Chapter 18
Choi Ho couldn’t believe it.
This is impossible.
Was this a dream, or reality?
A dream—of course it had to be. There was no way something this magical could happen in real life.
How can someone possess martial arts like that…?!
Moyong Bi’s movements were simple yet efficient.
Despite charging straight into a forest of blades, he showed not the slightest hesitation. With short, snapping strikes and pushing motions of his staff, his opponents collapsed in an instant.
When distance opened up, he gripped the wooden staff long and swung it down. When the fight closed in, he shortened his grip and struck repeatedly—motions that looked strangely effortless.
But Choi Ho knew better.
What looked simple and easy was the result of tens of thousands of repetitions.
Those who learned martial arts half-heartedly moved in flashy, cluttered ways. True masters, however, were concise and precise.
A… a master of staff techniques?!
Did the Moyong family even have staff techniques? Weren’t they supposed to only have a few mediocre sword forms left?
And even if they did—why was that scrawny young master so absurdly strong?!
“Why aren’t you coming?”
“…!”
“Fine. Then I’ll come to you.”
Moyong Bi rested the wooden staff on his shoulder and started walking.
The moment Choi Ho instinctively flinched and stepped back—
“Khk!”
Moyong Bi suddenly doubled over, coughing violently.
“Cough, cough! Khk!”
It sounded like he was about to choke to death.
Confusion crossed Choi Ho’s face. What the hell is that lunatic doing now?
“Khk! Hraaagh! Ptoo!”
A mouthful of blood sprayed out.
Moyong Bi’s face turned pale.
Wait—that’s…?!
Blood vomiting, pallor, a faint tremor in his hands. Anyone could tell—internal injuries.
Choi Ho’s expression immediately brightened.
So he finally overdid it!
Of course. No matter how skilled you were, a body like that couldn’t escape damage.
When stamina was abysmal, even slightly intense movement could injure the body. In severe cases, it led to breathing difficulties or internal injuries.
That bastard was in exactly that condition.
This is it!
This was his chance. If Moyong Bi was like this, Choi Ho had to make a decision.
So he did.
He ran.
Bang!
Choi Ho turned and sprinted toward the hall leader’s chamber. He planned to escape through a secret passage he’d prepared in advance.
Why run when the enemy was coughing up blood?
Like hell I can beat him!
From Choi Ho’s perspective, Moyong Bi was on a completely different level.
Stamina? Internal energy? None of that mattered. Even if that man suddenly collapsed or took a blade to the gut, it would still be a question whether to engage him or not.
In Choi Ho’s estimation, Moyong Bi was at least on par with the first-rate experts of the Ten Sword Sect or the Hong Sword Clan—at worst, someone who required the sect leader himself to suppress.
His internal energy and stamina are weak, but his understanding of martial arts and raw strength far surpass mine.
In a prolonged battle, Choi Ho might win. The problem was whether such a battle could even happen.
He was a monster who had sent a grown man flying with a single strike. Against power like that, speed and finesse were meaningless.
Escape is possible! I just need to get away as fast as—!
That was when—
“B–Boss?!”
Choi Ho’s face twisted.
You useless bastard!
Standing there awkwardly with a tray of liquor and snacks was Cheongpae.
Even while running for his life, Choi Ho was dumbfounded. Had that idiot not heard the brutal sounds echoing from beyond the main gate?
“You weren’t in your office, so… I brought the drinks…”
“You moron! Is this the time for drinks?!”
“Y–Yes?!”
“Go to the office and grab the valuables first—!”
That was when—
Whooooom!
A chilling sound came from behind.
A shiver ran down Choi Ho’s spine. Acting purely on instinct, he rolled across the ground.
Rip!
Something tore through the back of his clothes and embedded itself in the floor.
Bang!
“H–Huh?!”
Bang? What the hell had he thrown?
Choi Ho snapped his head up, his face draining of color.
The wooden staff was stuck diagonally into the ground—snapped clean in half from the middle.
If he hadn’t dodged, his back would have been pierced straight through.
What kind of insane strength is that?!
Wasn’t his stamina and internal energy supposed to be trash?
Sure, his raw strength was impressive—but throwing a man flying? That shouldn’t be possible!
“Who the hell are you?!”
Clang!
Cheongpae drew his sword and glared at Moyong Bi.
“Haah… haah… damn it!”
Moyong Bi, somehow having chased them this far, clutched his knee.
Damn it! This is ridiculous!
Destroying the Black Tiger Gang only required a tenth of his internal energy.
The real problem was stamina.
He’d tried to move as gently as possible, but the recoil had still spread through his entire body. His vitality had already been damaged—now he’d even suffered internal injuries.
He tried stabilizing himself with Hunwon True Energy, but his body refused to cooperate. The root problem was physical.
Worse yet, he could now feel alcohol poisoning he hadn’t noticed before.
Khk!
Dormant alcohol energy stirred awake. Liquor that had sunk deeper than his own vitality began seeping through the cracks in his damaged internal energy.
Just how much did this body drink for the alcohol to sink deeper than its own vitality?!
It didn’t end there.
Sssss—
An unpleasant sensation followed as a pale haze wrapped around his body.
He felt drunk—despite not drinking.
Even Moyong Bi, who had experienced countless bizarre situations through martial arts, had never encountered anything like this.
“Khk! Heh… this might actually be good.”
Strangely, as the old liquor energy surged up, the pain diminished.
His stomach churned, yet his limbs felt lighter. His eyes unfocused, his body relaxed, and the pallor in his face slowly turned red.
He looked exactly like a drunken madman.
“Hey, stop running already. It’s embarrassing for a gang leader to act like this.”
With hiccups mixed into his speech, he sounded like a complete drunk.
To Choi Ho, that made him even more terrifying.
A man who could throw a wooden staff into the ground—and now he was staggering around laughing?
He’s really insane!
He’d believe it if someone said the man practiced demonic martial arts.
Fear crushed his heart, and the last scraps of rationality disappeared.
“Aaaaargh!”
Choi Ho bolted forward without thinking.
Moyong Bi grinned and gave chase.
“You bastard!”
Still unaware of the situation, Cheongpae swung his sword at Moyong Bi.
He might have been stupid, but there was a reason Choi Ho had made him his third-in-command. The heavy slicing sound of the blade was sharp and dangerous.
“Oops!”
With an excited shout, Moyong Bi ducked and grabbed both of Cheongpae’s hands, launching himself into the air.
“H–Huh?!”
Following Moyong Bi’s body, Cheongpae’s arms and sword twisted.
For a moment, his vision spun.
I—I’m airborne?
Moyong Bi’s foot stepped onto the back of his knee, draining all strength from it, forcing Cheongpae’s upper body backward.
Landing lightly, Moyong Bi twisted his entire body, using centrifugal force.
Whooom! Crack!
Cheongpae was slammed headfirst into the ground. His thick neck bent at a right angle under the weight of his muscular body.
A broken cervical spine. Instant death.
Just moments ago, Cheongpae had been celebrating his promotion to second-in-command after Gahang’s escape.
“Hop.”
Moyong Bi snatched the sword from Cheongpae’s twitching hand and spun again.
It looked like a drunken dance—but the motion was faster and more powerful than the slam before.
The sword flew.
Its target was Choi Ho.
Thud!
“Aaaaagh!”
The sword embedded itself deep into Choi Ho’s thigh, dropping him on the spot.
Bang! Crack!
He smashed face-first into the stairs leading up to the office.
His nose shattered. His front teeth scattered across the floor.
The sudden impact left him barely conscious.
“Ugh… dizzy.”
Staggering, Moyong Bi noticed a liquor bottle on the floor.
It was half broken, but still held a fair amount of alcohol—viciously strong liquor.
Licking his lips, he drank without hesitation.
“Khah!”
From throat to stomach, it burned like a vertical line of fire. If he burped, he might breathe fire like a mythical demon dragon.
Just as he considered trying, Moyong Bi snapped back to his senses.
What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?!
No wonder people called him the Mad Demon.
He slapped his own face several times and circulated Hunwon True Energy.
Woooooong.
It couldn’t restore his stamina or heal his internal injuries immediately, but it could expel old alcohol toxins and the fresh liquor energy.
That was the effect of Brain-Gate Heart Technique.
Whoosh!
Sweat drenched his body instantly.
“Haaaah!”
As the alcohol wore off, his body sagged.
Fatigue surged back twice as hard. His injured body had been flooded with strong liquor—his organs felt like they were burning, and a metallic taste of blood rose in his throat.
Perfect.
If the drunkenness had dulled the pain before, now the pain sharpened his mind.
He’d likely be the first martial artist in history to use alcohol energy this efficiently.
“Ghh…”
Holding his head, Moyong Bi approached Choi Ho.
Choi Ho froze, barely breathing.
A dark shadow completely covered the staircase.
“W–Wait!”
“Hm?”
“…!”
“What do you mean, wait?”
“P–Pardon?”
“Oh. The sword?”
Moyong Bi gripped the hilt.
Schk.
“Aaaaaaah!”
As the sword was pulled free, blood gushed from Choi Ho’s leg.
He instinctively crawled up the stairs, desperate to escape.
Smirking, Moyong Bi poked several spots on Choi Ho’s back with his fingers.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each touch spread numbness outward.
In moments, Choi Ho’s entire upper body was paralyzed.
He couldn’t even scream.
“D–Don’t tell me… pressure-point technique?!”
“Oh? You’ve experienced it before?”
A monster.
Not only was his staff mastery terrifying, but he casually used pressure-point techniques that even elite martial families struggled to master—hitting three paralysis points instantly.
Who was this man?
Had he been pretending to be a drunk all this time, hiding his fangs like a sleeping dragon?
“I usually like talking face-to-face, but today I’ll settle for your back. I don’t want to look a leader worse than children in the eye.”
“P–Please spare me!”
“Why would I kill you when we’re not done calculating yet?”
“…What?”
“What, you don’t want to give me my money?”
At that moment, Choi Ho understood Gahang.
“Oh! You don’t need to repay anything!”
Moyong Bi frowned.
“Is that Black Tiger Gang tradition? Lending money without collecting it? No wonder you haven’t gone bankrupt already.”
“It’s fine! Take everything! I’ll give you all the gold I’ve saved—just please, spare my life!”
“All the gold you’ve saved is at least a hundred thousand nyang, right?”
“…What?”
“You owe me a hundred thousand nyang.”
“….”
“My original debt was 1,080 nyang. One day passed, so let’s just round it up to 2,000. Calculating down to tens and coins would be petty, right?”
“Y–Yes, sir!”
“So the total you owe comes to about 98,000 nyang… but come on, that sounds cheap. Aren’t you a manly leader?”
“100,000 nyang! I’ll give you 100,000 nyang!”
As he cried out, Choi Ho realized—
So this is how Gahang got fleeced.
Now he understood that look of injustice on Gahang’s face.
He’d beaten Gahang senseless, calling him a despicable criminal for embezzling public funds—yet here he was, finally understanding that man’s despair.
“Truly the Black Tiger Gang leader. Your generosity is on another level compared to some site manager.”
Moyong Bi sat on the step beside Choi Ho’s head.
“But hasn’t it been a while since you threw trash at me?”
“…?”
“What I mean is—we still need to calculate interest. I’d rather take cash, but if you cough up a hundred thousand, you’ll have nothing left. So let’s substitute with something else.”
Moyong Bi’s expression grew lazy.
“Where did you stash the bundle of IOUs?”
