Episode 87. Let’s Say I Lost.
At first, the Bright Left Envoy’s palms seemed ordinary—but then he surprised me by mixing in a freezing cold energy technique mid-strike.
I stayed calm, watching his face carefully.
Come to think of it, I’d never heard of him losing to anyone. On the contrary, he’d once toyed with the martial artists sent by the Martial Alliance, enraging the Alliance Leader so much that he personally issued an order to deploy the Heaven-Net Formation.
Now, two men who had escaped that very formation were clashing head-to-head.
The Left Envoy didn’t rely only on palm strikes; like me, he wove together finger techniques, flicking energy, fist strikes, and even golden-silk grabbing arts—attacking and defending in creative, unpredictable combinations. His fighting style was so original that I almost admired it. We exchanged more than thirty furious blows, chaos swirling around us—me and the man who’d soiled himself mid-battle.
All the while, I kept taunting him.
“Not bad, for a crapper.”
“Shut up.”
“Use your ice technique already.”
He was holding back, saving that precious ice qi. I couldn’t blame him—it was a powerful but draining art. And since I wasn’t giving him any opening, his dilemma deepened by the second.
If I wanted to harness the yin half of my Celestial Prison energy perfectly, I had to force him to exhaust his ice power first.
Even in the midst of fighting, my mind kept spinning with questions.
How is he this strong at such a young age?
Why doesn’t he use weapons? The Mong clan is famous for their spears and swords.
His techniques—palms, ground strikes, flicking energy—all seemed unrelated to his clan’s style. Between exchanging bursts of internal power, I asked casually,
“Who’s your master?”
“Who’s yours?”
Then I suddenly caught a whiff of something foul. Startled, I leapt three zhang back in an instant.
He had tried to smear me with his… filth. I barely avoided disaster. The worst part? I was also dressed in white.
Forget poisoned daggers—his excrement was the deadliest weapon tonight.
Seeing me recoil, he smirked meaningfully, as if he’d found my weakness.
“Afraid, are you? You should be.”
“I didn’t dodge because I’m scared. I dodged because it’s disgusting, you idiot. You perfumed gigolo. You filthy bastard.”
The Left Envoy glanced down at his drenched robe and nodded solemnly. “I can’t be the only one humiliated tonight. Don’t run. That street ahead is crowded.”
I looked toward the bustling district, folded my arms, and said seriously, “You’re better than I expected. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a fighter like you. You’re not just a mere crapper. Here, I’ll give you the antidote.”
“I’ve already shat. Don’t need it.”
“Still, wash up properly, and then challenge me again.”
His expression hardened. “Why would I drink anything from you?”
I pinched my nose and spoke nasally, “Stay back. You stink.”
He lunged at me like a madman, so I spun around and dashed toward the main street.
As I ran, laughing mockingly, he shouted polite curses after me—he really was from a noble family; even his swearing had manners.
But no matter how crazy he is, he won’t step into a crowded street in that condition.
A battle of wits, then? Fine. Men may clash freely, but this one worships women—no way he’d show his filthy self in public. If he did, then I’d truly misjudged him.
Sure enough, as I reached the busy avenue, he stopped short.
“…Hey. Stop running.”
I turned, back to the crowd, and beckoned. “Come on.”
“You come here.”
“You’re the one who shit yourself. You come.”
“We can finish this like men. No need to involve bystanders.”
“There’s an old saying—‘a man who shits himself gets angry easily.’ That’s you. Tell me who your master is, and I’ll come to you.”
“Silence.”
That made me suspicious. He’d dodged the question twice already.
If his ice technique came from his maternal side, that means his martial master must be someone else entirely…
He wasn’t yet known as a demon or pervert in this timeline—his reputation and pride still mattered. That explained his restraint.
I stared at him from among the crowd. Honestly, I hadn’t been at my best during our fight earlier.
I never realized shit could be that terrifying.
His lower body had been invincible—literally untouchable. Fighting him was like facing an opponent whose entire lower half was immune to attack. No wonder I couldn’t give my all.
Still, from our clash, I could tell his martial arts were already well-refined. Not surprising—few ever escaped the Martial Alliance’s Heaven-Net Formation.
As far as I knew, only three groups ever had: me, in my days as the Mad Demon; him, in his perverted prime; and the Three Calamities. Among all the experts I’d met since my return, he was by far the strongest. And he held back his ice power unless absolutely necessary—he had his limits, after all.
He took a few hesitant steps toward the street, then stopped again.
Even that ruthless bastard couldn’t bring himself to walk into Baek-Eung-Ji’s bustling plaza covered in filth.
That, my friend, is the power of propriety—the pride of the so-called Righteous Path.
I crossed my arms and laughed. “Heh, heh, heh.”
Just then, a woman called from the roadside. “Mong-rang, is that you?”
I turned to look—she’d recognized him. When I looked back, he had vanished completely.
I met the woman’s eyes and nodded. “Yes. That was Lord Mong-rang.”
“Really? He looked so pale…”
“You didn’t see?”
“See what?”
“He shat his pants. Must’ve drunk too much.”
“Oh, come on, no way.”
“Didn’t you notice his robe tied around his waist, soaked through?”
The woman—plain-faced but fierce—suddenly snapped, “That’s impossible! Don’t slander him!”
“Why the anger…”
Ah. So she fancied him. She looked at me as though I were the one who’d soiled myself, then turned away sharply.
So, ‘my dear Mong-rang could never poop himself,’ was it?
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
While I clicked my tongue, his voice echoed faintly through the air—a ventriloquist’s whisper.
“Come out while I’m still being nice.”
“There’s only one thing I fear,” I replied softly. “A man who fights while covered in his own shit.”
“…”
I stepped forward. “You fool. This is karma. I’ll forgive you for breaking my brother’s arm—just go home and change your pants, Mong-rang of the Wind-Cloud Mong Clan. Mong-rang the Crapped-On Lord, Mong-rang the Diapered Prince, Mong-rang Who Can’t Even Hold It In.”
“Shut up!”
I pressed my palms together mockingly. “Pitiful soul. Namo Amitabha—Flicking Flame!”
A soft squelch came from the darkness, and I reflexively flicked a blazing energy shot.
Pop!
“Mong-rang! You wolf-cub of the general’s house! Change your filthy pants and fight me again when you’re clean!”
He cursed viciously, then used his lightness skill to flee into the night.
I watched his shadow disappear into the distance, arms still crossed.
“Come back clean, you filthy bastard. A man like you has no place in the Righteous Path.”
I saw no reason to chase him further. His clan’s residence was near Baek-Eung-Ji anyway. Once the ‘invincible zone’ of his lower body wore off, I’d deal with him properly.
For now, I strolled the bright streets at ease—clean roads, clean clothes, and pale-faced people. No wonder they called this place the land of righteousness.
Since I’d withdrawn and he’d fled, I supposed we’d call it a draw.
Outside Baekhyang Tavern, a crowd had gathered, murmuring with disgust. Passing by, I overheard that some pretty ladies inside had soiled themselves.
Judging from how he jabbed his own stomach earlier, Moyong Baek’s laxative must have been terrifyingly effective. The women must’ve lost control before even reaching the restroom. Truly, I’d chosen the right man as my poison-and-medicine expert.
Spotting a cozy noodle shop, I sat at an outdoor table and ordered.
As I ate, I watched the young couples strolling by. So many lovely faces, fine clothes, graceful smiles…
I’d followed Gong-cheol’s advice and dressed neatly, yet beside these people, I still looked like a country bumpkin.
No one here picked fights; even those without martial training laughed and wandered freely. It was strangely peaceful.
Still, after trading blows with a shitting maniac, even the noodles tasted bland.
“Lost my appetite.”
I paid the bill and asked the server if there was a stream nearby.
“Follow that road up, sir—you’ll reach Yong-rang Stream.”
North, where the Envoy had disappeared. He probably couldn’t go home in that state. More likely, he was by the stream right now, washing his pants.
It was a hunch—a warrior’s instinct.
The server asked, “May I ask why you’re heading to the stream at this hour?”
I patted his shoulder. “A knight’s errand. I’m pursuing evil.”
In truth, I was pursuing the crapper.
The boy straightened solemnly, clasped his fists, and said, “Brave hero, thank you for your service.”
Even the servers were polite here. Righteous Path manners indeed.
Nodding like a lonely hero, I set off toward the stream.
After all, everything I’ve done since returning has been for peace in the martial world, for the happiness of women, for the dignity of honest workers, and for punishing evil. Whether the world knows it or not—this is my chivalrous journey.
Or not. Whatever.
Following the moonlight along Yong-rang Stream, I stopped when I heard splashing.
There he was—the Left Envoy, completely naked, washing himself.
The man who turned a clean stream into a cesspool: that was the Bright Left Envoy.
I thought about leaping down to finish him off—to make him a eunuch on the spot—but hesitated. He had noticed me, yet didn’t panic. Calm. Too calm.
A trap?
The clouds drifted aside, and the moonlight revealed his upper body—covered in scars and black ink markings, somewhere between tattoos and whip wounds.
Had he been tortured? Or were those marks from dark cultivation? Hard to tell.
I folded my arms and called out, “Wash up properly, you filthy bastard.”
He climbed out of the stream with a strangely enlightened expression, shook the water from his clothes, wrapped his wet top around his waist, and looked up at me.
“Come down, you bastard. I’m clean now.”
“Sigh…”
I couldn’t help but sigh. If he threw a kick right now, the noodles I’d just eaten would come back up.
This guy’s no ordinary pervert.
He’d tied his upper garment around his lower half, using the collar as a makeshift waistband—equal parts shameless and cunning. He knew how to manipulate both men and women alike.
I spoke wearily. “Just go home, man. Let’s fight tomorrow. Let’s say I lost today.”
Under the moonlight, the pervert smiled coldly. “Heh, heh, heh.”
I never understood the twisted mind of a bastard born out of wedlock—and I didn’t care to. But I couldn’t help my curiosity about those markings; I’d seen him in my past life, after all.
“Those tattoos,” I asked, “what are they? Some kind of martial art?”
He replied, “You’re a curious one. Remember this—I won’t forget your face. Run to the Martial Alliance, run to the Demon Sect—it won’t matter. I’ll find you.”
I reminded him, “You know I couldn’t fight properly because of your shit, right?”
He pointed at me and said something strange. “I’ll ask my master to take you in as my disciple. You’ll soon wish you were dead.”
“So who is your master?”
Then it hit me.
Wait…
I knew the Left Envoy’s history. I knew the Demon Sect. And I’d heard of those tattooed arts before. Could it be—his defection to the Demon Sect in my past life had been part of a larger scheme?
If my guess was right, his master was the man who had once contested for the position of Demon Lord—and turned the entire sect against him.
As the Left Envoy climbed upstream, he said calmly, “We’ll meet again soon.”
I opened my mouth to press further about his master… then closed it.