Chapter 29. The Man Who Beats You with Words

So Gunpyeong put the cost of the meal on the table and stood up.

“Hey, waiter. It’s cramped in here, so let’s go outside. And owner.”

“Yes.”

“The noodles were unexpectedly good. I’ll come again.”

The head of the establishment replied while still holed up in the kitchen.

“Aigoo, please come by anytime.”

When So Gunpyeong left Chunyang Restaurant first, looking perfectly relaxed, Jang Deuksu barely poked his head out and asked me,

“Jaha, what are you going to do? Will you be okay? His eyes looked way too vicious.”

“Why did you joke around with a customer whose eyes looked that vicious?”

“I was nervous, so nonsense came out.”

“What did you say?”

“His blade looked strange, so I said it seemed like a blade brought from the Southern Barbarians.”

“It is a blade from the Southern Barbarians.”

“Damn it.”

Since Southern Barbarians meant the barbarians living in the south, if the other party really had been from the south, it was an insult that could have gotten Jang Deuksu killed on the spot.

Without realizing it, Jang Deuksu gripped the pot lid tightly with both hands.

I said,

“You never know, so hold on tight to that.”

Jang Deuksu nodded repeatedly.

“Got it. Don’t die.”

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

“Why a kitchen knife?”

“I didn’t bring a weapon. Better than nothing.”

Jang Deuksu hurriedly took out a large kitchen knife and handed it to me.

“Here.”

I took hold of the sizable kitchen knife and said to Jang Deuksu,

“See you in a bit.”

“Can I watch?”

I pointed at the pot lid and said,

“Don’t come out. Hold on tight to that and watch.”

“All right.”

* * *

Facing Three-Hundred-Gapja So Gunpyeong in my hometown in my early twenties gave me a fresh feeling.

So Gunpyeong would later become a man of some renown in the Black Path, but he never reached the level of my infamy.

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

At the very least, the village experts from the large and small factions surrounding Ilyang County could not kill me. It seemed that only when people who had made their names known throughout the world appeared would someone like me feel tense.

This was not a matter of internal energy or martial arts.

It was a matter of whether or not one had experience playing in the vast waters called the world.

At this point in time, the Black Cat Gang Leader was, at best, someone who fought tooth and nail only with his own martial brothers, so by my standards, he was a brat. And this Three-Hundred-Gapja fellow, famous for having a stubborn life, was still merely the subordinate of such a brat.

In short, he was an unqualified opponent.

But wasn’t it truly fair?

Three-Hundred-Gapja So Gunpyeong and I were facing each other, each regarding the other as a brat.

I asked So Gunpyeong,

“By the way, Gunpyeong, why did you come alone without your subordinates? Did they use you and throw you away?”

The face of So Gunpyeong, who had worn a relaxed expression from beginning to end until now, twisted.

“Why would I make a fuss bringing people along just to deal with a mere waiter? And don’t call my name like we’re close. It’s embarrassing...”

“You’re embarrassed to fight me?”

“Shut up.”

“Wasn’t swarming in a pack the Black Path’s strong point? Judging by that idiotic look on your face, it seems you really were used and discarded.”

“I don’t know why a village waiter is so arrogant.”

“I don’t know why a third-rate Black Path thug is so confident either.”

So Gunpyeong drew his weapon, the Yaraedo (夜來刀).

That was the weapon I had recognized.

The Yaraedo was a bizarre saber with a narrow blade and an excessively curved edge.

I did not know its story, but it was a weapon forged in the Southern Barbarians. Since it was the weapon of a man who survived tenaciously, it would later become a treasured blade with a fairly well-known name. That blade had likely saved So Gunpyeong’s life many times.

Seeing that I was holding a kitchen knife, So Gunpyeong asked,

“What exactly are you trying to do with that?”

I put the kitchen knife to my nose and sniffed.

“It still smells of garlic. I’ll let you learn that when garlic seeps into a wound, the pain is terrible. It’ll burn nice and hot.”

So Gunpyeong could not help laughing inwardly. After all, his Yaraedo could cut through ordinary weapons like tofu.

I warned So Gunpyeong, who was wearing a confident expression.

“Remember this. Third-rate Black Path man—if you mess with a waiter, you get done in by a kitchen knife that smells of garlic.”

So Gunpyeong closed his mouth and narrowed the distance with an expressionless face.

* * *

The Yaraedo was a rather sharp and sturdy blade, so the kitchen knife was naturally at a disadvantage.

If I clashed the kitchen knife against his blade a couple of times, its edge would be completely ruined. I could overcome that by infusing it with internal energy, but that would be inefficient.

For that reason, I did not thrust out the kitchen knife recklessly. While watching So Gunpyeong’s movements, I maintained distance and used only footwork.

Of course, the Yaraedo did not touch my body.

No matter how many tricks he used, how many feints he threw out, or how many decisive blows he struck, I could evade them without difficulty.

Regardless of the internal energy I was currently accumulating, my eyes and experience in reading offense and defense were no different from when I was called the Crazy Demon.

The gap between So Gunpyeong’s practical combat experience and mine was immense.

However, the way So Gunpyeong fought was quite worth watching in itself.

Perhaps because he was around the same age as I was in my youth, he was overflowing with fighting spirit.

But from the fact that I was not attacking and was only evading, a smart man should have realized something.

After one-sidedly pouring out attacks for quite some time, So Gunpyeong’s expression gradually stiffened, as if a chill had begun creeping up his spine.

His noisy killing intent and fighting spirit also seemed to be gradually settling under cold reason.

‘He’s got some sense.’

In this way, I was reading every change in his mental state and atmosphere. After attacking all by himself in a frenzy for quite a while, So Gunpyeong stopped on his own.

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

“A waiter.”

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

“You ask and then tell me to shut up? You’re insane. Just understand this whole matter as you being trash.”

“I’m trash?”

“You learned some trash martial art only slaves of the Black Path would learn.”

“Slaves of the Black Path?”

“What you’ve displayed isn’t even a proper blade art, nor is it normal footwork. You’re merely dancing around with your blade based on experience.”

So Gunpyeong had never heard such words in his life. Yet the phrasing struck him as somewhat odd.

A slave of the Heukdo?

So Gunpyeong asked.

“Why would my blade arts be called the martial art of a slave?”

It was a notion I’d held since my past life—that the entire force led by the Twelve Divine Generals were slaves of Daenachal.

“Actually, calling you slaves is too generous. You aren’t even normal Heukdo. You’re all Daenachal’s puppets, Daenachal’s Go stones, Daenachal’s gamecocks, Daenachal’s playthings, Daenachal’s clean-up crew, a sworn group that provides funds and women for Daenachal, who lick Daenachal’s ass……”

“Shut up!”

“Look at the disgraceful state of those Twelve Divine Generals who call themselves Daenachal’s disciples. They wear those retarded masks if ordered to, kill whoever they’re told to kill, cultivate if told to cultivate, take charge of a sect if ordered to, hold martial arts competitions for Daenachal’s amusement to decide their ranking, and offer up money and women to fawn over Daenachal—a group of trash who do nothing but suck up. And among them, you’re a bottom-tier slave who takes orders from a slightly higher-ranked slave, a loser at life, Heukdo trash, a slave rabbit while alive, and discarded once you’re no longer useful. You might think you’re hot stuff, but you’re a retard who can’t even beat a single tavern hand.”

Bloodshot veins appeared in So Gunpyeong’s eyes as he was struck by the torrent of abuse spewed in an instant. For a moment, strength drained from his legs as though his internal energy had slightly leaked out.

“…….”

“Why? Did you think you were some impressive Heukdo warrior?”

I verbally pummeled So Gunpyeong before hitting him with my fist.

“There’s no need to feel so wronged. Daenachal, that old perverted bastard, will die by my hands later too.”

At that moment, Jang Deoksu, who had been watching, let out an exclamation involuntarily.

“What an incredible tongue-lashing.”

Upon hearing these words, So Gunpyeong, whose ears were sharp, looked in Jang Deoksu’s direction.

Jang Deoksu raised his pot lid in surprise, but fortunately there was no attack from So Gunpyeong.

The words slave, puppet, Go stone, gamecock, and plaything swirled chaotically in So Gunpyeong’s head. He was even more flustered because it was the first time in his life that someone’s words had left him mentally bewildered.

So Gunpyeong, who had been taking deep breaths because he was too agitated, glared at me and spoke.

“Talk more.”

Can you believe this guy?

I am a man with enough confidence to verbally pummel someone until a high monk coughs up blood from rage.

I smirked.

“I heard that the Twelve Divine Generals, who serve as leaders, hold ranking battles, and whoever takes first place learns more martial arts from Daenachal. But what are you going to do with that? Aren’t you retards who learn martial arts like dogs catching scraps? Daenachal is merely one of countless Heukdo experts. Is Daenachal the greatest of the Heukdo? Not a chance. And would that narrow-minded bastard actually pass down his ultimate techniques? You’re nothing but Daenachal’s menials and playthings. Let me say it again: you’re a slave’s slave. What a pitiful life.”

“Is that all you have to say? If you’re so great, I won’t avoid you any longer. Let’s settle this properly.”

As So Gunpyeong, having caught his breath, signaled another attack, I responded thus:

“Gunpyeong, an upright man doesn’t live like a slave. Looks like you need a beating to come to your senses.”

I raised the neat rectangular cleaver that Jang Deoksu had handed me and channeled Yeomgye internal energy into it.

The cleaver enveloped in Yeomgye blazed red.

Fwoooosh!

The form of the cleaver, which had only been slightly larger than a palm, turned a dark red, and then qi in the shape of bright-red flames flared up like heat haze.

The results I had gained from consistently cultivating Yeomgye shone through the cleaver first and foremost.

So Gunpyeong, who had been about to launch a preemptive strike, looked at the blazing red cleaver with surprised eyes.

The red light erupting from the short cleaver took the shape of a long sword. The moment So Gunpyeong saw it, he realized he could not win.

However, his pride was wounded, and he had no intention of retreating like this.

I said to So Gunpyeong,

“Do I still look like a retard to you? Kneel down right there and surrender. Or you’re going to get a good thrashing, you lackey of a slave rabbit.”

I wrapped the cleaver in sword qi, followed by Yeomgye’s secret technique, Yeomhwahyang.

Its official name is Yeomhwahyang, but I call this secret technique “Fire Flavor.” It refers to that subtle fire flavor infused in things like fried rice.

To those who don’t know martial arts, my current posture and appearance probably look ridiculous. After all, I was holding the cleaver in my right hand raised high.

But I daresay this sight was anything but funny to So Gunpyeong.

Veins bulged fiercely on So Gunpyeong’s forehead at the command to kneel.

What Heukdo man under heaven would kneel to a young man born a tavern hand?

Believing he would simply die fighting, So Gunpyeong likewise poured every ounce of energy he could unleash into his Yaraedo and swung it at me.

A turbid heat haze of unrefined, murky color wrapped around the Yaraedo before surging toward me.

It was a Blade Wind containing a fairly ferocious energy.

“Not bad for vermin.”

It certainly had momentum.

I hurled the cleaver wreathed in Yeomhwahyang toward the surging Blade Wind. The ordinary cleaver tore through the Blade Wind while emitting a fearsome sound.

Was it only my imagination that the cleaver’s sword cry sounded like a shout imbued with the fury of a tavern hand from my past life?