Chapter 94: Master (3)

"Did I say I was hungry?"

The old man stroked his belly with a confused look before nodding slowly.

"Now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit hungry. Hehehe. A meal prepared by my own disciple... How I've missed this."

Sensing another round of "Who are you?" coming like a broken record, Il-mok quickly escaped to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

He found a cooking area tucked away in one corner of the pavilion, lit a fire, and gathered whatever ingredients were available to prepare an evening meal.

'These must be the supplies those martial artists leave behind during their visits.'

He began to think that staying here wouldn't be such a bad idea. Those martial artists might eventually discover him when they come to drop off food.

With decent ingredients at hand, Il-mok managed to prepare dinner quickly and carried the meal back to the old man.

"Who are you to be cooking for me? Scoundrel! You've definitely poisoned this food!"

Watching the old man spiral into another episode, Il-mok barely suppressed a sigh and repeated his earlier words.

"It’s me, Yeong-jin, Master. If you're worried about poison, I'll eat first. Let's dine together."

Il-mok took a bite with his chopsticks, then used a separate pair to feed the old man directly.

But finishing the meal didn't mark the end of his troubles.

'This is driving me insane.'

His body had become drenched in sweat again from practicing the latter forms of the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword earlier.

"Hmm. You clearly need to wash yourself."

The old man, who apparently shared Il-mok's cleanliness obsession, wrinkled his nose at Il-mok's condition and stood up in displeasure.

To Il-mok's surprise, the old man returned carrying a bar of soap.

'Did those martial artists provide this? Or did he make it himself because of his hygiene obsession?'

Even if the martial artists had supplied it, people suffering from dementia rarely think to bathe themselves.

Yet this old man kept his clothes and living space immaculately clean, hardly typical behavior for someone with dementia.

It seemed that even while battling dementia, his compulsions continued to drive his actions.

'Damn...'

Misery loves company, as they say.

The realization filled Il-mok with a mixture of pity and understanding.

"I'll prepare your bath water, Master."

Finding a water jar in the kitchen corner, Il-mok hauled it outside and used a ladle to splash water over himself before scrubbing down with soap.

After finishing his own wash, Il-mok approached the old man.

"Master, let me wash you."

"Hehehe. It's been far too long since someone did this."

As he poured water over the obviously delighted old man and worked up a lather, Il-mok turned his head away to hide his pitying face.

***

Dawn the next morning.

Il-mok, who had fallen asleep feeling refreshed after his bath, jolted awake in a panic.

"Who are you?! Why are you sleeping beside this old man?!"

The sudden bellowing from beside him had startled him from sleep.

Still groggy and disoriented, Il-mok struggled to gather his wits before shouting back. "Master! It’s me, Yeong-jin!"

"Yeong-jin?"

The old man's face scrunched in concentration, as if trying to retrieve a distant memory.

"Ah yes, you came here to learn swordsmanship! Haha. Excellent. Let's head outside then."

"...Good grief."

Il-mok turned away to hide his exasperation and reluctantly hauled himself upright.

Time passed as he spent his time dancing with his sword in the darkness, learning the advanced techniques from his self-appointed master.

"You look hungry, it must be time for a meal."

At the old man's observation, Il-mok exhaled in relief.

"I'll prepare breakfast, Master."

"Hehehe. Focus, my boy. It's dinner time."

"Excuse me?"

"Look at that sunset painting the sky red, clearly it's evening."

"......"

Knowing it was useless to argue, Il-mok simply nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen was stocked with foods perfect for long-term storage: jerky, fasting pills, dried vegetables, rice, and other preserved goods.

Following yesterday's routine, Il-mok lit the fire, drew water from the jar, and simmered the jerky with vegetables to make a broth, adding rice to create something resembling porridge.

Immediately after sharing this "evening" meal with the old man.

To avoid being subjected to training again, Il-mok came up with a scheme.

"Master, now that training is over, I'd like to wash up, but we're out of water."

"Hehehe. Water? Don't fret, my boy. There's a stream somewhere nearby. Hmm... or is there?"

Muttering ominously to himself, the old man took the lead while Il-mok followed with the water jar and soap in tow.

'Even if we get completely lost, I'm just trying to waste time anyway, so it doesn’t matter.'

The water jar weighed considerably, but channeling his internal energy made carrying it manageable.

About an hour into their journey toward this supposed stream, a strange old woman burst through the bushes, tilting her head in confusion.

"Where am I, and who am I?"

The memory-addled woman stared at Il-mok and the old man with eyes filled with fear.

"Wh-where is this place?!"

The woman erupted into a frenzy, flailing her arms wildly as razor-sharp palm qi shot from her fingernails, slicing through everything in sight.

'Oh, shit!'

Just as Il-mok was about to curse at the deadly energy hurtling toward him—

Clang!

The old man had somehow drawn his sword and effortlessly deflected every attack.

After weathering the deranged woman's violent outburst for a while—

"Hmm? Ah! I was on my way home."

The suddenly docile old woman passed by Il-mok and the old man as if nothing had happened, heading somewhere.

'...This place really is a demon asylum.'

Cold sweat trickled down Il-mok's spine.

Meanwhile, the old man who had just blocked a lethal assault spoke as casually as if discussing the weather. "Ah! Right, we were looking for that stream. Shall we continue?"

"...I'll lead the way, Master."

Il-mok, who had originally planned to kill time with the excuse of finding a stream, changed his mind.

He now understood that Oblivion Ridge was a nightmarish place where aimless wandering meant stumbling into random encounters with demented martial artists spoiling for a fight.

‘For fuck sake, even if you suffer from dementia, shouldn’t you try to resolve things with words first?’

Fucking Demonic Cult.

These old monsters retained their ‘punch first, question never’ mentality even after losing their minds.

Drawing on yesterday's route, Il-mok easily guided the old man to the stream.

"There we go."

Using internal energy to fill the jar, Il-mok addressed the old man. "Since we're already here, why don't we bathe first, Master?"

While Il-mok was washing himself and the old man with the soap they'd brought—

"Who goes there?!"

Yet another wild old monster appeared.

After this new arrival exchanged several moves with Il-mok's master—

"Wait... Is that you, Brother Kang?"

The old man who had been relentlessly attacking Il-mok's master suddenly stopped, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Hehehe. Well, I'll be damned. It's been ages."

Only then did Il-mok's master recognize his old acquaintance, and they exchanged greetings.

Witnessing this entire exchange, Il-mok reached a sobering conclusion.

'...Getting picked up by Old Man Kang was literally a godsend.'

Had he continued wandering Oblivion Ridge alone, he would've been a corpse by last night or this morning at the latest.

It wasn't just because the old man had mistaken him for a disciple.

From observing these exchanges between old monsters, this particular old man seemed to rank among the stronger residents of Oblivion Ridge.

With his confidence in the old man's abilities restored, Il-mok finally had the chance to appreciate his surroundings. Only now did he understand why this place had originally been called Peach Blossom Ridge.

'It's absolutely gorgeous.'

Despite being constantly torn apart by battles between demented martial artists, the landscape remained a stunning tapestry of trees and flowers. Among them, peach trees and other fruit-bearing varieties grew in abundance.

'...Maybe they trapped these old monsters here specifically because of the fruit trees.'

Perhaps the hope was that those who'd lost their mind could survive by foraging from these natural resources.

While Il-mok was returning home with the old man and enjoying the scenery—

"How dare you trespass on Divine Cult territory!"

Another wild old monster appeared.

***

The pattern repeated itself throughout their journey.

Il-mok barely managed to escort the old man back to his dwelling in one piece.

"Ah! You mentioned wanting to train in swordsmanship, didn't you?"

Remarkably, the old man retained perfect recall when it came to Il-mok's training. It’s the one thing he never seemed to forget.

'Son of a bitch! Why this of all things?!'

Il-mok found himself subjected to yet another grueling session of the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword's advanced techniques.

The routine continued: when the old man grew hungry, Il-mok cooked; when they worked up a sweat, they bathed together using water from their jar.

"Who are you?!"

And obviously, the constant reintroductions had become as routine as breathing.

After Il-mok endured another "perfectly normal" day, dawn broke on the third morning.

New figures appeared at Oblivion Ridge's entrance.

The Heavenly Demon and the Hidden Guard Pavilion Master had arrived, searching for Il-mok.

Though the mountain's beauty lived up to its name as the Peach Blossom Ridge, neither visitor spared much attention to the scenery as they rapidly ascended.

"Who dares intrude here?!"

Predictably, a deranged old man blocked the Heavenly Demon's path, but no battle ensued.

The instant they encountered each other, terrifying demonic energy began radiating from the Heavenly Demon's body.

Dementia might steal most memories, but it couldn't touch the deepest, most fundamental recollections—the habits carved into their bodies.

Just as these old monsters could still perform the martial arts they'd spent lifetimes mastering. Their body also remembered their habits as the devoted followers of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.

"I bow before the Lord of Ten Thousand Demons!!"

Recognizing the distinctive, overwhelming demonic energy of the Heavenly Demon Divine Arts, the old man immediately prostrated himself.

The Heavenly Demon gazed down at the pitiful believer with a mixture of sadness and impatience before continuing onward. Finding his youngest disciple took precedence over everything else.

He wandered the mountain paths, and each time he encountered the local residents, he unleashed waves of terrifying demonic energy from his Heavenly Demon Divine Arts.

Following traces of human passage, the Heavenly Demon eventually detected a familiar presence in the distance.

'As expected, you're alive, my disciple!'

Given Il-mok's current abilities, survival in Oblivion Ridge should have been impossible.

Even when setting out for this place, the Heavenly Demon had mostly expected to recover nothing more than his young disciple's corpse.

Yet he'd harbored a strange intuition.

Despite being young and relatively weak, something told him this particular child would find a way to survive in this forbidden land.

Perhaps it was because of what he had observed over the past year. The boy possessed not only martial talent but wisdom far beyond his years.

The Heavenly Demon's instinct proved correct, he could sense his living disciple.

However, detecting Il-mok's presence didn't entirely lighten his expression.

'He's performing the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword!'

With his sky-high cultivation, the Heavenly Demon could identify Il-mok's movements from the distant energy signature alone.

Therefore, the Heavenly Demon used lightness skills, pushing through the bushes at tremendous speed toward the direction where he felt the presence.

'Hold on just a little longer, my disciple!'

Crossing the distance in what seemed like an instant, the Heavenly Demon finally reached the source of Il-mok's energy signature. His eyes widened at the sight of an elegant pavilion.

"!!!"

Il-mok wasn't locked in combat with some elder. He was simply practicing forms, working through the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword techniques.

But the Heavenly Demon's shock wasn't born from pride at his disciple's dedication to training in such a perilous location.

"Tsk! Put more power into that waist! You're hampering your next movement! Don't force it to stop, use the natural momentum!"

An old man—one strangely familiar to the Heavenly Demon—was scolding Il-mok.

"Yes, Master!"

And his own disciple, Il-mok, was addressing this stranger as 'Master.'

'What on earth...?'

The Heavenly Demon, who had rushed here with worry for his youngest disciple, felt like he was experiencing cognitive dissonance.