Chapter 205: Please Grant Me Permission
Chapter 205: Please Grant Me Permission
Go Wol was in his room, buried in work.
He was currently drafting a budget, deciding how to allocate the funds they had recently acquired from the Immortal’s Debt. Calculating, organizing, planning—the work was never-ending.
Just then, the person who made this repetitive toil a little more bearable burst into the room.
“The Second Young Master and the Fist Demon are returning to the Cult.”
At the Pungcheon Cult Leader’s words, the brush in Go Wol’s hand paused for a moment before resuming its steady rhythm.
“When?”
“It looks like they’re planning to leave this very second.”
Watching Go Wol remain focused solely on his ledgers, the Pungcheon Cult Leader asked, “Aren’t you sad to see the Second Young Master go?”
“Sad? He’s a busy man. When it’s time to go, he must go.”
“Well, I’m going with them.”
Go Wol remained absorbed in his tasks, offering no reaction.
“I said I’m really going! I’m not joking!”
“If you leave, Cult Leader, then I’m going back as well.”
The Pungcheon Cult Leader had only spoken out of mischief because Go Wol was doing nothing but working, but Go Wol’s reaction was unexpected. He truly intended to abandon his post if the leader left.
“Really?”
“Yes. If you go, I go. I’m not doing all this alone.”
A smile played on the Pungcheon Cult Leader’s lips.
“Even if it’s just empty words, it makes me feel good. Fine, forget it. Where would I go? I have to finish this work.”
“I’m telling you, let’s go.”
“It’s fine. I’ve already been there and back.”
The Pungcheon Cult Leader was the type of man who had flown all the way to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult and back just because of a single word from Go Wol.
“Besides, if you go back now, it’ll be chaos.”
“Why?”
“The Second Young Master says he’s going to kill the second-in-command of the Unorthodox Path Alliance.”
Go Wol flinched. Of all the news the Pungcheon Cult Leader had brought into the room, this was the most shocking.
“Ya Yul-han?”
“Yes, that bastard!”
The Pungcheon Cult Leader knew of Ya Yul-han. He had even crossed paths with him in the past.
“Even for the Second Young Master, that man won’t be an easy mark.”
Go Wol had never met him personally, but he knew well from rumors alone that Ya Yul-han was no ordinary opponent. But that wasn’t the primary issue.
“The Cult Leader will never allow it anyway.”
The Pungcheon Cult Leader recalled what Geom Mu-geuk had said earlier—about his Demonic Path and his uncompromising attitude toward evil.
“When the Second Young Master becomes the Heavenly Demon… things will change a great deal.”
Go Wol paused his brush for a moment and spoke softly.
“Haven’t they already changed significantly?”
And they themselves stood at the very center of that change.
Just then, Geom Mu-geuk entered the room.
“It seems the news of our departure has already reached you. We must leave immediately.”
“Safe travels, Young Master.”
“I’m leaving you behind to suffer again, Go Wol.”
“There isn’t much work left. I’ll finish up here and then return to the Cult.”
“And the funds?”
“I believe we can wrap things up with the money collected from the Immortal’s Debt.”
“That’s good. Let’s keep in touch via missives.”
“Yes. Please take care of yourself, Young Master. Oh, and feel free to use the information network in the completed regions whenever you need.”
Just hearing those words made Geom Mu-geuk feel reassured. Once the Tongcheon Pavilion and Go Wol’s information network were integrated, Geom Mu-geuk would possess the fastest and most extensive reach in the Murim.
“Have you thought of a name for this information organization?”
“Please decide on one, Young Master.”
“I’d like to name it Eun-wol—the Hidden Moon—after you. What do you think?”
Go Wol’s eyes wavered. He was deeply moved by Mu-geuk’s consideration in naming the organization after him.
“I like it very much. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’m sorry for burdening you with such difficult work from the very start.”
“On the contrary, I am grateful that you entrusted me with such a heavy responsibility.”
While Mu-geuk and Go Wol said their goodbyes, the Pungcheon Cult Leader and the Fist Demon shared a brief farewell as well.
The Pungcheon Cult Leader spoke first.
“It was good to see you this time.”
“I didn't know you were so dedicated to my disciple. Thank you.”
In truth, the Pungcheon Cult Leader didn't have many friends among the Demon Lords. He had been somewhat close to the Demon Buddha, but they had already had a falling out.
He’d had a chance to get closer to the Fist Demon during this trip, but they hadn't shared any deep conversations, perhaps out of a mutual sense of reserve between two masters.
“Let’s have a drink when the opportunity arises next time.”
The Pungcheon Cult Leader was being sincere.
“Hey, Young Master. Make sure you get that permission.”
This, too, was sincere.
*
I ran using light body techniques alongside the Fist Demon.
While we had dallied and enjoyed ourselves on the way here, we sprinted back at a terrifying speed.
We ran without rest until it grew dark. The distance that had taken several days to cover on the way out was crossed in just half a day.
“Let’s camp here for the night. Please, have a seat.”
I cleared the area with practiced skill. First, I laid down a bed of leaves so the Fist Demon could sit comfortably.
I was grateful to him. I truly hadn't imagined he would give his consent for this matter. Considering his relationship with my father, he was the Demon Lord most likely to oppose it, yet he had prioritized his bond with me.
While the Fist Demon closed his eyes to perform qi circulation, I built a campfire in front of him.
I caught some game and began to cook. Since I had stopped by an inn before leaving to buy some seasonings, I was able to serve a fairly delicious meal.
“You even brought seasonings?”
“Of course. When traveling a long distance, this is the most important thing. How does it taste?”
“It’s delicious.”
“Do you recognize whose recipe this seasoning follows?”
“It tastes like the food the Cult Leader used to make.”
I was startled by those words.
“You’ve eaten my father’s cooking?”
“I had it a couple of times in the past. There was a time when I traveled around a lot with the Cult Leader. We used to get into so many fights back then.”
I took a moment to imagine my father and the Fist Demon together.
Two men: the Heavenly Demon and the Fist Demon.
I pictured my father in his youth. Beside him, I could see a young Fist Demon. The boy who had fought in the arenas had become the Fist Demon, and the young man who had recruited that boy had become the Heavenly Demon.
I imagined these two blunt, masculine, and most bellicose men of the Murim traversing the Jianghu. They wouldn't have feared anyone, nor would they have been intimidated by anyone.
Just as I had fought enemies back-to-back with the Smiling Demon, those two must have fought while relying on each other.
And at night, they would have built a campfire like this, eating meat and drinking liquor. They probably hardly spoke.
Perhaps the Fist Demon was reminiscing about those younger days during this camp with me.
“I have liquor here as well.”
I took out the liquor I’d brought and poured him a cup. Sharing a drink with the Fist Demon across a campfire had a certain charm to it.
“They say the return journey is the most important part of a trip.”
“Why is that?”
“Do you know when a journey is truly complete? It’s when you open the door to your room and throw yourself onto your bed, thinking, ‘Ah, I’m finally back.’ That’s why we’re rushing toward that final moment now. It’s actually more important than the excitement of setting out.”
The Fist Demon looked at me with a strange expression.
“How do you know such things so well?”
Because my past life was a series of long journeys. And back then, I had no room to return to.
My "room" at the time was the yard of Gwi Ryeongja’s house. Looking at his shocked face when I brought back the materials for the Great Law, I had felt a very brief moment of relief, thinking, Ah, I did it.
“I really enjoyed this trip with you, Master.”
I got along well with this steadfast, quiet man. Although I was currently talkative and prone to laughter, the person I originally was shared many similarities with the Fist Demon.
“By the way, when you return, please start by reducing the time you spend participating in the Iron Fists' training.”
The Fist Demon, perhaps already intending to do so, asked me for specifics.
“Should I participate in only one per day? White Fists today, Blue Fists tomorrow. Like that?”
“No. Then you’d still have to see them every day. Instead, oversee all four groups in a single day as you usually do, but only participate once every five days.”
“Every five days?”
“Spend the other four days doing whatever you want. Make it entirely your own time.”
“What about the late-night training group?”
“Do as you please with that. Come if you want, rest if you want.”
The Fist Demon nodded. This "idling" trip had changed the Fist Demon’s life. I looked forward to the results of that change.
When dawn broke, we ran and ran again. When our internal energy ran low, we sat together and recovered it through qi circulation.
Thus, we ran without hesitation and returned to the Cult.
*
When I returned to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, my father was at the Iron Workshop.
The Main Cult’s Iron Workshop boasted the largest scale in the Murim. Inside the massive workshop, hundreds of shirtless men were melting iron and hammering away at metal.
The sweltering heat, the scent of sweat, and the heavy smell of iron.
Ka-ang! Kang! Ka-ang!
I had always loved the sound of hammering iron. The lethal resonance of clashing blades was forged into every strike. That was why it always sounded so passionate to me.
The men who caught my eye bowed in greeting. I acknowledged them with a light nod as I walked through.
I saw my father in the distance. Even in this place where countless people moved about, my father’s presence was unmistakable. In a picture where everyone else looked like monochrome sketches, my father alone stood out as a vivid crimson dot.
My father was standing with Guild Master Gwak, the head of the Iron Workshop, who was known as the Divine Smith. Guild Master Gwak was showing my father a newly forged sword. Whenever he created a new weapon, he always sought my father’s opinion before beginning mass production.
Since the two were deep in a serious discussion while examining the sword, I waited a short distance away.
The man who handled a sword better than anyone in the world and the man who made a sword better than anyone in the world were sharing their thoughts. Could there be a more moving scene in this workshop?
If a newly designed sword passed this inspection, it would be mass-produced to replace the weapons of the Main Cult’s warriors. The Iron Workshop refined its sword designs roughly once every five to ten years.
These improved swords were then issued to all the warriors of the Main Cult. While they were free to use other swords at their discretion, most of the Cult’s warriors used the blades produced by the Iron Workshop. That was how high the quality was.
Just then, my father looked over. Our eyes met. Have you come? Yes, I’m back. It was a brief and simple silent greeting, but one that made me very happy.
I greeted my father in a loud, clear voice.
“Have you been well? This son has returned after completing his heavy responsibilities in the Central Plains.”
To which my father replied, “Heavy responsibilities? I heard you went idling around with the Fist Demon.”
“I have no idea who is spreading such scandalous rumors.”
It was me, of course. Whenever I went out to the Central Plains, I periodically sent news of myself through the Tongcheon Pavilion. By being so cooperative, I could ensure I’d receive active help later when I needed it.
Guild Master Gwak looked at us with a slightly surprised expression. It must have been unexpected to see my father and me conversing so comfortably.
“Come here and look at this new sword.”
I examined the sword my father handed me. After a careful inspection, I shared my impressions.
“It’s slightly lighter than the previous ones. And the length is just a tiny bit longer.”
When I noticed the differences immediately, a hint of admiration flashed in Gwak’s eyes.
“It’s a minute difference, yet you recognized it instantly.”
“Of course. I’ve spent so much time training with your swords, Elder.”
“What do you think of it?”
“To be honest, I’ve been doing more punching than swordplay lately, so I’m not entirely sure.”
I brushed it off with a laugh. If I really wanted to, I could have made suggestions, but with my father there, was there any need?
My father shared his thoughts with Guild Master Gwak.
“I think it would be better if it were just a fraction lighter. The length is perfect as it is.”
“Understood, Cult Leader.”
My father’s thoughts matched mine. On top of that, he pointed out something I hadn't even considered.
“Narrow the grain on the hilt slightly. It feels more slippery than before.”
“Understood, Cult Leader.”
“You’ve worked hard.”
“I will contact you again once it is finished.”
My father left the workshop, and I followed him after saying goodbye to Guild Master Gwak. The men standing along the path my father walked all stopped their work and bowed deeply. Their respect and fear for my father were as intense as the fires they tended.
“When did you arrive?”
“Just now.”
“And the Fist Demon?”
“He’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“Did you not come together?”
“He challenged me to a light body technique race at the last minute.”
After a brief pause, I spoke to my father.
“I have become the Fist Demon’s disciple.”
My father’s footsteps faltered for a moment. I had told him about this in advance and even received his permission, but I still felt nervous for some reason.
I wondered how he felt. Was he displeased? Indifferent? Or did he think it was a good thing?
No matter how hard I tried to read him, it was truly difficult to know his heart. This matter surely meant something to him, yet he showed no emotion whatsoever.
“And the fist techniques?”
“I have been taught up to the sixth fist of the Thunder Asura Fist.”
“It seems he doesn't know of your craftiness yet. He should have waited to see how you behaved before teaching you the last two fists.”
“Father, it’s because masters indulge in such petty spite that martial arts end up being lost to time.”
We walked across the Great Training Ground toward the Heavenly Demon Hall. Demonic cultists passing by bowed low to my father.
“Father. I have a request. It is a very important matter.”
We stopped in the middle of the Great Training Ground. I wanted to tell him here, in this wide-open space, rather than inside the Heavenly Demon Hall. Because this was a matter of the Central Plains—a matter outside the Cult.
“I want to kill Ya Yul-han of the Unorthodox Path Alliance. Please grant me your permission.”
It was a situation where a thunderous scolding might have fallen. But instead of a shout, my father’s lips curled into his characteristic sneer.
“Absolute refusal!”
He even added "absolute" before the refusal. With that firm rejection, my father turned and walked away.
“I will work from this moment on to gain your permission. I just wanted to let you know.”
My father simply walked on without a word. His back seemed to say that no matter what effort I made, he would not grant it.
I had made my declaration of war to my father. From now on, I had to persuade him somehow. It might turn out that getting his permission would be harder than killing Ya Yul-han.
Regardless, watching my father’s back as he walked toward the Heavenly Demon Hall made me feel like I was truly back at the Cult.
“Ah! There’s no place like home!”
I had returned to my "Home Sweet Home," where giant statues of evil spirits brandished swords and blades in every direction.