The next day, I arrived at the Yellow Spring Division.

The investigators and execution officers warmly welcomed me after my long absence. Especially since I had brought in the subordinates of Dae Chima, the morale at the Yellow Spring Division was soaring once again.

My office was just as neatly arranged as when I had left, and seeing the flowers in the pot by the window thriving showed me that Seo Daeryong had been taking good care of it.

“Bring me all the backlog.”

“I thought you would say that, so I brought it. These are the matters only you, Division Leader, must handle personally.”

I expected a huge pile of work, but looking at the documents Seo Daeryong handed me, it wasn’t as much as I thought.

After reviewing, I found that except for the things I absolutely had to handle, he had thoroughly completed everything else. Once again, I confirmed that when it came to Yellow Spring Division matters, he was better than me. And since he was learning martial arts from Blood Heaven Butcher, I had no worries.

‘He’s growing well, our next Yellow Spring Division Leader.’

Seo Daeryong would never guess that I was thinking this.

Just then, another investigator entered carrying a box.

“This is a delivery for you, Division Leader.”

“Who sent it?”

“It was sent by Chima Jon.”

He sent something after I captured his subordinates? I had inquired about Chima among the Ma Jons, but before I moved, he had already taken action.

The investigator set the box down and left.

As I reached to open it, Seo Daeryong suddenly shouted.

“Be careful!”

“You startled me! Why?”

“What if it was poison gas? I was going to warn you, but no, it won’t be. The guy who killed someone just by getting drunk and driving a carriage wouldn’t try to kill you.”

“Of course not. I was more startled by you.”

Inside the box was a single bottle of liquor.

“He sent alcohol.”

But as I picked up the bottle, I flinched.

“He didn’t send alcohol. He sent an empty bottle.”

The bottle was empty.

“Isn’t that some precious ceramic?”

“No, just a common liquor bottle sold at roadside stands.”

“Why send a cheap bottle to the Division Leader? Is this a fight challenge?”

It was obvious I’d react like this. So why send an empty bottle?

“This is Chima’s warning. He’s telling us to release his men.”

“If that were the case, he’d send a broken bottle or a blade.”

“Then why did he send this?”

“Do we need to think about it?”

I suddenly stood up.

“What will you do?”

“What else is there to do with Chima?”

I left the office, holding the bottle.

“I’ll just drink.”

I entered Dae Chirim holding the bottle of liquor in one hand. Since I had notified them in advance, a guard was waiting to guide me.

Following the guard, I entered Dae Chirim.

There were houses everywhere—from huts to large estates. All kinds of dwellings, giving off a beautiful yet free-spirited vibe.

Throughout Dae Chirim were large and small breweries, with drunkards sitting on benches drinking or completely passed out. Viewed positively, it was freedom; negatively, it looked like chaos.

But I knew better. Compared to other Ma Jon subordinates, their numbers were small here, but they were relatively highly skilled. That’s why the eyes of those seemingly ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) drunk were anything but ordinary.

In the middle of Dae Chirim was a lake.

In the center of the lake was a small island where Chima’s pavilion stood.

I took a small boat toward the island.

The guard who brought me dropped me off and left.

I walked slowly toward the pavilion. At the entrance, a woman greeted me with the door open.

“Welcome, young master. I’m Yeobin (呂彬).”

With her refined looks, she was one of the top three drunkards like Gu Mayoung, whom I had met before.

“Ma Jon is waiting. Please come this way.”

I followed her inside.

She led me to a pavilion named Chimongru (醉夢樓).

As I climbed up, there was Chima.

He was asleep, reclining on a soft, fur-covered floor chair.

The place reeked of alcohol. Dozens of bottles lay scattered—some toppled, some upright.

But I sensed these were not just discarded bottles. If a fight broke out here, they would all become his weapons. I instinctively felt they could be triggered by formations. It was a mess, but not a chaotic one.

He was known as gentle to Ilhwa Geomjon and unpleasant to Geugak Soma. Now, he was showing me a new side: drunken sleep.

Chima, what dreams do you have drunk?

I stood briefly, gazing past him at the sunlight shimmering on the lake, then sat about ten steps away. I placed the bottle in front of me.

Hearing the movement, Chima slowly opened his eyes.

Dae Chima, Song Sahyeok (宋思赫).

He was young and handsome—one of the most handsome at our school, looking far younger than his age. He seemed to have not shaved for a few days, but instead of looking messy, he looked manly because of his good looks.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he drank from the bottle in front of him and asked me,

“Want a drink?”

His face overlapped with the last image I saw before regression—the emaciated, weak version of him.

When I returned to the main school to gather materials for the Grand Regression Art, Chima was alive but barely living.

He was bedridden for a long time. The doctor diagnosed it as illness caused by excessive drinking.

Chima dying from a liquor bottle?

It shocked everyone and became mockery among those who disliked him.

“Want a drink?”

That was the first thing he said to me on his sickbed. It was the same first words then and now.

Those words echoed in my mind, and the image of his sickly face overlapped with the lively present-day Chima.

“It’s the kind of drink you’d like.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t force me, drinking alone.

“Why come now? Is my popularity among the Eight Ma Jons that low?”

“The protagonist always appears last.”

“Am I the protagonist of your story?”

“The protagonist is me. You, Chima, will be either an ally or an adversary. What about your story? What role do I play? Are you the ally or am I?”

Chima stared intently, then asked instead of answering,

“Do you like alcohol?”

“I used to.”

“And now?”

“I drink enough to match the atmosphere.”

“You speak like a young man with a story.”

His mockery prompted me to respond confidently.

“A young man’s story isn’t a story?”

Chima laughed. Seeing that handsome smile, I thought he must have charmed many women.

“What kind of liquor do you like?”

“I haven’t drunk enough to develop a taste. I prefer drinks that are easier to drink than strong liquor.”

He was probing me with questions about alcohol.

His gaze shifted to the bottle I brought.

“What kind of drink did you bring?”

“Why assume it’s alcohol? It could be water or poison.”

He smiled slyly and poured some into a cup. He didn’t ask me to pour, and I didn’t offer.

“Why do you think I sent an empty bottle?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you sent it so I’d come ask.”

“How did you feel when you got it? Be honest.”

“Honestly? You might not like my answer.”

“It’s fine.”

“Never mind. You’ll probably get angry.”

“I promise I won’t. If I do, I’ll just drink. We have alcohol, right? Come on, drink.”

I thought, “What is this guy trying to do?”

Suddenly, Chima flinched and drank the liquor in front of him.

“Good!”

He put down the bottle, looking happier.

“That’s why I like alcohol. When I drink, I forget everything and feel better.”

He spoke as if he’d drunk a whole bottle after just one cup.

“If you were that annoyed, why come?”

“To see what kind of person Chima is. Whether I can accept him, whether we can build a great enterprise together, or if he’s just a drunkard.”

The faint magic from Chima that leaked was something I’d never felt. As if his magic was mixed with energy, the moment it wrapped around me, my head spun like I was drunk.

I activated the Heavenly Demon Ho Shen Gong to clear the dizziness and regain calm.

When my gaze didn’t waver, surprise flashed across Chima’s face.

“Do you like alcohol?”

Withstanding his aura, I asked.

“Do you like alcohol?”

Chima withdrew his magic.

“Ask if I like alcohol? Is that something to ask Chima?”

“Isn’t that why I should ask you?”

“What do you mean?”

“To a martial artist, you ask if they like martial arts. To a musician, if they like music. To a painter, if they like painting. To a tavern owner, how it is selling alcohol. But aren’t those questions we should ask people at least once? Now, I’ll ask again. Do you like alcohol?”

Chima blatantly showed the expression of “Look at this guy.”

“You’re really different from the rumors. I admit it. You’re the furthest from what I’ve heard about you.”

“I hear that a lot. Whoever spreads rumors about me, I should catch and scold them. If they’re going to do it, they should do it properly.”

“To deal with you, I have to drink. It’s hard sober.”

“That’s something you should say to yourself.”

“Drinking isn’t a big deal.”

He drank repeatedly.

“What kind of liquor is this? Must be hard to get outside.”

“That’s one of the prejudices about me. I drink whatever’s available.”

As if to prove it, he tossed a cup toward me.

The cup floated slowly in the air in front of my face.

I smelled the liquor.

“Ah, this is?”

“That’s right. It’s from the tavern you often visit.”

That meant he’d been watching me.

“I’ll discard my prejudice.”

He retrieved the cup. The cup tilted in the air, and he drank from it.

The empty cup fell softly on the table without a sound.

Watching his skill with manipulating the cup in midair, I could guess his level. It was so clean that it was hard to believe a drunk could do that.

“You’re impressive, too. To tell that the liquor is from that tavern just by smell.”

“I’ve only been drinking from there lately. Chima, aren’t you the one who can tell all the flavors of the world’s alcohol just by smell?”

“How could I know all the alcohol in the world?”

Despite his humility, Chima was famous for recognizing liquor by scent.

He drank more. The more he drank, the redder his face became. I thought he’d be able to drink heavily without changing expression, but his face flushed noticeably.

“Drinking makes me feel good. Doesn’t it for you?”

“It depends on who I drink with.”

“Drinking alone is the best.”

“I don’t know that world yet.”

“Ah! You don’t know this paradise-like pleasure!”

That was a lie. When I lived as a wanderer, I drank alone often. Back then, alcohol was my friend, my refuge, my sanctuary. And also the demon tempting me toward destruction.

“You should have learned to drink from me! This Chima.”

“True. My father taught me wrong. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

Knowing it was a joke, Chima laughed and drank.

The more drunk he got, the more his body leaned. He acted like a normal drunk person—spilling drinks, making it hard to tell what was real or an act.

He was careless, but I didn’t think he was truly off guard. If anything, this was the most dangerous moment to fight him. To fight him, I’d have to sober him up first.

“Now that I think about it, I had a prejudice thinking Chima would drink endlessly.”

“Chima drinks moderately. It’s only those who don’t know alcohol who get plastered.”

“True enough.”

“Young master, ever fought while drunk?”

“No.”

“Try it. It’s amazing. It loosens tension, makes you less afraid, and it hurts less when you get hit. It’ll probably boost your strength by 30%. I bet all the great martial artists in history drank before fighting.”

He glanced at the liquor bottle before me.

“So drink. Alcohol will give you strength. It will soothe you.”

Finally, I picked up the bottle I brought and slowly opened it.

“That won’t happen.”

The moment the scent spread—

Chima, who had been reclining almost lying down, suddenly shot up. It was liquor he recognized.

I didn’t drink. Instead, I calmly set the bottle down again and said,

“I know well how a man fallen to alcohol feels...”