Shao Junping placed the payment on the table, stood up, and spoke.

“Innkeeper, it’s too cramped in here. Let’s step outside. And restaurant owner.”

“Yes?”

“The noodles were surprisingly good. I’ll be back.”

From within the kitchen, the leader of Ilyang County’s intelligence network responded without stepping out.

“Oh, please come anytime.”

Shao Junping walked out of Chunyang Restaurant at a leisurely pace. As soon as he was gone, Jang Deok-soo finally poked his head out and asked me,

“Zaha, what are you going to do? Will you be okay? His eyes were murderous.”

“If his eyes were so scary, why did you joke around with him?”

“I was nervous, and the words just slipped {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} out.”

“What did you say?”

“I said his sword looked strange, like something brought over from the Southern Barbarians.”

“It is from the Southern Barbarians.”

“…Shit.”

The term Southern Barbarians was a derogatory way to refer to people from the southern regions. If the man was actually from there, Jang Deok-soo might have just uttered a death sentence for himself.

Without realizing it, Jang Deok-soo tightened his grip on the cooking pot lid with both hands.

I told him, “Just in case, hold on to that tight.”

He nodded rapidly.

“Got it. Don’t die.”

“That won’t happen. Oh, bring me a kitchen knife from the back.”

“A kitchen knife? Why?”

“I didn’t bring a proper weapon. Better to have something than nothing.”

Jang Deok-soo quickly fetched a large kitchen knife and handed it to me.

“Here.”

I grabbed the knife and told him, “See you later.”

“Can I watch?”

I gestured toward the pot lid.

“Don’t come outside. Just hold on to that and watch from here.”

“Understood.”

***

Facing Three Hundred Cycles Shao Junping again in my twenties brought back memories.

Later, Shao Junping would go on to make a name for himself in the Black Path, but even then, his notoriety wouldn’t come close to mine.

It made me think.

At least among the small and large factions surrounding Ilyang County, none of these countryside martial artists were capable of killing me. If I were to feel even a hint of tension, it would have to be against warriors with widespread fame across the world.

This wasn’t a matter of internal energy or martial arts skill.

It was a matter of whether someone had experience playing in the vast waters of Jianghu.

At this point in time, the Black Cat Gang Leader was nothing more than a brute who fought with his sworn brothers. By my standards, he was still a rookie. And this man, Three Hundred Cycles, whose renown came from his ridiculous longevity, was still just that rookie’s underling.

In short, an unqualified opponent.

But wasn’t it amusing?

Both Shao Junping and I stood here, each regarding the other as an amateur.

I asked him, “By the way, Junping, why did you come alone? No subordinates? Did they throw you away like a used rag?”

For the first time, his ever-composed expression faltered.

“There’s no need for a big scene to deal with an innkeeper. And stop acting familiar and calling me by name. It’s embarrassing…”

“Are you embarrassed to fight me?”

“Shut up.”

“I thought ganging up on people was one of the Black Path’s specialties. Judging by that dumb look on your face, I guess they did throw you away.”

“I don’t know why an innkeeper from a backwater town is so damn arrogant.”

“And I don’t know why a third-rate thug from the Black Path is so full of himself.”

Shao Junping drew his weapon, the Night Raider Blade.

That was the weapon I had identified earlier.

The Night Raider Blade was a curved weapon with an unusually narrow width, an irregularly shaped blade with an exaggerated curve.

I didn’t know the full story behind it, but it was a weapon crafted in the Southern Barbarian lands. Later, it would become widely known as a treasured sword due to how often it had saved Shao Junping’s life.

Seeing me holding a kitchen knife, he asked,

“What the hell are you doing with that?”

I sniffed the blade.

“It still smells like garlic. Do you know what happens when garlic seeps into a wound? It burns like hell. I’ll make sure you experience it firsthand.”

Shao Junping couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

His Night Raider Blade could cut through normal weapons like tofu.

But I warned him anyway, “Remember this, third-rate Black Path scum. If you mess with this innkeeper, you’ll end up tasting a kitchen knife reeking of garlic.”

With his mouth shut and his expression unreadable, Shao Junping slowly closed the distance.

***

The Night Raider Blade was a sharp and solid weapon, making my kitchen knife an obviously inferior choice.

If I clashed my knife against his blade even a couple of times, its edge would be completely ruined. Injecting internal energy into it could compensate, but that would be an inefficient waste of energy.

So I didn’t recklessly extend my knife.

Instead, I simply observed Shao Junping’s movements while maintaining my distance, relying solely on my footwork.

Of course, his blade never touched me.

No matter how many feints he threw, how many deceptive strikes he attempted, or how fierce his attacks were, I avoided them with ease.

It had nothing to do with the internal energy I had built up in this life. My ability to read the flow of battle, my combat experience, and my instincts were no different from when I was called the Crazy Demon.

The difference in practical battle experience between me and Shao Junping was immense.

But I had to admit, his fighting was at least worth watching.

Maybe because he was around my age in this life, his fighting spirit burned brightly.

However, a smart opponent should have realized something by now—the fact that I wasn’t attacking at all, only dodging.

Shao Junping had been attacking relentlessly for a while, but now his expression was growing stiff, a creeping chill running down his spine.

The overwhelming killing intent and fiery confidence he started with were gradually being tempered by cold reason.

‘He’s got some awareness, at least.’

I was reading every single change in his psychological state and the atmosphere of the fight.

After throwing his attacks in a wild frenzy, Shao Junping finally stopped on his own.

“What the hell are you? How do you know all my movements?”

“I’m an innkeeper.”

“Shut up! You bastard. That’s not what I’m asking! Are you one of the Twelve Divine Generals, the same rank as our leader?”

“You ask a question and then tell me to shut up—are you insane? Just accept the fact that you’re a useless piece of trash.”

“You’re saying I’m trash?”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“I mean, you trained in the garbage-tier martial arts that only Black Path slaves learn.”

“Black Path slaves?”

“The techniques you used weren’t proper swordsmanship or legitimate footwork. You were just dancing with your sword, relying purely on experience.”

Shao Junping had never heard anything like this in his life.

But one part of my words bothered him.

Black Path slaves?

He asked, “Why would you call my swordsmanship the martial arts of a slave?”

In my past life, I had always believed that every force under the Twelve Divine Generals was nothing more than slaves to the Great Rakshasa.

“In fact, even calling you slaves is too generous. You’re not even proper Black Path warriors. You’re just the Great Rakshasa’s puppets. The Great Rakshasa’s game pieces. The Great Rakshasa’s fighting cocks. The Great Rakshasa’s playthings. The Great Rakshasa’s cleanup crew. A disposable unit that provides the Great Rakshasa with money and women. The Great Rakshasa’s bootlick—”

“Shut up!”

“Look at the pathetic state of the Twelve Divine Generals, the so-called disciples of the Great Rakshasa. You wear those idiotic masks when you’re told. You kill when you’re ordered to. You train when you’re commanded. You manage sects when you’re assigned to. You fight duels to establish rankings just for the Great Rakshasa’s entertainment. You hand over money and women to that bastard just to curry favor. And among all of you, you’re just a low-level lackey who takes orders from a slightly higher-ranking slave. A pathetic bottom-feeder. A useless thug. A Black Path scumbag. A disposable pawn. A rabbit who thinks he’s got some authority, but in the end, you’re just a tool to be discarded when you’re no longer useful. You probably think you’re hot shit, but in reality, you can’t even defeat one innkeeper. That’s you.”

Shao Junping’s eyes turned bloodshot from the verbal beating I had just unleashed.

For a brief moment, he lost control of his internal energy, his legs weakening slightly.

“……”

“What’s wrong? Did you think you were some hotshot Black Path warrior?”

Before I even threw a punch, I had already beaten him into submission with my words.

“No need to get too worked up over it. The Great Rakshasa, that degenerate old bastard, will die by my hand one day too.”

At that moment, Jang Deok-soo, who had been watching from the kitchen, let out an involuntary exclamation.

“That was one hell of a verbal beatdown.”

Shao Junping had sharp ears and immediately turned toward the kitchen.

Jang Deok-soo, startled, quickly raised the cooking pot lid as a shield, but fortunately, Shao Junping didn’t attack.

He was too preoccupied with the words rattling around in his head—slave, puppet, game piece, fighting cock, plaything.

For the first time in his life, he had been so utterly stunned by someone’s words that his mind was a complete mess.

After taking deep breaths to calm himself, Shao Junping glared at me.

“Keep running your mouth.”

Oh?

He wanted more?

I was the kind of man who could make even a high monk cough up blood from sheer verbal abuse.

I smirked.

“The Twelve Divine Generals fight ranking matches, and whoever wins first place gets to learn more martial arts from the Great Rakshasa, right? But what’s the point? You’re all just a bunch of beggars scrambling for scraps of martial arts like starving dogs. The Great Rakshasa is just one of many skilled fighters in the Black Path. He’s not the greatest martial artist of the Black Path. Far from it. And do you think that narrow-minded bastard would ever truly teach you all his secret techniques? No way. You’re nothing more than his disposable pawns. You’re his playthings. And you? You’re just the lowest of the low. A slave to the slaves. A truly pitiful existence.”

Shao Junping clenched his fists so hard his veins bulged.

“Is that all you’ve got? If you’re so damn great, then stop dodging and fight me for real.”

Regaining his composure, Shao Junping prepared to attack again.

I replied, “Junping, an upright man doesn’t live like a slave. I think you need to get beaten to learn that lesson.”

I lifted the large kitchen knife that Jang Deok-soo had given me and infused it with Flame Arts internal energy.

Fwoooosh!

The small, rectangular kitchen knife glowed red-hot, its surface shimmering as if it had turned into molten iron.

Then, as the flame arts reached their peak, flickering tongues of fire took the shape of a longer blade.

The first visible result of my long training in Flame Arts had manifested.

Shao Junping, who had been preparing to strike, stared at my burning kitchen knife in shock.

The tiny blade had transformed into something resembling a longsword, wreathed in flames. The moment he saw it, he realized he couldn’t win.

But his pride wouldn’t let him retreat.

I smirked at him.

“Still think I’m an idiot? Get down on your knees and surrender, or get your ass beaten. Your choice, rabbit lackey.”

I channeled Flame Incense—a secret technique of the Flame Arts—into the burning knife.

Its proper name was Flame Incense, but I personally called it The Taste of Fire. Like that smoky flavor that clings to fried rice cooked over a strong flame.

To someone unfamiliar with martial arts, my stance and movements must have looked absurd—raising a kitchen knife like a divine sword.

But to Shao Junping, there was nothing funny about it.

Hearing my command to kneel, the veins on his forehead bulged.

What self-respecting Black Path warrior would kneel before some young innkeeper?

With a desperate growl, Shao Junping poured all of his energy into his Night Raider Blade and swung at me with everything he had.

A turbulent, unrefined energy shrouded his blade, forming a wave of cutting wind that rushed toward me.

Not bad, for an insect.

The force behind the strike was impressive.

I hurled my flame-wreathed kitchen knife straight into the incoming sword wind.

As the simple kitchen knife cut through the storm, it let out a piercing screech—

A cry that sounded almost like the voice of a furious, vengeful innkeeper from my past life.