The battlefield lay silent behind him, littered with blood and broken armor.
The drunk man staggered forward, wine dripping from his beard.
He walked without direction, without purpose—just moving because stopping meant remembering.
He took another swig.
Then another.
His steps wobbled.
His breath hitched.
And suddenly—
He stopped.
The wind tugged at his ragged robes.
His shoulders drooped.
His body swayed.
"…Ah…"
He blinked slowly, as if remembering something important.
"Oh—"
His lips curled into a crooked, drunken grin.
"—maybe I should go look for good old Dapang!"
His voice lifted with sudden cheer, completely out of place among the corpses.
"That fatty should still be alive somewhere…"
He nodded to himself, swaying.
"Yes, yes… FAT as ever—he can help me!"
A mad, tearful laugh left his throat.
"He can help me exact revenge… for our sworn brother…"
His voice softened.
"…Fang Yuan…"
His smile turned sad.
Then sharp.
