The Drunken Encounter with the Mad Dragon
For just a moment earlier, Gwak Yeon had been completely immersed in his own thoughts.
The shadow forces.
He had been hoping for the information the Family Head Gwak Seo-ryong had promised would come if the Seoho Gwak Family won this martial contest.
But.
“Master!”
“Master!”
“Master!”
“Master!”
“Master!”
From every corner of the estate, the bowing elders sent their greetings to the old man who stood with his back to the crowd, head held high.
Seeing that self-satisfied figure made his spirit surge.
‘It’s really… it’s really Moyong Wol-un!’
A close friend from his past life, the son of his only child.
He could still vividly remember the moment, when his childhood friend—whose veins carried the bloodline of the proud Moyong Family—had said, “I’m afraid my frail body isn’t suited for the Gangho…”
“Who said that?”
“It’s just…”
“That’s irrelevant. Your body has no flaws. Even if it did, that would be entirely different from being unable to become a true Gangho man.”
“Really?”
“Of course!”
“Listen, how many times have I told you this?! The uncle here might have a few loose screws, but he’s the greatest Gangho warrior in the Embroidered Uniform Guard—more villains he’s beaten than anyone!”
……
“Uncle! I want to be like you—crushing bad guys and helping the good ones!”
He also remembered the times he visited his friend’s home, bringing pocket money and snacks, sharing silly little stories. Sometimes he even showed his martial skills.
That had been until the night before his final mission.
‘If eighty years have passed since then…’
The child had been five or six years old then.
Now the little boy had become an old man in his mid-eighties.
‘Time… it’s truly terrifying.’
On that once cherubic face now rested an expression shaped by the trials of the world and seasoned with hard-won wisdom.
Gwak Yeon’s heart stirred with complex, subtle emotions.
It was the moment when old bonds that had transcended time wrapped him in their peculiar warmth.
“You.”
An unexpected figure appeared.
Moyong Wol-un.
The old man, still smelling faintly of the wine he must have been sipping, placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Have you been swinging that sword of yours?”
“……!”
“Don’t be startled. Everyone, be quiet! Just help yourselves to the wine! Here the alcohol is expensive, and even the small jars will do—today we’ll drink until we drop!”
Laughing heartily at the cheering crowd, he guided Gwak Yeon toward a corner of the estate where a small bonfire burned, and they sat down.
“Your name is Gwak Yeon, isn’t it? Let’s talk.”
“……”
“Why the silence? When the old man asks a question, you show some manners!”
“……”
“Well, that’s only natural. I’ve seen the real thing with my own eyes—my legs are still shaking from how powerful you are. Heh heh.”
Gwak Yeon raised his head with a dazed expression.
A whirlwind of emotions swirled within him.
The same child who had whined earlier that he would never make a true Gangho warrior was now patting his head while calling him “old man.”
A gentle stroke.
“Hey, child, you look surprisingly sharp. Sit. I have something I wanted to ask you anyway.”
If he were too flustered, he might have let out a silly laugh.
But the corner of Gwak Yeon’s mouth curved into a soft smile at the absurdity of the situation. Moyong Wol-un, misreading it, lifted his chin and said.
“Come on! That’s exactly it—I am Moyong Wol-un! Let’s see how the wine tastes that the winner just handed me today.”
He pointed with his chin at the wine bottle in Gwak Yeon’s hand, completely unaware that the man holding it was the uncle of his childhood friend.
* * *
Slowly, Gwak Yeon lifted the wine bottle.
Watching the duel between Moyong Wol-un and his own son, the Seoho Gwak Family’s hall masters whispered among themselves.
“Is it safe? We could still go together now—”
“It’s fine.”
Gwak Seo-ryong shook his head.
A few hall masters who had been about to join the conversation in a daze sank into their seats.
“Does anyone not know? Moyong Wol-un is famous for hating his drinking parties interrupted.”
“But—”
“And more importantly, the setting isn’t natural. Just the fact that we’re here to spy on the Seven Great Families won’t raise suspicion. If they sense even the slightest discomfort from us, they’ll leave at once.”
“Fate is cruel. Of all people, the unpredictable old eccentric has to be here.”
Indeed.
The person who had come to observe the martial contest was, of all the Seven Great Families, this weird old man.
Moyong Wol-un.
With his childlike temper and extravagant temperament, he was known even among the Seven Great Families as a free spirit.
“The Second Young Master hasn’t yet formed proper ties with the Gangho world. It must be awkward for him.”
“Maybe that’s even better.”
“What do you mean?”
“He might actually feel more at ease with the Second Young Master, who hasn’t tasted the Gangho yet.”
“It’s… possible.”
“Let’s keep an eye on it for now.”
“Besides, the banquet will last late. He won’t keep the Second Young Master all to himself forever.”
The hall masters nodded.
When one of them quietly lowered his voice.
“But it can’t be the Moyong Family, right? They’re part of the Seven Great Families—‘those people’—”
“Shh.”
Wi Jong-geuk, the Biryongdang leader, raised a finger to silence him.
The connection between one of the Seven Great Families and the shadow forces was state secret.
In a place like this, caution was essential.
“Discuss it privately.”
Nods all around.
It was then that Gwak Seo-ryong, upon receiving their gazes, gave his approval.
“Ah, I’m so sorry.”
A large, cheerful man approached with a warm smile.
Yeo Geum-hwi, the leader of the Cheonhae Merchant Group.
Holding a rare wine wrapped in red silk, he cleared his throat awkwardly.
“I was about to introduce myself to the Family Head first, but the old man has been paying such great attention to Gwak Young Master since earlier.”
“Moyong Senin.”
“Yes. Actually, I came here hoping to speak with Gwak Young Master, who won the martial contest.”
“Heh.”
The hall masters exchanged glances, a faint smile spreading across their faces at Yeo Geum-hwi’s final words.
“Ah, and my congratulations are late. I congratulate Gwak Young Master once more on his victory in the martial contest. It was a spectacle to behold.”
“Thank you.”
Gwak Seo-ryong spoke quietly.
Merchants never spoke straight to the point. From the Moyong Wol-un greeting to the congratulations, they had exchanged pleasantries, but he already knew what Yeo Geum-hwi’s true interest was.
“So, you’ve come to talk about the next caravan?”
“……As expected.”
With a grin, Yeo Geum-hwi set the wine bottle on the floor and answered.
“You always feel so refreshing.”
The martial contest had ultimately begun because the Cheonhae Merchant Group needed a suitable hall to guard the next caravan.
Now the real question was at hand.
“When do you plan to depart?”
“We have prepared the goods, but after seeing Gwak Young Master’s martial prowess today, I believe we should improve the quality even further. We’ll set sail afterward.”
“And the personnel?”
“I imagine a small elite force led by Gwak Young Master will lead the caravan.”
“The risk is considerable.”
“But if you agree to guard our caravan, we’ll pay you far more than the usual percentage. Please take your time reading the contract.”
Yeo Geum-hwi took a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the steward beside Gwak Seo-ryong.
Smiling at Gwak Seo-ryong, he continued.
“We’re not thinking of this caravan alone. As the greatest merchant group in Zhejiang, we want to gauge whether we can form a long-term partnership.”
“Very well.”
Gwak Seo-ryong slowly nodded at the proposal.
Most martial families found good business partners with merchant groups.
The power of gold was unmatched.
Forming ties with such a grand merchant group would benefit the family’s aspirations or prepare them for entry into the Seven Great Families—there was no downside.
But.
‘If it were Yeon… he might not mind.’
A slight unease stirred in his heart.
Gwak Yeon.
He had clearly changed from before, yet the thought of sending him alone still troubled him.
‘Worried? What am I saying?’
Suddenly Gwak Seo-ryong was startled.
Except for today, the only person among the Three Southern Regions who had never left the Hangzhou area was Gwak Yeon. The young guard who had walked the Gangho like a meal, taking on various commissions, was far younger.
Because they had only ever seen his pitiful side, his heart had grown soft. Realizing this, Gwak Seo-ryong shook his head and said.
“Put aside worries about my son. Prepare the roughest route possible for the caravan.”
“Will that be acceptable?”
“Yes. A sword grows sharper with every use. It will be a good experience for Yeon as well.”
“Then the route—”
Just then, a thunderous burst of laughter cut through their conversation.
Puhaha!
Laughter so loud that everyone at the banquet turned to stare.
Yeo Geum-hwi’s face, which had been slightly furrowed at the important discussion, changed to shock the moment he saw the source of the laughter.
Puahahahaha!
Moyong Wol-un.
His face, as he shared a cup with Gwak Yeon, was wreathed in laughter so bright and unrestrained that it was unlike anything anyone had seen in recent years.
* * *
Moyong Wol-un laughed until tears nearly spilled from his eyes.
He was stunned.
‘This kid…?!’
The Gwak Yeon who was now trading cups with him.
‘He’s actually conversing normally?!”
He was young, yet this conversation was more enjoyable than any he could remember.
To be precise.
It wasn’t exactly conversation.
It was the moment Gwak Yeon earnestly listened as the child of his old friend recounted the path of life he had walked, building empathy one question at a time.
“Truly, that man had quite a few loose screws, didn’t he?”
“Puhaha! What?”
“I’m afraid my expression was a bit exaggerated.”
“No! Absolutely not! Hahaha!”
Moyong Wol-un slapped his knee, laughing until his sides hurt.
“My father said the same thing! ‘My body is frail!’ Father replied, pointing at the uncle I mentioned and saying, ‘Even a man with a few loose screws became the greatest warrior in the Embroidered Uniform Guard!’”
“Is that so.”
“Even when I was little, he was a strange man. But thinking back, it wasn’t a flaw. Enjoying the hunt more than eating—that’s what true heroes are, isn’t it?”
“Amazing… truly magnificent.”
“Exactly. He cherished us when no one else would. Even though I never saw him again after childhood, I wanted to follow in his footsteps. That was the beginning of my life in the Gangho.”
It was joyful. Joyful.
Who else in the world would listen so seriously to a story about a six-year-old?
“Then, if the old man became a Gangho man like him, did you ever serve in the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”
“I wanted to, but…”
The wine bottle tilted as the cup was extended to him—the Gwak Yeon who waited with perfect timing.
He liked this man.
“After he passed, my father passed away not long after. There were things to reorganize the family.”
“Were you there when he passed?”
“Overwork and exhaustion, they said. He pushed himself too hard trying to catch those villains.”
“I see. No, I understand.”
Unlike a cold-blooded person like Jegal Chan, who never let a conversation slip and accepted nothing, this one actually enjoyed talking.
“But have you ever thought about this?”
He couldn’t have known.
That the Gwak Yeon before him was the uncle of his dead friend.
And that he was genuinely curious about how his friend’s family had lived and was treating him with sincerity.
Sincerity meets sincerity, no matter what. Their conversation flowed without end.
“Maybe there are no true sages in this world. Only people who are treated as sages.”
“I agree. I mean, yes.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t entertained bad thoughts? Turning that anger into villains makes one a hero; into the kind or weak makes one merely dull.”
“Hiccup… do you think that too? Kid, you’re exactly like our father.”
Of course he would. The words from just now had already been spoken by the Gwak Yeon of his past life, in conversation with his own father.
Drunk, Moyong Wol-un laughed merrily.
The wine’s heat spread, yet he had never felt this good.
Chururuk.
The wine Gwak Yeon poured into his cup.
He drank again.
The inebriation grew sweeter with every passing moment.
It had been a long time since he’d had such a wonderful drinking companion.
“So! How have I lived since then—”
Drinking. Talking.
“You’ve never tasted life and death, have you? In my eyes, this martial contest—”
Drinking. Talking.
“So what do you want to do? If I ask you that—”
Drinking. Talking.
In that way.
How much time had passed?
Moyong Wol-un, drunk and on the verge of dozing, watched Gwak Yeon listen so intently to his life story.
“…Hey.”
In the end, he had fallen for Gwak Yeon.
“Eh? What?”
“Here, take this.”
He tossed the Moyong Family’s token, reserved only for its favored ones.