I respected the Sword Demon’s thoughts, and I agreed that letting the Third Young Master die in Baek Eung-ji would cause problems.

But human emotions are never that simple, are they?

Naturally, I wasn’t feeling great. But my moods tend to swing back and forth anyway, and as I sat in the residence watching this pathetic womanizer, the uptight Ghost Demon, and the calmly deranged Sword Demon, my irritation started to fade away.

Including myself, that made four idiots.

In my past life, I mostly fought, killed, ran, and went mad on my own. But now, going mad alongside these idiots... I didn’t hate it.

No matter how insane they were, they were still masters capable of fighting the enemies I aimed to take down.

Thanks to that, the unease I felt about sparing someone like the Third Young Master quickly vanished.

If I think about it, it’s unlikely he’ll come back to me. He’ll probably die at the hands of his own brothers or the assassins they send.

Whether he lives or dies is irrelevant.

What matters more is the fact that I’m slowly nudging the villains of my past life toward the light. I intend to lead these idiotic members of the former Villains’ League down the Path of Zihwa.

White Path, Demonic Path, Dark Path—

I don’t know. Honestly, it’s not my concern.

But I do know a little about the path I want to follow: kill those who should’ve died, give a chance to those who shouldn't have, and leave the result to the heavens.

As I glanced around at the idiots and took a deep breath, the Sword Demon asked me,

“Cult Leader, are you alright? You’re not slipping into deviation, are you?”

“I’m fine. What about all of you?”

The Womanizer stared at me blankly, clearly not thinking anything at all.

The Ghost Demon nodded as if to say he was also fine.

“I’m alright.”

The Sword Demon looked at me again and asked,

“...Seems like you’ve got a lot pent up. Should we have another round of plum wine?”

I shook my head.

“Ease up on the plum wine already. I’ll be staying at either the Cheolli Inn or Baek Eung-ji for a while.”

The Sword Demon nodded.

“Suit yourself.”

I turned to the Womanizer.

“Tomorrow, send some day laborers over to the Cheolli Inn. We need to clean the place up and get rid of the corpses.”

The Womanizer nodded.

“I’ll handle it. We’ll need to repair the wall, too.”

Getting up from the bench, I told the group of idiots,

“Rest well. I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, so I’ll train a bit under the night sky.”

The Sword Demon gave me a faint smile.

“Take care.”

Master Yukhap stood and spoke to me.

“Cult Leader, give me some money. I need to find a place ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ to stay.”

“You beggar bastard...”

“Don’t forget—your subordinates stripped me of everything I had.”

“Confirmed.”

With a sigh, I had no choice but to pull a promissory note from my pouch and hand it over to him.

***

The Butcher was dead, but his brutal and savage Butchery Blade Technique had been inherited by me.

I am the sole successor of the Butchery Blade.

Its essence is simple.

A man who feels no pain abandons defense entirely and launches a relentless assault.

I’ve faced countless martial techniques, but none were as brutal as the Butcher’s. It was absurd in its simplicity yet devilishly hard to counter—a style of perpetual victory.

That tightrope walk along the edge of death and mutual destruction.

The Butchery Blade was powerful enough to defeat evenly matched opponents—and even, at times, cut off the breath of someone superior in internal strength.

Of course, there was always a risk of losing a limb or two in the process.

So I began recreating it in my own way, recklessly practicing it on the road to Cheolli Inn.

I’m not one to get embarrassed, so I swung my blade in all sorts of ridiculous stances.

When I went all out, it became clear—this was a technique that fit a madman to perfection.

While using light footwork, I thrust the butcher's blade forward.

Short arcs while advancing, ducking as soon as the opponent’s movement was clear—then slashing.

That became the first form of the Butchery Blade: attacking while advancing.

The second form: striking while evading.

Mixing those two, I dashed through the night road. Every time imaginary swords or throwing weapons flew at me, I twisted my body, thrust, stabbed, or slashed with the butcher’s blade.

I mimicked the Butcher to the fullest—who had once tried to kill me.

I thrust in mid-air, slashed while moving, turned defense into attack.

Every moment the Butcher tried to kill me was vivid in my mind. His bloodlust, his savagery—all of it was now recreated through my own hands.

As I furiously alternated between the first and second forms, I finally realized the third.

The third form of the Butchery Blade: offering up your own body to sever the opponent’s throat.

It was savage, no doubt about it.

In a way, it was a refined method of mutual destruction.

It forced both sides to take damage, but pushed the opponent to retreat through sheer ferocity—this was the psychological warfare of the Butchery Blade.

Why else would I fight while fleeing or parry while retreating?

Even high-level martial artists would struggle against this technique.

Under the moonlight, I continued swinging my blade.

Even as imaginary swords pierced my gut, severed my left arm, or sliced my knee—I sliced my opponent’s throat in return.

At one point, I imagined myself grabbing the enemy’s blade with my bare left palm mid-air and slicing them clean in half.

A chill ran down my spine.

“Ah… it really is savage.”

This was a martial art that turned a vicious mindset into sword forms.

I ran wild in the dark, cycling through the first, second, and third forms. Possessed, perhaps, by the Butcher’s spirit. But I wasn’t weak enough to be shaken by a ghost—there wasn’t a shred of fear.

By the time I reached Cheolli Inn…

I had fully made the Butchery Blade my own.

Because it thrived on madness, it wasn’t hard to master.

But I disliked the word “butchery.” And since I inherited the Butcher’s style, I decided to give this art a new name.

From this moment on, it would be called the Mad Demon Blade Technique.

The moment I named it, I began dancing in front of the Cheolli Inn sign, hoping to erase the memory of the three original forms.

I intended to dance until I forgot them.

Though I danced alone like a lunatic, the Butcher I had imagined rose again and attacked me with his Butchery Blade.

I shattered his technique using the Mad Demon Blade, continuing the dance.

Though my imaginary body was torn to pieces—

I am, after all, the Mad Demon.

I danced as I tore the Butcher apart, sliced him again, crushed his skull with force, nullified his suicide strike, and split him in two.

In a trance—

Overcome with emotion, I hurled the butcher’s blade into the Cheolli Inn sign.

Thunk!

Then, I drew my wooden sword and performed the Plum Blossom Sword Dance—an improvised dance infused with the Mad Demon Blade.

Suddenly, the plum tree from the Black Cat Pavilion came to mind, along with the faces of the subordinates I’d come to care about after my return.

The moment I thought, “I should avoid hurting them”—

The Mad Demon Sword Dance lost much of its power.

Losing my enthusiasm, I sheathed my sword and leapt into the air, retrieving the butcher’s blade stuck in the sign.

The Plum Blossom Sword Dance was clearly a realm for later—once I’d fully mastered the Mad Demon Blade.

***

Inside the corpse-strewn Cheolli Inn, I caught my breath.

It looked like the Womanizer had used Ice Arts—bodies were a complete mess all over the place.

Suddenly, I heard a clattering sound.

“…?”

Climbing to the second floor, I saw a man leaning limply against the wall, pale-faced, staring at me.

His whole body trembled—likely hit by Ice Arts.

I briefly wondered why he was still alive.

Then I remembered—he was the one who mouthed off to the Butcher and got knocked out by the Third Young Master’s force.

Approaching him with the butcher’s blade in hand, I said,

“So you're still alive. Lucky you. Your friends are all dead. But unlucky for you—you got caught. You bastard. Hahaha…”

The moment I raised my blade with a smile, the seated man fainted on the spot. White foam dripped from his mouth, so I lowered my weapon.

“Fainted? Confirmed.”

Once he wakes, I’ll interview him. Might hire him as a jomsoi.

After all, being a jomsoi is tougher than being the innkeeper. They have to clean, cook, deliver, serve customers, deal with drunks, get scolded, sweep the yard, wipe spit, lure in guests—and about 172 more tasks.

Meanwhile, the innkeeper’s duties include counting money, napping, going out, pretending to supervise, meddling, and yelling at the jomsoi. Much easier.

I needed rest, but I couldn’t spend the night with corpses. So, reluctantly, I hurled the butcher’s blade toward the fainted man’s head.

Whoosh! Thud!

The blade embedded itself in the wall above his head—and the guy’s eyes snapped open.

The moment we locked eyes, I said,

“Get up before I beat you to death.”

“My body’s frozen…”

As I stomped toward him, he leapt to his feet.

“…”

Grabbing his chin, I examined his face and asked,

“You know who I am?”

“You’re the Haomun Leader.”

“Wanna clean, or die?”

“I’ll clean.”

“Begin.”

I hired the Third Young Master’s guard as a janitor and yanked the butcher’s blade from the wall.

Just as the Womanizer said, the second-floor wall had a hole in it. I sat by it and looked out at the night.

“…Go to the kitchen and bring me some wine.”

The guy shuffled off, and soon returned with a bottle, placing it beside me.

I drank the terrible wine and watched the nightscape.

It felt like dawn was near. I could hear the sound of the man silently cleaning up the corpses of his dead comrades.

After a long silence, he cautiously asked,

“…Sir, has the Third Young Master also passed?”

“He’s still alive. His allies spared him to avoid complications.”

“Understood.”

While staring into the black night, I asked,

“Why ask?”

“When the Third Young Master dies, all his guards must commit suicide.”

“Confirmed.”

I asked softly,

“Do you know where the White-Clad Scholar resides?”

“I’ve never heard that alias.”

“How did the Third Young Master contact the Butcher?”

“The Butcher was originally a killer affiliated with Elder Hwan Guija. We knew his location.”

“Hwan Guija hired him to kill someone?”

“He was assigned as backup for the assassination of another Young Master.”

“Wow, these brothers really despise each other. Idiots…”

I closed my eyes and brought the day to an end. Immediately, the Butcher’s face appeared.

Then, I saw the Third Young Master on his knees, glaring at me.

After meeting so many lunatics, I couldn’t help but laugh.

At the border of dream and reality, I warned the cleaner.

“…Don’t make me chase you with a blade.”

“Understood.”

Suddenly, the aliases of infamous martial pariahs from my past life floated to mind.

Poison Demon, Ghost Demon, Lust Demon, the Butcher, the Lone Wanderer, the Flying Guest, the One Sword of Donghu, the Evil Emperor, even the Heavenly Evil…

The thought that I had grown too powerful in too short a time brought on drowsiness. But with the cleaner still working, and all these memories from my past life swirling in my head, I couldn’t fall asleep.

My eyes felt dry, but I kept them open, gazing endlessly into the dark night.

With nothing else to do—

I held on to consciousness, and waited for the light.