Chapter 42
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Martial Combat
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No matter how much martial artists pursue transcendence through the human body, those who hone only pure flesh and its application without weapons are exceedingly rare.
They are commonly called fist masters or martial fighters.
Their drawbacks are clear. Vast gaps in reach, disparities in lethality, and the inherent dangers that follow naturally.
On the other hand, their strengths are equally clear. A true martial fighter has trained their body to a level utterly beyond other warriors.
By overlaying fighting spirit onto the body, a martial fighter's essence naturally links with qi, infusing inner power into the flesh.
Through training and real combat in this state, the body is tempered harder than steel.
A true martial fighter is not a primate swinging without weapons, but a blacksmith forging their own body into a complete weapon.
However, this applies only to warriors at the peak realm or higher. The prerequisite is applying the realm of fighting spirit—commonly called sword qi—to the body.
Thus, the types of martial fighters appearing in the martial world have traditionally been limited.
First are those who train external arts that preserve the body, allowing them to compete with other warriors even below the peak.
A prime example is the Diamond Body from Shaolin's Seventy-Two Arts. When one who has trained such external arts reaches the peak and begins body refinement, the effects are even more profound.
The other type is born with it.
Those whose bodies are innately tougher than any other, where even sharp blades barely pierce them as ordinary people.
The Fist King of this era was born with such a body. A man with the prowess to claim a king's title under the empire's reign.
He had even reached the supreme realm and achieved bone transformation, making his body worthy of claiming first-rate in the martial world.
Zhuge Hansang did not fit either type.
The Zhuge family did not possess such external arts. They didn't suit their bloodline's physique, having focused more on internal arts compatible with formations and martial techniques.
In the end, he only trained external arts slightly better than the common Iron Cloth technique.
His innate body was excellent, but lacked the extraordinary qualities of the Fist King.
Ultimately, Zhuge Hansang was just a human who bled when stabbed or slashed.
Yet despite that, he was already captivated by the path of martial fighting with fists, kicks, and body.
Drawn to its simplicity and clarity, once the goal is set, all that remains is to walk the chosen path fully.
Even in his clan, he was called an oddball, with his master and friends pitying him for wasting his outstanding talent on an impossible road.
But what were the results?
With mere human flesh, he broke through the three foundational realms and reached the peak.
He surpassed the early stage, settled into mid-stage, and now aimed for mastery.
Though he hadn't created a new branch of martial arts or achieved the great path, he succeeded in devising his own unique techniques.
A direction completely different from conventional martial fighting, a path uniquely his, worthy of being called a sole school of martial arts.
In short, he had proven it.
The start is the same as any Zhuge family warrior.
Rotate to form the formation and deploy it around oneself.
That space is entirely within Zhuge Hansang's sensory domain, so the moment So-hyang touches the formation's boundary, the movement begins.
"Here I go!"
With wild horse-like leg muscles, he fiercely pushes off the ground, lowers his body, and closes in.
But it's still out of fist range, while within sword reach. So-hyang lightly thrusts her wooden sword at Zhuge Hansang's chest.
"Ho?"
His response is intriguing. Twisting his body unnaturally for his size to dodge the wooden sword, yet not halting his approach—instead accelerating further.
Not running or leaping, but a springy, elastic motion like being flung. Zhuge Hansang launches his body like an arrow.
Without properly planting his feet, in an unbalanced stance, yet his movement doesn't stop.
In mid-air, he throws a punch; if dodged, he drives in an elbow.
If even that is evaded, he spins and smashes with his shoulder, then without righting his collapsing balance, plants a hand on the ground.
In that instant, the hand becomes a foot, the arm a supporting leg. The center of gravity flips, and the body rotates accordingly.
The leg whips out like a lash, striking So-hyang's wooden sword and coiling around it to slam it down.
The recoil flips his body back; bouncing like a live fish, he thrusts a punch powered from the waist, smashing into So-hyang.
"Ahaha, you sure know how to wriggle!"
A typical warrior duel resembles chess or go in a way.
After an attack comes inevitable stiffness, and the contest is in covering that stiffness and countering.
Zhuge Hansang ignores such fundamentals, pouring attacks even in stiff postures.
No pauses in movement. The result of maximizing judgment from formation martial arts and omnidirectional senses.
He exploits innate strength and flexibility to the extreme.
No blind spots in senses, next moves from any posture.
Impossible combos and sustained breathing, acrobatic posture shifts.
The best defense is offense—active evasion in domain control.
Fundamentally suppressing the opponent's attacks and guiding to his intent, defense achieved through offense.
Different from the common martial fighting perception in the world—emphasizing hardness and dominance.
Flashy, acrobatic, flowing with speed and fluidity, yet power fully intact.
The unique martial art that earned him the moniker Thousand Strike Fist Hero.
Formless Continuous Chain.
"Not bad!"
Zhuge Hansang's movements were like a spinning top or bouncing rubber ball—irregular rotations.
True to its name of escaping form and unbroken continuity, strikes emerge from any posture.
Fist, palm, backhand, knifehand, forearm, elbow, shoulder, back, instep, sole, heel, knee...
The whole body as weapon.
At impact, fist qi explodes for power and secures defense; structurally weak points overcome with muscle power.
Even tilted infinitely, with toes or fingertips touching ground as pivot, he launches fists and legs.
Even airborne, never stopping, using opponent's weapon and body as footing.
Responses from formation synergy outnumber others. He might wield formation martial arts better.
Countless judgments per instant, dozens of combos per breath.
Unpredictable, powerful, revolutionary.
Even with So-hyang limiting to peak level, wielding a mere stick hardly called a wooden sword.
Even without spirit qi, just enough sword qi resistance.
Zhuge Hansang succeeded in breaking her wooden sword by preventing full deflection.
"...Ahahaha! Excellent!"
So-hyang's mouth curves in a tearing grin. Passing a hidden Easter egg test, just in case.
Unexpected results; thought he had some potential, but this much?
Regardless of realm, pure personal combat prowess surpassed the peak master he sparred before.
Of course, his techniques demand more risk than others, yet clear advantages.
"Less fist technique, more brawling—body art suits it better. From what I know, martial world fist arts aren't usually like this..."
"Huff, huff, yes! Formless Continuous Chain is my unique martial art!"
Heart pounding like bursting from intense motion, skin flushed hot blood, breath to the limit.
Despite overtaxing stamina, Zhuge Hansang proudly thumps his chest introducing it.
And rightly so.
So-hyang widens her eyes in admiration. Seemingly wild, yet systematically structured.
Hard to believe from a young warrior under thirty—high-level technique.
"Wow! Truly impressive!"
With genuine praise, So-hyang tosses the broken stick and claps applause.
"Heh, heuk!"
The thrill of a cherished woman laughing purely, acknowledging his achievement—Zhuge Hansang shivers, grinning broadly.
"Now, caught your breath?"
"...Y-yes!"
Breath even quicker, but he nods vigorously, refusing to admit.
How could a man utter weakness before his heart's lady?
"Saw your weapon counters enough. Now, bare-handed fighting."
So-hyang's slender fingers fold deliberately onto her palm, clenching tight.
Cute fists raised to face, she taps ground with toes.
Light, spry footwork, body bouncing in place.
"...Hu, huuuk!?"
Inevitably, head-sized flesh masses jiggle up and down.
Bandages hid shape decently, but elastic body reveals breasts starkly.
A posture ravaging masculinity; Zhuge Hansang literally nosebleeds, entranced.
"Uh, uwooo..."
So-hyang glances transparently at him, chuckles.
"Well, my body's quite the sight, huh?"
Face alone stunning, figure equally extraordinary.
No exaggeration—breasts head-sized, hips and rear birth-ready. Waist ant-thin, unbelievable organs fit.
Rare in Central Plains women—no, any woman lacks such.
Beautiful curves, sensual, violently so.
Any functional male inevitably captivated, masculinity ravaged.
"But, getting distracted by these lumps now...?"
Yet human desires hold something more primal than lust.
Lust stems from reproduction instinct, gene preservation will.
"Kuhk!?"
Solar plexus punch like skipping steps—breath expelled as if lungs pierced, whole-body pain brings tears.
"Kgh, kuuu..."
Stifled groan, no proper scream.
Truly excruciating.
"Just gauging level, but don't slack off either, Hansang."
To live, focus—he snaps alert from daze.
"Y-yes, I'll do my best!"
"Good boy."
So-hyang smiles pleased at his proper gaze.
This time, his eyes don't waver. He wants to live.
Of course, results unchanged.
Well, meaning's in the process.
"Kgh, ugh, grrraa..."
Beaten to dust-covered pulp, Zhuge Hansang sprawls dirt-smeared, twitching.
"S-So Miss never hit like this...!?"
Unfair treatment baffles; he glares up aggrieved.
"...? You're different from those two."
No grudge.
Song Seol-ryeong was standard sword check—skill and cultivation.
Zhuge Hansang is body-trained martial fighter.
For proper guidance, probe durability, muscle tension/density, bone strength/elasticity, balance, details.
Thus, her lively thrashing was diagnostic probing.
"Weapon counters good, but weak against fellow bare-handed? Opponents mostly armed, experience gap natural..."
So-hyang dissects warrior Zhuge Hansang meticulously.
Techniques and trained body alike.
Conclusion:
"Even so, you'd grow stronger with weapons than bare."
Especially long weapons like spears or glaives—clear talent.
Switch now, at least double strength potential.
So-hyang sighs regrettably.
"...I'll build the martial art I want."
Zhuge Hansang's firm, resolute voice settles.
"Martial arts defy norms, stacking one's own tower."
Pure-hearted youth, yet self-willed warrior.
"Walking another's path, even stronger, meaningless."
"Ah."
So-hyang blanks as if clubbed.
Then chuckles leak.
"...Right. Obvious."
Who is she to say that?
Born to guns and powder, obsessed with swords for simple reason.
Mere sharpened metal rod, endlessly captivating.
In martial world, skills mainstream? Superiority complex?
Meaning only in fulfilling one's desires—what impudence her advice?
Not advice—meddling, utter rudeness.
"...Sorry. I misspoke."
"Hehe, no. Heard it often."
Zhuge Hansang smiles wrinkle-free, accustomed.
"No."
Suddenly, ominous fire stirs in So-hyang.
Milky eyes blaze fervor, calm voice weighs heavy.
"Hansang, trust me?"
She leans close to his face on ground, eyes locking.
"O-of course?"
Sucked into her pupils thrilling, then shivers.
Eyes gleaming intensely.
"Great sect external arts or innate body—I'll take responsibility, help overcome."
"Pardon?"
Instinct alarms nonstop. Spine chills, cold sweat beads.
"Very tough, but your will endures."
Something very ominous.
Zhuge Hansang desperately interrupts her outpour.
"...B-but I lack to repay great hero's teaching—"
"Fine. Grow big, spar me once later."
Not holding-back guidance, true martial duel.
He instinctively knows her decision irreversible.
"...Please take care of me."
"Yes, me too?"
So-hyang grins, strokes his hair gently; seeing him wince from muscle/bruise pain, apologetic.
"Oops, hit too hard. Let me loosen you up."
Her soft hands extend to his body.
Ominous is ominous, love is love—anticipation rises in his eyes.
Heart fluttering, eyes close briefly...
Chirp chirp—birdsong snaps eyes open.
"Eh."
Blinking confusion, sunlight squints.
Previous overwork bruises gone, expected soreness absent.
Body peak—light, refreshed, no aches.
"...Huh?"
Then despair dyes his eyes.
Remembers her hand touching, but after—blank...!
"Wh-why...!"
Exhausted from spars, her touch sent him to sleep.
She did knead thoroughly, but he snored out after shoulder press.
"Kuuu..."
Lifetime first unbearable injustice—tears trickle.