The Drunk arrived on the street where Unhyang Sect was located and looked around.

“......”

At the Third Brother’s suggestion, he had changed into clean clothes along the way—dark-hued robes ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) chosen specifically to match the Six Harmonies Sword.

Since he’d come relying on memory, the streets felt both unfamiliar and vaguely familiar at the same time. But as soon as he spotted the inn where he had once shared a drink with the Master of Unhyang Sect, he knew he was in the right place.

Found it after all.

Strangely, the moment he saw the table, the Master’s expression and words from that day came back to him. He had been a rather dignified man. That’s why it felt wrong for the Third or Fourth Brother to come here—instead, it made sense for the Eldest Brother or himself to handle this.

The table they had gathered around that day was still in the exact same spot. Staring at it, he took a moment to mentally organize what he wanted to say to the Master of Unhyang Sect.

“Hm.”

The Third Brother had told him to deliver a message about Haomun, but now that he thought about it, he figured he ought to bring up Gwangmyeong Usa as well.

As he silently stared at the table, someone’s voice came from behind.

“Master of Six Harmonies, good day.”

When the Drunk turned around, a man he didn’t recognize was walking over while wiping his hands on the towel tucked at his waist. He assumed the man was one of the sect’s subordinates and gave a nod.

The man approached and pointed at the sword on the Drunk’s waist.

“How is the Six Harmonies Sword treating you?”

The Drunk held the sword lightly and replied,

“I actually came to thank the Master. This sword has saved my life more than once. No matter what weapon I’ve clashed against, it hasn’t snapped or bent. When I saw it deflect even a heavy weapon with ease, I realized just how rare and exceptional a blade I’d received.”

As he spoke, the stern-faced man suddenly broke into a wide smile—radiating joy and pride so clearly it was almost disarming.

“That’s wonderful to hear. The Master put his heart and soul into forging that longsword. He’ll be very pleased. Let me take you to him.”

“Let’s go.”

The man gestured down the path.

While walking together, the Drunk thought of something odd in the man’s earlier phrasing and decided to ask.

“By the way.”

“Yes?”

The Drunk stopped walking and asked,

“When you said the Master poured his heart into making it... did you mean he forged it himself?”

The man replied,

“Each of us here is trained in a craft we can rely on to make a living. Most of us aim to become artisans in our own right. Naturally, our Master is one as well—especially when it comes to swordsmithing. In fact, we have more disciples studying blade-making than martial arts. So yes, of course the Master forged it himself. He had to gift you a worthy sword, after all.”

The Drunk hadn’t known that the Six Harmonies Sword was personally forged by Yeo Un-byeok. He composed his expression and emotions. He was honestly a little shocked, but for some reason, it felt embarrassing to show it.

“I didn’t know he made it himself.”

The man gave a knowing smile.

“Yes, he’s not one to boast. Please, let’s continue. He’ll be very happy to see you. But don’t let his usual stern expression mislead you—he always looks that way.”

Truthfully, the same could be said of the Drunk himself. He nodded and extended a hand.

“Let’s go.”

On their way to Unhyang Sect, several seemingly ordinary people nodded politely to the Drunk—some even greeted him outright.

“Master of Six Harmonies, welcome.”

Each time he exchanged greetings with the Muga artisans and Unhyang Sect disciples mingled in the crowd, a chill ran down the Drunk’s spine.

At some point, his face had turned red, and he found himself rubbing his forehead. A flash of his past foolish behavior surfaced in his mind.

Ah...

He wanted to slap himself, but barely held back. Then he remembered how the Third Brother occasionally slapped his own cheek for no apparent reason. And for once, the Drunk understood exactly why.

***

Meanwhile, at the outskirts of the Murim Alliance, the Lecher used the money the Third Brother gave him to buy new clothes. One thing he quickly noticed: the men associated with the Murim Alliance all dressed exceptionally well. He didn’t know their exact reasoning, but given the sheer number of tailor shops and garment repair stalls in the area, it didn’t seem to be a matter of mere trend or vanity.

Either way, the new outfit suited the Lecher quite well.

He wore light-gray martial attire with a dark blue outer robe draped over it. According to the shopkeeper, it was best not to wear white robes unless you were intentionally avoiding work. When the Lecher asked why, the answer was simple: that color was for slackers.

Thinking of that bastard White-Robed Scholar, the Lecher found himself agreeing with the shopkeeper.

For the time being, he didn’t head straight into the Murim Alliance and instead wandered the surrounding area. It was a rare opportunity—no Master hovering over him, no Third Brother hounding him with the insult “pants-shitter.” The peace was nice.

“Seriously, pants-shitter? What the hell.”

He roamed the streets, scanning for any attractive women. Not that he was planning to do anything specific—more like, if he found someone on the same wavelength, maybe they could have tea together. Or, if the mood was right, a drink. After all, when men and women drink, they get tipsy, and when tipsy, new feelings tend to sprout...

Right around then, someone called out to him.

“Aren’t you Young Lord Mong?”

“Huh?”

The Lecher turned to find a man with a completely sun-darkened face approaching. It was impossible to guess whether he was younger or older than himself. His complexion was tanned from sun exposure, and his features looked prematurely aged.

The Lecher asked,

“Who are you?”

The man cupped his fists respectfully.

“I’m Jang San from the Murim Alliance.”

The Lecher returned the gesture with a puzzled expression.

“Nice to meet you, Warrior Jang.”

Jang San smiled and asked,

“Did you come to the Murim Alliance? You seem to be alone. Is the Master doing well?”

The Lecher stared at Jang San and had a thought.

Why the hell is this guy asking so many damn questions?

He had only meant to wander around before asking about how to join the Alliance. Who would’ve thought someone would recognize him?

Jang San asked,

“Would you like me to guide you?”

“Ah, aren’t you busy? I’m fine.”

“I have time.”

The Lecher frowned slightly but nodded.

“Alright then.”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked side by side, but the Lecher didn’t feel like talking, so he kept his mouth shut.

“......”

Out of nowhere, Jang San whispered,

“Young Lord.”

“What?”

“I used to be part of Haomun.”

“Huh?”

“Technically, I was in the Black Cat Gang’s branch.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Ah, I’m still young, so you can speak comfortably.”

“Alright. Were you dark path then?”

Jang San looked at him and answered.

“No.”

“Then?”

Jang San replied,

“I used to be a bandit from the Namak Green Forest Alliance.”

The Lecher stopped walking and looked him up and down.

“You were a bandit?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“How do I look, then?”

The Lecher replied,

“Like a Murim Alliance member.”

Jang San beamed.

“Really? I used to get told all the time I looked like a bandit. Even my brothers in the Black Cat Gang used to joke that I must’ve been born one.”

As they continued walking toward the Alliance, the Lecher asked,

“So how’d you end up joining the Alliance? That shouldn’t be easy for a former bandit.”

Jang San laughed out loud this time.

“Good question. I don’t really know myself.”

“You don’t know your own story? Ah, did the Third Brother recommend you?”

“Who’s the Third Brother?”

The Lecher scratched the back of his head.

“Master of Haomun. He’s the Third.”

“Oh, is that so? Then you’re...?”

“I’m the Fourth.”

“Ah, I see.”

After a while, Jang San asked carefully,

“This ‘Third’ and ‘Fourth’—are those like sworn brothers?”

“Sworn brothers? Yeah, something like that.”

“I envy that.”

“Don’t.”

Thanks to Jang San’s guidance, the Lecher made it quite far into the Murim Alliance compound without any trouble. No one stopped them or asked questions, likely because Jang San was escorting him. But at the entrance to the Alliance Leader’s hall, even Jang San had to stop.

“I can’t go any further from here. I’ll inform the senior guards ahead and take my leave.”

The Lecher nodded.

“Thanks for the help, Warrior Jang.”

Jang San looked at him and said,

“Young Lord Mong, I doubt the Master remembers me, but could you please pass on a message?”

The Lecher nodded.

“What should I say?”

Jang San straightened his clothes and stood tall, then said with sincerity,

“Master, I’m Jang San, the one who was with the Black Cat Gang.”

“......”

The Lecher silently watched his expression. It was the face of someone speaking from the heart.

Jang San continued,

“I’ve been keeping up with the news. Above all else, I hope you’re well. I haven’t forgotten your words, and I’m doing my best each day thanks to them.”

Though the message was meant for the Master, the Lecher couldn’t help but ask:

“What exactly did he say?”

Jang San muttered in a low voice:

‘You were born a man of honor—what are you doing playing bandit?’

“Hm.”

“I carry those words in my heart. Please tell him... that I’m grateful, and I haven’t forgotten.”

The Lecher gave a silent nod.

“Got it.”

“Yes.”

Jang San bowed slightly, then walked over to the guards at the Alliance Leader’s hall. The Lecher watched him go, and as Jang San reached the stairs, he turned back, smiled brightly, and gestured toward the hall—urging him to go in.

The Lecher gave a sheepish grin and waved back, then approached. One of the guards spoke.

“Young Lord Mong.”

“Yes?”

“You came unannounced, so there will be a bit of a wait. But come in for now.”

The Lecher entered the hall with the guard.

***

The Lecher waited an entire hour in the waiting room of the Alliance Leader’s residence. He realized he had never waited this long to meet someone before. But if the other person was the Murim Alliance Leader, it wasn’t surprising. He was probably the busiest man in Jianghu.

Listening carefully, he could tell they were in the middle of a meeting. Occasionally, he heard Alliance Leader Im Sobaek’s booming voice leak out. Judging by the raised voices of the subordinates, they seemed to have tempers of their own.

Everyone’s got a damn temper in there.

He remembered Jang San’s message and went over his own lines again. But the more he thought about it, the more absurd it felt. Was it really normal to come all the way here just to ask the Murim Alliance Leader for money?

Had the Third Brother made it sound too easy?

Would this even work?

As the wait grew longer, he sighed again and again.

Who even am I, and where the hell is this...?

Then, he heard footsteps. A group of people left the Alliance Leader’s office, passing by the waiting room. He figured he was almost up.

A moment later, the guard returned.

“Young Lord Mong, you may enter.”

“Yes.”

The Lecher jumped up and headed to the office. The guard knocked first.

“Alliance Leader, Young Lord Mong Yeon is here.”

“Send him in.”

The Lecher nodded at the guard who opened the door, then stepped inside. Alliance Leader Im Sobaek looked at him from across the desk and said quietly:

“...Mongrang.”

“Yes, Alliance Leader.”

Im Sobaek gestured toward the side table. When the Lecher looked, he spoke again.

“If it’s bad news, bring liquor. If it’s not, bring the water jug.”

“Yes.”

The Lecher fetched the water jug and cups, bringing them back to the desk. Im Sobaek saw the jug and nodded.

“Sit.”

The Lecher stood there for a moment, but when Im Sobaek tapped his own cup lightly, he finally poured water for both of them.

Im Sobaek downed his cup in one go and let out a long breath.

“So, not bad news.”

The Lecher drank too, then replied.

“Yes.”

Im Sobaek looked at him intently.

“You seem stronger than last time. Is that my imagination?”

The Lecher finally relaxed a bit and answered.

“No, you’re right. I’ve gotten stronger.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Now that he was face-to-face with Im Sobaek, the Lecher found himself at a loss for words. He had organized his thoughts on the way here and reviewed them dozens of times in the waiting room... but nothing came out.

Maybe it was the weight in Im Sobaek’s expression, now that he was seeing it up close.

Still overwhelmed, the Lecher finally opened his mouth.

“Alliance Leader.”

Seeing Im Sobaek nod, the Lecher got to the point.

“...The Master of Haomun is asking for some money.”

Im Sobaek stared at him in disbelief.

“...!”

The moment he said it, the Lecher sighed.

Ah...

Delivering something this important in such an unimportant-sounding way was a skill in itself. He tried to correct himself.

“Alliance Leader, what I meant is... Let me explain that again.”

“Mongrang.”

“Yes, Alliance Leader?”

Im Sobaek pointed again to the side table.

“Bring me liquor.”

“Ah, yes.”

The Lecher headed over, muttering under his breath,

“It’s really not that bad though...”

“Quiet. Bring the liquor first.”

“Yes, sir.”

He brought the liquor to the desk. At this point, it wasn’t even for the Alliance Leader—he needed a drink first.