Chapter 90 – The Master Who Appeared
When Moon's eyes fluttered open, the first thing he felt was the coarse texture of a wooden ceiling above him. His body was resting on a simple bed, the frame creaking faintly whenever he tried to shift. The sheets smelled faintly of herbs—dry leaves crushed into powder and infused with oil.
For a moment he lay still, his breathing uneven. Then instinct urged him to glance around.
Not far away, on another bed, Kai was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Relief washed through Moon for an instant, but it was quickly replaced by frustration. He tried to move, to rise, yet the attempt nearly made him collapse again. His body felt… alien. Weak. He could not feel his strength the way he usually did; his muscles were sluggish, his bones heavy, as though the very air weighed him down.
Just as Moon clenched his teeth in irritation, the wooden door creaked open.
Through it stepped the same old man who had appeared before—calm, composed, and carrying with him a quiet authority that pressed upon the room.
He wore a black turtleneck that hugged his frame, paired with dark trousers. The fabric itself wasn't extraordinary, yet the way he carried it gave the impression of a man who had lived a hundred lives and survived them all. His face was lined with the faint wrinkles of age, but far from diminishing his looks, they seemed to sharpen his presence, giving him the aura of timeless wisdom. A sharp, well-kept white mustache sat neatly above his lips, while short, spiky white hair crowned his head with an almost rebellious energy.
Even through the fabric of his turtleneck, the outlines of a defined body were clear—broad shoulders, corded muscle, the posture of someone who could break men in half if he wished.
He walked without hurry. First to Kai. The old man bent down, placed his hand lightly over Kai's wrist, and checked his pulse. For a brief second, silence hung in the air. Then he gave the faintest nod of satisfaction.
A moment later, he moved toward Moon. His steps were deliberate, measured. Moon tensed, his mind screaming at his body to prepare, but his limbs refused to obey. The old man reached out, grasped Moon's wrist with a firm but not cruel grip, and checked his pulse as well. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of combat, but the touch itself was careful.
"Hmm," the old man finally said, his deep voice rumbling like a calm storm. "Everything is fine."
Moon narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" His tone was sharp, tinged with warning. "And why did you save me? Why save Kai as well? Don't tell me… this test was your doing, wasn't it?"
His voice carried anger, suspicion, and challenge. Yet the moment he uttered those words, something struck his memory like a hammer—the memory of his power. His jaw tightened, and the anger in his voice suddenly faltered into silence.
The old man did not answer immediately. His expression remained calm, unreadable.
Moments later, Kai stirred on the bed. His eyelids twitched before slowly opening, revealing groggy, confused eyes. When he spotted the old man standing beside Moon, he froze. His surprise was obvious, but unlike Moon, he did not speak. His instincts told him recklessness here meant death. Whoever this man was, neither of them stood even the faintest chance against him.
Finally, the old man spoke. His voice was steady, carrying an authority that demanded silence.
"Zambandari," he said. "My name is Zambandari."
He straightened, cleared his throat, then turned his back to them as though gazing at something far away. "From this day forward, you may call me Sensei. Master. Guru. Choose whichever word you prefer."
Moon scowled. His defiance sparked instantly. "And what if we refuse? What if we don't want to be your students?"
The moment those words slipped from Moon's lips, the very air in the wooden chamber shifted.
It wasn't simply anger that answered him. It wasn't even hostility. It was something far more primal—an eruption of pure, unrestrained dominance.
Zambandari didn't move a finger. He didn't raise his voice. He simply was.
And in that instant, being Zambandari was enough to suffocate the entire room.
A crushing aura exploded outward from his body, invisible yet tangible, heavier than steel, sharper than blades. It rushed over Moon and Kai like an unseen tsunami, slamming them against their beds. The wooden frames groaned under the force, the bedding compressed as though gravity itself had multiplied a hundredfold.
Moon's chest constricted violently. Each breath he tried to take collapsed halfway, the air crushed from his lungs before it could even reach his throat. His ribs screamed as though they were being squeezed by a giant's fist. His vision blurred, black spots dancing across his eyes. He felt like a drowning man clawing for the surface but finding only endless water above him.
Kai fared no better. His back arched against the bed, every tendon straining, every muscle rigid as if invisible chains had locked him down. Sweat burst across his forehead, dripping into his eyes, but he couldn't even raise his arm to wipe it. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, wild and erratic, as if it too was struggling to resist the suffocating presence crushing down on it.
And then, through the weight of that unbearable silence, Zambandari's voice cut in. Calm. Collected. Sharp enough to slice through the pressure.
"Do you understand now," he asked, each syllable deliberate, "what will happen if you continue to question me so recklessly?"
There was no need for threats. The threat was already there, embodied in the crushing weight of his aura.
Moon's eyes bulged, his lips trembling as he tried to speak. The effort felt like dragging a boulder up a mountain with his tongue. His throat was raw, scraped by the effort of breathing under pressure, but somehow, he forced the words out.
"Y-Yes… yes, I understand!"
The words cracked in the middle, strangled, but they were enough.
The suffocating pressure vanished. Instantly.
It was as though an entire mountain had been lifted off their chests. Moon and Kai gasped violently, their bodies convulsing as fresh air flooded into their lungs. Their gasps were ragged, desperate, like men who had just surfaced after being held underwater for too long. The sensation of oxygen rushing through their bloodstream was almost painful in its intensity.
Kai slowly turned his head toward Moon, his eyes narrowed into a glare that could have burned holes through steel. His pupils glimmered with rage, the kind that had to be swallowed whole because releasing it would mean certain death.
His expression screamed what his lips refused to say: Does this fool have no self-control? No filter? Must he always let his tongue leap before his brain?
Moon avoided his gaze. He didn't need to hear the words; Kai's eyes had shouted them loudly enough.
Zambandari, meanwhile, stood in silence. His posture was relaxed, but his presence lingered like smoke after fire. He regarded them both with an unreadable expression—neither satisfied nor angry, merely… assessing.
When he finally spoke again, his words carried no anger, only a simple truth.
"The two of you," he said slowly, "are far weaker than I expected."
The statement struck harder than any blow.
"The third candidate," Zambandari continued, pacing a step away, his back half-turned to them, "has already shown great improvement. Progress far beyond yours." He shook his head, faintly disappointed. "But you… as I thought, it seems I will have to take matters into my own hands. It was expected, really."
He tilted his head, his white mustache twitching faintly as his lips curled into the ghost of a smirk. "After all… what else could I expect from a chief and a waiter?"
The words dripped with mockery. Yet beneath the sting, there was something deliberate—an edge carefully honed not merely to insult, but to provoke. It was as if he wanted them to bristle, to rage, to ignite something dormant within them.
He raised his hand slightly. The ring on his finger shimmered faintly, glowing with a subtle light. A storage ring. Its inner world stirred as he sent his consciousness inside, searching its depths.
Moon and Kai watched in silence, their hearts pounding, their thoughts spiraling.
Does he know? Moon thought, panic creeping into his chest. Does this man know about our resurrection power?
The third candidate… Kai's mind raced. Is there someone else like us? Someone cursed—or blessed—the same way? If there's a third, does that mean there could be more?
And worse, Moon's thoughts darkened, what if Zambandari himself has it? What if he's been resurrected before—hundreds, maybe thousands of times? Maybe he is also like us?
Their doubts piled upon each other like storm clouds, suffocating and endless.
And then—
"You two think too much."
Zambandari's voice snapped through their thoughts like a whip.
Their eyes widened. Their breath caught in their throats.
"Patience," he continued, tone casual but sharp. "In time, every question you hold will be answered. And no—" his eyes flicked toward them knowingly, "I do not possess your so-called 'respawn' ability."
The words struck like thunder.
Moon and Kai froze, utterly still. Their eyes widened in unison, shock painted clearly across their faces.
He had read their thoughts. Effortlessly.
Mind-reading…?
Neither of them had even considered such a possibility. The realization sent shivers crawling down their spines. If he could peel open their thoughts like pages in a book, then no secret was safe, no scheme hidden. Before Zambandari, they were transparent, exposed, stripped bare.
The old man's hand flicked casually, as though discarding an afterthought. Two small objects shimmered out of the storage ring and fell toward the beds.
They landed with dull, heavy thuds against the wooden frames, the sound echoing strangely loud in the silence of the room.
"Take them," Zambandari ordered.
His tone carried no urgency, no warmth, no explanation. Only command.
Moon and Kai exchanged a glance. Their bodies were still trembling faintly from the aura's aftershock, but their curiosity burned hotter than fear. Slowly, carefully, they reached toward the objects.
Moon and Kai reached for the rings, curiosity battling suspicion. As they focused their inner senses into the storage rings, they found weapons and techniques within.
Kai's ring contained the very sword he had once wielded against the monstrous praying mantis. A familiar weight. A blade that seemed almost an extension of himself.
Moon's ring held something else: a katana. He summoned it instantly, unable to resist. The weapon manifested in his hands, long and slender. Its blade was thin, sharp as a whisper, the length equal to Moon's height. The handle fit his grip perfectly, its handle length alone was two-thirds the size of his hand covered in white bandages , designed for precision and speed.
Moon gripped the katana with both hands, its weight resting against his palms as though it had always belonged there. The blade was slender, deceptively delicate in appearance, yet the faint shimmer running along its edge spoke of lethality.
He swung it once. Slowly. Testing.
The weapon hummed as it cut through the air, slicing it cleanly. The sound it produced was sharp, thin, like silk being torn in perfect precision.
He swung again, faster this time, and the air itself seemed to recoil around the blade, parting as if acknowledging its existence. The weapon felt alive—balanced, attuned to his movements, resonating with his very breath.
For a fleeting moment, Moon's constant anger dissolved. His thoughts quieted, his heart steadied. Awe took hold. This was no ordinary weapon. This was his.
He lowered the blade and turned toward Zambandari. The usual defiance in his eyes softened. His lips pressed together as if weighing his pride against the truth. Finally, he dipped his head, the gesture carrying uncharacteristic sincerity.
"Master," Moon said, his voice firm, resolute. "I greet you. I accept you as my master."
Zambandari didn't look touched or impressed. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, and let out a sharp exhale that might have been a suppressed chuckle.
Then his gaze shifted toward Kai.
Kai had been silent this entire time, his focus fixed on the weapon he now held. The blue-crystal sword glimmered faintly in his grip, its translucent edge reflecting shards of light. He ran his fingers along the blade, tracing every contour, every groove . The weapon pulsed faintly, like a heart, as if it had been waiting for him to claim it once more.
Kai's brows furrowed. His silence wasn't indecision—it was caution. His instincts screamed that things didn't add up.
Finally, after a long pause, he tightened his grip on the hilt and lowered his head slightly. "I accept as well, Master."
But inside, his mind remained restless, turbulent.
Why? he thought. Why would a man appear from nowhere, intervene in our battles, save us from certain death, know of our resurrection power, and then… gift us weapons? Why push us into calling him Master? What does he stand to gain from this?
The suspicion coiled in his chest like a serpent, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't kill it.
Zambandari, however, was watching him with the faintest smirk. His sharp eyes glistened as though he were peeling back the layers of Kai's thoughts, seeing directly into his doubts.
"Don't be so suspicious, boy," he said at last, his tone calm but edged with amusement. "I am legitimate. I am exactly what I claim to be."
His words were simple, but the weight behind them made Kai's chest tighten.
Zambandari turned away then, his movements smooth and deliberate, and walked toward the door. His black turtleneck rippled faintly with each step, his posture radiating unshakable authority. His hand reached for the handle, but he paused just as his fingers touched the wooden frame.
He glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes—sharp, calculating—fell on Moon and Kai.
"You're still burdened," he said softly. His voice was quieter now, almost gentle, but it carried a depth that pierced them deeper than any blade. "Still haunted by the losses of your past."
Moon's hand tightened instinctively on the katana's hilt. Kai's jaw clenched.
"Believe me," Zambandari continued, his gaze steady, "I understand. If I were in your place, I would be the same."
He stepped closer to the door but did not leave yet. His eyes flicked downward, as though recalling ghosts only he could see.
"First Tom," he said, voice heavy with certainty. "Then the parasite. Then the praying mantis. One by one, you've faced them, lost to them, suffered beneath them. And still, you stand."
Moon's throat went dry. Kai's heart skipped.
Zambandari's eyes sharpened, the faintest gleam flashing in them. "And there are more like me out there. More powerful. Far more dangerous."
He let the words hang, each one carving its way into their minds, a promise and a warning at once.
"Remember that."
The silence that followed was crushing. For a moment, Zambandari simply looked at them. His expression softened—barely, fleetingly. Something flickered in his eyes, a spark of emotion buried beneath the layers of iron will.
To be continued…