The sword art of Gu Yang Muguk, as compiled by Giseongja, consists of a total of eight techniques. I counted the first four forms as ones I had already learned, since I could more or less imitate them.

1. Long Sword Style – releasing qi.

2. Short Sword Style – compressing qi.

3. Ten Thousand Swords Style – scattering sword qi like a thousand falling blossoms.

4. Draw Sword Style – a technique that unleashes the previous three forms as the sword is drawn.

But the latter four forms of the Muguk Sword Art were difficult even for me.

5. Thunder Sword Style. The sword qi is said to transform into thunder and lightning—how the hell am I supposed to pull that off?

6. Wooden Sword Style. You’re supposed to unleash five seasonal strikes with a wooden sword, but shouldn’t the wooden sword just break?

7. Qi Sword Style. You’re meant to unleash all strikes without a sword at all—then what’s the point of learning swordsmanship?

8. Ultimate Muguk Style. It says the sword, spirit, and internal energy all explode at once. This technique was so ridiculous, I didn’t even have anything to say.

After reading it three times, I promptly, cleanly, and without hesitation gave up on the latter four forms.

The kind of man who gives up immediately when something doesn’t work out—that’s me.

Giseongja’s explanations were too brief. If I tried to force myself to learn it, it’d only lead to four rounds of internal deviation. That senior always kept his explanations short.

Maybe it was because his level was so high, or maybe he simply didn’t think detailed explanations were worth giving.

There’s something I realized in my past life while training in martial arts.

Some things you can easily grasp the moment you see them, while other martial techniques or specific forms just don’t match your thought process, personality, or way of understanding—and so, you can’t learn them.

The important point is: I’m not a perfect human being to begin with.

As it says in the Golden Nine Free-Wandering Manual, it’s enough to grow stronger day by day. Clinging to something that doesn’t work and digging deeper only leads to bad outcomes. There are many ways to grow stronger, so there was no need for me to obsess over the latter four forms.

I planned to approach martial arts with a mindset slightly more flexible and relaxed than in my Crazy Demon days.

If it doesn’t work, don’t force it.

I packed up the black iron into a rather expensive-looking box, slipped the unidentified ring onto my middle finger, and stepped outside.

Maybe because I’d reread the manual so many times…

Dawn was already breaking.

I grabbed the unopened bottle of strong liquor from the kitchen and sat at the outside table, staring blankly at the rising sun for a while.

Just like at sunset, the colors of the sky at sunrise struck me as strange. It felt like yin and yang were doing a shift change, and a light glimmered from the firm grip of their clasped hands.

In any case, whether it was dawn or dusk, that mysterious light always reminded me of my name—Zaha (Purple Haze).

I stopped getting lost in thought and emotion and turned to read Giseongja’s afterword at the end of the manual.

“Did the swordsmanship of Gu Yang Muguk look impressive to you? That man lost to me seven times.”

I took a sip of the strong liquor and read on as if having a conversation with Giseongja.

“Impressive.”

“Then am I the Greatest Under Heaven? No. From what I know, there are others on my level. Every person dies of old age eventually—how can one boast about being the best in the world for a brief moment? If I outlive them by managing my health without ever crossing swords with them, does that make me the best? At that point, I too will die of old age. In short, the title of Greatest Under Heaven is meaningless. If I wander the world and encounter someone stronger than myself, and we discuss martial arts—then that, too, is my fortune and my joy. How could winning or losing be more joyful than elevating one's martial understanding? Martial arts are meant to be practiced slowly, over a long time. Those who rush meet the fate of Gu Yang Muguk, who harmed himself through haste. Future generations must choose—will they walk the demonic path for quick power, or become a lone swordsman who grows stronger day by day? Think it over. No matter how powerful a man in Jianghu becomes, he cannot defeat a swordsman whose heart is unshakable. I know many don’t agree with me, but this is what I believe.”

“Hm, a mere swordsman?”

What the hell kind of random swordsman philosophy is this?

Nowadays the very term “swordsman” has nearly vanished from the world, yet that old-timer Giseongja was bringing it up like it still meant something.

If it were anyone else, I would’ve let it go in one ear and out the other—but I couldn’t.

Because it was Giseongja saying it.

Drinking alone, I mulled over Giseongja’s swordsman philosophy.

Why?

Was he saying a swordsman is stronger?

The content of the manual was too short for me to immediately find the answer I wanted. When I glanced toward the Phoenix VIP Room, I saw Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong peeking their heads out—having recovered their circulation—and our eyes met squarely.

I asked,

“Trying to run?”

The two of them ran over to me and responded in an official tone.

“We came out because we thought the lights were off.”

“We came out to see where you were, sir.”

I pointed at the seat across from me.

“Sit.”

“Yes.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

As soon as they sat down, I asked without warning,

“What do you think about swordsmen?”

Heuk So-ryeong replied,

“I haven’t really thought about it. Aren’t they basically extinct these days?”

Baek So-ah also answered,

“I was taught as a child that swordsmen are cool people.”

I scratched the back of my head and gestured toward the bottle with my chin.

“Drink.”

“Yes.”

“Drinking while watching the morning sun is its own kind of flavor. When you drink in a pitiful state, that’s when the liquor really tastes right—get what I’m saying?”

After a few rounds of drinks with the two whose names included so (bright) and so (smile), I gave them a nickname I made up on the spot.

“From now on, I’ll call you Heukbaek Soso (Black-and-White Bright Smile) as a pair. Your names mean bright and smiling, so your job from now on is to always smile brightly.”

Heuk So-ryeong and Baek So-ah looked at each other, then answered in unison.

“Understood.”

“I’ll enter a brief meditation until my subordinates arrive…”

I pulled out the Flash Dagger from my robes, stabbed it into the table, and said in a serious tone,

“If you see an opening… stab me.”

“……”

I appointed Heukbaek Soso as my sentries and entered meditation. If I had taken an aphrodisiac, I’d be having a lewd dream right now—but in the dream, I was getting beaten up by Gwangseung again.

It happens sometimes.

Where I can hear myself snoring even while I’m asleep. A man who can hear his own snores in a dream—that’s me.

My position became uncomfortable, and I opened my eyes. I placed an empty chair in front of me and propped my legs on it. I lazily looked at the two women with half-lidded eyes, and Heukbaek Soso spoke up.

“Please rest well.”

“I don’t see an opening.”

With my eyes closed, I responded.

“…That’s me.”

Then I started snoring again. This time, I fell asleep determined to beat the crap out of Gwangseung.

***

“Master, I think you should wake up now.”

The /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ moment I heard Heuk So-ryeong’s voice, I nodded my head with my eyes still closed.

“Was the meditation too long?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“It was appropriate.”

I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and looked around. The atmosphere was already tense, even though it was still daylight.

To the left, I could see the subordinates of the Black Cat Pavilion, including the Death God, lined up. On the right, a group of Jianghu martial artists, dressed uniformly, were glaring at the Black Cat Pavilion. Judging by the atmosphere and their attire, it was the Namyeonghui. Among them, Jomsoi Jo Pal pointed at me.

“He’s not the leader over there, it’s that man.”

“That guy?”

The man who had led the Namyeonghui martial artists stared at me.

I yawned and then spoke to Heukbaek Soso.

“You two, move to the left. They’re my subordinates.”

Heukbaek Soso hurriedly got up and moved toward the Death God’s group. Still half-awake, I took a gulp of two-kangju, feeling the burn in my empty stomach.

Drooling, my head a mess, and taking a drink as soon as I woke up, I had reached the point of complete absurdity where no one could rival me in sheer uselessness.

The Namyeonghui executive, who had come to survey the Black Cat Pavilion, asked,

“Are you the leader?”

I pointed to the seat across from me and responded.

“Just as you can see. Sit.”

As both sides were facing off, the Namyeonghui executive walked over alone and sat down across from me.

A silent standoff ensued.

I had practiced staring contests since my Jomsoi days, so I usually don’t lose. It wasn’t long before the first one blinked and spoke.

“I am Nam Yeon-pung of the Namyeonghui.”

This guy seemed to be a relative of the sect leader, judging by the shared last name. I looked at my subordinates and then revealed my identity.

“I am the leader of the Black Cat Pavilion.”

Nam Yeon-pung narrowed his eyes and responded.

“Are you a disciple of the Great Rakshasa?”

“I’m the one who killed the Great Rakshasa.”

“I see. What about Gu Yang-bok?”

“He’s dead.”

“Did you know that Gu Yang-bok was paying tribute to our Namyeonghui?”

“He confessed it before he died.”

Nam Yeon-pung looked at me and then surveyed the Namyeonghui’s forces. Their numbers were far fewer than ours. It seemed that he had come quickly after hearing Jo Pal’s words.

Nam Yeon-pung spoke.

“You’re young. Do you know what our leader’s personality is like?”

“What’s his personality like?”

Nam Yeon-pung rubbed his forehead, suppressing his anger, and answered.

“Black Cat Pavilion leader, you need to personally go to the Namyeonghui and apologize to our leader. That’s the only way this won’t escalate. Go back, find out what kind of group the Namyeonghui is, ask about the leader’s personality, gather information, and then come to apologize. If you don’t want to do that, then we’re going to war.”

“Apologize?”

Nam Yeon-pung pointed toward the village.

“Do you think our leader would be angry over a trivial tribute or the Black Cat Pavilion? Money isn’t important. What matters is why you killed Gu Yang-bok without any special reason. Go and explain that. The Namyeonghui’s blade doesn’t discriminate—whether it’s the righteous or the demonic, even other dark sects. Don’t let this escalate to a kill or be killed situation.”

Hearing the words money isn’t important, I already sensed that Namyeonghui was quite a strong group.

I replied to Nam Yeon-pung.

“Tell your leader this: Gu Yang-bok died because of his gambling fraud. Whether he paid tribute to you or not, that’s a different matter. He scammed people and used the money to funnel some of it your way. If you knew about it, then according to Jianghu law, you’re complicit in fraud. If Namyeonghui assisted him, then you’re involved too. So don’t tell me to apologize. Convey that message, and then add this.”

“What’s that?”

I pointed at Nam Yeon-pung with my finger.

“Tell your leader to extend a formal invitation in the name of Namyeonghui. Then, I’ll come and discuss this matter with him. Don’t waste my time with nonsense like asking for an apology.”

I gestured toward the Flash Dagger still stuck in the table and added,

“Yeon-pung, do you want to die here?”

“……”

I leaned forward and spoke to Nam Yeon-pung.

“Namyeonghui is strong, huh? Not my concern. By the way, the Great Rakshasa was more arrogant than you before he died. Go back and deliver my words to your leader. Stop wasting my time with your nonsense. Got it?”

Nam Yeon-pung glared at me, scanning my subordinates. He was probably debating whether to act recklessly or not. I could tell he wasn’t the type to die here.

Nam Yeon-pung sighed and stood up.

“Let’s meet again.”

I, being the kind of man who holds grudges, couldn’t resist mocking him.

“Yeon-pung.”

He turned around.

“You owe me one. Go.”

I smiled slyly, and Nam Yeon-pung’s face turned bright red as he quickly turned around. The Namyeonghui forces, who had been ready for a fight, silently left. Of course, Jo Pal, whom I knew from the past, followed after them.

Finally, I called So Gun-pyeong over and said,

“Let’s retrieve all the funds from the Gambling King and those women before heading back.”

So Gun-pyeong nodded.

“Understood.”

I then gestured toward Jomsoi Ilbo, who had been standing awkwardly, and handed him an empty cup before refilling it with two-kangju.

“Good work.”

Ilbo smiled and replied,

“Thank you.”

With my disciples and subordinates watching, I added,

“Let’s wrap this up in an hour. We’ll drink at the Black Cat Pavilion. We made quite a bit of money today, so let’s have a grand celebration.”

I said it to boost my subordinates’ morale, but when I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t really done much today—other than waking up, drinking, and tormenting the Namyeonghui guy.

Being the leader is both exhausting and pathetic.

If I were still the Crazy Demon from my past life, I would have killed Nam Yeon-pung, his subordinates, and Jo Pal without a second thought.

But I didn’t.

Was it because of my responsibility toward my subordinates?

Or maybe I’m changing, little by little.

I couldn’t say for sure.