The Return of the Crazy Demon-Chapter 256: The Reason I Let Myself Be Swayed by Schemes

We never drink until we’re completely wasted. Being drunk means you’re asking to die at the hands of your enemies. The same went for Yeo Un-byeok, so we stopped after drinking moderately.

I looked Yeo Un-byeok in the eyes and said,

“Master Yeo, I’d be fine with us parting ways here and never seeing each other again—living our lives without any trouble.”

Yeo Un-byeok nodded.

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“But if a truly peaceful time does come, let’s share a drink again like today.”

We exchanged glances and nodded once to seal the promise.

Yeo Un-byeok said,

“I’ll send the Muga Sword as promised. I’ll have it delivered to Yongdu Cheolbang, so ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) confirm it there.”

The Drunk nodded.

“Got it.”

I went to Jomsoi and paid the tab. Maybe he was getting used to my face and name now—he looked a little less nervous than before as he bid farewell.

“Take care, Pavilion Lord.”

I gave him a slight nod, then parted ways with Yeo Un-byeok. I walked through the streets of Muga, now returned to their ordinary routine, alongside these villains. From time to time, I exchanged brief bows with passersby who made eye contact.

Only after we’d left the street behind did the Drunk speak up.

“Never thought I’d get my hands on such a fine sword. Life really is unpredictable. I was hoping for a big fight, though.”

The Lecher seemed more interested in the martial prowess of scholars than in sentiment.

“How does Master Yeo’s skill compare to the Blind Scholar—the one our third brother killed?”

It wasn’t a question I could answer precisely.

“I’ve never fought him, so I don’t know. They give off a similar feeling. But if a real fight broke out, Master Yeo probably would’ve been in serious trouble.”

“Why?”

“Master Yeo’s a master of defense, not assassination. He’s strong in one-on-ones, but if things devolved into chaos, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up. I only thought that after learning he’s a member of Muga... And of all the scholars I’ve seen, Cheonak was the strongest. Eventually, we three need to rise even higher. Cheonak was like a beast. If you ever meet him, use your heads wisely. One wrong word and you might lose a hand—or worse.”

A little fear would keep these bastards more focused on their training.

Not that I was lying.

Cheonak’s face and eyes showed exactly what kind of life he’d lived. His gaze was forged through countless brutal training sessions, hovering on the edge between life and death. One day, he must’ve torn apart the scholar who once stood above him as his master.

That’s how I imagined the relationship between Cheonak and the White-Robed Scholar.

Maybe the White-Robed Scholar offered him all kinds of martial arts and methods to grow stronger, and the two of them overcame hardships together. It didn’t seem like their bond was defined by strength or seniority alone.

At the crossroads, I asked the two,

“...So, we’re just heading back now?”

The Lecher glanced at me and scoffed. I had a bad feeling, but stayed silent.

The Lecher spoke.

“You think I followed you all the way here just to head back now? I’m going to see the face of the Sword of Yongmun and sort out the ranks of the Six Dragons of the South properly. Let’s go meet the Dragon Sword.”

“...Hmm.”

I forgot that I was the one who stirred the pot.

Then again, I wondered—why had the instigation worked so well?

“Why bother going? Just be the youngest. You’re technically the youngest in the Six Dragons of the South, but still the most impressive among the younger martial artists.”

The Lecher glared at me.

“Fat chance. You be the youngest.”

“I can’t be, either.”

The Drunk chimed in.

“Our eldest needs time alone to reflect and train. Let’s leave him in peaceful Ilyang County for mental rest. With Jang Deok-soo’s cooking and Monk Dong-su, he’ll manage to relax.”

I burst into laughter.

“Senior Sword Demon, relax? He probably wants to smack Dong-su’s bald head every time he sees it. You know how it is—he never shuts up with that nonsense. Actually, Sword Demon versus Monk Dong-su might be the ultimate showdown. Total opposites meeting face to face.”

As we chatted, the three of us were already walking the path to meet the Dragon Sword.

The Lecher shared his thoughts on that pairing.

“I bet Master won’t say a single word to Dong-su until we return.”

I imagined the two of them in Ilyang County. Dong-su banging his wooden clappers, chanting sutras, while the keen-eared Sword Demon endured it all to avoid falling into internal deviation. If you’re trying to become the greatest swordsman and someone’s mumbling Namu Amitabul next to you nonstop... you’d probably lose your mind.

Who would win such a mental war—I couldn’t say.

But the image alone was hilarious. When I glanced over, the Lecher and the Drunk were smiling with the same ridiculous expression. They were picturing the same thing.

I clicked my tongue.

“...You bastards. Say something before you start laughing.”

The Lecher looked at me.

“You were the one laughing like a total idiot.”

The Drunk laughed out loud and began mimicking the scene at Ja-Ha Inn.

“Tap tap tap... Namu Amitabul... Eldest Brother probably tells Dong-su in a polite tone: ‘Could you maybe chant somewhere else?’ And what does Dong-su say?”

I answered for him.

“No.”

The Lecher and the Drunk burst into laughter.

“Pwahahaha...”

“‘Sword Donor, your bloodlust is too intense. Namu Amitabul...’”

It wasn’t even that funny, but we laughed too hard.

We could vividly imagine Sword Demon looking absolutely miserable.

The more I thought about it, the more absurd and perfect the pairing seemed. But inner cultivation is key to growth, so even if Sword Demon suffered, I had no sympathy.

I told the Lecher,

“Aren’t you laughing a bit too hard while talking about your master?”

The Lecher retorted with a straight face.

“I’m laughing because of the monk, not my master.”

“Confirmed.”

To reach the Dragon Sword faster, we should’ve used light footwork nonstop—but we just walked.

We walked, we thought, we talked nonsense, and we watched the world go by.

Ordinary people were too busy surviving to waste time like this. But I had plenty of travel money, so we slept in cozy inns and ate well during the journey.

Why do they work?

Why do losers like us not work?

Is it because we’re martial artists?

I’m not sure. Probably because I have a lot of money. That’s why, when those working folks fall into trouble, it’s our duty—as lazy bums who just train martial arts all day—to help them out. That’s what I believe. But I didn’t bother explaining all that to these two.

Still, I hoped that as we searched for the Dragon Sword, they’d come to think the same way. Even if they never officially joined Haomun, their way of life would be no different.

If these two former villains changed even this much, I’d be satisfied.

After all, they’re just as good at taking beatings for others as I am.

We headed east, then moved south.

Then from the south, back toward the east again. When we saw rivers, we sought out boatmen and crossed by ferry. For wider rivers, we boarded large merchant ships used by escort bureaus and watched the rippling waters. The wind brushing across those waves felt like it was sweeping through my chest, and from time to time, I laughed to myself.

***

The man known as the Dragon Sword—or Yongmun’s Number One Blade—was the subject of frequent gossip. As we moved southward, martial artists talked about him with local pride.

He was said to be a genius from a young age.

They claimed he had defeated over a hundred martial artists before turning twenty.

Rumor also had it that the Dragon Sword personally wiped out the entire Su-ro-chae sect (a minor martial group).

Is that why Su-ro-chae disappeared?

There was even a far-fetched theory that after another decade of training, he could compete for the position of Martial Alliance Leader at the next great tournament.

We heard all sorts of nonsense as we imagined the Dragon Sword—until we finally arrived in Yongmun.

Only after arriving did I learn his full name and affiliation: Wi Mu-gyeol of the Wi Clan.

That wasn’t the problem.

The issue was discovering his younger sister’s name—Wi So-seon.

I didn’t know why we had to hear the sister’s name too... but when I realized she was one of the famed One Phoenix Two Immortals of the martial world, I couldn’t help but curse.

“Is this bastard out of his mind?”

The Lecher looked at us, confused, while the Drunk cursed at him after hearing the explanation.

“Is this bastard insane? Did you come here on purpose?”

The Lecher shrugged and opened his damn mouth.

“What? Why are you mad? I came to straighten out the Six Dragons of the South rankings.”

“Wow...”

The Lecher said in a flat tone,

“I didn’t know the Dragon Sword’s sister was Wi So-seon.”

There’s no way this bastard, drinking and gossiping in Baek Eung-ji, didn’t know. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d been dragged here just to see a woman known as one of the Immortals.

The Lecher shamelessly told us,

“...So what, you wanna go back? After coming all this way? Fine, go ahead. Who’s so desperate to see a woman’s face? Come on, I’m not kidding—this is all part of training too.”

I clicked my tongue and replied,

“How the hell do you link that kind of bullshit so smoothly?”

I sighed but turning back now would’ve made me feel like a complete idiot, so we headed for the Wi Clan estate. Even calling it a “clan” left a bitter taste.

Clans in Jianghu felt different from sects. Some were founded by rich noblemen who trained in martial arts. Others grew into clans thanks to one powerful martial patriarch.

There were even local lords who transitioned into martial clans over time.

According to rumors, the Wi Clan had it all—wealth, martial prowess, and land influence.

So even though we found their main gate easily, we stood at a distance like yokels, staring at a rich household.

The Drunk said,

“Feeling a bit intimidated. Should we have a drink before going in?”

The Lecher scoffed.

“What’s there to be intimidated about? Looks just like my house.”

I grabbed the Lecher’s shoulder.

“Go on, Fourth Brother. Go settle the grudge of being named sixth in the Six Dragons.”

Unlike when we stormed into Unhyang Sect, this time we pushed the Lecher forward while the Drunk and I flanked him like two bright guardians, standing just a step behind.

The Lecher cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and knocked.

Knock knock knock!

A servant opened the door and looked at the Lecher.

“...What brings you here?”

“I’m Mong Yeon of the Dreaming Winds Clan in Baek Eung-ji.”

The servant flinched in surprise and quickly opened the gate.

“Welcome, Young Master Mong!”

The bastard looked at us and nodded as if to say, “You two come along too.”

As I entered with the Drunk, I muttered,

“Damn bastard. So smug.”

We followed the servant into the Wi Clan estate. The stone paths beneath our feet were perfectly arranged. But before we’d gone far, a man who looked like a guard blocked the entrance to the inner courtyard.

“Who are you?”

The servant responded.

“Guard Jeong, these are Young Master Mong Yeon and his companions from Baek Eung-ji’s Dreaming Winds Clan.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

I answered before the Lecher could.

“...We’re here to challenge your Young Master due to dissatisfaction with the Six Dragons ranking. What’s with this appointment nonsense? Just inform him. If Wi Gongja’s a coward, he’ll make some excuse about being busy. Young Master Mong being here means he’s the rightful leader of the Six Dragons.”

I spoke obnoxiously on purpose, and even before I finished, the guard’s face turned red.

He opened the courtyard door.

“Go in. Escort them to the main hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I followed, the guard held out a hand to stop me.

“Please introduce yourselves as well.”

The Drunk spoke first.

“I’m called Master of Six Harmonies.”

I met the guard’s gaze and answered,

“Yi Zaha, Lord of Haomun.”

“Ah!”

The guard jumped in surprise and waved the servant aside.

“I’ll escort you myself.”

“A-Alright.”

As he led us, the guard said,

“Two of the Six Dragons have come. The Young Master will be pleased.”

I asked,

“Will he really?”

“You’re his peers in reputation, after all. I’ve heard he’s been curious about you.”

I nodded.

“Indeed. We were curious about him too, so here we are.”

Now that I thought about it, when the Lecher said he was here to sort out the rankings, the guard looked annoyed—but after I revealed who I was, he seemed pleased.

So much difference between the bastard from Baek Eung-ji and the Lord of Haomun?

Once again, I win... well, not really, but it felt good.

We were guided into an immaculate, spacious main hall, where we sat in chairs so expensive they looked like they could buy us over two hundred days’ worth of pork bone stew, waiting for the Wi Clan’s Young Master.

I asked the Lecher,

“Think you can win?”

The Lecher smirked like a real bastard. I nudged him.

“What? Say something, idiot. Don’t just smile.”

He crossed his arms and replied,

“There’s no reason I should lose.”

“They call him Yongmun’s Number One Blade.”

The Lecher smiled and told us,

“So what...”

I covered my face with my hand—I felt like throwing up.