"How did you end up here?" Taro immediately frowned as his gaze landed on Tsuru, standing beside that portly, money-grubbing man. His voice turned cold in an instant.
This trip was meant to be a leisurely tour around the world with his wife, a way to unwind. He had been quite relaxed, not particularly vigilant, since he didn't consider anything on Earth a real threat to him. Because of that, he hadn't been constantly sensing the ki around him and had failed to detect Tsuru inside the castle beforehand.
Hathaway glanced at her husband in slight surprise. After all these years, very few things could make him frown. Not only that, she could even feel that her usually carefree husband was... a little angry?
Tsuru let out a cold laugh. "So it's you, Taro!" He couldn't be blamed for only confirming it now—after all, ever since Taro had begun cultivating natural ki, his entire ki signature had undergone a transformation. It was as if he had shed his former self completely. To other martial artists, his presence felt like that of a completely different person.
"And what does it have to do with you where I am?" Tsuru narrowed his eyes as he looked at Taro and the woman beside him. He blinked a few times but didn't say anything more. However, he couldn't help but notice something odd—Taro actually looked older than he did.
He himself had managed to maintain a youthful appearance despite his white hair. With Taro's level of mastery, there was no reason for him to be aging so quickly!
His mind flashed back to that day, the day of the demon clan's calamity. That voice, like a divine revelation echoing in his head, the mysterious ki-formed avatar that had emerged from nowhere, slaughtering the demon warriors...
And later, that chance encounter in the city, when he had come across Taro painting beneath a bridge. At the time, Taro had felt like an enigma wrapped in mist, impossible to perceive. Every stroke of his brush seemed to tug at Tsuru's spirit and ki. It was from that encounter, and the enlightenment Taro had given him, that Tsuru had managed to integrate calligraphy into his martial arts and elevate himself to a higher realm.
Yet now, the Taro standing before him, though unexpectedly aged, no longer carried that unfathomable mist. It was as if he had become something entirely different—like the very earth, the sky, a mere stone by the roadside or a patch of wild grass. There was nothing to see through, nor anything to be unable to see through. He simply... existed.
This sent a chill down Tsuru's spine. Could it be that this man's martial arts had truly reached a level beyond comprehension?
"I have no interest in controlling where you go," Taro said, narrowing his eyes slightly. Suddenly, an overwhelming spiritual force erupted from him, sweeping over both the obese Rost and the steadfast Tsuru. In that instant, two visions unfolded before his eyes, each revealing glimpses of their respective memories.
Rost's memories were a chaotic mess, devoid of reason—filled with indulgence, debauchery, madness, and mindless excess. This man was nothing more than a beast driven by base desires, an overstuffed sack of flesh with no substance beyond his accumulated filth.
Tsuru's memories, on the other hand, held scenes of his relentless pursuit of martial mastery through trials of wind, frost, and snow. There were moments of solitary drinking under the scorching sun, the pouring rain, and the vast night sky, his shadow his only companion. He had also lived as an ordinary man under an alias for years at a time, then changed course on a whim, playing the role of a local landlord while dealing justice to the wicked.
The most recent memory showed Tsuru lingering in this castle, occasionally dealing with small uprisings for Rost in exchange for a life of indulgence.
"If you insist on disgracing our school's name, then as your senior, I will have to give you a proper lesson," Taro said coldly. His words made Hathaway suddenly realize—so this eccentric-looking old man with an unsettling aura was the so-called 'junior brother' Taro had mentioned before?
He had told her that this junior of his roamed the world freely, but she hadn't expected to run into him here of all places.
"Senior?" Tsuru sneered, his eyelids twitching. "Our master's been dead for over a hundred years, and you're still clinging to that title? If you have something to say, say it. If not, get lost. What I do and how I live is none of your concern! If you really can't stand it, then just kill me. If I'm not strong enough to stop you, I won't have any complaints. But if you think you can dictate my actions just because you're stronger, then you're sorely mistaken! Taro, you've lived long enough—has your brain started to rot with age?"
As the two spoke, the fat Rost grew impatient. Dressed in luxurious furs, he waved his hand dismissively. "Master Tsuru, why are you wasting words on this old relic? Just look at them—pfft, dressed like a pair of beggars! What could they possibly understand? Hurry up and get rid of them! I, heh heh, have a little something special prepared for you..." A lecherous grin spread across his bloated face, his rolls of fat squeezing together as he chuckled.
"Annoying," Taro finally cast him a glance.
Boom!
A formless force erupted from his gaze. In an instant, Rost vanished, leaving only a residual afterimage. A deafening crash rang out from another part of the castle, followed by the sound of crumbling stone.
Hathaway let out a breath. Without that man, the air felt noticeably cleaner.
Tsuru's eyes twitched slightly. Through his perception, he could tell that Rost's ki had already moved thousands of meters away, plummeting down the snowy cliffs at high speed...
Clearly, with just a single look, Taro had sent the fat man crashing through the castle walls and hurling into the abyss below.
"Although Master instructed us to establish our own schools, tell me—do you dare to abandon the words 'Disciple of Mutaito'?" Taro spoke slowly, his expression devoid of emotion.
Tsuru stood with his hands clasped behind his back, tilting his head slightly. His lips moved as if forming a response, but he hesitated. Then, straightening his posture, he exhaled sharply through his nose and snorted. "Of course not."
"Good." Taro let out a faint smirk. "And here I thought Tsuru had become some kind of martial arts grandmaster. Where is the man who once questioned me to my face, saying my martial path had gone astray? Am I the one whose mind has grown dull with age? Have you lived so long that you've forgotten how to be human? Do you think you've seen it all and should start trying things you'd never have considered before? That nothing in the world matters anymore? That the principles of martial artists, the morality of being a man, are all meaningless? If Master were still alive, he would have killed you with a single palm strike!"
With each sentence, the cold glint in Tsuru's eyes deepened. "How does he know all this? How does he know what I've done all these years?" By the time Taro finished speaking, Tsuru was already shifting his stance impatiently.
Hathaway remained silent at Taro's side, offering no input. She understood that this was a matter between her husband and his junior disciple. Even as Taro's wife, she had no place in their sect's internal affairs.
"The old man is dead. Dead men don't return. But I'm still alive, and how I live has nothing to do with you!" Tsuru's patience had reached its limit. His voice turned ice-cold. "You're not leaving? Fine. Then I will!" With that, he turned to stride past them, heading for the castle gates.
"A rotten piece of wood cannot be carved." Taro reached out, his hand covering Tsuru as they passed each other. Alarm bells exploded in Tsuru's mind—he leaped away like a startled wildcat, but there was no hand, no giant palm bearing down on him.
As Tsuru stood there, his expression turning more and more bewildered, Hathaway glanced at Taro. "What did you do to him?"
Taro shook his head. "I simply made him forget for a while—gave him a chance to rediscover his true self." He sighed. "It's just a gamble. His personality has long since solidified, and I doubt I can change much." He reached up and patted the crimson-feathered phoenix that had been quietly resting on his shoulder. "Take him away. Find some desolate place and drop him off. Hathaway and I will head to West City and wait for you at Tam's house."
His encounter with Tsuru had killed any desire Taro had to continue their travels. They had been away long enough—time to return home.
The phoenix let out a cry. With a sudden burst of white flames, it expanded to its full form. Spreading its wings, it seized the dazed and unresponsive Tsuru in its talons. With a powerful beat of its wings, it shattered the castle doors and disappeared into the raging snowstorm beyond.
Outside, fourteen frostbitten knights lay sprawled in the snow, having only just regained consciousness. They were shivering violently, their lips blue with cold. As the phoenix swept past, its searing heat surged through the air like a passing furnace.
"What was that just now?" one knight muttered, staring after the vanished creature.
"The castle?!" Another suddenly jolted awake, realizing the castle gates had been destroyed, and the frigid wind now howled through the open entryway. Their faces turned pale with dread—how would Lord Rost let them off for this?
Exchanging nervous glances, the knights braced themselves and stepped inside, prepared to accept whatever punishment awaited them.
But as they searched the castle, they found it completely empty. There was no sign of their master, no sign of the intruders, not even the slave girls Rost had kept in the cellar. The entire place was eerily abandoned.
---
Meanwhile, Tsuru, his memories sealed by Taro's psychic power, found himself dangling in the phoenix's iron grip as it soared through the sky. The snow-covered lands below gradually gave way to milder terrain. When it spotted signs of human habitation, the phoenix abruptly released him.
Thud!
Instinctively, Tsuru rolled upon impact, avoiding injury. When he rose to his feet, he found himself in a desolate wilderness, utterly lost. His mind was blank—he had no idea who he was, where he had come from, or where he was going. And so, he simply started walking.
When he grew tired, he sat to rest, indifferent to the dirt beneath him. When hunger and thirst gnawed at him, he scavenged for whatever food and water he could find, not caring about taste or quality. He had no sense of time—how long had he been wandering? How far had he traveled?
Whenever he passed through villages or towns, people eyed him with a mix of wariness and pity, treating him as little more than a barefoot vagabond or a madman. But Tsuru, lacking memory or identity, felt no sense of indignation or resentment.
One day, in the countryside, he stumbled upon a child fleeing for his life, pursued by a gang of bandits.
Tsuru had no intention of interfering—he lacked even the concept of 'helping' others in his current state. But the child, spotting a ragged vagrant ahead, instinctively dashed toward him, hoping that an extra body might at least slow down the pursuers.
Yet, just as the boy darted past the disheveled wanderer, he tripped and fell. When he scrambled back to his feet and turned around, his eyes widened in shock.
The towering, burly bandits—every last one of them—had been taken down.
The one who had defeated them was none other than the vagabond himself.
A shiver ran down the boy's spine. He had encountered a true martial arts master!
Quickly, he scrambled toward the man, shamelessly plastering on a smile. "Hey, old man! My name's Tao Pai Pai…"
As the sun set, its golden light stretched across the fields.
In the glow of dusk, a boy and a wanderer walked off into the distance, their figures gradually fading into the horizon.