"Loyalty? But… that's—"
Wi Jigang trailed off.
He didn't need to finish; the meaning was clear.
It would be difficult.
Wi Jicheon nodded, agreeing silently.
"It's not easy to find disciples who are truly loyal. Especially since our Divine Healer Clan doesn't even have any inner disciples."
Inner disciples. Outer disciples.
The terms were similar to those used in martial sects, but their meanings were slightly different in healer families.
Outer disciples were those who joined later in life — they learned for a few years, treated patients as part of their training, and then left to establish their own practices.
Every disciple the Divine Healer Clan currently had was one of these outer disciples.
Much like students from a martial dojo, they felt no lifelong loyalty to the house that had trained them.
Inner disciples, on the other hand, were those raised within the healer family from childhood — eating, sleeping, and growing up inside its walls.
They were like family, and their loyalty was absolute.
"Now, at this point, taking in inner disciples would be…"
"Impossible. We don't have the time for that — or the money."
"Then what are you suggesting?"
"Brother, why do you think inner disciples are loyal to their healer houses?"
"Because they've been raised with kindness and grace since childhood, of course."
"Exactly. So if we want loyal disciples, all we need to do… is show them grace."
Wi Jigang frowned slightly, not quite following.
It sounded simple in theory, but how exactly did one go about finding people to "show grace" to?
Wi Jicheon just smiled.
"I have an idea. I'll find people with some foundation in medical training. Brother, please prepare to train them — with your… legendary hellish lessons."
Wi Jigang's so-called hell training had become infamous in the clan.
Because the Divine Healer Clan had long attracted the most hopeless stragglers, he had become an expert at dragging talentless students up by the scruff of their necks and forcing skill into them.
"Fine. Leave their education to me. But answer me one thing."
"What is it?"
"Your Medical Exam studies — how are they going? Are you even studying?"
Wi Jicheon took an innocent step backward.
"Don't worry. This year's top scorer will, of course, be yours truly."
"…What?"
"Listen well! You'll be astonished by my mastery. 'Qi deficiency causes stagnation of internal movement, which in turn disrupts transformation and requires treatment of the flowing energy!' How's that sound?"
"…That's straight out of the beginner's manual."
"Well, time's short! I'll be off to, uh… recruit new disciples now!"
Whoosh—
He vanished like the wind.
Wi Jigang stood there, speechless, then sighed.
"…He's reciting from the first page of an introductory text, and he's boasting about taking first place? The first one to receive hell training should be him."
And yet… instead of irritation, a faint smile crept across his lips.
Watching his little brother, he couldn't help but feel a strange certainty — that the Divine Healer Clan truly would change under his lead.
'I'll be ready too. This time, my hell training will be even harsher than ever before.'
He would teach those new disciples until their very souls trembled.
Somewhere out in Namyang, a few unsuspecting future recruits suddenly felt a chill down their spines.
'What a miserable life.'
Aseop, a young waiter at Hocheong Tavern (meaning "Clear Sky"), sighed deeply.
Despite the name, his face was anything but sunny.
'No matter how hard I work, what's the point? Every copper I make gets devoured by debt.'
It was a rare moment of rest — a brief pause that invited regret.
'If I'd known how things would turn out, I never would've tried to become a physician. What was I thinking, a lowborn like me trying to save lives?'
For those born poor, there were only a few paths to rise in status.
The most coveted was martial cultivation — joining a sect, becoming a master.
The martial world didn't care about birth, only strength.
But becoming a true expert was a dream reserved for the gifted few.
For most, it was impossible.
The second path was medicine.
With the rise of the Great Healer Era, physicians now enjoyed wealth and respect like never before.
And unlike martial arts, medicine didn't require innate talent — only intellect and discipline.
So countless commoners had turned to the healer families, dreaming of success.
Most ended up broke.
'I failed the Medical Exam, got buried in tuition debt… damn those healer bastards.'
Every year, droves of hopefuls knocked on the doors of healer houses.
And every year, those houses lined their pockets with tuition fees.
Teaching apprentices had become one of their most profitable businesses.
If you were rich, you might get by.
If not, a few years of failure meant a mountain of debt.
'I should've just joined a place like the Divine Healer Clan.'
Their tuition was cheap — laughably so — and they even paid a small stipend to apprentices in training.
Still, few chose to go there.
Why? Because reputation mattered.
Which healer family you studied under determined your entire future.
Even among physicians, there was a hierarchy.
If you wanted a proper career, you needed at least the title of Earth-grade Healer Apprentice.
'I didn't realize I'd just be their cash cow. They never even taught the real medicine.'
Aseop clenched his jaw as he recalled the endless demands for more money.
Entry fee — a few silvers!
Huangdi Neijing lectures — a few more silvers!
Materia Medica lessons — even more silvers!
Every bit of advanced knowledge required another payment.
And the truly important teachings — the secret techniques needed to pass the exam — were always "for later."
They withheld them to milk every last coin.
Unless you had powerful backing or paid an obscene amount, you'd never learn them.
"Aseop! What are you doing?! One bowl of noodles, now!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
He hurried back to work, weaving through the bustling tavern.
Even working to the bone barely covered the interest on his debt.
And if he missed a payment…
'They'd sell me off to a mine in a heartbeat.'
Just thinking of his "creditors" made him shiver.
Then—
"Hey, did you hear what happened with the Three Tiger Sect?"
"!!"
Aseop's eyes widened.
His creditors.
'Those devils… what about them?'
Most medical students who couldn't afford tuition had to take loans.
Aseop had too, through his healer house's "Scholar Loan Program."
It was extortionate, but he'd trusted them — after all, it was an official loan.
Then, after failing the exams several times and giving up on more classes, the healer house had quietly sold his debt to a demonic sect.
The Three Tiger Sect.
And without warning, the loan terms had changed.
But who could he complain to?
By the time he realized what had happened, it was far too late.
"I heard the Black Ghost Sect attacked the Three Tiger Sect last night."
"What? Why? They've always been equals — just keeping each other in check."
"Apparently not anymore. Word is, the Black Ghost Sect crushed them. Completely."
"Really?"
"They say it wasn't even close — total annihilation. The Three Tiger Sect's finished."
"So Jang Sam's martial arts really were that strong, huh? Then all of South Street must belong to the Black Ghost Sect now."
'The Three Tiger Sect is gone?'
Aseop's chest filled with a flicker of hope — quickly extinguished.
Their downfall wouldn't erase his debt.
It would simply pass to a new creditor.
'Still… maybe this new one won't be such a monster.'
As he prayed silently, another whisper reached his ear.
"Do you know why the Black Ghost Sect attacked them?"
"Not exactly. But rumor has it, Jang Sam's gone strange lately."
"You mean that business about him reforming after being moved by the Divine Healer Clan's kindness?"
"That's the one! Everyone thought he'd gone mad — said he'd 'found a new life' and all that. But apparently, this attack was part of that. He struck the Three Tiger Sect to punish them for some unforgivable sin."
"What kind of sin?"
"Who knows? The demonic sects commit enough that it could be anything."
"But still — the Black Ghost Sect isn't exactly righteous either. Saying Jang Sam's reformed is like saying a dog stopped eating filth. He'd have to be insane—"
"Shh! Quiet!"
The tavern door banged open.
A man entered — tall, broad-shouldered, with a face like a stormcloud.
Jang Sam.
The new ruler of South Street.
Every voice died instantly.
'Did he… hear us?'
Crack.
Jang Sam ground his teeth.
The chatterers paled. Their hearts froze.
Then he turned sharply.
"Which one of you is… Aseop?"
"…M-me? I'm Aseop."
Aseop raised a trembling hand.
'He's here to collect the debt. But why call me "Mr." Aseop? To mock me?'
Thud.
Jang Sam stepped closer, towering over him.
His aura was overwhelming — sharp and violent, the aura of a conqueror.
His face was twisted in what seemed like fury, making his presence even more terrifying.
Aseop dropped to his knees, shaking.
Then—
Crack.
Jang Sam gritted his teeth again.
And in a tone completely at odds with his fearsome expression, he said:
"…This humble Jang… has come to serve Mr. Aseop."
Crack!