Chapter 96

It felt like a terribly irresponsible conclusion (and, in truth, it was irresponsible to an extent), but Cho Yoon could offer reasons he considered rational.

First things first: treating Cheon-oh was an absolute priority. He couldn’t waste precious time laying Moyong Seo out comfortably and nursing him when his own child was bleeding heavily right in front of him.

Furthermore, he harbored absolutely zero desire to care for the little psycho who had butchered his kid. He had intercepted Cheon-oh’s punch and prevented the protagonist from getting his head caved in; as far as Cho Yoon was concerned, his moral obligations were fully met.

Second, the mere thought of dealing with Moyong Seo once he regained consciousness induced a massive migraine. Whether Cho Yoon demanded an apology, sought compensation, or simply tried to smooth things over, he would inevitably be forced to reveal his identity and explain the situation. That would unavoidably drag the original novel’s plotlines directly into the conversation.

If he asks how I know the future or what I’m trying to change, how the hell do I answer? Cho Yoon agonized. I can’t just honestly tell him, ‘I couldn’t leave a traumatized kid alone, so I casually kidnapped the future supreme leader of the Demonic Cult.’ And I certainly can’t bluff my way through a non-existent master plan!

Third, tracking the chain of events that led the protagonist—who should currently be growing strong in Liaoning, far to the northeast—all the way to Shaanxi Province triggered a sudden realization. Moyong Seo claimed he followed his older brother here, but what business did Moyong Dan have in this region?

The martial arts tournament! The Mount Hua Sect is hosting a massive tournament right around this time!

Following the discovery of the hidden tomb, select factions within the White Chivalry Alliance began desperately scouting for rising stars, seeking individuals worthy of wielding the newly unearthed divine artifacts. Initially, these efforts were conducted covertly to avoid alerting the Namgung Clan and their affiliates. However, as years passed, the feverish push to cultivate the next generation naturally bubbled to the surface, sweeping across the entire Central Plains.

The more astute politicians managed to dress up their true motives in pretty rhetoric, but the underlying desperation was glaringly obvious.

In the original timeline, the regressor protagonist had systematically resolved every disaster that ruined these scouting projects, steadily building his own alliance.

The very first of these events was the ‘Three Treasures Tournament,’ hosted by the Mount Hua Sect and attended by various Daoist factions.

Knowing this tournament was destined to collapse into chaos due to the Zhenniao poison, Moyong Seo had traveled all the way to Shaanxi under the guise of an observer, solely to contact Zhuge Seol-rin.

Yet, even here, Cho Yoon’s meddling had spawned a chaotic multitude of variables.

Wait, didn’t the Mount Hua Sect get blackmailed into submission by the Sichuan Tang Clan? Cho Yoon wondered, his thoughts racing. If they’re still hosting such a massive event, does that mean they have some hidden backing? Or did something else happen that I’m completely unaware of? And their sudden feud with the Zhongnan Sect—that wasn’t in the original novel either… Plus, shouldn’t he have met Guyang Seon by now? What happens to the plot if they don’t meet?!

“Master?”

Noticing his master standing perfectly still, entirely lost in his own thoughts while maintaining a firm grip on his arm, Cheon-oh called out softly. Cho Yoon snapped back to reality, giving his head a subtle shake to clear his mind.

No. If I’ve decided to run away, I shouldn’t overthink this!

He had accomplished every objective he set out for in Tongguan. Lingering any longer guaranteed entanglement in increasingly convoluted and exhausting crises. His original plan—to vanish quietly as if he had never existed—was completely shattered, but he desperately wanted to return home in one piece.

So, let’s just leave. If we hole up in the mountains for a few years, most of this will resolve itself, he rationalized. Yes, the timeline is already FUBAR, but I am absolutely not interfering anymore. The protagonist can handle his own messes.

His frantic rationalization complete, Cho Yoon spoke.

“We must depart Tongguan before nightfall. Let us briefly inspect your wounds, and then we shall secure a carriage.”

“…Are we rushing our departure because of me?” Cheon-oh asked, his voice tight. “Was it a mistake for me to carelessly engage that person in combat?”

“How could that possibly be true? You are entirely blameless,” Cho Yoon assured him firmly. “There is simply no further reason for us to remain here.”

Though still looking somewhat crestfallen, the boy obediently nodded. Instructing Cheon-oh to wait, Cho Yoon strode toward the end of the alley. Moyong Seo lay unconscious amidst a pile of burst sacks, thoroughly coated in white flour, the victim of Cho Yoon’s momentum-canceling shove.

If we’re going to run, I need to be thorough about it. 

Crouching down, Cho Yoon focused a surge of internal energy into his fingertips and meticulously pressed against Moyong Seo’s sleep acupoints. Blood point striking—the art of accurately stimulating specific points on the body to induce paralysis, sleep, or even death—was incredibly convenient for situations exactly like this.

Applying heavy internal energy, Cho Yoon relentlessly targeted the Geogol and Gyeonjeong points on the shoulder, the Biyu and Suori points on the arm, and the Eunmun point on the thigh. Deciding that wasn’t secure enough, he forcefully pressed the Yeongheo and Ogye points on the boy’s chest.

Moyong Seo’s body spasmed violently once before going completely limp.

It was an excessively heavy-handed application just to induce sleep, but given the protagonist’s notorious luck and resilience, this felt like the exact appropriate measure.

Cho Yoon traced a few characters into the dirt beside Moyong Seo using his fingertip, then grabbed an empty sack to drape over the boy’s prone form. Even if he despised the little psycho, Cho Yoon’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave an unconscious child completely exposed to whatever unsavory elements prowled the dark alleys of Tongguan.

His task complete, Cho Yoon dusted the flour from his hands and hurried back to Cheon-oh.

Removing his own outer robe, he draped it carefully over the boy’s shoulders to conceal the tattered, blood-soaked clothes beneath.

Clasping Cheon-oh’s uninjured hand, Cho Yoon led him back out onto the bustling street.

Pulling the oversized collar tight to hide his mangled body, Cheon-oh obediently followed his master with his head bowed. Given the lacerations on the boy’s legs, Cho Yoon desperately wanted to carry him, but scooping up a teenager who was now nearly as tall as he was would inevitably draw unwanted stares.

Returning smoothly to the guest house, Cho Yoon requested a basin of clean water and fresh cotton cloths from an idle waiter before ascending the stairs.

The moment they entered their third-floor room, he ordered the boy to undress and immediately began rummaging through his meticulously packed medicine chest.

He pulled out every single soy-sauce-dish-sized container of Golden Wound Salve he had pre-portioned.

The purple ointment—a concentrated reduction of angelica, gromwell, lime, lard, white wax, dictamnus root, coptis, and phellodendron, enhanced with a rare mushroom harvested directly from Mount Cheongwe—emitted a powerfully pungent, distinct odor.

Damn it, next time I need to extract and pack mulberry bark sutures as well, Cho Yoon cursed internally. I made this batch for commercial sale, so it might leave slight scarring… but we need immediate first aid, so this will have to do. We’ll manage the rest once we get back to the mountains. If all else fails, we’ll just bet everything on his eventual Bone-Shedding and Marrow-Washing transformation! That process is supposed to purge all scars and completely reconstruct the body! There’s absolutely no way my kid won’t reach that realm!

Gathering scissors, pure distilled alcohol, and a small mountain of medical supplies, Cho Yoon turned around.

Cheon-oh had his back turned, hesitantly pulling his ruined shirt over his shoulders.

It seemed the boy had reached an age where bearing his upper body to his master induced a sense of adolescent embarrassment.

Right on cue, the waiter knocked, delivering the requested water and cloths. Accepting the supplies and setting them on the table, Cho Yoon tossed his bamboo hat onto the bed. At his gentle summons, Cheon-oh—having neatly folded his shredded shirt—approached and sat rigidly in a chair.

Cho Yoon began by dampening a cloth to clean the wounds. A brief, polite scuffle ensued as the boy insisted he could manage it himself, but the moment Cho Yoon flatly stated they had no time to waste, Cheon-oh immediately fell silent.

Taking the now-docile boy’s hand, Cho Yoon carefully wiped away the dried, crusted blood from the back of his knuckles. As he meticulously cleaned between the fingers and under the nails, the conversation naturally dwindled into heavy silence.

“…”

Examining the damage up close only amplified Cho Yoon’s distress. The vivid slashes across his chest, waist, abdomen, and legs were horrifying, but the overlapping network of scars accumulating on the boy’s hands hurt the most. It genuinely felt like a curse; whenever Cheon-oh faced danger, his hands always bore the brunt of the devastation. They had been mutilated when Cho Yoon first found him, torn open again during the encounter with the Imoogi, and now, they were shredded once more.

Sitting passively as he was tended to, Cheon-oh must have sensed his master’s grim mood. The boy slowly turned his head, his gaze quietly studying Cho Yoon’s face. Cho Yoon could literally feel the boy’s eyes tracing his furrowed brow, his tightly set lips, and his tense jawline, as if observing him for the very first time.

I must be making a truly pathetic expression right now, Cho Yoon mocked himself internally, entirely unaware of what his actual face looked like.

After a long, agonizing hesitation, Cheon-oh finally forced out a single sentence.

“I am not in pain. I am fine, Master.”

“…”

Cho Yoon rinsed the blood-soaked cloth, wrung it out tightly, and moved up to treat a gash on the boy’s forearm before asking softly, “When you say you are not in pain… does that mean you literally cannot feel the pain, or does it mean you feel it but can endure it?”

“It means I feel the pain, but it is easily endurable,” Cheon-oh replied smoothly. “I would be entirely unbothered even if I sustained far worse injuries than these. My only regret is showing you such a pathetic, inadequate display.”

“First of all, you are absolutely not inadequate.”

The words burst out before Cho Yoon could even organize his thoughts. It was glaringly obvious that the boy was viciously blaming himself for taking so much damage against a younger opponent. For once, Cho Yoon was absolutely certain his psychological read was correct.

His profound sorrow rapidly curdled into a flicker of genuine anger.

He couldn’t fathom why this child—whom he had poured his heart and soul into raising properly—was constantly walking on eggshells around him, harboring such pathetically low self-esteem.

Completely oblivious to the obsessive, twisted reverence and abnormal fanaticism lurking within Cheon-oh’s mind—and entirely unaware that the boy only displayed this fragile subservience in his presence—Cho Yoon felt suffocated by the crushing guilt that this was all somehow his own fault.