Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Manners Maketh Man
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Although Lee Soo-young had pointed out the lack of practicality in sparring during her practical martial arts class, that was separate from her views on duels. The vast majority of murim folk spent their lives suffering from a severe addiction to sparring.
From deciding lunch menus to resolving disputes between corporations, even major life events like marriage—martial artists tried to settle everything with a duel.
Thus, it was undeniable that dueling was the cleanest, most conclusive way to resolve conflicts between martial artists.
Whether Baek Chan was diamond indestructible was unknown, but he was definitely made of sterner stuff. That was why he'd readily agreed to the duel.
Well, of course, he probably thought he'd win 100%.
"This old man will serve as referee. Since this is a friendly spar, please refrain from targeting vital points or acupoints with attacks or lethal strikes."
I'd overlooked it, dazzled by the mansion's scenery, but the elderly man called Elder Cheon was also a murim master of high standing.
Of course, the master of the mansion, Chairman Baek, wouldn't employ ordinary folk who fainted at a mere wisp of his aura as servants.
In the murim world, there was no harm in heeding an elder's words—especially in the Korean murim, steeped in Confucian roots.
However, judging by the heat haze-like aura rising from Baek Chan's massive frame, he seemed to view this not as a friendly spar, but as some kind of deathmatch.
I tossed a light joke to cool his head a bit.
"You're not going for a one-punch knockout today, right? Last time, you didn't even break a sweat, so I skipped the shower when I got home."
"Ten seconds."
A thunderous rumble boiled from Baek Chan's thick throat, like the prelude to a storm.
"I'll end it in exactly ten seconds. Knock you out with the first punch, then turn you into pulp with the remaining nine."
Baek Chan muttered the words as if chewing and spitting them out. What a bold murder threat.
Perfect—this place was more airtight than anywhere else in the world...
If I got beaten to death by those fists bigger than my head, even a competent detective would face a nightmare piecing together the murder weapon. The investigation might spiral into a dead end searching for a nonexistent iron club.
"Alright. Good luck."
I wished Baek Chan well and gripped my sword firmly.
There were no elaborate rituals like qi circulation forms. In a vagabond's world, fussing over such things would get you shot dead.
In fact, I'd seen a murim man die with a bullet hole in his head while twirling his sword in a fancy stance before the infamous St. Sharpshooter...
Baek Chan seemed the same. He simply raised his fists in front of his chin—the basic boxing guard.
Hmm. Even so, wasn't it a bit too unrefined for someone hailed as a promising talent of the Korean murim just for being Han Moo-young's student to skip formal introductions in a duel?
So, I relaxed my mid-guard, performed a sword salute, and stated my origin and name.
"Yeager Orphanage, Kim Hoon."
"...Crazy bastard. What the fu—"
"Young master."
The housekeeper standing between us cut off Baek Chan as he started to curse.
Baek Chan glanced between the housekeeper and me, then spoke in a gut-boiling tone.
"......Tae-san. Baek Chan."
The housekeeper stepped back a few paces, lowered his raised hand to signal the start of the duel, and at that moment, I kicked off the ground and charged at Baek Chan.
His body twitched faintly at the bold rush, but the momentary flicker in his eyes quickly settled into cold focus, precisely tracking my movements.
'He won't charge back.'
His legs rooted firmly in place, eyes calmly waiting for a counter.
Pure skill-wise, Baek Chan and Veronica were on par. If they fought, the win rate would be about even. If pressed, out of a hundred bouts, Veronica might take fifty-two or three more.
But to me, Baek Chan felt several times trickier than Veronica.
The reason? His absurd defense. Baek Chan had learned Baek Kang-mu's signature martial art, and his body, protected by peerless external arts and a protective aura, was nearly impervious to sword qi that hadn't formed gang yet.
In other words, without drawing sword gang, I had no way to cut Baek Chan. Even with the boosted internal energy from the Gongcheonghwacheon I'd received from Baek Kang-mu, maintaining gang lasted at most five seconds. After that, I'd collapse from energy depletion.
'And besides.'
Whoosh!
"Tch."
I evaded Baek Chan's horizontal punch with the Iron Bridge technique. Just the wind pressure from his fist made my nose sting.
Baek Chan wasn't just defensively tough. The punches swung with that monstrous bulk's power boasted attack strength that made guarding impossible.
And it wasn't even infused with sharp qi like Veronica's sword.
Defense that shrugged off most attacks, offense that could shatter foes on hit... I clicked my tongue.
'This is like fighting a tank.'
Tank. That brought something to mind.
George S. Patton, the Blade Star who established U.S. armored doctrine.
It was history's irony that the pioneer who most fiercely advocated for tanks—a new weapon—was the last supreme master of mounted martial arts.
Yet until Patton's era, before vanishing from battlefields, horses had been one of humanity's most widely used weapons for millennia.
The Jurchen Jin dynasty knelt the Song, who held half the world's GDP, with cavalry alone. Genghis Khan conquered the world from horseback.
Even without fancy arts blooming swords into flowers or drawing taiji symbols.
Nomads conquered the world by merging man and horse into one, cladding steeds in internal energy armor via mounted martial arts.
Why? Simple physics. Horses are heavy. Add a rider, heavier still.
Mass times velocity equals momentum—power. An undeniable truth, even for esoteric martial principles.
The nomadic empires advanced, sweeping enemies with cavalry charges' devastating impact. That's why knights were called medieval tanks.
And my duel opponent now, Baek Chan, weighed closer to a horse's average than a peer's.
Kaboom!!
Baek Chan's punch, loaded with his full mass, smashed the floor. The shock-absorbing material shattered, fragments flying upward.
I retreated with footwork, dodging the footwork-embedded debris, and grazed his wrist with sword-qi-clad blade—but it sparked red and slid off, leaving only a minor scrape.
'As expected, arms and fists are untouchable.'
I deflected Baek Chan's punch with my sword and poured internal energy into the hilt.
All-or-nothing 0.6-second Sword Qi into Gang.
If I couldn't sustain sword gang for seconds with my energy, I'd use it in bursts under one second.
For an instant, starlight frosted the blade tip, thrusting at Baek Chan's shoulder Giant Bone Acupoint—but I had to withdraw without full extension, dodging his swinging arm.
The gap naturally widened. Curiously, after ceaseless footwork and advances, our positions returned to the start.
Back to square one.
But the situation wasn't great.
Baek Chan, who'd guzzled Amrita like rotten pear juice from the fridge since my death and revival, showed no sign of his dantian drying up. Meanwhile, I was nearing my limit moment by moment.
"Th-this psycho drew gang...!?"
Baek Chan gawked, stammering. As if he couldn't use it himself.
'More than that, this is trouble.'
So-called 0.6 seconds, but in disrupted breathing, it consumed even more energy.
Plus, half my energy was gone since the fight started. Max two more seconds of sword gang.
To finish with sword gang, I had one breath's time.
Thus, the last energy had to be used at the perfect timing and position.
Would luck strike again, like slicing his unguarded heel with final sword gang? If he guarded vitals hard to protect against aura, unlikely.
But waiting meant withering away. Creating opportunity was my job.
I charged, sword first.
Sword qi and fist qi clashed wildly in the air. His punches remained lethal.
But I grew familiar with his patterns, and Baek Chan, focused on defense with one hand, accumulated scratches.
Mid-pressure, a hunch flashed.
'One hand?'
I sensed the odd incongruity lingering in the air.
Baek Chan orthodox-stanced, checking my sword only with his lead left hand. Too unnatural for counter-hunting.
My eyes scanned his frame, tracing true qi flow along his bulky silhouette.
Indeed, vast internal energy—surpassing my total—gathered in his right hand from his meridians, crystallizing... into ominously glowing starlight.
I knew instinctively.
This was Baek Chan's prepared ultimate technique.
Maximum-output Fist Gang.
Baek Chan drew back his hitherto-sealed right hand and spoke.
"Die."
The starlit fist streaked like a meteor trailing a long tail, crashing where I'd stood.
Kaboom! An explosion evoking a fallen star roared.
The quake shook the quake-proof training hall, winds whipping Veronica's hair wildly.
"Shit!"
Veronica slammed her greatsword into the ground to anchor herself and spat curses.
Elder Cheon, blocking Park Jong-myeong's front, unleashed a palm wind to counter the gusts.
A strike unbelievable from a single peak expert. Only Baek Chan, with vast energy and monstrous strength yielding transcendent momentary output, could attempt it.
As winds died, Veronica spat dust from her mouth.
"Phew, is Hoon okay against that guy? He didn't... die, did he?"
Park Jong-myeong muttered worriedly.
Beyond thick dust from pulverized flooring, two silhouettes flickered. One stood on both feet, the other knelt before him.
Veronica activated Lionheart's eye technique, Lion Eye, modeled on a stalking lion's gaze. Her eyes gleamed blue, piercing the dust clearly.
"...What. He lost?"
Peering at the duel’s end with transcendent vision, Veronica let out a hollow laugh.
Dust cleared, revealing victor and vanquished.
"Urgh..."
Kneeling and groaning was Baek Chan, clutching his dislocated right shoulder with his left.
Kim Hoon loomed over him with manic eyes, murmuring.
"Don't... defy me anymore."
The duel ended.