Doctor’s Rebirth - Chapter 782

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 782
Jegalling gazed upon his disciple’s body.
Despite the regenerative power of the Jade Essence, scars were beginning to accumulate one after another across that frame.
“Since you met me, this would be your second death. I suspect the third will come easier than the second. The fourth easier still than the third.”
My immortal disciple would be worn down, ground away bit by bit.
How much longer could I bear witness to this erosion?
“When even the primal fear of death itself has worn away, suicide will become effortless. By the time your limbs are severed and portions of your organs lost as the price, movement will become impossible—and that shall mark the end of your journey.”
It was a nightmare too terrible even for sleep to conjure.
Yet Jegalling recited his disciple’s future with perfect composure.
“I wished you had cherished life. I wished you had understood how precious a person you are.”
That is why I held the celebration.
A grand feast.
I made known to the people of Hyeon, who believed in and followed my disciple, the great deeds of Jin Cheon-hee.
Everyone celebrated without reservation.
And with good reason.
The people of Baekrin County had once been those exploited by others.
Those who had given up, saying it was the same everywhere.
Those for whom the plundering of the poor by the wealthy was merely daily routine and landscape.
How sweet was hope?
Who else would they worship as a god but the one who poured such sweetness upon them?
“I wished you had understood, by seeing the people of Hyeon, how heavy your life truly is.”
“Yes.”
I saw the smiles of the children.
The people joyfully praised the Magistrate’s virtue.
All ate delicious things together. They shared delicious things with one another.
That sight brought joy.
A weary traveler returning from distant lands found strength in it alone.
The strength to return home.
Even if the world were hell, if only my home could remain safe, how strong would a person become before it?
“At Baekrin Medical Guild, we gathered the Medical Professionals who had walked alongside you. We held a feast and spoke of your deeds. They were the connections you had forged.”
“….”
“Yet for some reason, you feared your Master’s kindness.”
Why was that?
My Master had merely wished to gather with my disciple, hoping that I would recognize the weight of my own life, and to meet with the bonds and good fortune accumulated over time.
‘I was afraid, not understanding even that.’
I was sorry for not understanding my Master.
Though it was not only my disciple who was frightened then, and all those gathered in that place felt the same, regardless, I had already forgotten it.
‘My Master is a genius, possessing sensibilities different from ordinary people.’
It was only natural that the actions a genius expresses to the common person differ from those of ordinary folk.
Once I saw in a documentary an octopus crumpling its tentacles to mimic a hermit crab or a fish.
In a way, my Master was no different.
My Master had similarly compressed himself into that form, yet the uncanny dissonance that touched the valley of discomfort had perhaps birthed this terror.
If an octopus were to contort its tentacles into a human shape and wave them about, anyone would have screamed and fled—and Jin Cheon-hee had done precisely that.
That octopus was my Master.
‘I didn’t even understand my Master’s heart.’
From my Master’s perspective, he had tried so earnestly to reshape himself into human form.
His mimicry of humanity had instead awakened humanity’s primal fear, yet my Master had made the effort nonetheless.
The uncanny valley—what was so terrible about it?
My Master had contorted his tentacles into a human shape and waved them desperately, worried that his disciple’s heart might shatter.
Jin Cheon-hee gazed at his Master with a sense of remorse.
The expression on my Master’s face as he inserted the needle into his disciple looked so sorrowful that I could say nothing.
“I have thought much while carving your memorial tablet. Each time you die, should I carve it anew? I wondered.”
“Master.”
“If I do so, perhaps you might be less broken when facing death.”
“Master.”
As Jegalling carved away at the tablet, his own heart was carved away bit by bit.
The touch of the wood was so cold, almost like the blade of a sword from the Gangho.
“Do you have words to say?”
“…I will cherish my life.”
“That is the wrong answer.”
Jegalling spoke with certainty.
Only then did Jin Cheon-hee correct his response.
“…I will cherish my ‘death.'”
“Yes. Live with all your might, and die with all your might. You must not die to escape any problem. Nor must you die merely to solve one.”
“I am…”
Jegalling observed.
This foolish one furrowed his brow and gazed upon him.
He had long since grasped this one’s habits.
Surely, next, he would receive his words as though they were precious treasures.
Yet despite this, he was kind, and because of his kindness, he would cast himself aside to save others.
Jegalling chose his words carefully.
This child needed a chain to bind him, so he would not shatter.
May the language he uttered become a curse-binding.
‘…’
In that moment, his brilliant mind yielded the answer without hesitation.
Yet speaking it was so agonizing that Jegalling clenched his teeth.
He gazed into his disciple’s eyes. They were transparent. They were clear.
At last, the Master spoke the words as though swallowing burning charcoal.
Its temperature was that of white charcoal.
Only charcoal that surpasses the 800-degree black charcoal and reaches 1,100 degrees finally becomes white charcoal.
The endpoint of 1,100 degrees.
A distant, overwhelming pain crashed down.
Burned and burned until what remained was white.
White was Jegalling’s color.
Beyond black charcoal, consuming himself, the color of rage that lingered after being consumed.
Some emotions hurt far more than any heat ever could. Yet Jegalling swallowed the white charcoal without hesitation, answering reason’s call.
Gulp.
“…Live each moment as a person, and die as a person.”
The temperature of hell burned through his insides.
The end of reason was madness.
“…!?”
It was a command Jegalling could give to his disciple.
Jin Cheon-hee realized he had done something terrible to his Master.
Jegalling had already known that his disciple would die again someday.
To conduct a memorial service—not truly a memorial service—for that disciple, he had to carve away at the tablet, carving and carving, while abandoning his own lingering attachments.
Because even with that brilliant mind, there was no way to prevent this child from walking into the inferno.
Because he had come to know what this child would ultimately choose, no matter what wounds were inflicted.
Once he knew that, the tablet began to look like a pit of mud.
Something black dragging everything down to the depths.
The taste of despair.
He had to let him live as a person and die as a person.
It sounded like madness, but that was how it was.
Now Jegalling even had to factor his disciple’s death into his calculations.
Pain surged through him. It was pain that came from the soul.
Merely speaking the truth made the Master feel the burning white charcoal.
No black charcoal could ever be hotter than this.
White charcoal that had abandoned everything.
Because only white charcoal could reach the extreme temperature.
A sensation as if the soul itself were burning.
But damn it all, it was what that dull genius needed to hear.
“When I was dying in the past, the hardest thing for me was not the suffering from illness. It was boredom.”
“….”
“Everything in this world was tedious, so tedious that nothing shone with light.”
Jegalling stroked his disciple’s head.
“Yet meeting you, I shall not be bored. Hee.”
With a faint smile.
“Master. I….”
Why was it that sometimes, seeing Master made his skin crawl?
Though Master’s heart was grateful and joyful, his strange inner landscape was difficult to understand, and fear would surge forth at times.
Especially now.
My Master calculated people; he was not one to empathize with them.
Yet today, he went to great lengths to perform humanity for my sake.
To verify that his disciple’s heart—that heart itself—had not been wounded.
Like an octopus curling its tentacles inward with all its might to mimic a fish.
It was one of the rare occurrences in Jegalling’s lifetime.
“Master, from now on, I will live each and every life with all my might.”
“Then struggle.”
“Yes. I will struggle with all the strength I possess.”
“Do you swear to this?”
That weight. The weight that those words created pressed down like Mount Tai itself.
I clenched my teeth and held back my tears.
“Yes. I will live as a person, and die as a person. In every moment.”
….
The contract was made thus.
Jegalling did not answer. Instead, he merely looked down at his disciple.
“Foolish one. Foolish and kind.”
….
“That is why it is joy.”
Only then did Jegalling set down his needle.
Thus master and disciple conversed for a long time.
Until the moon rose and the moon set.
To preserve one young man’s humanity, and so that his death might hold dignity.
Death could never become something light.
To make his disciple cling to life, Jegalling had to calculate his disciple’s death.
No matter how kindly one spoke of it, it was hell.
And that was precisely the path his disciple wished to walk.
The master had to pave that road to keep his disciple alive.
Jegalling reflected.
Even if he had taken a mayfly as his disciple, it would have been better than this.
Yet still, he could not let go of his disciple.
Destiny.
Once met, there was no escaping it.
* * *
“Master, speaking of which, about the Jeong-sa Great War…”
“How did you come to hear of that news? Both sides are currently catching their breath, resting for a moment.”
“That… how did it come to this?”
At those words, Jegalling let out a soft laugh.
“Who knows. You’ll have to wake up and find out for yourself.”
My Master then removed every needle he had embedded in my body.
“Has there been any change to my body?”
“At the very least, I’ve confirmed that my disciple isn’t Saenggangsi. That he wasn’t brainwashed. That he doesn’t have a gu parasite embedded in his body. And….”
“And?”
Jegalling tossed clothing to me.
Fresh silk garments.
“It’s a secret.”
“Pardon?”
“Since you’ve thoroughly deceived your Master all this time, it’s only fair that you remain ignorant of something about your own body.”
“Ugh.”
That’s playing dirty.
When he puts it that way, I have no grounds to argue back.
I sighed quietly and began rustling into the new clothes my Master had prepared for me.
“Since you’re so curious, I’ll tell you one thing.”
“What is it?”
“The cost of spatial displacement appears to be recoverable after all.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not even surprised, so you must have already suspected it.”
I had felt it when my blood was drained.
It was a sensation similar to sorcerous perception—something that logic could never adequately explain.
‘Premonition.’
If I had to choose the closest word to describe that sensation, it would be that.
I realized that spatial displacement exacted a far lighter price than temporal manipulation.
I became certain after I regained consciousness and took my own pulse.
‘Of course, it’s only blood or hair. If my actual limbs were severed, I’m not sure even the Heavenly Dragon Art could restore them.’
The Heavenly Dragon Art.
When I discovered this secret technique in the archive back then, I had thought:
-The name “Heavenly Dragon” sounds grandiose, but the character is “spring.” A dragon dwelling in a spring. In other words, a lizard!
Just as a lizard regenerates its severed tail, this technique supposedly allows one to regrow severed limbs.
‘Strangely enough, I discovered this secret technique on the same day I found the Soul Transfer Technique.’
Quite a peculiar connection.
Of course, I did learn this lizard divine art back then, but I can’t guarantee its effectiveness.
After all, there’s no review board in this world to verify secret techniques.
Even though it was in the imperial archives, it doesn’t seem like my predecessor actually practiced it and left it behind.
‘My pinky finger doesn’t regenerate at all because of causality.’
That’s the price of time.
Eungryong said so.
That the price of time is inherently cruel.
Then what about the price of space?
‘The best outcome is never needing to use the Heavenly Dragon Art.’
Death, crossing space, regenerating severed arms.
Die, transcend space, and regenerate severed limbs.
Can such a thing truly be called a normal human life?
Wasn’t I drifting further from humanity with each passing step?
Could death ever carry the same weight each time?
It was my Master’s voice that pulled me from those dark thoughts.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Eating hasn’t been easy. I’ve tried to eat well, but the calories don’t match the energy I’m expending.”
“You need to gain some weight. For you, that’s a matter of survival.”
I nodded in agreement.
I hastily tied my robe closed and gathered my loose hair into a single knot.
“Complaining about it, yet you stubbornly refuse to cut it.”
“I at least trim the ends. And surprisingly, it’s manageable, and this hair actually suits me quite well these days.”
“Even while hearing Ilgwang’s remarks, you still care about how people see you.”
“Haha.”
I laughed loudly, struck by the accuracy of his words.
My Master set a pomelo before me.
“Here, your punishment.”
Gwon Je’s pomelo.
I accepted it with both hands and inhaled its fragrance.
Behind the sour and bitter aroma came the scent of sandalwood—the smell of Mugungsan.
I swallowed a piece of the sour pomelo and furrowed my brow.
Since it was potent medicine, I had to eat all of it, so I slowly and deliberately pushed it into my mouth.
“Cheonwoo certainly has the patience to eat something like this raw.”
“The child has considerable endurance. Ah, and.”
My Master spoke casually as he grabbed my leg.
I held still, thinking he was checking my pulse, when I felt a cool sensation accompanied by a metallic click.
“Eternal Iron Shackles.”
I responded with equal nonchalance.
“Based on the chain length, movement shouldn’t be hindered. Lightness techniques will be somewhat inconvenient, but that should suffice.”
“Is this lightness technique training, Master?”
My eyes brightened.
New enlightenment always stimulated me, didn’t it?
Jegalling answered in response.
“Training? It’s just punishment. Punishment for carving your disciple’s memorial tablet.”
My Master’s grudges ran deep.
Meanwhile, I completed my self-hypnosis.
‘This is lightness technique training. Lightness technique training.’
The Medical Assistants didn’t know that I had died twice.
It would be difficult for them to even understand what my Master was venting his anger about.
I decided to protect my Master’s reputation.
Like master, like disciple.
‘Now that I think about it, how much has the Medical Guild changed during my absence?’
For starters, this hall is somewhere I’ve never seen before.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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