TSBIRBV Ch 4

Chapter 4. The Departed Must Return (3)

“When do you think he’ll be able to wake?”

Whenever Yegyeol drifted into shallow sleep and surfaced again, he would always hear his senior brother’s voice.

“Perhaps… you should prepare yourself mentally…”

The faint, fragmented conversation dissolved before he could grasp its meaning. His body, now entering a stage of recovery, demanded nothing but rest.

Yet even when his consciousness sank into stillness, it was always Haryang’s voice that drew him back.

“How is the patient’s condition?”

“The internal injuries are severe… we must observe him a while longer.”

This time, the answer came from an elderly voice. The last time he’d heard one, it belonged to a middle-aged woman.

A physician, perhaps?

The only constant was Haryang’s voice.

He really is diligent, Yegyeol thought with faint amusement.

It seemed that Je Haryang had faithfully kept the promise he made before Yegyeol lost consciousness. His guiding energy had stabilized Yegyeol’s condition, and his body was recovering rapidly.

At this rate, he would soon be well.

When he was on the verge of rampage, Yegyeol had thought death inevitable. But after meeting his guide, his will to live had begun to sprout again—quietly but surely. And there were so many questions he wanted to ask his senior brother.

Such as: how many years had passed since his death?

It doesn’t feel like centuries have gone by…

Haryang’s voice was more mature than he remembered from his previous life, but it was still unmistakably that of a young man.

If decades had truly passed, he wouldn’t have called me “Yegyeol” so easily.

He’d have thought him a distant relative, or perhaps a lookalike.

Yegyeol also wondered how Haryang had lived all these years—if he had ever thought of him.

Most of all—

Why does he accept my being alive so easily?

Only now, through the haze of gratitude and warmth, did that strangeness strike him.

Haryang had seen him die—had watched him take a fatal blow to the chest from a master of the Demonic Sect. There had been no chance of survival.

And yet, Haryang called him “Yegyeol” without the slightest trace of doubt or hesitation.

A faint impatience began to creep through him.

But Yegyeol was still in a state akin to hibernation; he couldn’t move a finger even if he wanted to. Though his mind longed to sit up and walk, every time drowsiness overtook him, he surrendered to it obediently.

Staying awake would only slow his recovery.

I have to heal quickly… so I can talk to my senior brother.

Yegyeol willed himself to sleep once more.

Perhaps it was that sheer determination—or luck—that finally bore fruit. The next time he awoke, his eyes opened.

This time, instead of the black cloth that had covered them before, a white bandage pressed lightly over his eyes.

Did he notice?

He’d never had the chance to explain that his panic before had been from darkness, not madness. How had Haryang known?

He was still fumbling for answers when a low voice cut through the silence.

“Stay still.”

In the hushed room, Haryang’s tone carried a faint chill that made the hairs on Yegyeol’s arms rise.

For the first time, Yegyeol fully felt where he was—in the world of martial artists. In modern Korea, no one could have hidden their presence from an esper’s senses. But here, a master could suppress his energy so completely that even Yegyeol’s heightened awareness failed to detect him.

“…Senior brother?”

The moment he spoke, a rough cough seized him. His throat, parched from days without water, protested painfully with every small movement. Tears pricked his eyes.

“Goodness.”

Haryang quickly supported his waist, helping him sit up as he gently rubbed his back.

“Here, water. I’ll hold the cup—wet your lips first, then drink slowly.”

A moment later, cool porcelain touched Yegyeol’s lips. The sensation was strange. Though Haryang’s arm around him was steady and strong, the cup in his hand trembled faintly.

Pretending not to notice, Yegyeol obediently moistened his lips. His mouth, dry as a droughted riverbed, begged for more, but Haryang poured carefully, a little at a time.

When Yegyeol licked his lower lip impatiently, Haryang murmured,

“If you drink too fast, it’ll make you sick.”

When he finally emptied the cup, Haryang took it away. The faint clink of porcelain against the floor echoed softly.

Yegyeol lifted his hand to remove the bandage covering his eyes, both to wipe the dampness from his lips and out of sheer curiosity—but before he could touch his face, Haryang caught his wrist.

His touch was gentle yet unyielding, like someone handling fragile porcelain.

“I understand it’s uncomfortable, but you mustn’t touch it. The herbs need time to take effect.”

“Herbs?” Yegyeol asked, puzzled.

“Your eyes…” Haryang’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re not in good condition.”

He paused before continuing.

“When I first found you, the capillaries in your eyes had already burst. You were weeping blood. The physician said… you may lose your sight.”

“I see.”

Yegyeol sounded unbothered. At the Esper Center, he’d seen people recover from far worse. One man had regrown half a severed arm within days after receiving proper guiding.

That idiot even did push-ups in front of his guide to show off afterwards…

Of course, the medical staff dragged him straight back to the infirmary after that. At the time, Yegyeol had thought it ridiculous. But now, hearing the unease in Haryang’s voice, he almost wanted to do the same—anything to reassure him.

They said espers became unhinged after meeting their guides—but in his experience, “unhinged” was a gross understatement.

“I’ll be fine soon,” he said brightly.

A less disciplined esper might have exaggerated his condition just to stay close to his guide. But Yegyeol prided himself on being a responsible, well-educated esper who had completed all his ethics training at the Center.

“It’s not only your eyes,” Haryang said softly. “When I found you, your body was in ruins—inside and out. Your meridians were shattered, your qi twisted beyond repair. The physician said there was nothing to be done.”

His voice trembled.

“Acupuncture, herbs, spiritual energy—nothing worked.”

Yegyeol remembered now the fragments of conversation he’d overheard before.

So that’s why the doctor told him to ‘prepare himself.’

If a physician had examined him right after the rampage, it was no surprise they’d feared the worst.

Even modern science hadn’t fully understood what espers truly were.

“They said even the great immortals or Hua Tuo himself couldn’t save you…”

Haryang’s words broke apart, heavy with grief. Yegyeol could almost feel the sorrow in the air around him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d died in front of his senior brother.

“I’m really all right, senior brother.”

Yegyeol clasped his hand firmly, his voice steady and clear.

“I’ll be fine.”

Would Haryang have worried less if he hadn’t suffered that seizure?

For a while, Haryang said nothing. The silence stretched on so long that Yegyeol wondered—

Is he… crying?

He couldn’t quite imagine it. The Je Haryang of his memories had been a hero—dignified, unshakable, revered by all.

If he could, Yegyeol wanted to lift his bandages and see that face for himself. But a man who believed his patient was hovering at death’s door would never permit such a thing.

“Is this Kunlun?” Yegyeol asked, changing the subject.

Seeing was believing. Once he recovered, Haryang’s worries would surely fade.

“…No. This is an estate in Qinghai.”

Haryang’s tone was calm—perhaps too calm. If Yegyeol hadn’t been paying such close attention, he might not have noticed the tiny hesitation before his answer.

“Ah,” Yegyeol murmured, nodding slightly.

That made sense. In a world without helicopters or cable cars, it would have been impossible to carry a physician up those steep Kunlun mountains.

“Of course… bringing a doctor up to Kunlun would’ve been difficult.”

Kunlun had its own medical hall, but considering how grave his injuries were, even that wouldn’t have sufficed. Besides, like most sect clinics, Kunlun’s healers specialized in external wounds and alchemy, not complex internal damage.

“Then… are you the one taking care of me, senior brother? You must be terribly busy as one of the sect’s leaders. I feel bad keeping you from your duties.”

Not that he had any intention of letting his guide go, no matter how busy he was. Still, it was wise to gauge just how much trouble he was causing—and how important Haryang’s position had become.

After all, this is the guide I’ve been searching for my entire life. I should at least make a good impression.

To his words, laden with gentle worry, Haryang replied firmly,

“No. There is nothing—nothing—more important to me than you right now.”

His voice, cool as snow, could have frozen the air itself. Yet to Yegyeol’s ears, it was soft—almost tender.

His chest felt light, as if he were floating among the clouds.

“Don’t concern yourself with me. Just focus on healing.”

Yegyeol nodded obediently. Haryang eased him back down and withdrew his hand.

“Where are you going?”

At the sound of movement, Yegyeol quickly reached out, grasping at him in panic. The thought of being separated from his guide again filled him with dread.

“Now that you’re awake, I need to bring the physician.”

Ah. Separation anxiety, he thought wryly—an esper’s curse.

He hesitated, then slowly released his grip.

“I want to recover quickly… so I can return to Kunlun with you, senior brother.”

It was a small, earnest wish—and meant to reassure Haryang of his will to live.

But the moment the words left his mouth, a heavy silence fell.

Yegyeol couldn’t hear even the sound of breathing.

Did I just say something wrong? Is he avoiding taking me back because he suspects something?

Before his anxious mind could spiral further, Haryang’s low, pained voice broke the stillness.

“Yegyeol… this foolish brother of yours can no longer return to Kunlun.”

“…What?”

Yegyeol froze, realizing he had overlooked one possibility.

What if Kunlun never recovered from the attack?

He had assumed that such a great sect could not have been destroyed so easily—but what if it truly had been?

If Kunlun had fallen, if its legacy had been erased… then his careless words had just driven a knife into his senior brother’s heart.

As Yegyeol sat speechless, Haryang gazed down at him quietly, his expression unreadable.

And then, at last, he spoke.

“…I am a merchant now.”