Bait (2)
Tak So-pyeong gnashed his teeth. Even after the warning to stop, as Gu Cheon-woo drew closer, thoughts of sorcery flickered through his mind. From the moment he'd seen him at the inn, that face had shown no emotion whatsoever—yet it radiated cruelty.
"If you use sorcery, you'll be branded a public enemy of the martial world, and the Jeokgeum Merchant Group won't escape total annihilation!"
Tak So-pyeong strained to keep his eyes open. The deputy leader had said he'd surrendered his sword domain without resistance and been defeated in vain. That meant it wasn't Gu Cheon-woo who was fast—it had to be his own senses that had dulled.
'I see it!'
Once he forced his eyes open, the bastard's movements became visible. How could it be this simple? Killing intent boiled within him. This man had ruined everything. Even if the plan succeeded in the end, he might not escape blame.
Wooong!
Gathering all his inner energy into the blade, the sword hummed with vibration.
"Die!"
Songpung Sword First Form: Wind Blade Slash.
Among the forms he knew, this was the fastest, capable of creating sword shadows to deceive the eye. It combined swiftness and whirl.
Shwaaak!
After misleading with sword shadows, he slashed diagonally. Tak So-pyeong saw Gu Cheon-woo's upper and lower body split in half.
"Sorcery won't work...?"
"Slow."
Gu Cheon-woo's voice came from the side. He'd slashed only empty air. It was merely a difference in perception due to speed. The afterimage was nothing but an illusion created by Tak So-pyeong's own wind.
Sensing danger, he swung his sword horizontally, but the sharp sting came first.
Slap! Thud!
Tak So-pyeong flew back in a most undignified manner, unbecoming of a martial artist—like a leaf scattered by the wind. He'd swung the Songpung, only to be struck by a counter-typhoon.
......Kraaaah!
As consciousness faded, even the pain submerged. Soon, a scorching heat like rising lava burned through his bones and melted his soul. In unbearable agony, Tak So-pyeong couldn't regain his senses.
"Insufficient."
Cheon-woo slapped Tak So-pyeong's cheek again as he writhed on the ground. Tak So-pyeong suffered excruciating pain before he could even grasp the reason. It was an unfamiliar sensation.
Slap, slap!
Every time he prostrated himself or recoiled upward, a palm strike flew in, leaving handprints on his cheeks. They swelled red, then turned purple, until blood burst forth. His head whipped back and forth, spraying blood like mist from clouds.
"......Stop, please stop!"
Even in this one-sided, pathetic beating, Tak So-pyeong desperately wanted to escape the pain, if only for a moment. It hurt too much to endure, let alone counter.
'You bastard, I'll kill you!'
Hesitating at the sudden sight, the deputy leader now burned with rage. How could he humiliate someone like that? It might be better to die.
Shing!
The deputy leader charged cautiously, aiming his sword at Gu Cheon-woo's back for insulting the young master. No matter how fast, he had no eyes on his back.
Puk!
Instead of succeeding, the deputy convulsed as if struck by a winter gale. He looked down at his lower abdomen in disbelief.
"......You vicious... cough!"
His dantian, a martial artist's life force, had been pierced. Circulation severed, his inner energy scattered in all directions. The deputy collapsed limply.
"Useful."
In Cheon-woo's hand gleamed the Storm Needle, its eerie edge flashing. Tossed lightly, its power was brutally evident.
Freeze!
The squad members following the deputy froze, revenge forgotten in terror. They hadn't even seen him draw the needles. Fear of death gripped them.
"Dogs without loyalty."
"......Don't get cocky... urk!"
The terrified dog's howl soon became prey to the Storm Needle. Another squad member, dantian pierced, spewed blood and fell.
Shudder!
Faced with Cheon-woo's ruthless hands, the squad members turned and fled without distinction. But by baring their backs, they became easy prey.
"Foolish."
Puk, puk!
Two fleeing members' dantians were pierced. Legs giving way, they tumbled. Even seeing comrades lose dantians, the others ignored them and ran.
Throwing needles don't return. Storm Needles were limited. Scattering maximally offered survival odds. As two more fell, survivors saw hope, assuming the needles were spent.
Whing! Puk, puk!
Those who lost dantians wondered why. In collapse, they glimpsed something transparent reflecting light.
"......Silver thread!!"
In the Absolute Realm, one could control throwing weapons with qi threads, but the medium made a huge difference—less energy loss, better control. Yet handling it wasn't easy. If not in one breath, threads tangled and hindered.
Flick, puk! Flick, puk!
Cheon-woo embedded Storm Needles in fleeing warriors' dantians, giving no quarter. Ruined dantian victims screamed curses.
"......This can't be, just kill me!"
"Did you think I'd spare you?"
At Cheon-woo's retort, they fell silent. Death's terror made them forget their dantian loss. Before, they'd face death fearless; now survival instinct ruled.
"......Spare me, please!"
"Very well."
So simply, so vainly, it ended. Relief at survival yielded to humiliation of begging. Too pathetic to beg death now. They realized life and death were no longer theirs.
Step, step!
Startled! As Gu Cheon-woo approached, Tak So-pyeong froze rigid. He'd dismissed it as sorcery before, but now he knew. He could never beat Gu Cheon-woo, dead or alive.
'How could this happen!!'
He wanted to flee, but he'd seen how squad members fell. Baring his back meant Storm Needle fodder. One way to live: he'd crippled dantians but not killed. Humiliating, but beg Gu Cheon-woo for life. Survive first, plan later.
"I was wrong! Greed blinded me for a moment—I erred! For old ties' sake, please...!"
Slap! Thud!
Before finishing apology, a slap sent Tak So-pyeong's face into the dirt. No rebound from hard ground, yet reflex straightened him.
Slap! Slap!
Relentless slaps left him dazed. Unconsciously turning head for balance—left cheek hit, offering right. Like mercy incarnate. Each generous strike let pain dominate his soul. Better to die.
"......Just, kill me......"
"Shall I?"
"......Spare... argh!"
"Your tone annoys."
"......Please spare me... aak!...... Why?"
"Too late."
A monstrous spear-hand strike. Normally for humiliation, this could kill. Tak So-pyeong's face, nearing unconsciousness, bore no resemblance—swollen nearly double, like dunked in seawater.
Gulp!
Deputy manager, deputy leader, merchants, escorts—enraged at Hwajeong Merchant Group's plot—swallowed dryly, mouths agape. Glad not enemies, yet chills swept them.
'Martial arts aside, that resolute nature...?'
'I was the mad one testing the young master!'
Tak So-pyeong proved what happened opposing the young master. They vowed never to fall from his favor again.
Haha.
Deputy manager and deputy leader's gazes converged.
'That guy's survival instinct is top-notch.'
'A once-in-a-generation schemer.'
He knew his role.
"Young master, long live!"
Ga-bok shouted leaping cheers. Reflecting on his past actions chilled him.
'No, why is he so strong?'
Despite decisive role crushing Hwajeong's plot, Ga-bok couldn't fathom. He'd only seen him holed up in his room—no adventures outside. Gu Clan boasted history and tradition, but no ancestral arts passed down.
'Anyway, I'm his right hand. Heh heh heh!'
No one in Gu Clan knew young master better. Even lord and lady unaware of his secret life. Fulfilling right-hand duties faithfully, overcoming trials could make him a master like young master.
Room-bound young master became master; why not him? Blasphemous to say, but his talent surpassed.
'Nothing I'm worse at than young master. Heh!'
Hiding scheming thoughts, Ga-bok devoted to leaping cheers practice.
Then.
'Look at these guys.'
Ga-bok sneered at Jeokgeum escorts' fervent admiring gazes. Forgotten mocking him and young master all journey? Their secret clan art, no less—unforgivable attempted theft without permission.
'Learn by giving something.'
Among 108 hates, eighth: cheap gifts full of sincerity. Best: expensive ones sans effort.
Slap, slap!
Chilling spear-hands continued. When would it end? Each sound made all flinch. Felt vividly like their own beating.
"Adequate."
"......Grghhh."
Contrary to Cheon-woo's words, Tak So-pyeong looked half-corpse. Lips burst beyond swollen; nose crooked; eyelids swelled, blocking vision.
"Can't answer like that."
"......I'll do it. Anything—ask!!"
Whence such strength? Tak So-pyeong's survival instinct rivaled Ga-bok's. He'd learned: seek death, get it; seek life, live.