Watching such a prideful man standing there covered in blood gave me a strange feeling.

Honestly, it couldn’t be helped. His opponent was Cheonak, one of the Three Calamities, and also the White-Robed Scholar’s friend. So you could say the Scholar still fought fairly. Even if his external technique was dirty, he’s the kind of guy who’d be even more insidious if he fought properly.

Suddenly, the White-Robed Scholar, his face a mess, looked at us from next to Cheonak and said something unexpected.

“I won.”

“…What?”

A chill ran down my spine at the Scholar’s bizarre declaration of victory. Maybe he got hit too hard and lost his mind?

I asked,