Chapter 205 - Please Grant Me Permission

Go Wol was working in his room, drawing up a budget for where and how to spend the funds they had obtained through Immortal Debt. Calculating, organizing, making plans. No matter how much he did, the work never ended.

Just then, the person who made that recurring burden a little easier to bear hurried inside.

"The Second Young Master and the Fist Demon are returning to the Cult."

At the Wind Heaven Cult Leader's words, the brush in Go Wol's hand paused briefly, then resumed moving.

"When?"

"It looks like they're leaving right now."

Watching Go Wol continue working, the cult leader asked,

"Aren't you sad the Second Young Master's leaving?"

"Why would I be? He's a busy man. When it's time to go, he has to go."

"I'm going with them."

Go Wol remained absorbed in his work.

"I really am! I'm not joking!"

"If you leave, I'll go back with you."

The cult leader had only been acting petulant because Go Wol did nothing but work, but the response caught him by surprise. Go Wol truly meant to return with him.

"Really?"

"Yes. If you go, I go. I'm not doing this alone."

A smile formed on the cult leader's lips.

"Even if you don't mean it, that feels good to hear. Never mind. Where would I go? We have work to finish."

"I said let's go."

"It's all right. I've already been there and back."

With just a few words from Go Wol, the Wind Heaven Cult Leader had flown all the way to the Divine Cult of the Heavenly Demon and back.

"Besides, it'll be chaos if we go back now."

"Why?"

"The Second Young Master says he's going to kill the Unorthodox Alliance's second-in-command."

Go Wol started. Of all the news the cult leader had brought into the room, this was the most surprising.

"Yelü Han?"

"Yes, that bastard!"

The Wind Heaven Cult Leader knew about Yelü Han. He had even met him in the past.

"Even for the Second Young Master, that bastard won't be easy."

Go Wol had never met him in person, but the rumors alone had long made it clear that he was no easy opponent. That, however, was not the problem.

"The cult leader will never allow it anyway."

The Wind Heaven Cult Leader recalled what Geom Mugeuk had said earlier about his Demonic Path, and his attitude toward evil.

"When the Second Young Master becomes the Heavenly Demon... so much will change."

Go Wol stopped writing for a moment.

"Hasn't a great deal changed already?"

And they stood at the very heart of that change.

Just then, Geom Mugeuk entered.

"It seems our esteemed cult leader has already told you we're leaving. We'll have to set off now."

"Have a safe journey."

"Once again, I'm going back and leaving you here to toil away."

"There's not much left now. I'll finish things properly before returning."

"What about the funds?"

"I believe the money recovered from Immortal Debt will be enough to finish."

"Good. Let's keep in touch by messenger bird."

"Yes. Please take good care of yourself, Young Master. Oh, and you can use the intelligence network in the completed regions whenever you wish."

Just hearing that reassured Geom Mugeuk. Once the Heaven-Reaching Pavilion's network and Go Wol's were combined, he would have access to more information, faster, than anyone else in Murim.

"Have you thought of a name for this intelligence organization?"

"Please choose one for us, Young Master."

"I'd like to name it Hidden Moon, after your own name. What do you think?"

Go Wol's eyes wavered with emotion. He was grateful for Geom Mugeuk's thoughtfulness in deliberately incorporating his name.

"I love it. Thank you for your consideration."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you. I'm sorry I gave you such a difficult task right from the start."

"On the contrary, I'm grateful you entrusted me with such an important responsibility from the start."

While Geom Mugeuk and Go Wol said their farewells, the Wind Heaven Cult Leader and the Fist Demon exchanged a brief goodbye as well. The cult leader spoke first.

"I'm glad I had the chance to see you."

"I had no idea you were devoting yourself so wholeheartedly to my disciple. You have my thanks."

In truth, the Wind Heaven Cult Leader had no close friends among the Demon Supremes. The Demonic Buddha had been the closest thing to one, but that relationship had already soured.

He had had an opportunity to grow closer to the Fist Demon this time, but needless reserve had kept them from having any deeper conversations.

"Let's share a drink when we have the chance."

The cult leader meant it.

"Listen, Second Young Master. Make sure you get that permission."

He meant that too.

* * *

I raced along with the Fist Demon using lightness arts.

On the way out, we had taken our time, enjoying ourselves and slacking off. On the way back, we ran at a truly fearsome speed.

We kept going without rest until dark, covering in half a day a distance that had taken us several days on the outward journey.

"Let's camp here tonight. Please sit down for a moment."

With practiced hands, I cleared the area. First, I spread leaves to make a comfortable place for the Fist Demon to sit.

I was grateful to him. I had never imagined he would agree to this undertaking. Given his relationship with Father, he should have been the Demon Supreme most opposed to it. Instead, he had put his relationship with me first.

While he sat with his eyes closed in qi-circulation meditation, I lit a campfire in front of him.

I caught some game and cooked it. Before leaving, I had stopped by an inn to buy a few seasonings, so I was able to serve him a fairly tasty meal.

"You even brought seasonings?"

"Of course. They're the most important thing on a long journey. How does it taste?"

"Good."

"Do you know whose secret seasoning recipe this is?"

"It tastes like the cult leader's cooking."

That startled me.

"You've eaten Father's cooking?"

"Once or twice, long ago. There was a time when the cult leader and I traveled together quite often. We did a great deal of fighting back then."

For a moment, I pictured Father and the Fist Demon together.

Two men: the Heavenly Demon and the Fist Demon.

Father's younger self came to mind, with a young Fist Demon at his side. The boy who had fought in the arena had become the Fist Demon, and the young man who had chosen him had become the Heavenly Demon.

I imagined those two taciturn, manly men—the most belligerent men in Murim—roaming the martial world. They would have feared no one and bowed before no one.

Just as I had fought back-to-back with the Wicked Laughing Demon, they must have fought relying on each other.

And at night, they would have lit a campfire like this, eaten meat, and drunk wine. They probably barely spoke.

Perhaps camping with me now was reminding the Fist Demon of those youthful days.

"I have some wine here too."

I took out the wine I had brought and poured him a cup.

Sharing a drink with the Fist Demon across the campfire had a charm all its own.

"The return journey is the more important part of a trip."

"Why is that?"

"Do you know when a journey is finally complete? When you open the door to your room, say, 'Ah! I'm finally back!' and throw yourself onto your bed. That's the ending we're running toward now. It's even more important than the excitement of setting out."

The Fist Demon gave me a curious look.

"How do you know so much about it?"

Because my previous life had been one long journey after another. And I had had no room to return to.

Back then, my room had been the yard of the Ghost Adept's house. When I brought back the materials for the great art and saw his astonished face, I would think, 'Ah! I did it!' and feel a very brief moment of relief.

"I truly enjoyed this journey with you, Master."

I got along well with this steadfast, quiet man. These days I talked a lot, fooled around, laughed, and made a racket. But the person I had originally been was very much like the Fist Demon.

"Oh, when you return, you should start by cutting down the time you spend attending the Iron Fists' training."

Perhaps he had already intended to do so, because he asked me for specifics.

"Should I attend just one group's session each day? The White Fists today, the Blue Fists tomorrow. Like that?"

"No. Then you'd still have to see them every day, wouldn't you? Instead, oversee all four groups in one day as usual, but only attend once every five days."

"Five days?"

"Spend the other four doing whatever you want. Make that time entirely your own."

"What about the Late-Night Training Group?"

"Do whatever suits you. Come if you want to, and rest if you want to rest."

The Fist Demon nodded. This journey of slacking off had changed his life. I looked forward to seeing what that change would bring.

At daybreak, we ran and ran again. Whenever our internal energy ran low, we sat down together and restored it through qi-circulation meditation.

And so, racing onward without hesitation, we returned to the Cult.

* * *

When I returned to the Divine Cult of the Heavenly Demon, Father was at the smithy.

The Cult's smithy was the largest in Murim. Inside the vast building, hundreds of bare-chested men were melting metal and hammering iron.

Searing heat, the smell of sweat, and the scent of metal.

CLANG! CLANK! CLANG!

I had always loved the sound of iron being hammered. It held the perilous intensity of swords clashing. That was why it always sounded hot to me.

The men who met my eyes bowed. I returned their greetings with small nods as I walked through.

I spotted Father in the distance. Even amid so many people coming and going, his presence was unmistakable. In a picture where everyone else seemed black and white, he alone stood out like a vivid red dot.

He stood beside Master Gwak, the head of the smithy, known as the Divine Hand. Master Gwak was showing him a newly forged sword. Whenever he developed a new weapon, he always sought Father's opinion before beginning mass production.

They were examining the sword and discussing it so earnestly that I waited a short distance away.

The world's finest swordsman and its finest swordsmith were exchanging opinions. Could there be a more moving sight in this smithy?

Once a newly developed sword was approved, it would be mass-produced to replace the Cult's martial artists' swords. The smithy usually improved its swords once every five years, or every ten at the longest.

These improved swords were issued to every martial artist in the Cult. They were free to use other swords at their own discretion, but most used those made by the Cult's smithy. That was how good their quality was.

Just then, Father turned toward me, and our eyes met. You're back? Yes, I've returned. A brief, simple greeting exchanged through our eyes, yet one that made me so happy.

I greeted him in a loud, ringing voice.

"Have you been well, Father? Your son has returned after completing his weighty duties in the Central Plains."

Father replied,

"Weighty duties? I heard you went off to slack with the Fist Demon."

"I cannot imagine who would spread such scandalous rumors."

Me, of course. Whenever I went to the Central Plains, I sent regular updates through the Heaven-Reaching Pavilion. Being cooperative like this ensured that, when I needed help later, they would readily provide it.

Master Gwak watched us with a slightly surprised expression. He probably hadn't expected Father and me to converse so casually.

"Come here and look at the new sword."

I examined the sword Father handed me. After inspecting it closely, I shared my impressions.

"It's slightly lighter than the existing sword. And just a little longer."

Admiration flickered in Gwak's eyes when I noticed immediately.

"The difference is minute, yet you recognized it."

"Of course. I've spent so much time training with your swords."

"What do you think of it?"

"Honestly, I can't really say. Lately, I've been throwing punches rather than practicing swordsmanship."

I laughed and left it at that. I could have offered a suggestion if pressed, but with Father here, was there any need?

Father gave Master Gwak his opinion.

"I think it could be just a little lighter. The length is perfect as it is."

"Understood, Cult Leader."

Father's thoughts matched mine. Then he pointed out something I hadn't even considered.

"Make the grooves on the grip a little closer together. It seems more slippery than before."

"Understood, Cult Leader."

"You've worked hard."

"I'll contact you again when it's finished."

Father left the smithy, and after bidding Master Gwak farewell, I followed him out. The men standing along Father's path all stopped working and bowed at the waist. Their respect and fear for him were like the blazing fires they tended.

"When did you arrive?"

"Just now."

"And the Fist Demon?"

"He'll arrive in about half a quarter-hour."

"Didn't you come together?"

"He suggested a lightness arts race for the final stretch."

After a short pause, I told Father,

"I've become the Fist Demon's disciple."

His steps halted for a moment. I had told him beforehand and even received his permission, but for some reason I felt nervous.

How did Father feel about it?

Was he displeased? Indifferent? Or did he think it was a good thing?

No matter how hard I tried to see him clearly, understanding his heart was difficult. This surely meant something to him, but he betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

"And the fist art?"

"He taught me all six forms of the Thunderbolt Asura Fist."

"It seems he doesn't yet know what a little scamp you are. He should have watched how you behaved before teaching you the last two forms."

"Father. Masters being needlessly spiteful like that is how martial arts are lost."

We walked across the main training ground toward Heavenly Demon Hall. Demonic martial artists passing by bowed to Father.

"Father. I have a favor to ask. A very important one."

We stopped in the middle of the main training ground. I wanted to tell him here, in this open space, rather than in Heavenly Demon Hall. This concerned the Central Plains, something outside the Cult.

"I want to kill Yelü Han of the Unorthodox Alliance. Please grant me permission."

He might well have thundered at me.

Instead, that familiar sneer appeared on his lips.

"Absolutely not!"

He had even added "absolutely" to his refusal. With that firm rejection, Father turned and walked away.

"From now on, I'll be working to obtain your permission. That's what I wanted to tell you."

Father simply kept walking without a word. His retreating back spoke for him: no matter what I did, he would not allow it.

I had declared war on Father. Now I had to find some way to persuade him. Obtaining permission might prove harder than killing Yelü Han.

In any case, watching his back as he walked toward Heavenly Demon Hall made me feel that I had truly returned to the Cult.

"Ah! There's no place like home!"

I was back in my happy home, where giant statues of evil spirits brandished swords and sabers on every side.