Two auras clashed with fierce intensity.

If anyone had stood between them, no matter how skilled, they would’ve found it hard to endure. And it wasn’t simply because of how powerful the two forces were.

It was because of the very nature of those auras. Just being near them caused dizziness, nausea, and mental haze. On top of that, there was the unbearable stench of thick blood and liquor.

"This is too much. I can’t keep this up."

Chimma was the first to retract his aura. He had already depleted his internal energy fending off the subordinates of Bukhyeolmun, and although his injury from the Self-Destruction Technique wasn’t deep, he was wounded—clearly at a disadvantage.

That’s why he judged there was no point in wasting more energy continuing this aura clash.

With a face that plainly admitted defeat in the contest of auras, Chimma raised his cup and drank his defeat-liquor.

"Keuh, bitter. Damn bitter."

In contrast, the Blood King hadn’t withdrawn his blood energy, and the surroundings remained drenched in it.

It was a suffocatingly heavy energy, thick with the scent of blood, yet Chimma inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma.

"Does your blood taste like this too?"

The Blood King narrowed his eyes, asking silently what he meant.

"My blood would probably taste like booze. Is yours always this damned awful?"

Was it because the question concerned blood? The Blood King actually answered.

"You’ll never get to know the taste of my blood. No one ever will."

Chimma grinned and provoked him.

He brought his fist to his chest, then opened it—mimicking the detonation of the Self-Destruction Technique. A silent message: I’ll taste your blood then. This wasn’t some half-hearted jab. It was direct and intense.

The Blood King felt a cold sensation run through his veins.

Mocking him by mimicking the Self-Destruction Technique? It sparked fury, but also a strange discomfort. No one had ever dared to be this insolent with him before.

He knew it was a provocation. But it was the kind that couldn’t simply be ignored.

Who do you think forced me to abandon the grand technique and come here?

Chimma’s taunting didn’t end there. He pulled aside his robes. Blood had soaked into the Top-Grade Celestial Silkworm Silk wrapped around his chest.

"Guess your blood’s going to end up on this too. I’ll be sure to wash it clean and return it."

The Blood King recognized that the item wrapped around Chimma's chest had been given by the Young Cult Master.

"So you took a trinket and became the Young Cult Master's dog?"

It was a counterprovocation.

But at least in the case of Geom Mugeuk, such provocations didn’t land.

"The dog is the Young Cult Master."

The Blood King’s expression asked what that was supposed to mean, but Chimma just kept speaking nonsense.

"You won’t believe it, but the Young Cult Master becomes a dog for us."

Everyone in the Heavenly Demon Cult knew about the time he barked alongside the Poison King in the training arena.

Chimma didn’t bother explaining further. He knew he couldn’t make the Blood King understand in just a few words. No—he wouldn’t believe it even if Chimma explained all day. Unless he experienced it firsthand, he’d never understand what kind of person Geom Mugeuk really was.

"But are you sure you can afford to be this relaxed? Think your subordinates will show up first?"

In the distance, red smoke continued to rise from scattered locations.

"And then our Young Cult Master will come too."

"Worried he’ll die if he comes?"

"He won’t die. The Young Cult Master won’t."

Chimma said it with absolute conviction. And yet, he still hoped he wouldn’t come.

"I just don’t want him fighting people like us."

"People like us?"

"Yeah. People like us."

Without explaining what that meant, Chimma took another swig. His aura flared up around him like flickering flames.

"So let’s keep this stench of blood and liquor to just us."

Ssssss—

Thick mist began to rise around the two of them, and Chimma disappeared into the shrouding aura.

The Blood King raised his hand and brushed the fog obscuring his vision. At a glance, it looked like ordinary mist—but it was already so potent, he could feel himself getting tipsy.

While Bukhyeolmun’s warriors were fighting, the Blood King had been thinking only one thing:

How do I fight within this aura? How do I break through it?

And then he came up with one idea.

Staying alert for any surprise attack, the Blood King extended his hand forward.

Heat began to rise from his fingertips.

This was his solution:

Burn away all of Chimma’s aura using Extreme Yang Energy.

Given its nature, aura was easily combustible—and Chimma’s aura, so heavy and toxic, would surely burn all the more easily.

With a surge of Extreme Yang Energy, flames flared from the Blood King’s hand.

Fwoooosh.

As the aura caught fire from his fingertips, satisfaction briefly crossed his eyes.

But only for a moment—the fire quickly died out.

He’d expected it to spread in all directions, but it burned only where the Extreme Yang Energy touched it, then extinguished.

He tried again, pouring out even more Extreme Yang Energy.

Fwoooosh!

This time it burned a bit more—but again, it quickly vanished. And the aura soon gathered back into place.

Then, from within the mist, Chimma’s slurred voice called out.

“Play with fire and you’ll wet the bed.”

The Blood King didn’t respond. He reached out, grasping at the misty aura. It felt like it should all burn—so why wouldn’t it?

“You could try for a hundred days and it still wouldn’t burn. My aura takes after its master. It’s not passionate enough to go up in flames.”

Sssshk—

Irritated, the Blood King lashed out toward the source of the voice.

Boom!

A loud crash echoed as a wall crumbled far away—but there was no scream from Chimma.

Sssshhhhkk!

The Blood King spun around and caught something flying at him from behind. It was a stone, thrown at terrifying speed.

Crack—

The stone disintegrated into powder in his palm. Both the energy used to throw it and the energy used to block it had been too strong to contain the shock.

"You think a damn stone could kill me?"

"That’s why I brought something bigger."

Whoooosh!

What flew at him next was a massive stone lantern from the yard.

Crash!

Just as he shattered the lantern with a palm strike—

Chimma emerged from behind and lunged with a dagger.

Shhk!

The stone lantern hadn’t been the only projectile.

The dagger shot straight for the heart. The Blood King twisted and retaliated with a palm.

Boom!

Their auras collided. Overwhelmed by the force, Chimma was pushed back and vanished again into the mist.

The Blood King’s face was grim. That last ambush had been sharp. If he’d let his guard down, thinking You think a stone lantern could kill me?, Chimma’s dagger would have pierced him.

What had started like a stroll was now escalating into real combat.

This time, it was the Blood King who sensed Chimma’s presence first. He surged forward, unleashing a storm of blood energy.

Boom!

Their fists collided.

Thud— Both of them were pushed backward, their retreating steps exactly the same. They were, in every sense, evenly matched.

This time, palm met palm in a clash of martial techniques.

Again, they were pushed back by the same number of steps.

At that moment, the Blood King was the first to activate a secret technique.

As he slid back, blood orbs silently floated into his other palm. In the brief instant of impact and retreat, he had already executed Rain of Flying Blood Blades, one of the Ten Thousand Blood Arts.

In a blink, the blood orbs transformed into tiny dagger-like blades.

Shwik shwik shwik shwik shwik shwik shwik shwik!

They ripped through the spot where Chimma had just been standing.

It was on a completely different level from the version used by his disciple Hagyul—overwhelming in power.

Papatatatatatat!

Dozens of holes were punched into the wall behind them. The marks were densely packed, unmistakably lethal. No one could have avoided them had they been caught in that range.

But not a single drop of Chimma’s blood stained the wall.

Not a single drop.

Fwoooooosh—

As the surrounding mist momentarily cleared, Chimma reappeared.

"Hold on! Let me catch my breath."

He took a swig from his flask, looking like he’d barely scraped by.

"Let’s take it easy. I thought I’d never get to drink this fine stuff again."

The Blood King also paused for a moment. Neither had the time to properly circulate their internal energy ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ for recovery. Even in this short break, neither took their eyes off the other.

"Feels wrong drinking alone."

Chimma offered the flask toward the Blood King.

"Just one shot, come on."

But as soon as those words left his mouth—

CRACKLE!

A bolt of qi, like a lightning strike, came crashing down toward the top of the Blood King’s head.

He twisted his body in the blink of an eye to barely avoid it, his face twisting in anger.

A deep hole had formed where he’d just been standing, smoke rising from it. If he’d moved a fraction later, it would’ve gone straight through his skull.

Chimma’s ambush hadn’t been a simple attack.

It was Drunken God Arts — the second cup: Drunken God’s Solitary Shot.

The single line of descending force from the sky resembled a man drinking alone beneath the heavens. That was the origin of its name.

"Was taking a drink from me that unpleasant?"

Grinning, Chimma vanished once more into the rising mist of his qi.

The blood energy bursting from the Blood King grew denser. Red gleam flowed from his eyes, a flush of fury overtaking him at the thought: That could’ve killed me.

Whether Chimma knew or not, he attacked again from behind.

Shwik! Shwik!

His dagger sliced through the air, and the Blood King turned swiftly, blasting out a palm strike.

"It’s gonna hurt, you drunk bastard."

Chimma looked down at his arm, trembling from the impact. Red energy swirled around it. He activated his internal energy and shook it off. The Blood King’s strike had weight behind it.

"Wipe the blood off your mouth before you speak."

The Blood King also looked at his own arm. Blood flowed from a cut.

He brought his mouth to the wound and sucked it.

The moment the blood entered his mouth, veins bulged across his face, and his eyes stretched, demon-like, oozing bloodlust.

Now, the Blood King’s presence and appearance were terrifying enough to freeze anyone.

But not Chimma. If anything, it only provoked him more.

"Why are you so obsessed with the Extreme Frost Physique?"

A vein twitched under the Blood King’s eye. Chimma had a talent for targeting what enraged him most.

"What do you plan to do with it once you get it? Get better at handling the cold? Planning to settle down and live in the North Sea?"

Spoken with drunken sarcasm, it only enraged the Blood King further. The Extreme Frost Physique wasn’t something to be mocked like this.

"As you know, I already took them in. Want me to buy you a padded jacket as an apology?"

It might have sounded like random drunken babble, but every word was calculated.

"So they should’ve just come to us from the start. Oh—wait, are you the weakest one? Is that why you got pushed all the way out here to the North Sea?"

That did it. The Blood King exploded.

"Shut your mouth, you fucking drunkard!"

He could tolerate anything—but not the implication that he was inferior. He prided himself on being the most capable, which was why he had been able to defy orders to return.

His fury was magnified by the aura. Fighting within Chimma’s qi mist, the Blood King had unconsciously begun to absorb its intoxication.

Thud!

Chimma didn’t miss that opportunity. He struck.

A dagger shot from the mist and stabbed into the Blood King’s side.

Thwack!

As Chimma tried to disappear again, the Blood King’s counterstrike slammed into his shoulder.

At that moment, Chimma realized something—the Blood King’s eyes were cold.

His rage when he had shouted had been hot, but the blow he returned with was icy. It made Chimma wonder—had the Blood King only pretended to be enraged?

Daggers flew. Fists pounded. Blood qi clashed with liquor qi.

They struck, slammed, rolled.

A vicious battle of dragon and tiger.

Every move was filled with emotion, as if they were sworn enemies fighting to the death.

For both, it was a first—to face such an evenly matched foe in a life-or-death duel.

After a brutal bout of close combat, Chimma again slipped into the mist.

The Blood King had been ready for it—but even so, Chimma proved harder to handle than expected.

Chimma, moving through the mist while drinking, suddenly stopped.

A thin red line had been drawn across the space in front of him. He looked to the side. Another line. Then another.

Bloodlines began appearing here and there, sketching onto the mist like paper.

Chimma picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it toward one of the lines.

Ssssht—

It was sliced clean in half, as if by a divine blade.

More and more bloodlines formed, encircling him like a web. This was Blood Web Dispersal, a formation cast by the Blood King.

Chimma withdrew his aura. As the mist vanished, dozens of bloodlines appeared clearly, laid out like wires around him.

There were too many lines to move. The only way through was to charge with body protection energy—but the injuries would be extreme.

Beyond the crimson lines, he could see the Blood King.

Though the formation consumed immense internal energy, the Blood King was smiling. He was confident: this trap would end Chimma.

“Got you.”

There was no escape.

The bloodlines began tightening, as if alive, converging on Chimma.

Then Chimma drew the weapon at his waist—Blood Gourd, a unique weapon of his.

"You’ve never seen this, have you?"

He infused it with his unique internal energy, and it vibrated, releasing a bright white light.

Drunken God Arts.

The Final Cup: Drunken God’s Drunken Madness.

Chimma uncorked the gourd and chugged its contents.

His aura, once violet, now turned black. His eyes gleamed with mad, pure white intoxication.

That madness exploded into action.

Chimma reached out—

And grabbed the bloodlines barehanded.

"When we’re drunk… we can’t see shit."