The aroma of old socks and pages wafted through the ancient library. Within, numerous old men, adorned in tattered robes, wandered. Each of them bore lengthy white beards and possessed slender figures.
Despite their emaciated appearances, their auras displayed no signs of aging.
Old eyes full of wisdom, reminiscent of thousand-year-old trees, and expressions reflecting the profound experiences of life. Their weathered fingers gracefully navigated through the worn-out pages of ancient books, seemingly on the verge of disintegration.
Silence prevailed throughout the vast library, broken only by the soft whispers of the wind caressing the grey wooden shelves. Shelves that stood hundreds of feet tall, packed to the brim with all manner of books and manuals, their covers devoid of words.
Nameless books and withering shelves stretched into infinity; in every direction, forming a maze.
As though the ground itself were a massive page, and above, there was no ceiling. Instead, a dark sky loomed, adorned with a purple moon.
A low groan that broke the dead silence echoed throughout the library; it seemed to come from a white-haired young boy who, at this moment, had his eyes opened wide, like an owl.
"Where am I?!" Huise shouted, as anyone would if they were moments from death, then found themselves under a purple moon, inside a library that looked like it belonged in a horror movie.
A second later, he gulped, as, with his words, all the elderly men in the library slowly turned their heads towards him, fixing their wise eyes on his white hair with expressionless faces, looking at him like they did the books.
Almost as if they were reading him.
Under the stare of more than a hundred geezers, Huise felt nervous. He had never seen so many elderly in his life. So, should he apologize for making noise? Or would more noise just make it more awkward?
The silent staring contest between the sages and the young boy continued for many minutes, which, to the humbly-dressed old men, was nothing but a couple of seconds.
Huise, however, felt like years had gone by. Unsettled to the point that he didn't realize his wounds were gone.
The young boy, already tensed and feeling like an outcast, suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sleep well?" said the purple-haired old guy, his voice soft and his smile refreshing.
Huise, who had almost jumped from the sudden contact, involuntarily relaxed once he saw the old man's face. "You're...the old beggar from before. Where is this–" In that instant, the fact that the pain was gone and life still coursed through his veins hit him.
"I-I'm alive… the wounds," he stammered in a disbelieving tone, looking down at his palms while tears streamed down his face.
His expression resembled someone who had been falling down a steep cliff, into the darkness, awaiting death, then suddenly found themselves on the soft green grass of a blissful meadow.
Huise truly believed he would have died in that cold watchtower, achieving nothing. He felt glad and happy, but more than anything, grateful.
Facing the old man, the young boy bowed deeply. "Words cannot express how grateful I am; thank you, senior," his hands were cupped, and his gaze, filled with respect and reverence.
In response, the old man let out a hearty laugh, one that contrasted his aged appearance. "Hohoho, no need to be so serious. I simply repaid the kindness you showed me," he said softly, his words reverberating throughout the library.
A wave of guilt washed over Huise. Kindness? He had to be joking. If not for the old man taking the orange himself, he wouldn't have given it to him. He could only respond with a low anxious laugh but while scratching the back of his head.
Different from when he had broken the silence, the elders around didn't seem to pay any attention to the laughing-without-a-care old man, continuing to traverse through the worn-out pages.
"Welcome to the Beggar Sect," the savior declared, staring at the purple moon hanging in the sky. "The beggar sect," Huise murmured. He had never heard of such a sect before.
Well, being a farmer's boy from a small village, he didn't have much knowledge of any sect, not to talk of the beggar sect, which even among top sects, was a mystery.
The current sight had completely changed his view on beggars.
This purple-haired grandpa had to be powerful since he saved him from that cultivator. And these bibliophilic old men all had strange presences; they too must be strong.
Unable to withhold his excitement any longer, Huise asked the question he had been dying to ask the moment he realized the strength of this beggar sect.
"To further impose may be shameless, but I must ask! Can you teach me martial arts?!" His eyes sparkled like stars as he shouted, causing the elders to turn around once more and fix their gazes on him.
Though, this time Huise ignored their stares, his expectant eyes anticipating the old man's answer.
"Teach you martial arts? Hmm." Scratching his chin with a perplexed look on his face, the old man raised a brow and asked, "Does your head hurt? Could you perhaps be feeling unwell?" his voice was low, and Huise could feel the worry in it.
"No! As you can see–" He stretched his arms wide and hopped on the spot before continuing, "Savior's methods have fully healed me; there isn't a single scratch or lingering pain left!"
"Is that so? Then, why are you asking an old beggar to teach you martial arts? Does this withering body look like one that engages in such strenuous practices?"
"Well.." Huise couldn't find the words to refute. He had to admit that the slender figure did not portray the endless strength and vitality of the powerful cultivators he had in mind.
"Senior was the one who took care of that evil cultivator right? Surely there's something you can teach me," Huise pleaded, looking like a bankrupt businessman begging for a loan at a bank.
"This old beggar can only teach you how to beg," the old man replied with a confused look.
"There has to be something other than that.." Huise muttered, the excitement in his eyes dimmed.
Either the old man simply didn't want to teach him, or he had misunderstood the situation, both being undesirable options.
"Why is it that you want to learn martial arts, young man?" In that instant, repressed memories flashed through Huise's mind, and a cold expression settled on his face, his demeanor taking a complete turn.
"Revenge," grey flames flickered in his eyes as he spoke, in a low voice. And though faint and permissible, a vague killing intent emanated from him.
The old man stared blankly, his eyes twinkling in understanding.
"Revenge.." He rubbed his chin in thought.
"This old man can't teach you martial arts..why not create one yourself?"
Huise squinted slightly, the thought had never come to him, 'Make my own..' Before he could respond the old man handed him a book, on its cover there seemed to be an eagle eye with grey pupils.
He opened it with haste and his eyes grew wide.
"Just what is this?"