The Return of the Crazy Demon-Chapter 243: We Headed West

As soon as we left the tripe stir-fry restaurant, the Drunk whispered to me.

“But why can’t that grand Martial Alliance catch someone like this?”

I wanted to point out that he had been notoriously uncaptured in his past life too, but I just sighed.

“Well, it’s not easy. It’s not like there’s only one wanted criminal. Some hide with face masks, others hole up in the mountains. Some might be hiding out with lovers. There are plenty of ways to disappear. So they spread wanted posters, wait for tips, and sometimes send Alliance members out. But the real problem is...”

The Drunk nodded.

“...that even if they do find them, most of the time the regular members can’t handle these guys?”

“Exactly.”

The Lecher chimed in.

“And it’s not like the Alliance Leader can go hunting them down himself. At that point, shouldn’t at least a division commander get involved? Master, do you know anything about this Mulungja?”

The Sword Demon shook his head.

“No idea. Seems like a more recently mentioned expert.”

To be honest, I didn’t remember anything about the name “Mulungja.” Maybe he wasn’t on the wanted list back in my past life? Even if he had been, he was probably already dead by the time I made it onto the list. I only started paying attention to other wanted criminals after I became one myself. Before that, I didn’t care. Not my problem.

Wait a minute.

I took the wanted poster back out and looked at the description of Mulungja’s appearance and clothing.

He looked kind of like a Taoist hermit.

The thing about these posters—they’re usually drawn based on witness reports or victim recollections, so they’re not that accurate.

I racked my brain—and then remembered.

I think I do remember who this Taoist guy was.

That guy who died... back then?

He definitely didn’t die by my hand.

I wasn’t strong enough.

But I clearly remembered the scene of Gwangseung beating a Taoist to death. If this guy is that Taoist, then he even fought Gwangseung pretty ferociously.

Which means Mulungja isn’t just some local black-path thug. Of course, someone like that wouldn’t end up on the wanted list in the first place.

Back then, I’d just assumed Gwangseung would win easily, and I watched from the side.

Mulungja’s expression in those final moments—he looked utterly shocked and confused.

Like: “Am I really dying here?”

At the time, Gwangseung would kill anyone he came across without so much as a word—whether walking down the road or eating a meal. Some of those people must’ve been wanted criminals too.

I thought it was insane behavior. But in hindsight, maybe it wasn’t entirely without reason. After all, those posters get plastered up everywhere, like wanted signs on a front gate.

Gwangseung was the type who never offered an explanation. So I hadn’t known much at the time.

Staring at Mulungja’s wanted poster, I said to the villains,

“Let’s go.”

The Drunk asked,

“Where to?”

“West.”

“Is that where Mulungja is?”

“Well, he’s called the Western Fiend, so west makes sense. If it were Eastern Peak, we’d head east.”

We walked slowly down the road.

The poster said he’d been spotted around Juksan, and from what I remembered, that was accurate.

Back then, I passed through Juksan on the way east with Gwangseung.

Now, we were heading west toward Juksan, which lies on the western side of the Martial Alliance. Many martial artists name themselves in reference to the Alliance’s position, which is probably how he got the moniker Western Fiend.

Like how my nickname in Baekdo was New Southern Six Dragons (Shinnam Yukryong).

The Lecher, who was one of those six with me, turned to the Drunk and asked,

“Is Juksan far from here?”

“It’s a decent distance.”

“Master, should we get a carriage?”

The Sword Demon looked at me.

“A carriage?”

I shook my head.

“Let’s walk.”

The Lecher recoiled in horror.

“Walk?! How long’s that gonna take?!”

I looked straight at him.

“If it’s slow, run, you bastard.”

“Talk to me when you make sense. Let’s not even talk.”

The Lecher sighed and turned to the Sword Demon.

“Why is Zaha always picking fights with me?”

The Sword Demon answered gravely.

“I want to do the same, but I often hold myself back.”

“...Right.”

I decided to be generous and opened my big mouth.

“Anyway, speaking of running...”

“......”

“If we raced using light footwork, what do you think the rankings would be?”

“......”

“It’d come down to me and the big brother up front, wouldn’t it? Honestly, I feel like I’m the fastest now. Aren’t I number one?”

I said it in a casual tone, but their reactions were strange.

When I looked back in surprise, all three of them had “What an idiot” looks on their faces.

The Sword Demon’s lips twitched upward.

The Drunk shook his head.

The Lecher gave a rotten smile.

I asked them,

“So you all agree, right?”

“Not even close.”

The Lecher snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the fastest. I’ve never even lost to Baek Eung-ji.”

The Drunk chimed in.

“Must’ve only been five guys in Baek Eung-ji who could run properly. And you were the best of them?”

The Sword Demon didn’t bother taking the bait. He just stayed silent, calm as always.

I turned to him.

“Senior, you’re focused on swordsmanship, so you’re a bit behind in light footwork, aren’t you?”

The Sword Demon looked at me.

“Lord, are you confident?”

I went all in with the provocation.

“Well, it was brief, but I did manage to shake off Cheonak, one of the Three Calamities. Let’s see if you can even glimpse my dust trail.”

As I was speaking, the villains pulled up beside me.

The Drunk looked straight ahead and said,

“Alright. Honestly, I don’t think I can win. But I’m not coming in last either. Let’s go long-distance. What should the loser do?”

The Lecher replied,

“The loser...”

As he was thinking, the Drunk suddenly burst ahead. The Sword Demon and I reacted instantly, launching into our footwork.

The Lecher leapt into the air and flew past all three °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of us, taking the lead.

We all scoffed simultaneously—

And just like that, the pace exploded. Surprisingly, the Lecher was the most nimble, followed by the Sword Demon, and the Drunk brought up the rear.

I kept pace from the back, observing.

Honestly, whether we kill this Western Fiend or not—who cares?

These villains don’t feel a thing about cutting down one more man.

What matters is this journey—me leading them to wherever Mulungja is hiding.

Maybe that’s what Gwangseung was thinking when he took me toward the eastern seas.

Back then, I didn’t understand that the journey matters more than the destination.

Same here—I don’t care who wins this stupid footwork race. As long as the Lecher comes in last, it’s all good.

Trip him, elbow him, attack with ice arts from behind—whatever works, the Lecher must lose. That’s why I ran leisurely at the back.

“When we hit the main road, there’ll be a waystation where escort bureaus rest. Let’s stop there for a bit.”

The Lecher and the Drunk both replied,

“Got it.”

Half a gak later, the Sword Demon pushed into the lead.

The Lecher followed behind him.

As expected, the Drunk was the slowest. I ran beside him and gave him some “encouragement.”

“You’re too slow.”

“Shut up.”

“You wanna be the youngest now?”

“No?”

“Last place becomes the youngest.”

Strangely, the Drunk’s speed gradually increased. I offered him a tip, just as the Beggars’ Sect Leader had taught me.

“Your internal energy isn’t flowing properly into your footwork.”

He looked puzzled mid-run.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re putting too much force in your legs, so your posture floats. Adjust it. You’re not slow because you lack internal energy—you just don’t know how to run. Honestly, you’re worse than the kid who shits himself.”

“Damn it.”

I switched to Jeunjong, the footwork that may have come from either me or the White-Robed Scholar—I couldn’t even tell anymore. I passed the Drunk easily.

Looks like he’d end up last in round one.

But that didn’t matter.

As long as I wasn’t last.

I caught up to the Lecher and silently passed him, shooting him the most irritating smirk in the world. His eyes widened in shock.

“You’ve gotten faster?”

By now, my footwork was a fusion of the White-Robed Scholar’s and the Beggars’ Sect Leader’s techniques. No way this little shit could keep up.

After overtaking him, I closed in on the Sword Demon. It wasn’t hard.

But I had no intention of passing him, so I kept a modest gap and aimed for the waystation.

***

The waystation was originally a place for switching out tired horses—essential for escort companies. Naturally, they had food, horses, wagons for sale, and maintenance.

We arrived in order: Sword Demon, me, Lecher, Drunk.

The Drunk, clearly wounded in pride, kept his mouth shut. No fun in teasing him like that.

So I didn’t tease him.

After a light meal, I bought a used wagon, two horses, and a blank flag.

I’d been so erratic lately that even buying a wagon or dragging horses around didn’t get much reaction anymore.

I jammed a pole into the roof and watched the fabric flap in the wind.

“...What should we name this escort bureau?”

The Drunk turned around and asked,

“Why are we playing escort bureau all of a sudden?”

“Shut up. If the name’s too grand, it’ll be boring. Think of something decent.”

The Lecher answered.

“How about Pungun Escort Bureau?”

I pointed at him.

“Nice. Go back to the flag stand and have it painted.”

I tossed the flag to him. He looked to the Sword Demon, who added a word.

“Go quickly.”

“Yes, Master.”

We sat outside the inn like a bunch of hooligans while waiting for the errand boy. Soon, the Lecher returned with the flag that read Pungun Escort Bureau in black ink.

“Master, let’s go.”

As we headed for the wagon, I assigned everyone a role.

“Big Brother, you’ll be the head of the Pungun Escort Bureau.”

“......”

“Yukhap, you’ll be Chief Escort Leader. I’ll be the Lead Escort. Take note.”

The Lecher, holding the flag, looked at me anxiously.

“What about me?”

“You’re the coachman. Just drive the damn cart straight. You’re also the quartermaster. You’re welcome.”

The Lecher looked like he was about to cuss me out, but made eye contact with his master and silently climbed up to the driver’s seat.

The Drunk, still a bit annoyed, sat beside him.

“Drive properly.”

Reins in hand, the Lecher announced,

“Departing now. Pungun Escort Bureau wagon bound for the Western Fiend. Let’s go, folks!”

I nodded.

“Good. He’s finally lost it. Senior, please get inside.”

I helped the Sword Demon up.

“What about you?”

“I’ll ride on the roof or follow by foot using light footwork.”

“...Why?”

“I’ll switch with you if I get tired. I need to train my footwork.”

“Fair enough.”

***

Balanced on the jostling roof, I clicked my tongue at the Lecher who was rough with the reins.

“Taking out your anger on the horses? You bastard.”

The Drunk nodded.

“Loser.”

Had the Drunk secretly lived to bully the Lecher all this time? He treated him with delightful disdain.

People grow like this, little by little. Once he cheered up, the Drunk occasionally started singing old, boring tunes.

I felt strange.

At some point, these Four Great Evildoers stopped arguing with my decisions.

An old, chipped wagon.

Two horses that looked like they’d been scammed off a dealer.

The Drunk singing random folk songs.

The Lecher grumbling while driving.

The Sword Demon, brooding deeply inside.

And me, sometimes hopping down from the roof to practice light footwork.

When else would I get the chance to train like this?

Whether we were off to kill a wanted criminal, travel with villains, or improve my skills—I didn’t draw lines between them.

We were heading west, the way Gwangseung once took me east.

East or west—none of it mattered anymore.