfortably alone in your own room.”

“But, Master… I am still afraid of the dark.”

“Then we shall purchase a lantern for your quarters,” his master replied smoothly. “If you leave it lit in the corner, the oil will naturally burn out as you fall asleep. And if you truly cannot find rest, you are always welcome to seek out my room.”

Cheon-oh desperately wanted to beg.

He wanted to plead for things to stay exactly as they were, to promise he would behave better. But the words died in his throat. He possessed zero confidence that he wouldn’t feel ‘ashamed’ in Cho Yoon’s presence. He was absolutely certain the dream would return, and his intuition warned him the frequency would only increase.

As the boy hung his head in bleak, paralyzing despair, completely paralyzed by indecision, Cho Yoon’s voice washed over him again.

“When you finally descend the mountain, I can offer my assistance, but I cannot shadow your every footstep. Ultimately, you must forge your own path in life, just as I have my own duties to attend to. I am not demanding you become completely independent overnight, but let us slowly begin working toward it.”

“…Yes, Master.”

Things I must do alone when I descend the mountain.

The memories he had ruthlessly buried to preserve his peaceful, idyllic daily life suddenly clawed their way up his spine, stabbing directly into his brain.

In an instant, every trace of emotion vanished from Cheon-oh’s face. Masking his turmoil behind a perfectly placid expression, he offered his evening bow, turned to face the wall, and lay down.

The moment he averted his gaze to hide his shifting demeanor from his master, the memories began replaying against the backs of his eyelids.

Revenge… Yes. I have to take my revenge. 

The sounds of the massacre—the screams he had heard while curled up in the suffocating darkness—were still violently vivid.

Unearthed for the first time in years, his past had not faded a single shade; it remained sickeningly pristine. The realization that he had actively suppressed these memories simply to enjoy his current life felt like a cardinal sin, strangling Seomun Cheon-oh with guilt. He felt that if he didn’t take action, every moment he spent surviving and enjoying this borrowed peace would become an unforgivable transgression against the dead.

And the only reason he hadn’t completely lost his sanity to this ever-swelling mass of hatred over the years was entirely because of his master.

Thanks to Cho Yoon, Cheon-oh could envision a version of himself that existed beyond pure vengeance.

He could actually look forward to a life after the bloodshed.

Had his master not meticulously guided his path, Cheon-oh couldn’t even fathom the monster he would have become. He assumed he would have evolved into nothing more than a suicidal moth drawn to a roaring flame.

He likely would have run rampant, blindly slaughtering anyone remotely connected to the Namgung Clan, the Demonic Cult, and their affiliates before dying a pathetic, violent death. He would have lived every agonizing second unable to breathe properly, torturing himself in a frantic, impossible bid to atone to ghosts.

But now, Cheon-oh actually had things he wanted to do.

He had subjects he wanted to study, places he wanted to explore, and a person he desperately wanted to remain beside. It was entirely thanks to his master. Because of Cho Yoon—who was even now gently stroking his hair and shoulder, sensing his sudden shift in mood—Cheon-oh dared to believe he was allowed to live.

Therefore, he had to exact his revenge.

He needed to wash away this suffocating guilt with the blood of the sinners, so he could return to Cho Yoon’s side unburdened.

Only then could he smile brightly and ask his master to teach him more, to take him along on whatever journeys lay ahead.

And crucially, this was an endeavor he could absolutely never involve Cho Yoon in.

The forces that raided your family were the Hidden Dragon Squad and the Crouching Tiger Squad, acting as the enforcement division of the White Chivalry Alliance.

Cheon-oh remembered every single word his master had ever spoken, including that conversation from when he was barely seven years old.

Over the ensuing eight years, he had easily grasped the sheer, terrifying gravity of the White Chivalry Alliance within the martial world.

The Murim was divided into three primary powers: the Demonic Cult, the Unorthodox Factions, and the Orthodox Factions.

The White Chivalry Alliance was the colossal conglomerate that represented the entirety of the orthodox world. Regardless of their true, rotting core, simply flashing the ‘White Chivalry Alliance’ insignia was enough to resolve almost any dispute.

To be an orthodox martial artist was to be intrinsically tied to the Alliance.

This meant Cheon-oh’s target list was astronomical: the Hidden Dragon and Crouching Tiger squads who executed the raid, the greedy leadership who ordered the extermination, and every single limb associated with them.

Once the dust settled, it was an absolute certainty that Cheon-oh would become the public enemy number one of the entire martial world.

To ensure his master was never implicated, Cheon-oh resolved to completely erase his identity as the Immortal Healer’s disciple the moment he stepped off the mountain. While his martial arts foundation might expose him to a trained eye, he was confident he could sufficiently alter the Formless Single-Strike Sword technique, just as his master had advised.

To evade the all-seeing eyes of the Hao Sect and the Sichuan Tang Clan, who were aware of his existence, he simply needed to conceal his face as his master did.

Alternatively, he could acquire the Disguising Art his master had once mentioned and completely reconstruct his features.

Once everything is finished, I will return to the Point of No Return Mountain Range. Since I won’t be able to show my face in the mundane world ever again, I’ll ask Master to travel with me to Haedong or Eastern Isles. He told me it was acceptable to seek revenge, so he won’t cast me out.

Therefore, independence was an absolute necessity.

He had to learn to function without his master’s constant presence, to close his eyes and fall into a numb sleep alone, so he could execute his bloody task with maximum efficiency.

Cheon-oh intellectually accepted the necessity of acclimating to solitary sleep.

He had spiraled into a remarkably dark and complex existential crisis over a simple ‘sleep in your own room’ directive, but he ultimately succeeded in solidifying his resolve.

At some point, the world faded away, leaving only the sensation of that quiet, comforting hand stroking his hair.

Eventually, even his master’s hand withdrew, leaving behind a fading, phantom warmth. Even though they still occupied the exact same room, a cold, hollow ache settled deep in Cheon-oh’s chest.

Having fallen asleep with such a turbulent, restless mind, it was physically impossible for the boy to have recovered from his profound mental exhaustion upon waking.

“…”

Cheon-oh leaned against the sill of the wide-open window, resting his chin in his hand as he stared blankly outside. His pitch-black, deadened eyes tracked the vibrant street below. Plumes of white steam billowed endlessly from food stalls, and porters burdened with towering loads marched steadily across the thoroughfare. Occasionally, a gaggle of children missing their front teeth would sprint past, shrieking with laughter.

He was entirely alone in the room.

His master had departed long ago, claiming he had matters to attend to. Cheon-oh had begged to tag along, promising absolute obedience, but was firmly denied. Instead, he received a strict order to remain in the guest house and refrain from wandering an unfamiliar city alone.

Absently rolling a pouch of gold coins in his hand, Cheon-oh struggled to untangle his chaotic thoughts.

The rapid-fire crises of the past few days were more than enough to completely drain the psyche of a teenager still riding the volatile waves of puberty.

Even though he had reached a brutally clear conclusion regarding his future, he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that he was missing something critically important.

“What even was that dream…”

Muttering unconsciously, Cheon-oh brushed a stray lock of hair from his face and pushed himself upright.

He needed to head downstairs and eat.

His master had promised not to be late; if he ate a meal and circulated his qi, Cho Yoon would surely return before he finished.

Before exiting the room, his numb gaze drifted out the window one last time.

Perhaps because it was midday, a dense knot of carriages and pedestrians was converging on the street below.

***

Clack.

Another empty bowl was stacked onto the towering pile in front of Cheon-oh.

The surrounding patrons, who had been discreetly monitoring the spectacle, let out a collective, synchronized gasp of awe. Completely ignoring their stares, Cheon-oh picked up his fresh bowl of noodles with his chopsticks. Unlike the previous, oil-stir-fried batch, this one swam in a scalding, rich broth.

Because Estate of Deep Mists only stockpiled rice, wheat-based dishes were an exclusive luxury reserved for trips down the mountain. Having eaten them occasionally when accompanying his master to restock supplies or visit the escort agency, he harbored no aversion to the food. However, mundane cooking rarely provided the deep, satisfying fullness of meals prepared by his master or himself.

His master had once hypothesized that growing up in an environment overflowing with pure qi and consuming ingredients with vastly superior nutritional density had permanently altered his constitution. Considering how barren and suffocating the air felt the moment he descended the mountain, Cheon-oh fully believed it.

Regardless, the only solution available to Cheon-oh was sheer volume. Knowing this, Cho Yoon had left him an exorbitant food allowance.

Stir-fried cabbage and eggs, mushrooms sautéed in soy sauce and vinegar, braised freshwater fish, boiled pork head dipped in vinegar, lightly charred tofu, grilled pork intestines, beef dumplings—an amount of food easily capable of bursting the stomachs of ten grown men vanished relentlessly down Cheon-oh’s throat. Yet, looking at his perfectly flat stomach, it was impossible to tell where it all went. In truth, Cheon-oh didn’t feel the slightest twinge of fullness or bloating.

What should I order next? It all tastes exactly the same.

Just as Cheon-oh drained the broth of his newest noodle bowl and added it to the architectural marvel of porcelain before him, someone abruptly and casually slid into the empty seat directly across from him.

Looking up, Cheon-oh was met with a brightly smiling boy. The cheerful-looking youth spoke up, his voice ringing with absolute, unhesitating familiarity.

“You eat incredibly well! Do you eat this much every day?”