The Return of the Crazy Demon-Chapter 249: Who Should Become the Best Under Heaven?

Not everyone in Haomun can understand what I’m saying. In some ways, the White-Robed Scholar might actually understand me better. And when it comes to how I feel about Haomun, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° the Beggars’ Sect Leader would probably understand me best.

So just because someone belongs to Haomun doesn’t mean they truly understand me.

Likewise, I couldn’t properly understand what the Crazy Monk said to me in my past life. Maybe he held back from trying to beat me to death like other Jianghu bastards at least ten times a day.

The Crazy Monk, dragging me around with him, seemed to constantly wrestle with the identity crisis between being a peaceful martial monk and a vengeance-consumed defrocked monk.

That’s probably why he became someone who was neither a monk nor a defrocked one—just the Crazy Monk.

We stared for a long time at the fierce flames rising from the burning corpses. Beside us, the disciple of the Crazy Monk—my martial uncle Dong-su—was chanting Buddhist sutras, praying for the souls of the dead to find peace in paradise. And since none of us were deaf, we all heard it.

Normally, sutras mention Avalokiteshvara or Amitabha, but Dong-su was mumbling some weird names in odd pronunciations that were hard to make out.

When he finished chanting, I asked him:

“...Who the hell is Azarananta?”

Dong-su looked at me.

“He is the Immovable Wisdom King.”

“Oh, really?”

Hearing the name Immovable Wisdom King made me think of the Crazy Monk.

Even the flames swirling around the corpses resembled the Crazy Monk’s martial arts.

The Crazy Monk mostly used techniques similar to the flame arts of the Golden Nine Free-Wandering Manual, and according to him, it was something he called Feral Flame. In old temples, you occasionally see statues or paintings of the Immovable Wisdom King, and he’s usually surrounded by flames.

That must be Feral Flame.

Maybe that’s why the Immovable Wisdom King always comes to mind whenever I think of the Crazy Monk.

Originally, the Immovable Wisdom King wasn’t a deity associated with mercy.

I don’t know exactly what kind of figure he is in Buddhism, but just judging from how he’s depicted, he looks like an embodiment of rage. He holds a sword and whip and looks like he’s going to beat everything to death. I don’t know if these religious figures ever actually existed, but one thing’s certain: the Immovable Wisdom King was a martial master suffering from rage disorder. The fact that even a Buddhist Wisdom King can’t escape rage disorder shows how terrifying it is.

I asked Dong-su:

“What kind of being is the Immovable Wisdom King? He seems pretty far removed from your peaceful mindset, baldy. Isn’t he the guy who beats the crap out of evil spirits?”

Dong-su answered:

“He is a king who protects wandering practitioners.”

“Oh, like you—one of those wandering monks?”

“Similar, but the term ‘practitioner’ covers a broader meaning.”

Then, after Dong-su dies, the Crazy Monk must have set off on his journey as the Immovable Wisdom King. What I’ve always wondered is—why did the Crazy Monk suddenly stop that journey and go back west?

Did he decide it was pointless?

Or did he meet someone even he couldn’t handle?

Or did he come to believe he couldn’t become the Immovable Wisdom King?

Maybe he just grew exhausted from the endless slaughter. With his skill, he probably could’ve finished his revenge early on.

That’s not something I could ask.

Because this life is different.

While the Sword Demon quietly listened to the chanting, he asked Dong-su:

“You’re praying for the dead, so why chant about the Immovable Wisdom King?”

Dong-su replied in a calm voice:

“In times before written records—when only oral traditions existed—people had to fight beasts to survive. To avoid being eaten, they sharpened wood into spears and trained their bodies. The deeper their training went, the more they needed to explain it when teaching children. That’s how martial arts began. But not everyone could pursue martial arts. Some had to farm, trade, and cook. Still, those practicing martial arts had to coexist with the rest. Whether fighting beasts or defending against foreign killers, martial arts were necessary. And because they were necessary, they developed over time. We consider those martial artists the descendants of the Immovable Wisdom King. Those who’ve trained in martial arts must protect the practitioners who haven’t. That’s the foundation. But in the Central Plains, the Jianghu kept evolving into power struggles. I’ve heard martial arts here are deep and diverse. I believe even they are descendants of the Immovable Wisdom King.”

Staring into the burning flames, Dong-su added:

“...Of course, it seems many of them have gone astray.”

The Drunk asked Dong-su:

“You came all this way just to observe this kind of Jianghu? What if you die while observing? You seem like the type that pisses off Jianghu people the most. There are plenty here who’d kill you just for interfering.”

Dong-su replied:

“I’ve heard there are also many who aren’t like that. My senior brothers tried hard to stop me, saying it was all pointless.”

Hearing “senior brothers” made my heart jolt for a second.

The Sword Demon asked an unexpected question:

“Why do you think extraordinary martial masters sometimes emerge from Buddhism? Is it because they’re descendants of the Immovable Wisdom King, as you said?”

Dong-su shook his head.

“No. From what I know, it’s very simple.”

The Lecher chimed in:

“What is it?”

“They spend their whole lives training, and by coincidence or external influence, they become known. Many Buddhist masters don’t even know how they compare to others in Jianghu. Sometimes, monks with inflated egos come to the Central Plains to test their strength.”

The Sword Demon responded:

“So you’re not one of those types?”

“I don’t have such ambition. I’m more curious than competitive.”

Somehow, this turned into a Q&A session between Dong-su and the Four Great Villains. Suddenly I wondered—why are these villains chatting so comfortably with Dong-su?

Thinking about it, the reason wasn’t complicated.

He was just someone they could talk to.

Since I also had something I wanted to say, I tried to reason with Dong-su.

“Dong-su.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got the perfect personality to get yourself killed in Jianghu. Your face is too decent-looking for a baldy, and that’s a problem. If you get caught by one of those deranged demonic bastards, they’ll force you to eat meat, grow your hair, sleep with women—or do worse—and then kill you. The reason is simple. Your skills need to be good enough to win without killing, but you’re not there. Reaching that level in Jianghu is nearly impossible. You’d basically have to become the Immovable Wisdom King. Train more before meddling in Jianghu affairs.”

Dong-su replied:

“So what you’re saying is... if I want to survive with my meager skills, I’ll have to kill?”

“That’s the summary. Especially the bastards who died today...”

I nodded, then pulled out Mulungja’s wanted poster from my robe and threw it to Dong-su. He stared blankly at the poster. Below the drawing, all of Mulungja’s crimes were listed.

Dong-su said:

“...So you didn’t just run into him at Juksan. You lured him out.”

“Look at the back. It’s not just him.”

While Dong-su flipped the page to read, I said:

“Guys like Mulungja—demonic scum who operate in specific regions—are actually easier to track down. The exception is Dongho’s Strongest Sword. Dongho’s too big. And those guys listed as lone travelers or wandering guests—they don’t stick to one area. They’re harder to catch.”

Dong-su asked:

“Are they the ones causing the most trouble in Jianghu?”

“Something like that. Especially that Dongho bastard—the Martial Alliance Leader can’t even handle him.”

Dong-su asked innocently:

“Ah, is he stronger than the Alliance Leader?”

I shook my head.

“Not like that. It’s just that the term ‘Dongho’ refers to an entire region, and he commands too large a faction. He’s also called the Demonic Sword of the East. He’s got a ton of subordinates. He’s infamous, but if the Martial Alliance confronts him, it becomes a full-scale war. Killing just one guy could cause thousands of deaths. And if the Alliance Leader tries to resolve it one-on-one, it still won’t work. Why? Because if he just sits tight, he can keep ruling Dongho like a king. Why risk it? The Alliance Leader’s strong too.”

Dong-su nodded.

“I see. Then why create and distribute things like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons. If an outside faction tries to ally with the Dongho bastard, this lets us crush them first. It’s also a kind of final warning. Like saying—‘We’re ready to go to war, even if it costs us greatly.’ In Jianghu, there are plenty of madmen who might try to assassinate him. If that happens, the bounty’s up for grabs...”

At the word “bounty,” Dong-su flipped the poster again and checked the amount.

“It’s a large sum.”

“What, you think we killed Mulungja for the money?”

“No.”

“Be honest.”

Dong-su looked at me, then at the Sword Demon, the Lecher, and the Drunk before answering.

“Honestly? No, I don’t think so.”

I smirked coldly.

“That’s strange. I did kill him for money. We’re splitting it four ways and drinking ourselves stupid.”

Dong-su burst into laughter, then covered his mouth with his hand.

I stared at him.

“...This guy laughs at the weirdest stuff. Don’t laugh carelessly. There are over a thousand bastards in Jianghu who’ll punch you just for laughing.”

“Really?”

“There are over five hundred who’ll pick a fight just for being bald.”

“No way.”

Seeing that he didn’t believe me, I turned to the Sword Demon for support.

“Big brother, I’m right, aren’t I? Over five hundred?”

The Sword Demon replied with a serious face.

“There are probably over a thousand who’ll mess with you just for being a monk. Not even about being bald.”

“Exactly. Jianghu’s like that. And you think you can just wander around here doing your little monk routine... without ever killing anyone? You’d have to be nearly the best under heaven.”

While Dong-su drifted into thought, the Sword Demon asked me:

“Will you keep heading west?”

I shook my head.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s west or east. Since we killed Mulungja, I figure I’ll drop by my hometown.”

The Lecher asked me:

“Why?”

“I’ve got a secret manual to give to big brother.”

Hearing the words “secret manual,” the Sword Demon, Drunk, and Lecher all nodded without hesitation. At our core, we’re Jianghu men. When it comes to getting stronger, it doesn’t matter if it’s north, south, east, or west.

Dong-su spoke in a dazed voice.

“Lord, what should we do to make the world even slightly better?”

I smiled and replied.

“Everyone should just do what they’re good at. That’s why someone like me should be the best under heaven.”

The Lecher, the Drunk, and the Sword Demon all looked at me. Even Dong-su stared, surprised.

“Is there a reason it has to be you?”

I nodded.

“If you became the best under heaven, a bastard like Mulungja would fake repentance, beg your forgiveness, and then go somewhere else and do the exact same thing. It’d be infuriating. If a guy like the Cult Leader became the best under heaven, everyone would become cultists. Even Buddhism wouldn’t be spared. They’d get beat to death for resisting.”

Dong-su asked:

“What if the Alliance Leader became the best under heaven?”

“Not bad. But the Martial Alliance would get too powerful, and all the little foxes beneath him would start running wild. You don’t know this, but there’s a whole faction I call the Scholar Bastards. They must never become the best. They’d split society into scholars and non-scholars and create a caste system, like during the Warring States era—scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants. I also oppose the Beggars’ Sect Leader becoming the best under heaven. He represents beggars, after all. They might like it, but the world isn’t only made of beggars. Forcing more people to become beggars would be a problem. So it has to be me.”

Dong-su tilted his head.

“But don’t you also represent Haomun?”

“Haomun is Haomun, and I am me. Saying I consider all working people to be Haomun means I also respect those who aren’t Haomun. Everyone should just do what they’re good at. I respect baldy monks like you. I respect remote religions in the Western Regions. I respect bookworms, and I don’t look down on farmers or beggars. I help the Alliance Leader, and if I meet a martial criminal, I kill him like today. What I want isn’t the fame that comes with being best under heaven—I want the actual power. The power to beat to death those bastards who cross the line too far. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Dong-su replied, shocked:

“That’s being best under heaven?”

I smiled and said:

“The ones crossing the line too far in Jianghu are stronger than me right now. That’s why I’m scrambling day by day, chasing after the strong.”

Then, I dropped the smile and muttered:

“Like a turtle made of steel. Of course, I’m probably not the only one thinking this way.”

I pointed at the Sword Demon, the Drunk, and the Lecher.

“These brothers here are the same. We’re all trying to become the best under heaven.”

Then I spoke directly to Dong-su.

“So stop wandering around studying Jianghu. What I just said—that’s the essence of a Jianghu man.”

“......”

“Azarananta, descendant of the Immovable Wisdom King. That’s what the four of us are. Don’t go looking far.”

As always...

I bullshitted first.

Because only by bullshitting...

...can dreams come true.