Chapter 98: Mad God, Juniors, Receive This Drink
Mad God, Juniors, Receive This Drink
Episode 98: Mad God, Juniors, Receive This Drink
The members of the Murim Alliance gathered before the main gate, which had been locked shut, and turned their gazes toward the raised platform.
None of them had the leisure to enjoy a festival, nor were they the type to indulge in such frivolities in the first place. Yet, following the orders of Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong, each of them filled their cups with wine. From the highest-ranking elders to the newest recruits, every cup was filled when Yoo Jung-hong stood and surveyed the assembly.
"I called you here to share three cups of wine."
Yoo Jung-hong held a small flask in his hand. Raising it, he declared:
"The first cup is for Blade Emperor."
The members raised their cups and shouted in unison:
"We shall drink this wine in honor of Senior Blade Emperor!"
Yoo Jung-hong glanced at the sky before bringing the flask to his lips and taking a sip. The members followed suit, tilting their heads back in waves like a rolling tide.
Yoo Jung-hong reminisced about Blade Emperor.
"He was the sword of the Namgung Family—the King of Blades. At the Five Peaks War, he led the Namgung Family and cut down countless warriors of the Demonic Path. On the day of his death, he slew five Demonic Path swordsmen who possessed Blade Immunity before taking his own life. Suicide is a disgrace for a martial artist, but he chose it to prevent the Demonic Path from absorbing his Internal Energy. Our paths diverged, our thoughts differed, and our temperaments and aspirations were never the same. Yet, had I been in his place, I would have made the same choice. No man lives without flaws. The only thing we shared was the desire to live as Righteous Heroes. Blade Emperor died as one. Will you join me in avenging him?"
The members responded as one:
"We will avenge him!"
Yoo Jung-hong raised the flask again.
"The second cup is for those whose fates remain unknown—Fist King, Moo Yong-chu, Master Wonheo, Biyeongdaeju Lee Se-gwang, Biyeongbudaeju Byuk Ji-han—and for the Wudang and Hwasan Sects, who have spent the last twenty years in seclusion, mourning the loss of their disciples."
Yoo Jung-hong's gaze settled on Dan Woo-sung.
Dan Woo-sung raised his cup in acknowledgment.
Yoo Jung-hong continued:
"From this moment, each division shall reallocate personnel to locate the enemy's stronghold while listing the missing as deceased. Blade Emperor's vengeance shall be theirs as well. Drink."
The members and their leader drank once more.
Yoo Jung-hong wiped his lips with his sleeve and surveyed the crowd.
"I struggled with how to introduce this, but no words suffice. The third cup shall be from you and me—to the Three Gods. Today, Mad God, one of the Three Gods, stands among us. The reason I decided to share wine with you all is because of his presence here. Senior..."
As Yoo Jung-hong turned toward the honored seat, Mad God rose.
Silence fell instantly.
This was no elder who invited cheers—and his introduction had been far too abrupt. The pinnacle of the White Path, a legend spoken of only in stories, had appeared before them.
Cheol Myung-ho, who had been watching from among the guests, stiffened.
'What? Mad God?'
He grabbed Dan Woo-sung's arm and hissed:
"A god?"
His eyes demanded an explanation, but Dan Woo-sung pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
Mad God approached Yoo Jung-hong and scanned the assembly.
"Juniors..."
The moment he spoke, every member of the Murim Alliance clasped their fists and shouted in unison:
"We greet Mad God!"
Mad God nodded a few times before replying curtly:
"Good."
Silence returned as Mad God spoke again:
"I heard there are juniors here born the year of the Five Peaks War. Show yourselves."
Blinking slowly, he scanned the crowd as hands rose here and there.
To Mad God, they still looked like children—young members scattered throughout the assembly. He studied each one before speaking:
"You've grown well. It seems our fight was for your sake. You are proof that those who fought beside me did not die in vain. Juniors, it is my fortune to share a drink with those born the same year as the war I fought in."
He extended his hand, and Yoo Jung-hong passed him the flask.
Holding it aloft, Mad God declared:
"Receive Mad God's wine. Drink, juniors."
Watching them drink, he allowed himself a faint smile before tipping the flask to his own lips.
Yoo Jung-hong's request hadn't pleased him, but sharing wine with these distant juniors wasn't so bad after all.
Yet today's emotions belonged entirely to the members—to these juniors.
With a living legend among them, three cups were enough to leave them thoroughly drunk.
Mad God infused his voice with Internal Energy as he returned to his seat.
"Juniors..."
"Yes, Senior!"
"Find them. Before we old men ascend to the heavens first."
A brief exchange—but more than enough.
Dan Woo-sung, watching silently, raised his cup to the sky.
'Jin-eon, drink with me.'
"Hahahahahaha—!"
Cheol Myung-ho laughed incredulously, while Dan Woo-sung shook his head without a word. As they walked back to their lodgings, Cheol Myung-ho eyed the surrounding Murim members and continued cackling like a madman.
"Hahahaha—! Well, well! So this is my martial brother's master!"
Dan Woo-sung cut him off.
"That's enough."
Cheol Myung-ho pointed at Dan Woo-sung and Baek Yak in turn.
"So that's why you were so tight-lipped. I understand. I may be out of touch with the martial world, but I know better than to throw around the title of 'god' lightly."
He raised a finger triumphantly.
"Now I see—this is what our brother was all along! Hahahaha! Then my Fox Spear Technique must be..."
He thrust up a thumb.
"This level in the martial world! What an unbelievable encounter! Worth every errand I ran. No wonder he loved those damn jerky sticks so much."
He grabbed a flask handed to him by a member and poured the wine straight down his throat.
Baek Yak remarked dryly:
"It means the Fox Spear Technique is exceptional—not that you are."
Cheol Myung-ho wiped his mouth with his sleeve and wagged a finger at her.
"Ah, well said! I like that kind of blunt honesty. Refreshing. Not that I like you—just your personality."
"I know."
Just then, a Murim member approached Dan Woo-sung and Baek Yak.
"The past winners of the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament are gathering. Would the two of you join them?"
As Dan Woo-sung and Baek Yak departed with the member, Cheol Myung-ho was left alone, glancing around aimlessly.
He had nothing to do.
Sighing, he looked back at the platform before heading toward his lodgings, twirling his iron-ribbed umbrella.
A man without rank had no real place in the Murim Alliance.
"Hahahaha—Mad God, of all people."
Whoosh!
Murim members scattered in surprise as Cheol Myung-ho executed the Three Disasters Sword Technique mid-step.
"My apologies," he said sheepishly.
Heavenly Demon stood before the memorial tablets arranged on the platform and found his father's.
Wi Jeong-hak.
Only three characters marked its surface.
Normally, tablets bore the deceased's epithet or date of death, but these held no such details.
Gazing at it stirred nothing in him. It was just a name carved into wood.
Heavenly Demon clasped his hands behind his back, offering no reverence.
His disdain for Ten Thousand Demon Palace's theatrics had never changed.
After a moment of silently surveying the names—without even lighting incense—he stepped out of the shrine to find familiar faces waiting.
"Wi Family Head, it's been a while."
"No respect, as expected. Couldn't even burn incense for the dead."
Three men stood before him—former classmates under Ten Thousand Demon Library's Grand Master, if one could call them that.
Blood Lord, Tyrant, Phantom Demon.
Heavenly Demon greeted them curtly:
"Welcome, fellow disciples."
Blood Lord wore crimson robes as a descendant of the Blood God. Tyrant was a monstrously massive man, while Phantom Demon stood silently, draped in black cloth, only his eyes visible beneath the eerie garb.
To Heavenly Demon, they were just that—nothing more.
Their titles, like his own, had been bestowed by Ten Thousand Demon Palace's elders, lending them some legitimacy. Though their ages varied, their shared history allowed them to speak casually.
Tyrant crossed his arms.
"After all your posturing, Sword Demon returns blind, and you skulk around like a rat with nowhere to go. Wi Ji-cheon, I don't know why the Palace Master keeps tolerating you."
Heavenly Demon flopped onto the shrine's steps, eyeing them lazily before reclining sideways.
"Go on, keep barking, my fellow disciples."
Blood Lord spoke next:
"Wi Family Head, you know what the three of us think of you."
Heavenly Demon pointed at them lazily.
"You want me dead. All three of you grew up getting beaten by Sword Demon. Nostalgic, isn't it? Now that you've finally gained some confidence in your skills, you think you can act on your own? How bold."
Phantom Demon's voice came in broken, stilted phrases:
"Heavenly Demon. Long time. Want. To settle. Scores."
Heavenly Demon clicked his tongue.
"Stuttering fool, what 'scores'? Grand Master already decided that. Look at the tablets inside. Whatever lies the Palace Master fed you—my father wasn't Wi Jeong-hak. Phantom, you could be his son."
Phantom Demon replied flatly:
"Impossible."
"Tyrant, you might be Sword Demon's half-brother. Grand Master judged our martial achievements and gave us our titles. Have any of you ever seen your fathers? In Ten Thousand Demon Palace? We were raised as nameless numbers until one day, the Palace Master summoned us and spun tales about our 'ancestors'—Blood God, Heavenly Demon, whatever nonsense. And here you are, still playing the fool. What does bloodline matter in the Demonic Path? Where are these fathers of yours? If you've gained power, at least think of something more entertaining."
He turned to Blood Lord.
"Your 'great-grandfather' was the Blood God? So what? Whether he was or wasn't, you're still Ten Thousand Demon Palace's puppet. You think the Blood God took orders from anyone?"
Heavenly Demon raised a hand, summoning Wi Jeong-hak's tablet through Empty Hand Art.
He snapped it in half and tossed the pieces at their feet.
"Live like the Demonic Path you are. If you want to pray for the souls of fathers you never knew, shave your heads and join a temple."
Tyrant grinned.
"I couldn't care less about that. I just want to smash that arrogant skull of yours."
As Tyrant made his intentions clear, Heavenly Demon wagged a finger.
"Ah, one last thing. I just realized—I have an opening for a Left Envoy. Any takers? Fellow disciples are always welcome. Isn't friendship about moments like these?"
Tyrant's massive frame—worthy of the term monstrous strength—moved with startling speed as his foot slammed down where Heavenly Demon had been lying.
CRACK!
The steps shattered.
Heavenly Demon, now a short distance away, brushed dust from his robes.
"Hmm, it seems our Tyrant isn't fit to be Left Envoy."
Phantom Demon warned:
"Ten Thousand Demon Palace. Forbids. Killing. Inside. Only. Settle. Scores."
Heavenly Demon strode toward Tyrant, who stood a full head taller.
"Such rules mean nothing to me."