The moment the blow landed on the top of his head, the Number One of the Evil Path looked inwardly surprised.

“......”

It didn’t seem to do much damage. But what truly shocked him was this—the vast internal energy that had felt like a towering wall... momentarily ceased.

I could sense it because I had been locked in a direct energy struggle with him. That meant even he had to channel his internal energy into his body to maintain his sword-impervious state.

Up until now, he had been faking it—pretending to nonchalantly receive the Sword Demon’s strikes. His movements were crude and theatrical, but the foundation of his martial arts was pure internal energy. Of course, he likely hadn’t cultivated it through any righteous path.

The Sword Demon struck the top of his skull again with the hilt of the Bright Sword.

Thud!

I don’t know why, but I wanted to laugh.

Now that the Four Great Villains had latched onto him, his weaknesses were surfacing.

Was it mere luck?

Or the result of countless intersecting circumstances?

If we had only competed in internal energy, we wouldn’t have known. If we’d only exchanged sword or palm strikes, we wouldn’t have figured it out either.

At its core, this fight had simply been the Number One of the Evil Path pressing down on us with his overwhelming internal energy.

This wasn’t perfect or complete sword-imperviousness.

Again, a satisfying rhythm rang out.

Thunk!

Every time the Sword Demon struck his head with the Bright Sword’s hilt, it sounded like a drumbeat in a military march. Taking advantage of the distraction, I shifted our internal energy clash into full offense.

Was there ever such a perfect coordinated attack?

Normally, four people ganging up on one would be shameful, but none of us are Four Great Saints, so we don’t give a damn.

The bastard seemed to lose focus—the Lecher’s ice energy slowly turned his shoulder white.

Besides, I’d been gripping his arm this whole time and had no intention of letting go.

I released my Crimson Free-Wandering Energy and added more winter-cold ice energy as if fanning flames in a burning house.

Thud! Thud!

The Sword Demon swung the Bright Sword like a trustworthy woodsman splitting firewood.

Nice.

I wanted to shower him with praise and concern, but we were in the middle of keeping up the assault, so I held back.

Anyway, the Number One of the Evil Path had been caught by the Four Great Villains.

He was going to die.

Had I come here alone, as I often did in my past life, driven only by temper, I would’ve ended up leaping into the river mid-fight and getting chased down by the military fleet. Strangely enough, if even one of us had been missing, we would’ve won—but at the cost of grave injuries.

But now?

Now we had him locked down with internal energy, pummeling him relentlessly.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! THUNK...!

Finally, blood dribbled from his mouth, both eyes bloodshot, and the arm and shoulder where ice energy had flooded in were completely frozen.

And yet the bastard forced an awkward smile and spoke to me.

“Master Moon.”

“What.”

“Spare me. I’ve got a lot to tell you. Martial arts... secrets...”

The Sword Demon narrowed his brow and slightly turned his head, pausing as if he couldn’t quite hear.

I told him plainly:

“You’ve done enough. Time to go join your subordinates.”

“Once more—”

“The girl’s parents we found at the auction... were killed by your men. I can’t let you live.”

“What do those parents have to do with you?”

“I made the girl a disciple of the Four Great Villains. You should’ve controlled your men better. Big brother, keep cracking that skull.”

The Sword Demon looked down at him with those blackened eyes and spoke in a low voice:

“...I’m the First Master.”

Then the hilt of the Bright Sword smashed down on his skull.

Thud!

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Damn right.”

I watched the Drunk’s expression grow emotional from start to finish. By now, I could handle the guy’s internal energy alone, and the Drunk noticed that too.

So he brought down his right hand on the bastard’s skull.

Thud!

“I’m the Second Master.”

Since the Sword Demon’s attacks were scattering his inner flow, I pushed more ice energy into him through the gap.

I was focused on unraveling his internal energy like a dog with a bone. Then I turned to the Lecher. Our eyes met—he smacked the back of the bastard’s head.

Crack!

“This is for the Fourth Master. Take another.”

Thunk!

The Lecher even struck one extra for me. I burst out laughing.

If the Sword Demon recovers, this fight is ours in a landslide.

Then he lifted the Bright Sword again and brought the hilt—swarmed by black spirits—down on the man’s skull.

Crack—

The sound was sharp. The bastard’s skull shattered, spraying us all in blood.

At that moment, my inner force burrowed into him, and his danjeon—his energy core—exploded like a watermelon. His body collapsed to the ground.

We all let out long, steady breaths and released our hands.

The fight wasn’t easy, but the result was, as always, simple.

That’s what death is.

The Sword Demon asked us,

“Is he dead?”

The Lecher answered,

“Yes, Master.”

The Sword Demon sighed low and heavily, then sat down and folded his legs into a meditative pose. As he slowly closed his eyes, those blackened pupils finally disappeared under his lids.

I said to him,

“Regulate your breathing and energy.”

He shook his head and let out a puff of black smoke from his half-open mouth.

I sat down beside him, not moving an inch, and stared at him.

“Hm.”

The Drunk and the Lecher sat in the bloody slush, also staring at him.

Suddenly, the Sword Demon shook his head and rubbed both ears with his hands.

“Disciple.”

“Yes?”

“Do you hear wailing?”

The Lecher replied,

“We don’t, Master.”

He nodded.

“I see.”

What was he seeing, what was he hearing?

He looked like a man trapped in hell.

And the only hope, perhaps, was that he could still speak with us from that hell.

He was never one to whine or show weakness, so we could only guess at the torment he was enduring.

Then he leaned his head back and let it drop—

Nosebleed.

Blood-tears.

Both gushed out at once.

After a deep breath, he said:

“The Bright Sword is, simply put, a ghost-infested sword. It shouldn’t exist in this world. I was forcibly bound to it by the former Sword Demon of the old main cult. I survived the death match among those qualified to inherit it. There’s no way to unbind it except death. The former master only passed it to me when his time finally came. I still remember it. He should’ve died long before that. The moment he handed it over, he aged all at once. So—what condition am I in now?”

The Lecher responded,

“Master, you’re the same as always.”

“If I use the Bright Sword to absorb spirits and then carve that ghostly energy into my flesh as demonic script, I too could become sword-impervious like that bastard. But gaining power always comes with loss. I don’t know what the side effects would be. And honestly, I don’t see the point. My pride won’t allow it.”

I looked at him silently.

It sounded like he was debating whether to accept the spirits into his body. And honestly, it looked like he had no choice.

How do you live with spirits crawling over you like that?

If it stayed like this, he might as well be dead already. Especially if he’s hearing ghostly wails the rest of us can’t.

I felt like I was worrying about his condition the way I’d worry about my own. And then I said:

“Even demonic arts can’t overpower your nature.”

The Sword Demon, still with eyes closed, replied:

“What do you mean?”

I just blurted out what I’d come to feel while watching him all this time.

“If you’d been born into a noble clan or orthodox sect, you’d be a sect leader or top master by now. Demonic cultivation never changed your temperament or your true nature. You should just accept the spirits. If you can...”

“......”

“Could you maybe... seal them in one arm?”

What I said was absurd, even to myself.

The Sword Demon asked me:

“You mean my sword hand?”

I answered flatly:

“No. You’re a swordsman. Can’t use that one.”

“......”

“Your other hand. Can you do it?”

He raised his left hand and stood still for a moment, then asked:

“...This one?”

I nodded.

“The Sword Demon in your left hand, the swordsman in your right. ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) Seal the spirits in the left, and keep your sword in the right.”

I had no idea if this made sense.

I don’t know much about demonic cultivation in the first place. I was giving advice about something I don’t understand, so who knows what the result will be?

But in martial arts, the hands are second only to the energy core. They must be the most precise, the most refined instruments of the body.

That’s why so many techniques focus on the palms.

The palm is the most efficient way to transmit internal energy. Even people with no martial arts instinctively place their hand on their belly when in pain. They know—without knowing—that the palm transmits heat best.

So it seemed better to seal the spirits in one arm than let them consume his body or mind.

Not because I understand demonic arts—but because I trust my instincts.

While the Sword Demon stared at his raised left hand, the Lecher looked down at the ruined corpse and said:

“The Number One of the Evil Path seemed to have mastered a technique where he used overwhelming energy to make specific areas sword-impervious. He wrapped his strikes in force and deflected blades—but only locally. It’s wordplay, but in truth, it wasn’t true sword-imperviousness. His internal energy flow visibly shifted.”

The Sword Demon nodded slightly.

In short, the Lecher was proposing that the same method might allow us to bind the spirits in his left arm.

The Sword Demon wiped the blood from his face with that left hand. It looked like a priest of some twisted cult making an offering of blood. But he had already left the sect behind, and even while on the wrong path, he walked toward the light.

He clenched and opened his hand, murmuring with exhaustion:

“...Take my arm. This is your last notice.”

Black energy began to gather around his left hand, condensing like the tension of an external force. Like black thread unraveling, it spread and seeped into his veins like ink.

It started in the palm, spreading like spiderwebs up his arm.

Meanwhile, the deadly aura that had clung to him faded, and as if to maintain balance, the darkness in his left arm deepened.

The Sword Demon opened his eyes—still black—and stared at his arm.

As his eyes slowly regained their natural color, the marks of the spirits expanded like demonic script, spreading from his left arm all the way to the nape of his neck.

His complexion, once pale, now looked restored—like someone who had held their breath too long finally inhaling life.

How did he manage that?

We said nothing—just watched him.

His face remained expressionless. It was impossible to tell whether we were looking at a swordsman or a demon.

He looked down at his hand, then touched the back of his neck and said:

“...If it spreads further, I’ll cut off my arm.”

That terrifying declaration made all three of us laugh.

I said to him:

“A one-armed swordsman’s way cooler than a possessed demon. Even better. Want me to do it for you?”

The Sword Demon grinned.

“Not yet.”

The Lecher asked:

“Master, are you all right?”

He nodded.

“It feels like I’ve inherited half the hardness of the Bright Sword. It’s uncomfortable, but this will do.”

The Drunk said to us:

“Let’s go wash up. The smell of blood’s overwhelming.”

We looked at each other—аnd yeah, we were all drenched in blood.

The Lecher stood first and helped the Sword Demon up. Though the spirits were dealt with, he looked like a man dragged out of a fire.

We matched our pace to his slow steps, stepping over corpses and heading for the lake.

Baeksado (White Sand Island) was now a battlefield no one could live in—at least for a while. But that wasn’t a big problem. The rain would fall, the wind would blow, and the place would restore itself.

The four of us stepped into the lake.

Red blood washed away.

As I rinsed the blood from my body, my eyes grew heavy. I glanced around and saw a corpse missing an arm, face down on the shore. Probably someone who tried to escape by boat—and failed.

Strangely, the intact boat nearby looked like a treasure chest.

If we brought back the non-combatants who fled to Baeksado and used them as sailors, we could even reclaim the bastard’s hoarded wealth scattered across Dongho. But that wasn’t really our job. Too much time, too much hassle.

I stopped thinking about cleanup and just floated on the water.

Sleep was crashing down on me.

I crawled onto dry land before I passed out and sprawled out flat.

With my eyes closed, I spoke to the others:

“I’m sleeping.”

The Drunk, the Lecher, and the Sword Demon responded in turn.

“Get some rest.”

“Sleep well.”

“Lie down. I’ll light a fire nearby.”

A fire...

Just imagining it made me feel warm.