For the first time in a while, I walked alone.

While internal energy could be restored through breathing techniques, and muscles through rest, something less tangible—something mental or spiritual—seemed to require solitude to recover.

That was just how I felt.

Whether it was the soul or the mind, I gave myself time to heal by walking slowly.

I could’ve gone to Baek Eung-ji and regrouped with the Four Villains.

I could’ve gone to Ilyang County and rested a few days.

But instead, I left Baekun Mountain without setting a destination. I let thoughts of Dark Fragrance Drifting and martial arts drift away.

For some reason, when a person trains too much, there’s a higher chance of becoming an idiot. After forty-some days of nonstop training, taking a day or two off was the right answer.

I looked up at the clouds floating across the sky, watched a river off in the distance flowing at the same pace I was walking, and every now and then, I kicked a rock on the path just to see how far it’d fly.

With burdens and worries momentarily laid down...

...I just walked.

Adopting the mindset of a jomsoi from Ilyang County again, I forgot that I was a powerful martial artist. I forgot the memories of mingling with powerful clans under the Murim Alliance. I forgot my battles against bandits and pirates, and even the more grueling fights against wraiths.

Even the expressions of those etched deep in my memory faded. The face of the Four Heavenly Kings in the rain, Cheonak’s rare laughter, the moment the White-Robed Scholar coughed up blood after getting beaten by Cheonak—these all came and went in my mind, then vanished.

And so I walked, until I got hungry.

I passed through several streets and shops before noticing one particularly crowded establishment. It was around sunset, and many people were out for an early dinner.

“A local favorite?”

I sat at an empty table and waited, but even then, no jomsoi came right away—it was that busy.

I placed my wooden sword on the table and took a sip of water, glancing around. The place was mostly filled with male customers.

From their gazes and shifting expressions, I noticed someone stepping out from the kitchen. A woman approached from behind, speaking bluntly.

“What’re you eating?”

I wasn’t sure who she was talking to, but the moment she saw me, her eyes widened.

“Oh, sorry about that.”

She was a young woman. I couldn’t tell if she was a jomsoi or the owner. Too confident to be a server, too young to be the boss. On top of that, there wasn’t a single menu posted, so ordering was a bit of a shot in the dark.

“One bowl of noodles. And a mid-sized bottle of Dugangju, if you have it.”

“Sure. But noodles with alcohol is kind of strange, so order one more dish—Tangcho Richuk or diced chicken. Dugangju doesn’t come in small bottles. Mid-size is the smallest.”

“I’m not eating chicken for a while, so Tangcho Richuk it is.”

“Got it.”

The ordering process was a bit unusual. Once she disappeared, I felt the eyes of the crowd shift toward me.

From a few tables over, a woman whispered to someone next to her.

“Sehyung, why do you think he carries a wooden sword?”

When did my hearing get this sharp?

“That’s no ordinary wooden sword.”

I focused, and their conversation became clearer.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

“Don’t ask about another man’s weapon so openly. Save those questions for after you’ve finished eating.”

“Understood.”

Soon after, a boy emerged from the kitchen with the Dugangju and a dried side dish I didn’t order. He placed them on the table.

I absentmindedly poured a glass. The liquor was quite cold, likely stored in the shade or pulled from a well. Just from tasting the water and the alcohol, I could already tell—

“Definitely a good spot.”

From the kitchen, I could hear the girl barking orders at the boy—mixing teasing, scolding, and laughter all at once.

Chewing the dried side dish, I watched the street outside.

It was lively. People passing by looked cheerful. I saw a group of young folks in matching uniforms—perhaps martial students—headed somewhere for dinner. One of them peeked into the inn, saw there were no seats, then stepped out shaking his head.

“It’s full. Let’s go.”

Soon after, three well-dressed men came in and scanned for open seats. Since I was alone at a table, one of them approached me.

“Mind if we sit here too?”

I pointed to an empty chair to show it was fine. The three of them sat tightly around the table, and one of them nudged me aside with his hip.

I shifted over, moving my wooden sword to the edge, and took another sip of Dugangju.

The boy returned to take their order, and the three men casually rattled off a list of items while chatting.

“Learn to cook already. Your sister’s doing all the work.”

The boy said nothing and returned to the kitchen. One of the men grumbled,

“Damn brat didn’t even respond.”

“Don’t curse. Yeonhong hates that.”

So the girl’s name was Yeonhong.

Right on cue, Yeonhong came out from the kitchen, tying a white ribbon across her forehead. All the men’s gazes followed her as she walked over.

“...We’re out of tofu. Order something else.”

“Then what should we get?”

“I’m busy, so hurry up.”

“Hold on. Should we get chicken?”

“Nope. Get Tangcho Richuk. That’s the quickest right now.”

“Got it.”

Somehow, it felt like she was just going to portion more of the Tangcho Richuk I’d ordered and share it with them.

After she left, the men started chatting again.

“Why is she always so confident?”

“Exactly.”

“Is this your first time here?”

I wasn’t sure who he was talking to—again, it was me. The three of them were young, and come to think of it, I’m young too. I wondered what kind of tone I should use, then just nodded casually.

One of them pulled out a sword and wiped it with his sleeve.

Just then, the table next to us emptied. I picked up my Dugangju and side dish.

“I’ll move over there.”

“Sure.”

I brought my things to the empty table and went back for my wooden sword. One of the men grabbed it first and pulled off the handle—revealing a silver blade. All three stared at it with wide eyes.

“......”

I said to the man holding it,

“Hey, don’t go touching someone else’s weapon without asking.”

I reached out, and he returned the sword.

They looked me up and down.

“Nice blade.”

“Looks like something an assassin would carry.”

“Where’d you get it?”

Back at my seat, I answered.

“Gift. No idea what it cost.”

Just then, Yeonhong appeared, carrying a large plate of Tangcho Richuk.

“Oh? Hey, grab a small plate!”

She set the large dish down on my table, then the boy came with a smaller one. She split it and left a sizable portion for me, while the rest was taken to the three men.

One of them grumbled,

“Why does he get so much? There’s three of us.”

Yeonhong looked at them and said,

“Can’t you just enjoy it?”

“Fine.”

After she left, one muttered,

“She’s prettiest when she’s being serious.”

I picked up a piece of Tangcho Richuk and burst out laughing. The men all stopped mid-bite to stare at me.

“Isn’t that laugh a bit much?”

I wiped the smile off my face and looked at them silently.

“......”

They soon resumed eating. I also dug in, and just one bite confirmed it—

“Definitely a good spot.”

No wonder it was so packed. And Yeonhong’s atmosphere probably made her popular with the local guys.

As I ate my noodles, I looked around for a signboard. There was none. As the early dinner crowd thinned, the inn finally calmed.

I heard Yeonhong’s voice from behind me.

“That’s it for today. Let’s not take more customers.”

“Got it.”

The boy went to the door and flipped a sign hanging beside it. Then Yeonhong approached.

“Was it good?”

I picked up some Tangcho Richuk with my chopsticks and said,

“This?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

“How about the noodles?”

I glanced at my half-eaten bowl.

“Tasted like boiled twigs.”

As I spoke with her, one of the men chimed in.

“Why are you talking down to Yeonhong? You two know each other?”

Yeonhong answered for me.

“Don’t start something. I’ll flip this table.”

“Are you crazy? What kind of owner flips a customer’s table?”

She smirked and waved the boy over. He came reluctantly, and she pointed to my noodles.

“He barely touched it.”

The boy sighed and gave me a slight bow.

“Sorry. It didn’t taste good.”

As he walked away, Yeonhong said to me,

“Sorry. I made him handle it because I was busy.”

“No need to apologize. But are you deducting the noodles from the bill?”

“Nope.”

“You should.”

She sat across from me and flicked the Dugangju bottle with her finger. I poured her a drink. She took it, stole a bite of my Tangcho Richuk, then sipped the liquor.

The men next to me laughed.

“There she goes again—stealing the customer’s food and drink.”

I glanced at them, then back at her. She must not have eaten yet, judging by how busy she’d been.

I asked,

“Did your brother eat?”

“Not yet. I’ll buy him something later. He doesn’t like my cooking.”

She flicked the wooden sword on the table and asked,

“Are you skilled in martial arts? Or is this just for self-defense?”

Suddenly, a loud clatter came from the kitchen, and the boy came rushing out, eyes fixed on the sword.

“Are you good at fighting?”

“...Hmm.”

I cleared my throat and poured another drink. Since I didn’t answer, the boy turned to Yeonhong.

“Noona, I think this hyung is really good at fighting.”

“Why?”

“I can just feel it. Right?”

What should I even say to that?

“I’m not bad.”

“See? Told you! How good are you?”

I thought for a moment and gave a rough answer.

“There are probably at least {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} twenty people stronger than me. The world’s full of masters.”

The boy frowned.

“Oh. So you’re not that strong.”

“That’s still strong, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Sounds just okay to me.”

“Kid’s got ambition.”

As the boy returned to the kitchen, Yeonhong stared at me.

The men beside us chuckled.

“How’d you calculate that ‘twenty’?”

“Exactly.”

Yeonhong looked from them to me and asked,

“Mister?”

“What.”

“I think my brother was asking if you’re the best around here. Of course, being that strong is impressive.”

“And?”

“Were you maybe saying there are only about twenty in the entire world stronger than you?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“I haven’t met everyone. Could be more. Could be fewer. ‘About twenty’ is what I meant.”

“Really?”

The conversation felt like it was skimming the surface, but that was all I could offer. I haven’t fought every master in the world, after all—and there are still plenty I’ve never even met.

Then again, saying “hundreds of masters” would be excessive humility.

There aren’t many who could match me in a formal biwu against the Blade King...

...and if it came to a fight to the death, my ranking would only rise.

Yeonhong asked,

“My brother keeps saying he wants to learn martial arts and become a master. As his sister, what should I do? We don’t have the money to send him to a martial school.”

One of the men interrupted with a question of his own.

“You’re saying you’re one of the Hundred Masters of Jianghu?”

I nodded.

“That’s right.”

“......”

I looked at them.

“Want to get slapped by a Hundred Master of Jianghu? Stop butting in.”

All three burst into laughter.

“Ha ha ha ha...”

“Pfft.”

After chuckling for a while, one of them asked Yeonhong,

“How much is it?”

She glanced at the table and answered promptly.

“Twenty.”

He pulled out coins from his sleeve, dropped them on the table, and stood up.

“Let’s go.”

As the three left, I watched them and muttered,

“What a cheerful town. Everyone’s got a sunny disposition. Just up and leave like that.”

I thought they’d vanished outside, but then one of them shouted:

“A Hundred Master of Jianghu has appeared at Yeonhong Guest House! A mighty expert!”

“If he’s one of the Hundred, that means he doesn’t even care about Virtuous Heroes Sect or Bright Justice Clan!”

“A real master has arrived!”

Listening to that, I realized—they weren’t just cheerful idiots after all.

Yeonhong reassured me.

“Don’t worry. Nothing will happen.”

“That’s good.”

“There’s Virtuous Heroes Sect and Bright Justice Clan in this area, and lots of martial schools. So things don’t get too out of hand. The dark sects vanished from here ages ago.”

“Are there so many martial schools because those two sects recruit students through an entrance exam?”

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“Just a guess.”

I tried to recall those sects, but they weren’t from any area I was active in. Not knowing them wasn’t strange—neither was widely famous.

Now I asked her a question.

“Why does your brother want to learn martial arts?”

She answered coolly.

“Isn’t that just how boys are at that age?”

I nodded.

“If he trains seriously, you won’t see him often.”

“Why? His friends go to martial schools.”

“To become the twentieth strongest in this town, sure, send him to school and hope he gets into one of the sects.”

“And to be one of the strongest in the world?”

“Then he needs to leap into the world.”

“So I won’t see him much.”

I called over the boy from the kitchen.

“Come here.”

When he arrived, I reached out and checked his frame, bones, and hands. Physique is inherited—some people are simply born with martial potential. I tried to think of any master suited to train this kid, but no one came to mind. His build wasn’t particularly good, either. Just as it’s hard to find a disciple for Cheonak, it wouldn’t be easy to find one for me or the Four Villains, either.

I asked the boy,

“Ever been in a fight?”

“No.”

“Don’t give your sister grief. You don’t seem cut out for cooking, so go to a martial school.”

I pulled some money from my pouch—enough to cover the food and tuition—and placed it on the table. Even to me, it felt like too much.

Yeonhong asked,

“Why are you giving so much?”

“Because it’s a good spot.”

I looked around the inn and said,

“Call it Yeonhong Guest House. Use the extra to make a signboard. Not sure if this’ll mean anything, but if trouble ever comes, just say this place belongs to Haomun. Doesn’t hurt to try.”

She and the boy exchanged glances, then looked at me with wide eyes.

Yeonhong asked,

“Who are you from Haomun?”

I blinked.

“You know Haomun?”

The boy answered this time.

“There’s this young master who fought the Lords of the Murim Alliance and didn’t lose. They say the Master of Haomun is the strongest of the post-generation.”

The rumors really travel fast. Not that surprising.

“I see. Any other rumors?”

“He’s the goal of every young master. Because there are so many martial schools here, people talk about the Murim Alliance a lot. These days, they don’t even say ‘Master of Haomun’ anymore—it’s shortened.”

“To what?”

“Hawang. They say he’s on the level of a king.”

Hearing others talk about me like that felt oddly refreshing. I stood, ready to move on, and looked at the two.

“I’m heading out.”

As I stepped outside, the boy called after me.

“Wait! What’s your name? We need to repay you later!”

I turned to him.

“I’m the Master of Haomun. And don’t call me Hawang.”

“Why not?”

I smiled and said,

“Sounds too powerful. I’m not quite at that level.”

Leaving the Yeonhong Guest House, I let out a long yawn.

“There are too many kings these days... and looks like I helped increase the number. Goddammit...”

If I stayed any longer, masters from Virtuous Heroes Sect and Bright Justice Clan would probably show up. I decided to disappear before they did.

Fame is something one should be cautious of...

...but avoiding it is no easy feat.