The Lecher pulled out the Muga Dagger from his sleeve and said,

“So it’s just the two of you, huh?”

The Yin-Yang Clan Masters chuckled.

As the twins simultaneously stepped forward, the Lecher stepped back in perfect rhythm and said,

“You two came to Dongho as well, didn’t you?”

“......”

“So your targets from the start were me and the third one. Because of the Ice Arts...”

Placing his right hand behind his back, the Lecher infused the Muga Dagger with Ice Arts. A white longsword formed slowly from the blade, frozen solid as it rose.

With a chilling grin, the Lecher unfolded the Laughter-Hidden Sword technique through Ice Arts—smiling like an Ice God.

As the twin Yin-Yang Clan Masters lunged at him...

The Lecher dug his left foot into the ground and released a sweeping burst of force with his left palm, almost like a misting spray rather than wind or energy—cold vapor shrouding their vision.

The twins responded in perfect sync.

While they swung their sleeves to scatter the mist, the Lecher closed the distance and thrust his dagger, simultaneously redirecting the approaching energy from the left.

Whack!

The Yin-Yang Clan Masters staggered back.

The one who clashed with the force clenched his fist and shattered the clinging cold.

The other, whose hand had been pierced by the suddenly extended Muga Dagger, stared in disbelief at his palm.

It was a successful ambush in a single exchange.

The Yin-Yang Clan Masters stared at the Lecher, bewildered. From the clash of force, their internal energy had seemed evenly matched—but to suffer such a crushing blow was staggering.

The Lecher muttered to himself,

“Would’ve been fun to torture them before killing...”

One of the twins soared into the air while the other kicked off the ground and charged in.

The Lecher conserved his energy, swinging the Muga Dagger with minimal internal flow while the Yin-Yang Clan Masters poured force from both flanks in an attempt to surround him.

He quickly realized their intention—they weren’t aiming to kill, but to capture him. They were here to drain his Extreme Yin Energy. Even though the skirmish had only just begun, blood from the pierced one was already soaking into the Lecher’s clothes.

He wondered why scholars aligned with the literary faction like the Yin-Yang Clan Masters would wield demonic techniques for internal energy extraction. But then again, with a name like “Yin-Yang Clan Masters,” perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

The Lecher kept focusing on evasion while preserving his energy. He only unleashed power or used the dagger when needed to intercept attacks.

He was studying their martial styles—their movement habits, coordination, and how complete their joint techniques were.

In an instant, the alley wall shattered under their force, and the ground cracked from their footwork, yet the Lecher stayed calm throughout the fight.

He could have whistled or shouted with internal energy to call for his master or Second Brother, but the longer the fight went on, the less he felt like calling for help.

Even he didn’t know why.

From childhood, the idea of losing to anyone had simply never crossed his mind—so he just kept fighting.

Suddenly, a faint snap—silver wires shot out from the twins’ sleeves, thin as silk but made of steel. As the wires lashed out, the hems of the Lecher’s clothes were sliced apart.

The wires reflected moonlight, but oddly enough, this made them harder to see.

They were likely weapons used to bind necks, wrists, or ankles—sometimes thrown, sometimes looped.

The Lecher occasionally sprayed out cold mist to scatter them, but every time the wires moved, they dispersed the mist again.

Then, one wire looped tightly around the Muga Dagger.

Before they could pull it taut, the Lecher flung the dagger into the air, then struck the hilt with palm force.

Whack!

Screech!

One of the twins jerked his head back just in time as the dagger embedded into a wall.

Now empty-handed, the Lecher thrust both palms forward. His hands turned pure white, and the Yin-Yang Clan Masters immediately braced themselves.

But it was a feint.

Without releasing any power, the Lecher let his arms drop and smirked at them.

“......”

He already knew he could pierce one of their chests with Ice Arts alone. But the aftermath was the problem. If he killed them like this, he couldn’t interrogate them. That was the dilemma.

Glancing past them, the Lecher asked,

“...Where’s Master?”

At that moment, only the right twin glanced slightly behind. The Lecher locked eyes with the left one and clasped his hands together.

Clack!

With his palms joined, both index fingers protruded like swords. Twin currents of cold burst from his palms and extended through his fingers like piercing blades.

“No—!”

Thwack!

This time, the cold energy surged at its peak, forming a beam-like ice blade that pierced the right twin’s neck in an instant.

“Guh...!”

Even so, the right twin managed to raise a hand—but it was pointless. His hand and throat were both pierced.

The left twin whipped his steel wire in defense, but he was a beat too late. The Lecher surged forward, blasted force with his left palm, and stomped on the man’s foot with his left foot.

Despite clutching his neck, the twin struck back like a ghost.

Even in the chaos, the Lecher unfolded the Ice God Steps—a technique named by his third brother—and swung both hands.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

From his joined index and middle fingers, icy sword auras shot out. Each time they shattered against the enemy’s body, the energy regenerated as if his fingers had grown new blades.

Dodging the twin’s flailing counterattacks, the Lecher kept pressing forward—slashing at their legs, arms, chest, face, and eyes. At first, the wounds bled like they’d been ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) stabbed with awls, but the twin soon began flailing.

His movements slowed—he was about to freeze over.

By now, the Lecher was drenched in their blood. Only once he was soaked entirely in red did he stop, and ask:

“Old men—don’t even know why you lost, do you?”

“......”

One had collapsed, clutching his pierced throat. The other had fallen to his knees. Their faces showed less fear than confusion. They hadn’t been defeated by martial arts—but by Ice Arts.

He circled slowly around them and asked,

“Who sent you? Did they say to kill the youngest first? No answers, huh. Were you threatened?”

The kneeling twin finally spoke.

“...Enemy in disguise...”

But before he could finish, his mouth froze open.

The Lecher struck his head with a palm, crushing it.

Then he stepped on the neck of the other, ending him as well.

Having killed both Yin-Yang Clan Masters, the Lecher looked around like a prowling alley cat and muttered,

“...Enemy in disguise? Who the hell is that?”

It was a mutter. No one answered.

Staring at the corpses, he quietly retrieved the Muga Dagger embedded in the wall and headed home.

***

When he arrived, a crowd spilled out to meet him. It seemed a family meeting was in progress, as people kept pouring out of the wide-open main hall. Eventually, the Clan Head and his half-brother appeared, both staring in shock.

The Lecher stood in blood-soaked white clothes—an outfit the third brother had bought him.

Lord Mongbi of the Wind-and-Cloud Mong Clan stared, mouth half-open, at his second son.

“...What the hell is this mess?”

The Lecher bowed once and replied,

“I was ambushed on the way back. This is the result.”

He looked slowly at his father, half-brother, and all the gathered relatives. Not one of them asked if he was hurt. That alone made him laugh.

His half-brother, lacking even a shred of brotherly affection, snapped,

“You’re laughing?”

The Lecher sighed and said,

“I’ll explain after I change and wash—”

Lord Mongbi exploded,

“What the hell have you been doing out there?! As if drinking and chasing women wasn’t enough—now you’re murdering people?!”

The Lecher’s face hardened as he looked at his father.

“How did you know? I’ve killed countless people. That’s life in Jianghu.”

“I can’t show my face to the generals because of you!”

The Lecher gave a bitter smile.

“Clan Lord, is there even a country anymore? Are there even generals? Wake up from your dreams. Do you really think you’re still a general? What kind of general has never gone to war?”

The room turned icy cold.

The Lecher had only come to collect money and belongings—but in that moment, his long-held feelings crystallized.

“Clan Lord, from this point on, I, Mong Yeon, will no longer use the surname Mong. Remove me from the family registry. I bring shame to your prestigious Wind-and-Cloud Mong Clan, wandering around causing trouble. Be sure to tell your fellow great generals that you disowned your second son.”

“You’re leaving the clan?”

“Isn’t that better for everyone? I was the unwanted son anyway. Leaving is the natural choice.”

Lord Mongbi said coldly,

“Even if you leave, leave behind the Jade Flower Ice Arts.”

The Lecher’s face went pale as he glared at the Clan Head.

“......”

He bit down a flood of curses.

These bastards have lost their minds.

Eyes blazing with rage, he stared down each of his relatives. The room fell deathly silent.

If he beat them now, his master might kill him.

Barely suppressing his fury, he said,

“Clan Lord, the Jade Flower Ice Arts were given to me by my mother. There’s no reason to return it to the clan. It was passed down verbally—there’s no way to hand it over. Still, if you’re so desperate for it, beat me to death and take it. I’ll be leaving with only my mother’s keepsakes, so let’s not exchange any more harsh words. What a truly shameless clan.”

He headed toward his room and told the servants blocking his way:

“Out of the way. Unless you want to die.”

The path opened.

His room was at the far right end of the estate—the most distant from the main hall. Naturally, it was surrounded by the living quarters of household staff. They were called servants, but in truth, they were no better than slaves of the Wind-and-Cloud Mong Clan.

As a child, he had often wondered why life was so wretched. But after wandering the world, he realized—this wasn’t unusual.

He had just been unlucky.

After all, one can’t choose their family.

But he was now old enough to choose his own path.

Back in his room for the first time in ages, he grabbed a cloth bundle and packed only what mattered—childhood trinkets, his mother’s keepsakes, gold, and anything of value.

Despite deciding to leave, he felt no sadness.

He stripped off his blood-soaked clothes and changed into one of the outfits he often wore when playing around with women in Baek Eung-ji.

Only then did he realize why he’d hated the White Path bastards since childhood.

But that too felt pointless now.

There were men like Im Sobaek, and then there were Clan Lords like his father. You couldn’t blame the entire White Path.

Alone in the room, he whispered goodbye.

“Mother, I’m leaving.”

Shouldering his bundle, the Lecher parted with the Wind-and-Cloud Mong Clan for good.

It was for the best—if he left, the clan wouldn’t be dragged into the petty or grand dramas of Jianghu.

At the main gate, he spoke with a voice laced with internal energy:

“...Farewell, Wind-and-Cloud Mong Clan.”

He kicked open the gate and muttered,

“The scoundrel enjoyed himself. I’m off.”

As he walked down the alley—somehow narrower than he remembered from childhood—he let out a deep, long breath.

When the Lecher arrived at the Sword Demon’s place with his bundle slung over his back, his master and Second Brother were already in the yard, silently watching him.

The Sword Demon, smelling blood, scanned him from head to toe and asked,

“...Are you hurt?”

The Lecher replied,

“No.”

The Drunk followed up,

“Have you eaten?” 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

“Not yet.”

The Drunk gestured toward the platform with his chin.

“Sit down.”

The Lecher sat on the low platform and finally let out a steady breath.

Even though the smell of blood lingered, neither asked what had happened right away.

As the Drunk went inside to prepare food, the Sword Demon looked at the Lecher and said,

“Wash up and eat. I don’t know whose blood that is, but...”

The Lecher stood and replied,

“Yes. It’s not the clan’s. I was ambushed on the way.”

The Sword Demon nodded.

“Of course it wasn’t the clan.”

“Yes.”

The Lecher walked to the back and began wiping the blood off his face and body.

Strangely, he realized—maybe it was only the Four Villains who ever treated him like a person.

Then again, if he hadn’t held back and ended up beating his relatives...

Neither the Four Villains nor the White Path would’ve seen him as human.

He let out a long sigh.

'I held it in... somehow.'