Not Mad: Yi Gyeol, the Greatest Under Heaven, or the Fifteen-Year-Old Boy Yi Jinpyeong
He hadn't yet shaken off the shock. Yi Gyeol. Or the fifteen-year-old boy Yi Jinpyeong. That's when murmurs drifted in from somewhere, and with a bang—the inner gate flew open as a group of new faces strode into the manor where he waited.
It was a band of rough warriors. Sturdy builds, fierce faces, crude in appearance but with sharp, bluish swords—parkdo—strapped to their sides.
Yi Gyeol eyed them curiously. Who are these guys? They moved freely into the depths of the manor like they owned the place. Could they be my descendants too?
He shook his head. No. They're too damn ugly for that.
The world's greatest martial artist had standards when it came to looks. At any rate, these were unfamiliar faces, absent even from the reincarnated Yi Jinpyeong's memories. But given the boy's lifelong madness, those memories couldn't be trusted. Best to wait and see how they acted.
But what do you know. The warriors locked eyes with him—yet ignored him completely, without so much as a greeting. As if he were invisible.
".....?"
As Yi Gyeol blinked in bewilderment, the warriors scanned the area and soon spotted the two brothers slumped together in a heap.
"Huh? What're these guys doing passed out like this?"
They strode over. Poking and prodding at the brothers' conditions.
"Hey! We're here! Get up!"
The warriors tried shaking their fainted eldest brothers awake. But if they wouldn't stir even after Yi Gyeol's relentless efforts, no way would they suddenly snap to just because of these guys.
A warrior standing a step back shook his head. He was a big brute, his face buried under a wild bush of beard.
"Just let 'em sleep. Looks like they've finally decided to live like beggars for real."
"Doesn't look like sleep, though? They should've woken up by now..."
"Whoa! Check it—bruises all over. Someone must've beaten the crap outta them, right?"
"Huh? Now that you mention it?"
Yi Gyeol flinched inwardly.
The warriors huddled close, scrutinizing the brothers before finally reaching a conclusion.
"Yeah, definitely knocked out."
"Figures."
"Who the hell beat these guys up like this?"
"No idea. They're not the type to make enemies, though..."
"They're hurt bad. Shouldn't we take 'em to a physician or something?"
All eyes turned to the bearded brute. He seemed to be their leader.
The beard replied indifferently. "Physician? Hell no. If we drag 'em there, we'll end up footing the bill ourselves. Don't bother."
"But we can't just leave 'em like—"
"Hey, snap out of it! You think we're here for charity? We do our business and bounce."
"...Yes, sir!"
Listening in only made their identity more baffling. They sure as hell weren't Yi Gajang folks or employees. So why were they here? Barging into the manor without a care, looking for his brothers—what for?
Yi Gyeol, who'd been quietly eavesdropping, finally spoke up.
"Who the hell are you?"
The warriors jumped like they'd heard a ghost.
"Gah! You scared the shit outta me!"
This much? They'd met his eyes earlier, after all. But their shock was genuine. They all whipped around, blinking at him owlishly. The bearded one, eyes wide like the rest, asked:
"Third Young Master, huh. What's up... you in your right mind?"
Yi Gyeol furrowed his brow. Third Young Master—that was Yi Jinpyeong. So they knew exactly who he was, yet deliberately snubbed him?
"What, I can't be?"
He shot back curtly.
The warriors looked flustered at his tone. They glanced warily at their bearded leader.
The beard's face twisted briefly before he forced a hearty laugh.
"Haha! No reason you can't. Just... we figured you were too far gone for daily life. Come to think of it, this is my first time actually talking to you."
No wonder the memories had so many gaps. Yi Jinpyeong must've spent his whole life mostly out of his mind.
Still, this guy. Even if Yi Jinpyeong looked like a kid, talking down to him like that rubbed him wrong. Were these brutes elders from some prestigious clan?
His mood souring further, Yi Gyeol crossed his arms.
"Anyway. Who are you? What's your business here?"
The beard's forehead vein throbbed.
Mutual offense from the tone. He wasn't thrilled either.
"Listen to this little shit's mouth—why's it so damn short? Ack! Son of a—"
He rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward. His men grabbed his arm in a panic.
"Bro! Hold it! He's not all there yet, right?"
"He's just a kid. Hit him wrong and we're in deep shit!"
"Sigh... yeah, guess so?"
They patted themselves on the back. Yi Gyeol stared in disbelief as the beard caught his breath, crossed his arms, and spoke.
"Kid. You're green, so I'll let it slide once. No long story—when your brothers wake up, tell 'em Supervisor Gang from Hwang Sabang stopped by. Got it?"
"...Hwang Sabang?"
"Yeah. Hwang Sabang."
Yi Gyeol tilted his head. First he'd heard of it. Definitely a faction that didn't exist back in his active days.
"Never heard of it. What's with that dusty-ass name? Fashion these days to pick such trash for a gang?"
"......"
"Quit yapping and say why you're here. I hate repeating myself."
The beard's face flushed crimson. Eyes twitching, he closed them tight and muttered low to his still-gripping men.
"You hear that? I gotta take this lying down?"
"Not exactly, but..."
"Look at that scrawny face. One wrong hit and he might actually croak."
"You seein' just his face? I'm picturin' the boss's."
"...One slap as a lesson should be fine."
"Yeah. I'll go easy. Real easy."
Freed by his lackeys, the beard circled an arm and advanced.
"This man is Gang Ryong! Got a lifelong philosophy: never lay a hand on the elderly, women, or young'uns. But seein' this twisted punk today... I can't stand by. How dare you mock the sacred name of our Hwang Sabang?!"
"......"
"C'mere. Be good? One smack and done."
Yi Gyeol looked up at the looming beard. Flexing threat-muscles. Raised hand. He grinned.
If they wanted a fight, no reason to dodge. Perfect chance to vent his building rage.
A past-life memory surfaced. Stepping into the jianghu at fifteen with just a single sword. Fun times. Brawling whoever crossed his path, reckless challenges! But after claiming the top spot too early, life turned boring—no one dared challenge him...
Fine. Who cares who they are? Beat first, ask later.
Yi Jinpyeong's body wasn't fully grown yet. Huge size gap with the burly beard. But even in a crappy vessel—the contents were Yi Gyeol, once untouchable by any soul.
The bearded warrior Gang Ryong saw the boy's calm, sly smile—and suddenly knew something was terribly wrong.
A gut feeling that never missed. Once in his life. But its fatal flaw? Always kicking in a step too late.
Call that a gut feeling? Debate later. This time too—by the time unease hit, his pot-lid palm was already swinging wildly at the boy's cheek.
No helping it now. No backing down mid-swing!
But...
"Gack!!!"
As expected. He was the one screaming.
No impact on his palm—instead, dizzy pain shot through his knee. Barely steadying his wobble, he scanned for the boy who'd vanished from sight in an instant.
There—behind him now, gripping a sword with a beaming grin.
Familiar blade. His own parkdo from his side. When the hell did it get yoinked?
Chills ran down his spine. One exchange told him everything.
Master. Beyond what he could handle...
How? That borderline-youth frame. Skinny as a reed, liable to blow away in the wind. And above all—was this really Yi Gajang's mad Third Young Master? The one too insane to recognize his own family?
"Nice. You prefer lettin' fists do the talkin', eh? Suits me fine."
That innocent smile, eyes sparkling with joy. Gang Ryong realized: Yi Gajang's Third Young Master wasn't mad.
But he was—just utterly, differently so.
"W-Wait! Truth is, this man Gang Ryong's a pacifist who loves honest chats—"
"Let's go!"
The Third Young Master charged, sword flashing with glee. His panicked underlings drew steel—clang!—blocking the boy's path.
No time for "hold back, he's no match." Grunts of "Ugh! Hic! Gurk!" as they flew aside.
The boy's moves weren't especially fast or strong. But each time his form ghosted through their ranks, only agonized screams and mad laughter remained.
Gang Ryong gaped, thinking: Yi Gajang. Those legendary arts weren't lost after all.
Amid tumbling men, the Third Young Master leaped high. The scene slowed surreal—like a painting. Azure sky, pouring sunlight. Sword raised, boy grinning bright.
If not for that blade splitting the heavens straight for his skull.
Ahh—such a balmy spring afternoon. Yet his mind exploded with shooting stars, then plunged into thick, starless black.