Silence fell between us.

It was a long, heavy silence—too much to bear comfortably in the same space for either of us.

The liquor I had brought was the very drink he sought just before he died. It was sold at a brewery near the Heavenly Demon Sect, but why he specifically wanted that drink no one knew. Chima had died after drinking it.

“Why did you bring that drink?”

Both his eyes and voice trembled.

Judging by his reaction, I was sure there was some story tied to that liquor.

I feigned ignorance and offered an excuse.

“I was in a bad mood. You must have expected some great vintage, but I just stopped somewhere and bought it. If you sent an empty bottle to test me, you should have been prepared for some ordinary liquor. Didn’t I tell you how I felt when I received the empty bottle?”

Chima glared at me for a moment, as if suspicious.

“Why? Was it wrong to bring this drink?”

To reduce suspicion, one must question back. Instead of dodging, I had to dig deeper. I had to ask openly.

“Does this liquor mean something to you?”

When I gave him a suspicious look, Chima subtly changed the subject.

“You have spirit.”

“Who doesn’t? Everyone endures and lives.”

He relaxed from the tense posture and leaned back against the chair.

“You say you know the heart of a man drowned in liquor? How so?”

“I’ve been there myself.”

He scoffed openly.

“So young drunks aren’t even recognized as drunks?”

It was a continuation of his earlier questioning about whether a young man’s story counts as a story.

“I get it. Everything feels intense at that age.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking. Age is what it is. I don’t want to be like that annoying senior who brags and tries to teach everyone.”

“You’re doing exactly that right now.”

“That’s why age can’t be helped. If you get angry, drink that liquor.”

Then, as if to prove his point, he gulped down some liquor.

“Damn!”

He slammed the cup down loudly, breaking it. As he raised his hand, the broken shards floated into the air and flew to a corner where broken glasses were piled high.

Pouring himself a new drink, he said,

“Have one too.”

“I’m angry, but I won’t drink.”

“Why not?”

“Because I came with the intention not to drink today. If I drink while dealing with Chima, what do you think will happen?”

“Reasonable, but have you thought the other way? How can you face Chima without drinking?”

“Then promise me one thing. Today, just drinking, no fighting.”

“Isn’t that my line? Don’t ask me to help you drunk.”

“Fine.”

I drank straight from the bottle I brought. Even a little made my throat burn.

“Strong stuff. Want some?”

Chima shook his head.

I took the bottle and walked over to sit across from him at the drinking table.

“I have to eat snacks while drinking.”

“A drunk with no style.”

“Health over style. I’m no drunkard.”

I took out a silver needle to check if the food was poisoned. Chima snapped at me.

“Do I look like someone who feeds poison to guests?”

“That’s why I check. To see if you are that kind of person or not.”

He grabbed the food I was testing with the silver needle and ate it.

“What do you take me for? There’s no poison! Just eat!”

“I don’t trust you. How can I?”

I stuck the needle in another dish, and he ate that too without hesitation.

“Trust me. I hate poisoning drinks or food! I’m the type to chew it raw.”

Calmly, I said to the furious man,

“You eat well. Keep that up. Think of the cook’s sincerity. Is a snack a flower? Just staring at it?”

Honestly, I came to eat snacks just to say this. No one around would dare tell Chima to eat snacks.

This man will die from liquor if he goes on like this. He loves alcohol and prides himself on it, but he cannot die because of it.

Whether he becomes my ally or my brother’s is irrelevant. Even if he dies by my hand for his misdeeds, I’d rather he die by sword.

Isn’t it miserable for a man who loves one thing all his life to perish because of it?

If he saw his future self, I guarantee he’d take his own life.

“Come, have a drink.”

“If there’s no snack, I won’t drink.”

“Is that settled? Is it?”

“Fine.”

We drank together. He seemed like he was reaching his limit but kept drinking nonetheless. He grew steadily drunk.

Meanwhile, my usual flattery.

“You’re the most handsome among the Eight Ma Jons.”

“That’s something anyone would admit.”

Flattery needs balance: good words and bad words. When you say something nice, sometimes you have to say something less flattering to make the compliment shine.

“Honestly, you’re so handsome it feels distant.”

“Tell all the women in the world to keep their distance from me.”

“Ah! I can’t stand that. I need a drink.”

Who hates being called handsome? Chima drank happily.

“Once, really, women lined up. Can you imagine the righteous sect’s female heroes and the rogue sect’s female masters fighting over me? Ah, those were the days.”

Suddenly enlivened, he jumped up, took off his shirt, and without hesitation, dove into the lake.

He swam like a madman for a while before climbing back up. His muscular body dripped water, scarred in many places.

Come to think of it, I never saw the bodies of other Ma Jons. Probably they too bore such scars—wounds demanded by their path, like my battered body after collecting the Grand Regression Art materials.

“Ah, I’m sobering up now. Come, let’s drink again.”

He was too normal to call it a hangover. Throwing on clothes, he resumed drinking.

I drank slowly. He drank nonstop but never forced me to drink. That was something I truly appreciated.

“Will you tell me honestly why you called me?”

“Tell me.”

Then Chima gave a truly unexpected reason.

“Because no one looked for me. Neither the young master nor you. Other Ma Jons meet well enough. Do they ignore me? Huh?”

“If that were so, I wouldn’t have come today.”

“Why? Stop with that nonsense about the protagonist appearing late.”

“If I had to give a reason, it’s because you seem far from the succession struggle.”

“Me?”

“No?”

“Not at all. What does liking liquor have to do with trying not to be pushed out of the school power struggle? Aren’t they entirely separate? What? If you like liquor, you must like people, have no ambition or greed? Who decided that?”

“Seems that was a prejudice too. You are prejudice itself, Chima.”

“Ah, this damn world.”

Chima drank again. Whether happy, angry, or feeling something, he drank. No wonder he died from liquor.

After a few more drinks, I asked the question I had prepared.

“Did you send a bottle to your brother too?”

“I did.”

“Did he come?”

Chima shook his head.

“But he sent this instead.”

He reached out, and a box flew from the corner.

Opening it, the bottle inside was exactly like the one he sent me—only broken.

“You know what I thought when I saw this?”

“I do.”

“You do? What did I think?”

“What the hell is this guy trying to do?”

When I repeated what I had thought upon receiving the empty bottle, Chima laughed heartily and drank.

“You’re fun, young master. How about we be sworn brothers? Having a funny younger brother like you would be great.”

“I wish my brother were like that too.”

Chima laughed louder, drinking more.

I grew curious.

Three Ma Jons had contact with me, so my brother was short one Ma Jon. But he blatantly refused Chima’s offer?

If true, I had to find out why. There must be a reason.

“That’s unlike your brother.”

“Maybe you misjudge him.”

“No one knows him better than I do.”

“Listen, young master.”

“Yes?”

“You know what? The closest people see the worst.”

I thought that was profound, but Chima spilled his drink again. Perhaps embarrassed, he tried swimming again.

“I need to sober up. Arrogant fish bastards! They probably have prejudice against me too. I’ll go teach them a lesson.”

I stopped him as he staggered up.

“Stop drinking. I have to go now.”

Honestly, I wanted to drink more. Was it because I drank with Chima? Or had the dormant drunken spirit inside me awakened? The drinking session was enjoyable.

But since this was the most dangerous person in the martial world to be drinking with, I planned to finish just by emptying the bottle I brought.

“That’s enough for today.”

Unable to steady himself, Chima leaned on the chair and asked me,

“Will you drink with me again?”

“Whenever you call.”

“We’ll be sworn brothers, right?”

Instead of answering, I asked him the same question Ian had asked.

“When was the best time you ever enjoyed drinking?”

I thought it was an excellent question to glimpse his true nature.

His unexpected answer was,

“Now.”

“With me? That’s an honor.”

“You’re ambitious, young master.”

Chima stared at the lake with unfocused eyes.

“The best drink is always the one you’re having now. Whether alone or with a stranger passing by. The drink you have right now is always the best. Even if an assassin came to kill me while you were leaving, the drink with ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) that guy would be the best.”

He drained his cup and, nearly lying back in his chair, closed his eyes. Slurring, he motioned for me to leave.

“There’s no memory in the piss I just passed… so goodbye.”

With that, he fell asleep.

I quietly turned and left.

Yeobin, the top three drunkard who greeted me earlier, rowed the boat.

Halfway across the lake, I looked back.

Chima, unable to steady himself, was leaning over the pavilion railing staring at me like laundry hung out to dry.

Though too far to see his expression clearly, thanks to the Divine Eye Technique, I could see his face plainly. His flushed face and eyes were... indifferent.

I wondered what all the drinking, jokes, and time had been worth. His gaze was hollow.

He was neither as gentle as Ilhwa Geomjon thought nor as unpleasant as Geugak Soma described. He seemed a drunkard and not a drunkard, easy and not easy.

I still don’t quite understand who Chima really is.

After leaving Dae Chirim, I went straight to see Blood Heaven Butcher.

He was practicing Dao techniques as usual.

“Why so absorbed in training these days?”

Blood Heaven Butcher plunged his Heaven-Cleaving Blade into the ground and leaned against the Dao. Sweat soaked his body.

“You may believe the succession fight will end without bloodshed, but I don’t.”

He meant a fierce battle might break out.

“Will you fight for me?”

“I fight for myself.”

“Isn’t that the same?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I drank with Chima.”

“With Chima?”

“Yes. He approached me first.”

How did Blood Heaven Butcher see Chima?

“Chima is a sly bastard. Stay away.”

“Sly bastard.” That revealed another side of Chima.

“Why do you only hang out with bad people?”

“Where would I find people who aren’t bad?”

Blood Heaven Butcher only licked his lips.

“If you had to choose between Geugak Soma and Chima?”

He hesitated.

“You say he’s that sly?”

“I hate drunks. Different when drunk, different when sober. The extremes of recklessness, shamelessness, and forgetfulness. Chima stands at that extreme.”

But his dislike wasn’t only for those reasons.

“Have you ever seen him sober?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. Probably no one has. That’s why he’s called sly.”

The decisive reason why Blood Heaven Butcher hated him.

“He has never once shown an un-drunk side.”

Is his drunken state his true form? Or is his sober self the real one?

“Be careful. That sly bastard has started moving.”

I don’t know what mindset made him send me that bottle, but maybe, Chima, it’s time you sober up at least once in your life.