Camellia 32

Even while speaking of the incident that had destroyed his martial arts, the Mad Bride remained composed.

It was hard to tell whether he had remarkable mental strength or was merely pretending to be fine. Si Pungjae believed his instincts that it was the former, he broke into a nervous sweat. This absurd situation was entirely his burden to bear.

Si Pungjae barely pulled himself out of the shock, he asked,

“…Are you joking?”

Seolyeong shook his head.

“You’re hopeless, Pungjae. What martial artist in the world would joke about the danjeon? If you find one, drag them to me. I’ll give them a proper beating. …Still, I understand how you feel. It’s not an easy story to believe.”

He smiled gently, as if he already knew that. A brief flicker of regret passed over his calm face. Even to a fellow member of the sect, the story of his past seemed unbelievable, it evoked both pity and admiration.

Seolyeong cast his gaze lightly toward the clouds covering the sky. The snow clouds, created by the one who declared himself a god, had grown to a considerable size.

Now that he had overcome it, he could speak of it as a memory.

“I realized the Wonsi Cheonjon favored me thanks to a series of events. I had my danjeon torn twice, yet I was able to recover each time through a miraculous encounter. Even I think it sounds ridiculous, but isn’t that exactly why it’s called a miraculous encounter? Because it defies belief? That’s why I’ve decided not to doubt it anymore. I’ll simply be grateful.”

“……”

“For the Wonsi Cheonjon’s love for this body, as vast as the ocean.”

Si Pungjae looked at him, stunned, as Seolyeong suddenly invoked the Wonsi Cheonjon.

Usually, when people claimed, “Wonsi Cheonjon loves me,” they had long since gone mad while cultivating the Dao.

But the martial techniques of the Murong clan were far from Daoist in nature. In fact, their style was often criticized by Daoist sects. They pursued flashy, elegant swordplay rather than the swiftness and clarity that swordsmanship was supposed to aim for. So there was no way Seolyeong had gone mad from following some spiritual path.

Instead, Si Pungjae focused on the phrase “recovered through a miraculous encounter.”

What does it take to reach the realm of a true master?

Innate martial bone, talent, understanding, and a miraculous encounter.

Even if one possessed all three of the former, without a proper miraculous encounter, they would never rise beyond a mediocre level. They might be called a warrior, but they would never be deemed a true master. Most wouldn’t even make it that far.

Although the Mad Bride had no reputation in the martial world, and the only nickname he ever had was ‘Baekseol,’ a childish name used only within the clan, Si Pungjae knew for a fact that he was a true master. He had once been beaten by him, without even getting a chance to fight back. He could say with certainty: the Mad Bride was strong.

And if he truly regained his martial arts even after suffering a rupture in his lower abdomen, by acquiring some mystical elixir or manual… then yes. The Mad Bride was indeed someone favored by the Wonsi Cheonjon.

Si Pungjae wavered between curiosity as a martial artist and his identity as a disciple of the Cheonma Divine Sect. He wanted to ask what miraculous encounter could have helped him recover, but at the same time, he just wanted to press his acupuncture point and put the man to sleep. If this chaos went on, the Supreme One would grow annoyed.

He eventually choose to prioritize his lord, Si Pungjae gathered inner energy in his fingertips, aiming to apply acupuncture.

“I’ll tell you what kind of miraculous encounter saved me after you bring me your junior disciple, Pungjae. Now step aside.”

The green energy rising along his fingers abruptly dissipated. Flustered by the ridiculous remark, Si Pungjae lost focus and retorted,

“…I don’t have a junior disciple.”

Seolyeong immediately countered.

“You do. You’re my first disciple. And since I later took in another disciple, that child is now your junior.”

Irritated by the absurdity, Si Pungjae raised his voice.

“I am not the Sogyoju’s disciple! I am a servant of the Supreme One! A follower saved by the Supreme One does not serve a master!”

“Pungjae, your voice really carries.”

Seolyeong had a remarkable talent for driving people insane.

“If you’ve that much energy, maybe check on the physician instead.”

Ignoring Si Pungjae, he stepped toward Yuwon. As he reached out his pale hand, she flinched slightly.

“A woman’s body grows frail when chilled. Here, take my hand. As you know, I’m a blood fiend. My hands are quite warm.”

Startled, Yuwon found herself taking Seolyeong’s hand.

“…I’m fine, so please go to the medical hall, Sogyoju-nim. You’re in no state to be moving around. You still need rest.”

But Seolyeong was stubborn.

“I can’t. I must meet the Sect Leader and make an earnest request.”

“What kind of request?”

Naturally, Yuwon took his wrist to check his pulse. Her slender fingers gently rested inside it. As expected, his pulse was a mess.

Seolyeong answered,

“My body won’t be functioning properly for a while, so I plan to ask my husband for help.”

It wouldn’t be ‘for a while’, it would be for life. Yuwon, as a physician, debated whether to tell him. Even if it was false hope, if it helped with recovery, maybe she should let him believe it.

Unlike Si Pungjae, she didn’t believe Seolyeong had ever recovered his danjeon through some miraculous encounter.

Some patients, especially those severely injured, created delusions of recovery, trying to stay optimistic. The Mad Bride seemed to be one of them, fabricating an impossible past to brainwash himself.

Whether it was better to face despair or to live in fantasy was a question even she, as a physician, couldn’t easily answer.

Seolyeong went on.

“I heard in Sacheon that ruffians are kidnapping lost children and selling them to assassins. I can’t help but worry that my precious disciple was caught by those scum.”

He sighed and gently removed her hand.

“That’s why I’m asking the Supreme One to lend me people, my lady. I plan to take some warriors to Sacheon. I can’t stand by while people profit off buying and selling weak children.”

His crimson eyes glowed with determination.

Yuwon stared silently at the Mad Bride, who didn’t speak a word about his broken body yet rambled endlessly about finding his lost disciple. She asked,

“Is the second disciple, the one after Sir Si, the black-haired boy I saw earlier?”

It was a natural question. There were no children at the main sect who could be called a “boy.” A body that young wouldn’t survive Yeonhu’s deadly cold. Even the servants were at least sixteen.

Seolyeong nodded.

“Yes. That child looked like he’d ruin his life entirely if no one straightened him out.”

Watching Si Pungjae’s expression grow darker by the second, Seolyeong leaned on one leg and asked,

“Pungjae. Are you picking a fight with your master right now? You’re looking awfully disrespectful.”

Realizing that the child Seolyeong claimed as his disciple was his own lord, Si Pungjae moved with unprecedented swiftness. Infusing his energy into the strike, he pressed the acupuncture point. Seolyeong, already weakened, couldn’t resist and slipped into unconsciousness.

Lifting the Mad Bride in his arms, Si Pungjae murmured,

“…I’ll escort Sogyoju-nim to his chamber.”

Just like Si Pungjae, Yuwon also nodded quietly, now she realized that Seolyeong’s disciple was none other than Tang Yujae.

“Seolyeong! You lunatic! Wake up, you bastard! What am I supposed to do without you?!”

As Choseon shrieked after the disappearing figure, Yuwon stepped in.

“Miss, please come with me. If you’re alone, you’ll be in trouble.”

“…Huh?”

“First, I’ll get you some warm clothes. If you catch a cold in this weather, it’ll be serious.”

“Ah…”

Torn between wandering alone through a snowy mountain full of demonic cultivators or relying on a strange woman, Choseon quickly clung to Yuwon’s arm.

“Choseonie will trust only you, unnie.”