148. Liquor
In martial arts tales, alcohol is something you can't avoid no matter how hard you try.
Especially at banquets like this, that scene always shows up.
Ding-!
The moment the musician plucks the strings of his geomungo, a martial artist pours liquor into a cup at the exact same time.
"Take my cup."
With a whoosh! of swirling sleeves, the liquor cup flies like a cannonball!
The martial artist sitting across catches it smoothly—he's no ordinary guy either.
But because of his extraordinary skill, a burst of qi erupts behind the catcher as he receives the cup.
"This booze tastes excellent."
And the real highlight? Not a single drop spills from the cup!
[You're writing a novel right there.]
Pa Cheon's voice, dry and cold as ever, shattered the clichéd unfolding.
'Sigh. What do you know about romance?'
The psychological suspense hidden in the back-and-forth of those cups—that's the romance these banquet clichés deliver.
Of course, Pa Cheon had his reasons for pouring cold water on it.
I couldn't recreate a scene like that. To pull it off in this Murim Returner world, you'd need at least Peak realm.
In other words, total control over your qi emission.
With my meridians blocked, unable even to draw qi, it was utterly impossible.
But...
There was another way—a true drinking battle, in the purest sense—that I could absolutely win.
"Uwaaaagh-!"
Another martial artist staggered aside from his seat, vomiting into a nearby jar.
"Next."
I declared arrogantly from my seat.
The crowd surrounding us erupted in awe and admiration.
"Waaah!"
"How many is that already? Seven?"
"Incredible!"
"He's not human, not human at all."
Seven people already lay sprawled before me, groaning—practically unconscious.
In the modern world, drinking that much could be life-threatening.
But Jin So-cheong from Seongsu Bong shook her head, jabbing acupuncture points to treat them.
These were sturdy martial artists' bodies to begin with, and with a physician tending them like this, there'd be no real danger.
[That woman over there is glaring at you.]
'If you drag someone out for fun and suddenly make 'em work overtime, I'd be pissed too.'
I must've truly inherited the legacy of Good Company Kim, the office manager—not the Heavenly Demon.
Time to prepare some proper compensation later.
[If I'd known it'd come to this, I should've enjoyed booze back when I had my own body.]
Pa Cheon said regretfully.
The Heavenly Demon Divine Art sealed in this body repels all energies. Especially anything harmful to its host—it won't tolerate it.
It was the same when I got hit by Dok Ma's poison, or even the "well-intentioned" toxins from the Poison King.
Alcohol might lift your spirits in moderation, but to the body, it's poison.
The Heavenly Demon Divine Art's energy didn't permit alcohol either, so I never got drunk.
It was just annoying to hit the bathroom. Someone always had to follow to check if I'd puke or not.
Anyway, I'd already taken down seven with this drinking showdown.
Felt like smashing through dojos.
I put on maximum airs and spoke.
"Well then, is there no hero left to challenge me?"
Normally, they'd back off. But these murim folk treat booze like a matter of pride even more than martial arts—
"I'll take you on this time!"
They just can't resist stepping up.
"Pleased to meet you, Young Master Mo Yong."
Mo Yong Hak, the Jade-Faced Sword Dragon, sat before me. Tension was obvious on his face.
"You know the rules already, but they're simple. The first drinker sets the pace—the second must follow within one breath. Empty the cup in one go. And no circulating inner energy to expel the alcohol."
Mo Yong Hak nodded.
"Three rounds for the challenger, as tradition demands."
"No need."
"Can't skip formalities in a proper match."
Like before, his eyes held not heroic spirit, but impatience. Same this time.
Felt less like a fair duel and more like he had ulterior motives.
Mo Yong Hak scooped booze from the jar, filling three massive cup-sized glasses and downing them in succession.
It was Sichuan's fiercest fire wine. Even heavy drinkers would pass out from that.
Mo Yong Hak gazed at me calmly, as if to say it was nothing.
Makes sense. Even if he got his "Dragon" title from his pretty face, he was still a Peak realm genius at his young age.
That detoxification was par for the course.
'Might be the toughest yet.'
The first challenger, a Beggar Clan elder at Peak, lasted eleven rounds.
Younger and healthier Mo Yong Hak might outlast him.
"This time, I'll win."
I had no desire to indulge his weird obsession.
"I'll lead."
I filled a cup to the brim from the jar and tossed it back.
Honestly, it was just brutally strong booze—nothing special taste-wise. But the fiery burn filled my mouth and nose.
Enough to map my esophagus and stomach precisely.
"Your turn, Young Master Mo Yong."
"......"
"Young Master Mo Yong?"
"......"
Slump.
Mo Yong Hak's head drooped.
Jin So-cheong rushed over to check him.
"He's out cold."
"Waaah!"
"Eastern Sword Dragon! Eastern Sword Dragon! Eastern Sword Dragon!"
Mo Yong Hak was carried off to join the other seven. Quite the anticlimax for his dramatic entrance.
Eight down.
I surveyed the applauding crowd.
'Knew he'd be here.'
This was why I pulled aggro like this.
Gongjin, the Shadowless Divine Thrower and Shaolin monk, still sat watching.
Unlike the other monks who'd left. Probably using "curiosity about worldly events" as an excuse since he's young.
He'd wait for me to show signs of drunkenness, then strike.
'Time to fake some weakening.'
I've shown overwhelming strength—now vulnerability to lure Gongjin out.
That's when it happened.
"I'll challenge you this time."
A woman sat before me.
I nearly gaped, struggling to keep a straight face.
[......!]
Pa Cheon jolted too, startled.
[Silver hair, silver eyes......]
Silver hair, silver eyes, skin so pale it bordered on ghostly white.
She wore a black fur-lined coat with fox fur on the hood.
No introduction needed.
Young Palace Lord of the North Sea Ice Palace.
Heavenly Ice Jade Peak Yi Seong Ryeong.
[Truly of the Lord's bloodline.]
The visible traits matched.
Of course, there was a gulf in "aura."
The Heavenly Demon Yi Se-ryeong exuded presence that could stop hearts and shake souls just by looking.
Cliche-wise, Yi Se-ryeong was like the sun to Yi Seong Ryeong's firefly.
Yi Seong Ryeong was, well...
'Trying way too hard to act cold.'
She was blatantly projecting iciness. From a step back, it screamed artificial.
[Look at Namgung Jin, you vixen.]
As Yi Seong Ryeong took her seat, Namgung Jin fidgeted visibly behind her.
Too many eyes to make a scene.
Yi Seong Ryeong showed zero interest in him.
[So the arrogant Namgung young master is one-sidedly smitten.]
All that posturing, and this hilarious twist.
Anyway, I refocused.
Pretending ignorance, I greeted her.
"Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Kim Dong Yun, humbly called the Eastern Sword Dragon."
"Yi Seong Ryeong of the North Sea. You mentioned three challenger rounds?"
Yi Seong Ryeong downed three cups in a flash.
I stayed silent, but the crowd gawked in shock.
"Not surprised? A woman drinking fire wine."
"True heroes know no gender divide in booze or battle. And North Sea warriors are famed for loving the hard stuff."
"......You seem well-versed in the North Sea?"
"As much as anyone."
What I knew came from Murim Returner descriptions—still leagues ahead of murim folk's biased rumors.
"Truth is, I sat down because I have questions."
She leaned in, looking secretive enough for anyone to notice.
Sure enough, Namgung Jin's face twisted in real-time behind her.
'Ugh.'
This is why I hate the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament. Every cliche fires... and misses the mark.
"I heard you beat the Little Witch."
"......Luck."
"Others might buy that, but not me, Eastern Sword Dragon."
Yi Seong Ryeong said.
"The Little Witch surely had an Ice Crystal, right?"
"Answer that after you beat me."
She stared, saw my unflinching eyes, then nodded.
"That's answer enough. Fine. You win."
Yi Seong Ryeong stood. Some boos rose, but she ignored them completely.
Not a true murim denizen, she didn't care about reputation.
That's why she introduced as "Yi Seong Ryeong of the North Sea," not "Heavenly Ice Jade Peak."
'Time to wrap this up.'
After this much booze, propriety demands faking drunkenness. Show weakness to draw Gongjin.
"Next—"
"I'll do it!"
I was about to tidy up when...
[......A powerhouse.]
Pressure crushed me like a mountain.
Not just me.
Everyone froze at the voice's owner, barely daring to breathe.
A massive elder.
To match his build, you'd need Cheol So Pyeong of Goe Mountain Iron Family.
Despite his age, his muscles bulged solidly—no needle could pierce them. His sharp beard evoked a tiger's fangs.
Paeng So So, mingling in the crowd, shot her hand up and yelled.
"Grandpa!"
Oh shit.
Paeng So So's grandfather.
Dao King Paeng Yu-gun.