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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Blood Demon, Returns (2)
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Noodle came at him with quite some spirit.
But even so, it was nothing more than clumsy punches from someone who hadn't learned any martial arts, let alone how to fight properly.
The moment the guy raised his fist, before he could even thrust it out, I lightly grabbed his hand.
"This...!"
Noodle, pissed that his hand had been caught before he could even attack, put all his strength into shaking off my grip.
And I felt annoyed that a mere punk like him had managed to pull free.
Slap.
With a sharp crack, my hand struck Noodle's cheek fiercely.
He clutched his slapped cheek, eyes wide in disbelief as he stared at me.
Slap.
That look in his eyes pissed me off too.
"No way, did you just hit me?"
Slap.
After three slaps to the cheek, Noodle assumed a stance to charge again.
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
He tried throwing punches, lunging to tackle me down, even slapping back—but in the end, he couldn't do a damn thing except take slap after slap.
Blocking an opponent's moves with concise, minimal actions is the foundation of martial arts. The gap between a guy who hadn't even learned the basics and me, who'd spent decades honing them, was obvious without needing to see it.
"S-sorry...!"
Finally, after charging at me relentlessly and taking sixteen slaps, Noodle quieted down. With his face all swollen, that annoying mug of his looked a bit more satisfying now.
"Hm, now you've got some dough to work with."
Maybe I had a knack for kneading Noodle dough after all.
"So, what's your name?"
"D-Dongcheol, sir."
Ah, so this was Dongcheol. Back in this era, was I so damn weak that even trash like him could beat on me?
"Uh, may I ask your name...?"
"It's Yi Sowol. After a few slaps, you forget the name you heard yesterday?"
"You just seem so different from yesterday..."
Slap.
"Wh-why'd you hit me?"
"'Cause getting beat yesterday pissed me off."
Part of me wanted to kill every last one of those vermin who'd tormented me in the past...
Ha, no, hold it in.
It was all in the old days, and I'd sworn not to live as the Blood Demon this time around.
"Anyway, Noodle—no, Dongcheol. Where are your friends?"
"R-right now, they're probably setting up a drinking spread back at our place."
"A drinking spread? In this starving beggar village?"
These beggar bastards had some luck. Not that they were just 'beggar-like'—they were actual beggars.
"Lead the way."
"Pardon?"
"I said lead the way."
If beggars could get lucky, why couldn't I?
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Following Dongcheol into the rundown house, sure enough, a dozen or so beggars were gathered around a drinking spread.
Some wore ragged, threadbare clothes like mine; others had slightly cleaner ones. Come to think of it, Dongcheol was dressed pretty decently too. I'd have to take it later.
"What the hell's the crazy bastard doing here?"
The burliest of the beggars who spotted me stood up and strode over. Everyone else was skin and bones from malnutrition, but this guy had some meat on him—clearly the boss around here.
The beggars with the drinks seemed to trust the big lug, content to snicker and watch from behind.
"Did all your brain nutrients go to your muscles? Shut your trap, read the room, and let me in."
Overwhelmed by my presence, he glanced between Dongcheol and me, sensing the weird vibe.
"If you're not gonna let me in, I'll just come myself."
Slap.
"Y-you crazy fuck."
Only after the slap did the pig-headed bastard's face flush red, charging at me looking even more like a pig.
I deflected his hand grabbing for my collar at the wrist, then slammed my elbow into the pig's throat.
Thud.
"Gahk."
As the pig clutched his throat, drool spilling while he collapsed, the onlookers finally got the picture and stood up.
"Fucking moron relying on his size to act tough."
I shook off my hands and glared sharply at the rest of the beggar trash.
Their king pig and Noodle had been smacked down without a fight; even beggars had to realize by now they stood no chance...
"Ch-charge!!"
Was it because there were no Beggars' Sect folks around? The level of these beggars was rock bottom.
Thump.
Thud.
Crack.
"Haa, can't you idiots learn you're no match before getting beat?"
After giving each beggar a fair smack, I picked up the gaoliang liquor on the table.
Spicy, bitter, way too harsh—cheap rotgut that wouldn't cost three coppers at any market stall.
It was exactly like the swill I'd drunk after emerging penniless from a decade of secluded training, vowing to get stronger.
Back then, I'd beaten down third-rate unorthodox punks causing trouble in the streets and stolen their booze. Beating dog-like bastards and swiping their drinks made even cheap booze taste special.
"Alright, let's get started then."
I drained a bottle of gaoliang right there and swept my eyes over the beggars. Now they ducked their heads at a mere glance—training complete.
The ancients were never wrong.
A good beating is the best medicine.
"You there, Pig. I know you're awake. Get up."
The pig, who'd passed out first and faked it, scrambled up at my words and rushed over.
"You called, sir?"
Slap.
"A beating is medicine. Your slapped cheek hurt, so I gave you some—be grateful."
"Y-yes, sir..."
Seeing the pig force a grin even after the slap, yeah, the ancients were spot on every time.
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"So, I'm nineteen now, and no martial artists have come to Xining in years?"
The pig nodded vigorously.
Nineteen. I'd figured as much, but I'd gone back pretty far. If the Alliance hadn't sent anyone, they must not know the Demonic Cult was gearing up for war yet.
In a year, once I passed twenty, war would erupt between the righteous sects and the Demonic Cult. Xining, bordering Demonic Cult territory on the edge of the central plains, would become the most dangerous frontline.
In my past life, I'd volunteered as a lowly Alliance soldier to evacuate Wolhyang to safety. Soldier my ass—I was just cannon fodder at the vanguard.
But I survived, rose to lead the Dragon Phoenix Corps. Ironically, that cost me Wolhyang—the very reason I'd gone to war.
I'd never feel that helplessness again.
For the next year, my goal was to get stronger. So no one precious could ever be taken from me again.
"Uh, what should we do now...?"
One beggar kneeling behind the pig asked.
"What do you mean 'what'? Keep living your gutless lives."
"Ah..."
"Same as always. When moronic unorthodox punks stir shit and hide in the slums, kiss their asses for scraps. Like the spineless losers you are..."
Come to think of it, these guys hung out with some unorthodox types regularly.
"Hey, you still meeting those Fallen Ghosts Pavilion bastards?"
The Fallen Ghosts Pavilion was a martial group based in Xining, beyond the Murim Alliance's reach on the central plains' fringe.
Martial group my foot—they extorted protection money from locals under the guise of defending against the Demonic Cult, turned a blind eye when their tributary unorthodox thugs ran rampant. Scum of the scum.
They acted like street thugs, but their martial arts were real, so Xining folk just kept quiet about them.
"Uh..."
"What? Speak up."
"If it's Fallen Ghosts Pavilion, they came here yesterday, so they're probably still nearby."
Yesterday?
Ah, now I remembered.
Around this time, Fallen Ghosts Pavilion goons had hidden in the slums, bumped into me, and told Dongcheol to 'educate' my insolent eyes.
That was yesterday, and this drinking spread was their payoff.
To think I'd been beaten like a dog just for glaring at scum not even worth calling unorthodox. Still pissed me off.
"I'll come back tomorrow, so wait here and guide me to the Fallen Ghosts Pavilion bastards when I do."
"What're you planning?"
"What else? Teach the fuckers even dogs bark when you hit 'em."
"You should quit while you're ahead."
A gloomy-faced beggar, who'd kept his mouth shut till now, finally spoke.
"I get you've suddenly gotten strong, but Fallen Ghosts Pavilion's different. Those guys have real martial arts."
"You ever seen them fight even once?"
"No, but..."
"Then how do you know they're stronger than me?"
"Well, obviously 'cause they learned martial arts..."
That's how people are.
Even idiots wise up after a beating, but if you bully them slow and steady instead, they lose the will to fight back without realizing it.
Convinced they'll never win.
Even when the opponent's just another beggar not worth calling a martial artist.
"Listen, you idiot. Even if they learned martial arts, that trash—you all charging together could barely take one down. If you lot couldn't lay a finger on me, you think I'd lose to them?"
The beggar who'd warned me clamped his mouth shut. His eyes were so lifeless, it was pitiful just looking at him.
"Sigh, at least you're better. The others are just trembling in fear, but you know to warn me. What's your name?"
"Taeu. Orphan since birth, so no family name."
"Taeu, no one's born an orphan. If you resent your parents for ditching you, make up your own surname."
Taeu lifted her lifeless eyes, staring straight into mine clearly.
Her gaze felt kinda heavy.
"Anyway, this food's what I got as payback for my beating, so I'm taking it. Any complaints, step up."
Watching the beggars hang their heads silently frustrated me, so I quietly packed the food and headed home.
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"Why're you so late!"
By the time I got back to the house with Wolhyang, the sun had already set.
Maybe because I'd worried her rotten that morning, she yelled the second I opened the door.
"Sorry, sorry. But I brought back plenty to eat, like I promised."
"What'd you bring so much of?"
I laid out the dried jerky and pork rinds I'd gathered.
Not exactly gourmet, but enough to fill your mouth.
"Huh? This is meat? Where'd you get all this?"
Wolhyang cheered at foods even poor commoners rarely ate.
Makes sense—this was back when we boiled grass gruel every day.
"From now on, I'll make sure we eat feasts so fancy you won't touch crap like this."
Wolhyang looked happy at my words but shot me a worried glance.
Probably fretting if I'd stolen it or something.
Technically I took it, but it was rightful compensation for my beating. Fair trade.
"Thanks, bro."
But Wolhyang just beamed her usual bright smile.
She must have a ton of questions, but she just trusts and smiles at me.
Chewing a piece of dried jerky slowly, very slowly, I savored that smile.
A quiet warmth rose over the cold floor.