Chapter 294
Chapter 294
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 294
Chapter Title: Beware the Old Man and the Child
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There was one proverb widely known throughout the martial world.
—Beware the old man and the child.
Even a frail elder might be concealing the power of a supreme expert, and even a tiny child might be a transcendent master who had returned to his second infancy.
This saying served as a reminder to martial artists never to underestimate their opponents and always maintain vigilance.
Yet despite that, most fighters gradually came to ignore this proverb as their lives in the jianghu dragged on.
Why?
Because from their direct experiences, the vast majority of old folks and children were just as frail as they appeared, with no surprises whatsoever.
An old man was just an old man no matter how you poked him, and a child was just a child.
In truth, finding a master among the elderly or youngsters was like searching for a needle in a desert.
In the end, martial artists erased the proverb from their minds.
But at this very moment.
All those gathered for the Manchurian Grand Banquet witnessed the truth of that proverb with their own eyes.
‘Beware the old man and the child.’
The proof lay right before them in the gruesome corpse of the Monstrous Might Fiend.
The Manchurian Society's foundation revolved around drink, but at its core, it was a coalition of unorthodox sects.
As such, it was teeming with rough characters, some of whom bore particularly cruel dispositions.
And among them, the one who stood at the pinnacle of notoriety was the Monstrous Might Fiend.
Whenever he drank, he caused chaos, slaughtering even powerless commoners and the weak without mercy if they caught his eye.
He had endured endless finger-pointing and curses that he would one day meet a pathetic end, hearing them as often as he ate his meals.
And yet.
“That guy… died like this…?”
No one could have foreseen such an outcome.
To lose his life to an unremarkable old man whom no one had paid any mind to during the casual contest of the Manchurian Grand Banquet.
Thud.
Cheon Sumyeong nudged the Monstrous Might Fiend out of the wine barrel with his toe.
The body spun like a marionette with its strings cut before crashing to the floor.
The spectators nearby approached cautiously, but...
“...He’s already stopped breathing.”
He had crossed the Yellow Springs long ago.
Trembling gazes from the crowd and bewildered looks from the contestants all turned back to Cheon Sumyeong in unison.
The Monstrous Might Fiend.
A figure so infamous for his brutality among the society's executives that even seasoned fighters hesitated to approach him.
And yet, that same fiend had been slain with a single hand.
No—a single finger.
The old man wiped his finger clean with an utterly impassive expression, leaving everyone stunned beyond belief.
As all stood frozen in awe,
Boom!
Gaebul stomped his foot, snapping them out of it.
“The Tiger-Drunk Brawl isn’t over yet! Resume the contest!”
Only then did the contestants' eyes refocus, and they clashed with their nearby opponents once more.
The melee resumed, but their glances kept flicking toward Cheon Sumyeong.
And Gaebul himself couldn’t tear his eyes away either.
‘Who the hell is that old man?’
Gaebul wasn’t shaken by the Monstrous Might Fiend’s death.
Though they were both members of the society, he had never liked the fiend’s cruelty or his binge-drinking habits.
That said, he respected the man’s prowess.
“To kill a brute like that in a single exchange.”
It was a face he’d never seen before.
Which meant the old man wasn’t one of the known drinkers active in the Central Plains up to now.
‘Could he be from the orthodox sects?’
The society didn’t bar participation from the righteous factions in the Grand Banquet.
They welcomed any true drinker, regardless of their affiliations.
And that inclusivity was one reason the event had grown so massive and renowned.
Thus, Gaebul speculated that the elder might hail from an orthodox sect.
It would explain why he’d swiftly executed the notoriously vile Monstrous Might Fiend from the unorthodox world.
However, moments later.
“...Looks like he’s not orthodox either.”
Gaebul retracted that thought.
Pok. Pok. Pok.
With every flick of Cheon Sumyeong’s finger, bodies crumpled lifelessly.
All who charged at him clutched holes in their chests as they met their ends.
His movements during the brawl were far too domineering for any righteous expert—Gaebul realized his assumption was wrong.
Not orthodox, not someone he’d seen in the unorthodox circles, and not a known drinker either. Then where the hell did this guy come from?
Unable to guess the old man’s origins, Gaebul furrowed his brow in contemplation.
Just then.
“Hold it!”
As only about a dozen contestants remained atop the barrels, a burly-voiced middle-aged man bellowed.
His hair tied back, thick-necked and muscular—he was Mo Taeseok.
Born with a bold, affable nature, this drinker had built camaraderie with many fighters over cups of liquor.
His shout made everyone pause momentarily.
He pressed on.
“This isn’t the time for us to fight each other! There’s still an unrivaled powerhouse up here, isn’t there?!”
Their halted gazes shifted to Cheon Sumyeong.
He stood leisurely with hands clasped behind his back, facing the drinkers.
Around the elder lay scattered fighters, utterly still.
Gulp.
The contestants swallowed dryly at the sight.
No need to spell it out—who the strongest here was obvious to all.
Even the society’s elite had fallen to his hand.
Mo Taeseok spoke up as he eyed the scene.
“In the end, only the last one standing in this Tiger-Drunk Brawl claims victory. But if we keep fighting individually like this, no one beats that old man. This is the moment we must join forces.”
His words were straightforward.
None of us can take him alone, so let’s team up before our numbers dwindle from infighting.
Eliminate the old man first, then resume the battle.
“So you can’t win solo, you wanna gang up one-on-many, huh?”
“Cowardly bastards!”
The crowd hurled jeers and boos.
But those on the barrels had no time for such noise.
So what if they were called cowards?
If they kept dueling one-on-one, they’d end up just like those corpses—their futures laid out plain.
And so.
“Fine.”
“Let’s join forces just until we take down that old man.”
A provisional alliance formed among the remaining contestants.
Solely to oppose Cheon Sumyeong, one man.
Mo Taeseok nodded with satisfaction.
“Then let’s all charge at once.”
The contestants nodded and fixed their eyes on Cheon Sumyeong.
Hoo— hoo—
They steadied their breaths, then held it.
From straight ahead and both flanks, they surged toward him in a triangular assault.
But at that instant.
Thwip thwip thwack!
Cheon Sumyeong’s finger traced a graceful arc, and three silhouettes crumpled simultaneously.
Creak.
The rest halted just short of reaching him.
Wait a second.
‘…Can we really take him down even if we all attack together?’
No internal energy emanated from the elder, and even his finger flicks carried no detectable qi.
Yet each poke pierced flesh and bone like tofu, filling them with more fear than before.
As the contestants froze and flinched, Cheon Sumyeong simply stood there, watching them impassively.
And the moment their halted eyes met his.
“I… I forfeit.”
“Me too!”
“M-me as well…!”
All the contestants lost their will to fight.
His gaze alone chilled them to the marrow.
One by one, they stepped down from the barrels voluntarily, leaving only Cheon Sumyeong and Mo Taeseok atop.
Step. Step.
Cheon Sumyeong advanced.
Mo Taeseok stiffened, assuming a defensive stance.
He couldn’t back down.
He was determined to win the brawl, claim the trophy, meet the society leader, and drink his famed liquor no matter what.
Then, Cheon Sumyeong stopped right before him.
And placed a finger on Mo Taeseok’s chest.
Mo Taeseok saw it with his own eyes, but his body was frozen rigid—he couldn’t move a muscle.
‘I’m dead.’
As he sensed his doom,
“Young man.”
Cheon Sumyeong spoke in a low voice.
“Value your life.”
“...!”
Thud.
Mo Taeseok’s legs gave out, and he collapsed on the spot. Soon, with trembling hands, he said,
“I forfeit…”
“We have our winner.”
Gaebul nodded from the podium and bellowed triumphantly.
“The Tiger-Drunk Brawl’s sole survivor! That man is—!”
Swoosh!
Pointing at Cheon Sumyeong, Gaebul continued.
“Elder Cheon!”
“Wooooaaahhh—!”
Who could have predicted a white-haired elder would take the crown?
Yet his victory was utterly overwhelming, beyond words.
Amid the crowd’s fervent cheers, Gaebul approached Cheon Sumyeong.
“Congratulations on your win. Here’s the Tiger-Drunk Brawl trophy.”
Handing over the emblem, Gaebul added,
“That makes you the second champion. You’ve got the best shot at meeting the leader now.”
Gaebul watched the elder’s reaction closely after his words.
But the unexpected response left him baffled.
“Is that so.”
He’d hinted at a prime chance to meet the esteemed society leader himself.
Yet the old man reacted with utter indifference, as if he couldn’t care less.
Gaebul stared blankly at the elder’s back as he turned and returned to his seat.
“…Just who the hell is that old man?”
“Congratulations on your win.”
“It was an embarrassing contest unworthy of celebration.”
As Cheon Sumyeong returned to his seat, Hyeok Mulin greeted him.
A natural victory met with a natural response.
Cheon Sumyeong felt no thrill from the Tiger-Drunk Brawl and came back unmoved, but the others clearly did.
The gazes directed at him now carried far more curiosity than the day before.
Of course, the moment Cheon Sumyeong looked their way.
Swoosh!
They all turned away and averted their eyes.
In any case, Hyeok Mulin welcomed him back with,
“You really cut loose out there.”
“I only dealt with those openly radiating killing intent toward me.”
To outsiders, it might seem like indiscriminate slaughter, but he had a firm standard.
He merely repaid those who showed hostility first—with death.
And all who had charged him were brimming with murderous aura to boot.
Hyeok Mulin nodded, then recalled something and asked,
“By the way, why spare the last one?”
Though he’d lost his fight at the end, the man had earlier incited others to take his life.
At Hyeok Mulin’s question, Cheon Sumyeong chuckled.
And provided the answer.
“Tsk tsk. Didn’t you tell me to go easy before I headed up there?”
“Hm? That’s really why?”
“Indeed.”
Hyeok Mulin stared at him briefly before smirking.
Turning forward, a grin crept across his face.
“I see.”
Cheon Sumyeong was changing.
Through this journey together, even in this very moment, it continued.
Whether it was mere whimsy, Hyeok Mulin—standing closest to him—could sense it.
At that point.
“Now, let the final contest of the day begin.”
Gaebul spoke up after the brawl arena had been cleared.
“The fourth event is…”
A sinister smile glinted in Gaebul’s eyes as he continued.
“The Poison Wine Banquet.”
“...Poison?”
Cheon Sumyeong tilted his head at Gaebul’s declaration. His gaze soon fell on Hyeok Mulin beside him.
Among the demons Cheon Sumyeong knew, the one who had achieved unmatched mastery in poisons.
The man seated right next to him—the impervious-to-all-poisons Hyeok Mulin.