I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple

Senior Brother Arang led me to our master's residence. The interior was stark, with no bedding, only an old drawer and a table. The two chairs were exactly as I remembered them.

"Sit down," Senior Brother Arang instructed in his usual, inorganic voice.

"Ah, yes..."

I couldn't quite grasp what was happening, but I found it difficult to ask questions outright.

From the beginning, Senior Brother Arang's presence was unusual. With his back turned, he busied himself with the tea set, and before long, the rich aroma of tea filled the room.

"Do you still like tea?" he asked.

"Yes, sure."

"Good."

A sudden dissonance struck me as I reached for the teacup he offered.

"Uh?"

My right arm had grown back perfectly. No, it wasn't that it grew back. Rather, it was like I had never been injured in the first place.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"N-nothing."

I took the teacup first, savoring the fragrance before taking a sip. The nameless tea he often gave me tasted just as I reme...