Episode 96

Senior Brother Arang led me to our master’s residence. The interior was stark, with no bedding, only an old drawer and a table. The two chairs were exactly as I remembered them.

“Sit down,” Senior Brother Arang instructed in his usual, inorganic voice.

“Ah, yes…”

I couldn’t quite grasp what was happening, but I found it difficult to ask questions outright.

From the beginning, Senior Brother Arang’s presence was unusual. With his back turned, he busied himself with the tea set, and before long, the rich aroma of tea filled the room.

“Do you still like tea?” he asked.

“Yes, sure.”

“Good.”

A sudden dissonance struck me as I reached for the teacup he offered.

“Uh?”

My right arm had grown back perfectly. No, it wasn’t that it grew back. Rather, it was like I had never been injured in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“N-nothing.”

I took the teacup first, savoring the fragrance before taking a sip. The nameless tea he often gave me tasted just as I remembered.

Senior Brother Arang prepared only one cup of tea since he didn’t drink tea himself. I found it strange that someone so skilled in the tea ceremony never partook in it, but I had never seen him eat or drink anything.

I glanced at him. There was so much I wanted to say, so much to ask, but what came out surprised even me.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen you. You still won’t take off that helmet?” I asked.

Bai Luguang, the First Under Heaven, had five disciples, each with a strong personality. Among them, however, Senior Brother Arang’s appearance was the most distinctive. His helmet seemed made of some unknown alloy, with a glossy surface resembling glass. In reality, it was dozens of times harder than glass, occasionally flashing with an artificial light.

“I’ve told you before that this isn’t a helmet,” he replied with a laugh.

According to him, the helmet was his face. My suggestion that he remove it was as absurd as asking someone to show me what lay beneath their skin. Initially, I thought it was a lie, but there had been one occasion when I glimpsed the body beneath the dull, dark cloak he wore.

How should I put it? If his face were a helmet, his body resembled armor—compact, not bulky.

He said it is a mechanical body

, I remembered.

The most complex machine I knew was a clock. Senior Brother Arang’s body was infinitely more intricate. Perhaps he was an artificial lifeform, akin to an alchemist’s golem. In truth, I never pressed him for details. After all, my seniors lived in different worlds and rarely gave thought to the past.

I drained the teacup in one clean motion, and the fog in my mind lifted. Senior Brother Arang had likely given me the tea for this very purpose.

“So what is going on here? I just—”

“You must’ve been in your world,” he interrupted me.

His words stirred an ominous thought. “Was everything I experienced just an illusion? Have I been dreaming all this time? In reality, have I just been sleeping on Spirit Mountain? In Third Senior Brother’s words—”

“Brother, is that bastard laughing?” Senior Brother Arang repeated Third Senior Brother’s signature catchphrase.

I nodded. “Yes, that is what he would say.”

“It isn’t like that.” Senior Brother Arang smiled. “I heard about Eldest Senior Brother along with Master’s orders for you.”

His voice was inorganic, yet it carried a strangely soothing tone, calming me in the moment.

As the youngest of the five disciples, I couldn’t help but grumble, “Since he’s not here, I’ll say it. I thought he’d finally lost his mind.”

Senior Brother Arang chuckled softly.

“If we’re talking strength, Second Senior Sister is unmatched. For camaraderie, Third Senior Brother is appropriate. If we need someone who uses any means possible, that’s you, Senior Brother Arang.”

“You aren’t wrong. However, I agree with Master’s judgment,” he said.

“Come again?”

“You are the right person to handle Eldest Senior Brother,” he replied.

I hesitated, then sighed. “Back in my hometown, I looked into his activities. He’s acting as a demon king.”

“A demon king?” he echoed.

“He destroyed an entire country.”

Senior Brother Arang fell silent.

“Honestly, I don’t understand what’s happening,” I confessed. “It feels like I’ve been tossed into some vast, unknowable current. I can’t even tell which way it’s pulling me.”

It was the truth. After my regression, I’d focused only on immediate goals: protecting my tendons from the collector, escaping the Jewel Mountains, and breaking free from the Council of Elders’ restrictions.

Senior Brother Arang said, “So you haven’t met Eldest Senior Brother in person yet.”

“No.”

“I don’t believe he’s the type to slaughter recklessly. If he destroyed a country, there are only two possibilities.”

I thought I knew what he meant, so I answered for him. “He’s either completely insane or has a good reason for what he’s done.”

Senior Brother Arang nodded. “Follow me.”

He led me to the edge of a cliff—a place I dreaded. It was from here our master had thrown me down, sending me back to the past.

I hesitated to stand here because of my reluctance, so Senior Brother Arang urged, “Get closer.”

“Umm…” I was filled with reluctance, yet I couldn’t resist stepping forward to stand beside him. I trusted that Senior Brother Arang wouldn’t throw me down suddenly.

He gazed at the fog-shrouded scenery, where nothing was visible. “Spirit Mountain. That’s what we call this place. But, Luan, do you truly understand what kind of place this world is?”

“Let’s see…”

If I had to describe Spirit Mountain, I would call it a rugged, rocky peak where not a blade of grass grew, shrouded in year-round fog, with evil monsters roaming everywhere except the summit. And, of course, it was the home of Bai Luguang, the First Under Heaven.

I shared what I knew.

Then Senior Brother Arang said, “All that is merely the surface. In truth, Spirit Mountain is Master’s personal space.”

“Personal… what?”

“Simply put, it’s a world Master created himself.”

Such words were absurd to me. I knew Bai Luguang, the First Under Heaven, was an extraordinary figure, but to actually create a world?

“Isn’t that the same as being a god?” I asked.

“If creating a world is the criterion for being a god, then yes, you could call him that.”

I was rendered speechless.

“Spirit Mountain lies on the outskirts of the space-time continuum of the general universe. That’s why I refer to it as the ‘Rest Stop of Time.'”

“Your words are getting too confusing again,” I whined.

It was his habit to speak in strange terms, but today was worse than usual.

“Let me simplify. You followed Master’s guidance to Spirit Mountain. After ten years of training, you returned to your original world but not your original time, correct?”

“Y-yes.”

I had died at twenty-five, yet when I regressed from Spirit Mountain, I was fifteen. Ten years had passed in my original world and ten years in Spirit Mountain. In terms of perceived time, it felt as if I had gone back twenty years.

“Those who enter this place share one thing in common: regret. Whether great or small, only those burdened by it can set foot here,” he revealed.

“I see.”

“The same applies now. Your regrets called you back. As Master said, by the time you returned, you would possess the final quality of a true martial artist.”

“The final quality of a martial artist?”

“A desperate mindset.” Senior Brother Arang pointed at me. “No innate talent, wise teachings, or hard work can instill it.”

“Then how is it gained?”

“Through an incident,” he answered.

I waited for him to continue.

“Only an event that ignites a fire in the heart can forge desperation. I consider it the true beginning of a martial artist’s path.”

At that moment, I remembered my master’s words.

“As of today, you have entered the martial world.”

“You have talent, willpower, and fierce determination, yet you have lacked a clear goal. Though he never showed it outwardly, I’m certain Master always knew this.”

With a troubled expression, I admitted, “I wanted to be strong—desperately. If I wasn’t good enough, as you said, I should cling to that determination with everything I had. But… I don’t know.”

My thoughts drifted to what had happened just before I arrived here. Dozens of hero disciples had been slaughtered. Evan had become the Young Dark Pope. The priest responsible for those deaths was already gone. And now, belatedly, I realized I was furious, but this anger had no outlet.

Would killing Evan, the Young Dark Pope, resolve anything? What if nothing changed? Should I kill the demon king next?

“You don’t know, you say.”

“A lot of people have died because of me. What should have been done ended in failure. My anger still burns, but if I use it as fuel, it will just be vengeance.”

Living that way for a while wouldn’t be the worst, but I honestly didn’t want to spend my life like that.

“You seem to have forgotten what I told you earlier,” Senior Brother Arang remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“Luan, remember,” he pressed. “Once your training on Spirit Mountain was over and Master sent you back to your original world, did you return to your original timeline?”

“That…”

No. I wasn’t the twenty-five-year-old Luan Badniker on the verge of dying in the war. I had regressed to the fifteen-year-old Luan Badniker, about to have my tendons cut by Kayan the Collector.

No, wait a minute.

“Then perhaps—”

“One hundred days.” Senior Brother Arang’s voice struck me like a hammer. “That’s how long you may remain on Spirit Mountain. Complete your training here, then return to your world—and travel back in time once more.”

Only then did I understand the true power of the Spirit Mountain’s Blessing.

“You will be given another chance.”

It was a blessing that could change everything.

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