At the edge of the high pavilion’s roof, Baek Su-ryong gazed out toward the city as dusk settled.
His eyes remained fixed until a familiar voice spoke beside him.
“Don’t you regret missing the final match?”
Turning his head, Baek Su-ryong saw the Martial Alliance Chief looking like a hungry tiger, staring where Baek Su-ryong’s gaze lingered.
He shrugged his shoulders and answered, “The students are probably more disappointed than I am. If they had won, we were planning to cross the main street like victorious generals to celebrate together.”
“Just do it next year. Your students aren’t ordinary by any means.”
“That’s true. After all, who did they learn from?”
“…I still can’t get used to it. Wouldn’t you at least show some respect to the Martial Alliance Chief?”
Though the Martial Alliance Chief raised an eyebrow fiercely, Baek Su-ryong snorted in reply, “Why? There’s no longer any reason to, whether it’s martial skill, distribution of wealth, or status.”
“…Have I ever told you I’m glad you were born in the righteous sect?”
“That’s something I hear often from many sides.”
The two shared a brief lighthearted exchange, easing the tension.
The final battle of the Dragon and Phoenix Dance, as well as the closing ceremony of the Heavenly Martial Festival, were omitted.