Episode 89. A Calm and Deadly Conversation.
The Sword Demon set his teacup down and spoke evenly.
“There’s no need to force someone to reveal their sect if they’d rather not. But how about this — we take turns asking questions. If, through our answers, something truly piques our curiosity, we’ll exchange information. Gradually. After all, it’s only fair we learn about each other first.”
“You’re suggesting a sequential exchange of questions and answers?”
“Exactly.”
“Very well.”
“Then ask what you wish to know.”
When it came time to ask, I realized I had too many questions. I had to sort them by importance first.
As I pondered, the Left Envoy interjected, “Master, may I participate as well?”
“You may.”
“Thank you.”
The three of us sat there like generals of Wei, Shu, and Wu, each carefully choosing our words before battle.
I was the first to speak, turning to the Sword Demon. “Why are you teaching this filthy crapper?”
The Sword Demon answered calmly, “I intend to make him the next Heavenly Demon. Does that answer satisfy you?”
For a moment, I felt as though he’d struck me across the face. That was not the reply I’d expected.
Both of us turned to the Left Envoy, who only shook his head. “I’ll pass on this round.”
So even the future Bright Left Envoy was a meek lamb before his master. The Sword Demon nodded and asked me next,
“You don’t seem of the righteous path, nor the demonic one. If you were of the demonic sect, I’d surely know you. Therefore, your background must be among the Western Masters, or the Three Calamities. Though… unlikely as it seems, perhaps you are self-taught.”
I cursed inwardly. Goosebumps ran up my arm. How could he narrow it down without even witnessing my techniques?
“Was my guess correct?” he pressed.
“It was,” I replied tersely. Better to keep it short. The longer we played this game, the more I could learn from him.
I eyed his wooden sword, then the Left Envoy. “What exactly are you teaching him? He knows Ice Qi, and you wield the sword.”
The Sword Demon gestured toward his disciple. “He learned Ice Qi before meeting me. Look at him—so unrefined. Just because I wield the sword well doesn’t mean he will. A man who gulps down laxatives before a fight still has much to learn. So, I let him deepen what he’s already capable of.”
It was hard to argue with that. Smug bastard. I nodded in reluctant agreement.
Then he fired another question. “What martial art are you most confident in? Your hands lack calluses.”
Even though my black saber hung at my waist, he didn’t mistake me for a swordsman.
I realized lying would be pointless here. The Sword Demon could distinguish truth from falsehood in an instant.
“I’ve learned many arts,” I said. “So I don’t rely on one. I use whatever suits the situation.”
He nodded slowly. “In other words, you’ve mastered nothing.”
I sighed, feeling as though he’d just sliced my arm with a single invisible stroke.
He extended his hand. “Your turn.”
I asked broadly, hoping to uncover his purpose for staying in Baek-Eung-Ji. “What brings a man of the demonic path here?”
He considered, then replied, “I’m waiting to duel the Alliance Leader. He’s not a man one can face lightly, so I must wait—and heal.”
That didn’t even surprise me anymore. I scratched my head and nodded. The Sword Demon, unfazed, countered with another strike.
“You’ve met me for the first time, yet you seem to know my disciple well. If you didn’t poison him, you must want something from him. What is it?”
Suddenly, I felt surrounded by invisible blades, the air tightening around me. One lie, and I’d be skewered. What began as a “conversation” had turned into a duel of life and death.
Even the Left Envoy sensed it, sitting rigidly.
I wasn’t the sort to overthink, so I told the truth, plain and sharp.
“What I want… is Ice Qi.”
At once, the pressure lifted. The unseen blades vanished. Both master and disciple stared at me in silence.
I pressed on, careless of where this would lead. “Then tell me—why take this pervert as your student? He’s obsessed with women.”
“Lust is part of one’s nature,” the Sword Demon replied. “Nature comes from one’s parents. Some resist it, others don’t. He inherited his father’s temperament, it seems. Still, his talent for martial arts is extraordinary.”
The Left Envoy stayed quiet—proving his master right. Even the Sword Demon acknowledged that his pupil was a born womanizer.
“I didn’t stop him from chasing women,” the Sword Demon continued. “I only warned him not to harm them or speak crudely. Sooner or later, that habit will bring trouble. When the women who adore his face grow numerous enough, he’ll understand his fate.”
The master’s words carried the weight of prophecy. The Left Envoy, uneasy, asked softly, “Master… what fate do you mean?”
“That when you finally love a woman,” the Sword Demon said, “she’ll likely look at you as if you were filth. Reputation is not easily washed away. You’ll find joy now in shallow pleasures, but affection is not so simple. Still, I know you—you’ll live as you please. That too is fate.”
The verbal strike sent his disciple crumbling in spirit. I chuckled inwardly. Stay down, you filthy bastard.
Then the Sword Demon turned back to me. “My turn again. Why do you seek Ice Qi?”
It was a direct thrust, like a straight punch. No point dodging.
“To kill the Cult Leader.”
I’d parried successfully, but it still left me breathless. So I countered, “Then what’s your purpose in fighting the Alliance Leader?”
He folded his arms. “A fair question. But simple. Those who fight great battles ten times or more are not true masters.”
“Why not?”
“Because it means there were ten men worth defeating. A real master trains for decades, meets a handful of equals, and crosses blades perhaps once or twice in life. I met the Cult Leader once. Now, it’s the Alliance Leader’s turn.”
I fell silent, struck by the sheer audacity of his words.
He added, “That, to me, is what it means to be a demon.”
He was a seeker walking the path of enlightenment through the sword—a devil in form, a monk in spirit.
Then came his next question. “Do you truly believe that acquiring Ice Qi alone will let you kill the Cult Leader?”
My answer was immediate. “What matters is the will to kill him, not the result.”
The Sword Demon narrowed his eyes, studying me deeply, then gestured. “Ask your question.”
I suddenly recalled the sixth form of Ouyang Muguk’s Eight Techniques—the Wooden Sword Form. The Sword Demon held one now, so I asked, “Does that wooden sword represent your current level?”
He smiled faintly. “A curious question. The wooden sword is my current meditation. As for ‘level’… yes, perhaps it does. I’ve yet to master it fully. Is that answer enough?”
If I hadn’t read Muguk’s writings, I wouldn’t have understood. But his words hinted at a transcendence few reached.
He asked the next, most practical question. “My disciple has no reason to teach you Ice Qi. How will you obtain it?”
“If he won’t teach me, I’ll comprehend it myself.”
The Sword Demon chuckled. “Our exchange ends here. I’ve already discerned your background.”
I realized then that this “Q&A” was his way of testing and reading me like a blade examiner.
“Then tell me,” I asked. “What sect do you think I belong to?”
“You’ve been influenced by several, but you have no true master,” he said. “Your kind are founders, self-taught grandmasters. Independent in nature, thought, and will. You don’t need Ice Qi for its power—you seek it as knowledge, a stepping stone toward your own art. Men like you eventually forge their own path. I’d call you self-taught, yes—but one day, your martial art will be entirely your own.”
For the first time since my return to life, I was speechless. And for a man as talkative as me, that meant something.
He asked gently, “Was I wrong?”
“No,” I admitted.
“A rare disposition,” he said. “Treasure it.”
Then he turned to his disciple. “If my student wronged you, forgive him. You spared him, so it can’t have been a mortal sin. The fault lies in my teaching. If you choose forgiveness, come to me whenever your cultivation reaches a wall.”
I said nothing. The Sword Demon continued,
“Besides, my disciple’s Ice Qi is the soul of his clan. Even if you killed him, you wouldn’t obtain it. But whether by coincidence or fate, you both wish to kill the Cult Leader. Let that suffice for today.”
I glanced at the Left Envoy, stunned. His face showed no surprise.
You want to kill the Cult Leader too?
Then it clicked—his desperation for the Heavenly Jade back at Manjangae, his expression, his obsession.
So that’s why you chased me like a madman—you wanted the Heavenly Jade for yourself.
He never intended to offer it to the Cult Leader. He wasn’t the loyal type. And when I slaughtered a hundred of the Cult’s elites, he’d merely watched, waiting to retrieve the Jade. No wonder he didn’t care if I lived or died.
If the Demonic Sect destroyed his own clan, his thirst for revenge made perfect sense.
The Left Envoy spoke hesitantly. “Master…”
“Yes?”
“I’ll keep what happened with the laxative in mind.”
“You’d better,” the Sword Demon said sharply. “Had things gone a little differently, you’d be dead. Luck spared you. You fool—I warned you countless times.”
The disciple bowed deeply. “I’ll reflect on it, Master.”
“It wasn’t luck,” the Sword Demon snapped, pointing at him. “You lived because this man chose to let you. Your clan’s Ice Qi saved you. How long will you waste your days drinking and chasing skirts? Even I’m curious.”
The Left Envoy clutched his head, then muttered, “I’ll train harder.”
“And women?”
“I’ll… train with them harder…”
Whack! The wooden sword came down, sending him rolling across the floor.
I folded my arms, watching him tumble, and couldn’t help admiring him a little. Damn. The filthy bastard’s got guts.
I turned to the Sword Demon and said sincerely, “You have my respect, senior. Truly, you suffer much.”
I began to suspect the Sword Demon might have died of stress in his past life.
Looking around the peaceful courtyard, I realized the truth of our trio:
The Sword Demon, who sought enlightenment through the blade.
The Lust Demon, true to his nature.
And me—the Mad Demon.
Each of us, true to our namesakes.