Episode 62. Let’s Do It Next Time.
“Master, welcome.”
Moyong Baek looked startled as he glanced me up and down. I was standing there, rubbing the blood off my boots into the dirt.
“Doctor, I hope I’m not visiting too late.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Please, come in.”
“Weren’t you just about to go out?”
“Ah, nothing important. I was just going to buy some dumplings, but I can do that later. Did something happen?”
“Let’s talk inside.”
As soon as we sat down, Moyong reached for my wrist. “Let me check your pulse.”
I obediently extended my arm. While taking my pulse, he observed my eyes, my complexion, and the faint bloodstains on my clothes.
“No injuries?”
“None.”
“Your condition seems stable, though you look unusually fatigued. You must have exhausted your inner strength again. Another fight?”
“I tend to fight often. It’s part of my routine.”
I nodded casually.
“Have some tea, then.”
“Gladly.”
He instructed his assistant to bring tea, then turned to me. “Who did you fight this time?”
“You’ve heard that the Great Butcher is dead?”
“Of course.”
“Now that he’s gone, the underworld around him seems to be gathering. I stopped by the Cloud and Rain Society on my way here.”
Moyong nodded knowingly. “So you fought there. Master, perhaps today we can speak frankly.”
“Let’s.”
He smiled faintly. “It seems to me your inner demon stands just outside the door.”
I chuckled. “That’s exactly why I came. I’ve been feeling like a patient lately.”
After killing the Vice-Master of the Cloud and Rain Society, I had released the dancers, killed a few more who resisted, and left before Master Shui returned. If I’d stayed, I might’ve lost control completely.
I don’t want to be a madman consumed by slaughter. I want to be a madman aware of his madness—one who can correct it.
A little better than in my past life—that’s my goal. And when you’re unwell, you visit a doctor. That’s the martial way.
“So,” Moyong asked, “what happened at the Cloud and Rain Society?”
“Nothing much. I killed a few with an axe.”
“With an axe? How—”
“Split their skulls.”
“Whether by sword, axe, or fist, killing is still killing. Did you perhaps slay someone you shouldn’t have?”
“No.”
“Then where does that unrest in your eyes come from?”
“That, I don’t know.”
He smiled lightly as the assistant returned with the tea. Pouring it himself, he asked, “Do you know much about poison?”
“Not as much as you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh—the man who would become the Poison Demon one day, now asking me about poison.
He said thoughtfully, “Poison is, by nature, medicine.”
“How so? Poison kills, medicine heals.”
He gestured toward the tea. “Drink.”
We each took a sip of the clear brew. He continued, “The most potent poisons in the world come from insects, plants, and animals. Martial artists merely borrow them.”
“True.”
“But the creatures themselves only use poison when their lives are at risk. For them, it’s a defense mechanism—a tool for survival. That makes it closer to medicine. Humans labeled them differently: if it kills, it’s poison; if it heals, it’s medicine. But they’re fundamentally the same.”
“I see. I agree—partially.”
He nodded. “It’s just my opinion. The same applies to the inner demon. The heart’s poison, when drawn out and used, always leaves consequences. Even insects often die after releasing their venom, or they perish alongside their predator.”
“Like a double-destruction technique.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re saying my heart carries poison that’s harming me from within?”
“I believe so. Even killing the wicked leaves a stain on the soul. And that’s normal for any human.”
I tilted my head. It wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, but he was too sincere for me to argue.
“Then what should I do?”
He laughed loudly—a rare thing. “Moderation.”
I couldn’t help but grin back. A man who’d once been more bloodthirsty than I was now telling me to take it easy—how could I not laugh?
“You say so, so I’ll try to be moderate.”
He poured me another cup. “Be moderate—and share your burdens. The stronger you grow, the more you must learn to forgive. If you drain all your heart’s poison, it will consume you.”
I agreed. That’s exactly what happened in my past life. Back then, Moyong Baek had saved me with real poison; now he was saving me with words.
Then he added, “Killing the heretics is sometimes necessary, but the Martial Alliance enforces strict laws to prevent its members from losing control. Immediate executions are rare—they arrest and process the guilty. It’s not to protect the criminals, but to protect the enforcers.”
“That’s an interesting perspective.”
I asked the question that lay at the root of my turmoil. “There’s someone I hate most in the world. A powerful master with many strong subordinates. Suppose one day I grow strong enough to defeat him. When I do, his followers will hate me. Should I kill them all too?”
“No need.”
“That worries me.”
“Only religions demand that kind of total obedience. Is your enemy the Heavenly Demon Sect?”
I just smiled.
His expression tensed. “To take on one of the Three Great Calamities of the martial world… I may have underestimated you, Master.”
“I’ve always had big ambitions.”
“So it seems.”
Seeing his unease, I reassured him. “You have nothing to fear. I won’t bring harm your way.”
Perhaps that offended his pride, for he said, “They say those among the Three Calamities are immune to all poisons.”
“I’m not planning to kill them with poison, so that’s fine.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll train you until you’re immune to hundreds of poisons—perhaps even a thousand. Once your resistance builds, fighting demons and heretics will be easier.”
“What about immunity to ten thousand poisons?”
He chuckled. “Let’s be realistic.”
We both laughed.
“I should be going. I doubt Master Shui and the others will leave me in peace for long.”
“Allow me to see you out.”
As he walked me to the door, he suddenly asked, “Master, have I ever treated one of your acquaintances before?”
That question caught me off guard. “Why do you ask?”
He smiled awkwardly. “You’ve shown me such kindness, I wondered if I’d helped someone close to you.”
“Ah… perhaps,” I said. “Sometimes, you meet someone and feel an instant connection without knowing why. Maybe, in a past life, you saved me.”
He shook his head. “Unlikely.”
“Why?”
He smiled faintly. “I think I was a martial man in my previous life. I killed too many people. So in this one, I was sent to heal them instead.”
A chill ran down my spine, but I replied calmly, “Perhaps so. Let’s both stay healthy.”
“Safe travels, Master.”
He bowed. I returned the gesture, though awkwardly.
The unease in my chest wasn’t entirely gone. Maybe it was simply the weight of knowing how many masters I’d made enemies of. Still, talking to Moyong eased my heart. He was someone I could actually confide in—and he understood.
Soon, I could once again see the flowers and trees clearly. My breathing steadied. The inner demon knocking at my door withdrew, and I returned to the Black Cat Hall.
The place was noisy when I arrived—apparently some had returned ahead of me. I headed toward the main hall, already imagining the scene.
I’d summoned the Twelve Apostles, Dokgo Saeng, and Cha Sung-tae. Poor Cha Sung-tae—there wasn’t a soul among them he could beat. I could already picture him sitting in some corner, pretending to be invisible.
“Tsk.”
I flung open the great doors and stopped, blinking.
Dokgo Saeng hadn’t arrived yet, but the Apostles, So Gunpyeong, and all the officers were present. The Apostles sat on one side, my officers on the other— and in the seat of honor, right in the center… sat Cha Sung-tae.
“Hmm?”
He stood quickly and bowed. “Master, you’re here.”
The others followed. “Lord! Master!”
I approached the seat, and Cha Sung-tae even pulled out my chair like an attendant. I sat, glanced around the room, then said, “Sit down, all of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Some of you are new to each other. Introductions done?”
Cha Sung-tae answered from beside me. “All done.”
I’m a curious man by nature. So, unable to resist, I asked, “Why were you sitting in my seat?”
He replied smoothly, “I’m the General of the Hao Clan, am I not?”
“That’s true.”
Hong Shin, ever blunt, interjected, “He said he’s the second-in-command of the Hao Clan. Is that true, senior?”
I turned to Cha Sung-tae, who met my eyes pleadingly.
“Please… just go with it.” his gaze said.
“So I’ve raised a fox cub,” I thought.
The phrase “borrowing the tiger’s might” suddenly felt literal. At least it wasn’t a tiger I’d raised.
I sighed. “Nice try. He’s just the General, not the second-in-command. Still, that’s an important post. Treat him accordingly—but lightly. A couple of hits and he’s done for.”
The Apostles smirked, their tension fading. Cha Sung-tae slunk to the corner, only for me to call out, “Cha Sung-tae.”
“Yes?”
“If you don’t like it, get stronger. You weak, useless, pathetic man—how many times did Sama-bi beat you? Dozens? A hundred? You live off borrowed pride.”
Settling at the end of the row, Cha Sung-tae replied calmly, “It’s true. Those here had great masters, miracle elixirs, top-tier arts. I had none of that. I fought just to survive. So if it’s purely external skill, I can’t promise victory.”
So Gunpyeong glared. “Want to test that theory?”
Cha Sung-tae met his gaze and said quietly, “Let’s do it next time.”
It was nothing more than a simple remark—yet Hong Shin burst out laughing. Then Geumhae joined in. Soon, even the Four Spirits chuckled.
Everyone was laughing—except Cha Sung-tae.
I couldn’t help but laugh too. “Fine. Next time it is.”
“Yes, sir.”