Twin Snake Arm Breaker

Thomas felt the long-forgotten jolts of the uncomfortable carriage and thought to himself that people were truly fickle creatures. Even though the cushions were plusher than the ones on the carriages he used to ride, and the road was cleaner and smoother, he was already finding the bumpy ride unbearable after growing accustomed to Nautilus's smooth comfort.

'I miss Nautilus already.'

For the past two days, Thomas had been traveling with a load of lumber, his nerves on edge. His mission was to sell the wood to the illegitimate son of the lord at the highest possible price—but he couldn't rule out the possibility that the buyer might resort to force instead of coin. Fingering the defensive magic tool Suhyun had made for him, tucked safely inside his clothes, Thomas endlessly speculated on whether the man would come with gold or steel.

Driving the carriage between hills to avoid straining the horses and cart on the slopes, Thomas just wished the buyer—money or blade—would show up soon.

Glancing at the reformed gang members walking alongside the wagon, Thomas hoped they could wrap this up and head back quickly. Suhyun's trainees had changed dramatically since joining Nautilus. The sloppy, delinquent attitudes were gone, replaced by a steely resolve and grim determination.

Long marches were grueling even for seasoned porters, but the gang pressed on without a single complaint, their senses sharp and alert.

"They're coming."

Heukgu, who had been matching pace with Thomas on the driver's seat, spoke up. Thomas tensed immediately. He quietly ordered the gang to prepare, watching them slip silently toward the hidden weapons along the carriage walls. The air thickened with the certainty of impending battle.

The silence shattered with a chilling whistle—an arrow slicing through the air.

The named arrow whistled menacingly, but the gang didn't panic. They used the carriage as a shield to dodge. Counting the enemies glaring down from the hilltops, Thomas stayed tense but inwardly cheered.

From Nautilus's perspective, the worst outcome was if the buyer grew suspicious and backed out of the deal. The next worst was if he meekly borrowed money to buy. On the flip side, the second-best was him attacking with his own crew, and the absolute best was deploying some of the territory's soldiers.

"They picked the worst option for themselves."

If it had just been their own men, the lord could cut them loose. But using territorial troops gave Chromore grounds to pressure the neighboring domain. Still, to leverage that pretext, they had to win.

"Counterattack—everyone!"

Thomas bellowed in a trembling voice, and the gang scattered, charging up the hills toward the soldiers.

Training in martial arts had been a nightmare, but it had transformed the gang's bodies and minds from the ground up. Most delinquents relied on aggressive temperaments and brute size to intimidate, not fight properly. They'd only learned to strike first, never to defend themselves or coordinate in groups.

But Suhyun's hellish drills forced constant adaptation to new conditions. Amid the agony, they'd mastered thriving in unfamiliar scenarios.

"Close in as fast as you can!"

Through countless spars, they knew each other's levels. They rallied around those Suhyun had approved, minimizing losses by moving in unison under proven leaders. Without a word, they formed a wedge formation behind their leader and surged uphill.

"Block them!"

The squad leaders on each hill shouted as the gang ascended like it was downhill. Archers nocked arrows and aimed.

"Scatter!"

At their leader's cry, the gang dispersed nimbly. The squad leaders smirked bitterly. One-on-one was feasible, but two-on-four or ten-on-twenty? Impossible. Soldiers were strongest in tight formations, weakest scattered. These fools had played right into their hands.

"Fire!"

The arrows flew, but the soldiers—trained more for volume than precision—missed wildly. Anticipating this, they discarded bows for spears.

"Form shield wall!"

The basic, effective phalanx of shields and spears advanced slowly, ready to grind down the attackers one by one.

"Hup!"

The interim leader, dubbed Hwanggu by Suhyun, clenched his free fist and stomped the soft earth, cratering it.

Suhyun's imagined Shaolin art infused Hwanggu's body with warm golden inner energy. True Body Buddha Fist—the fist of Buddha dwelling in a righteous body—was merciless despite its name. His glowing fist shattered not just the shield but the soldier's arm behind it.

Horrified by shields splintering under bare knuckles and comrades flying back, the soldiers faltered.

"Thrust!"

But at the squad leader's order, they lunged desperately—too late. Distracted by Hwanggu breaching their line, the gang had closed in.

A swift horizontal slash, powered by waist torque, sliced through quilted armor and flesh effortlessly. Inner energy made it deadlier; soldiers turning toward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hwanggu screamed as their backs were gashed, spears faltering.

That opened the floodgates. The dispersed gang struck in waves.

One soldier thought his shield could block a thin blade—until inner energy cleaved it like an axe, severing his arm.

Another tried to check a charging foe with his spear, but a leisurely stroll of a thrust pierced his throat. He gurgled, watching the blade withdraw smoothly.

Only then did the squad leader realize why they'd scattered.

"All these soldiers wield mana?!"

Of ten recruits, one showed talent for mana cultivation. Of five trained, one sensed it. Of two who did, one could use it in combat. A hundred yielded one mana warrior—and with experience, a squad leader. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠This leader, who owed his rank to scant mana use, watched his men crumple in despair.

"Damn it all."

Facing the gang charging like he was prey, he dropped his weapon. Surrender might work better than fighting to the death.

As squad leaders despaired atop their hills, the illegitimate son seethed with rage. His plan to seize free lumber and erode Chromore lay in ruins. Watching his borrowed soldiers and thugs die, he felt no guilt—only fury at the gang and their incompetent underlings.

But he couldn't take them alone. He decided swiftly.

"Damn it, I need to pull back now..."

"Who said you could retreat?"

Heukgu blocked the illegitimate son and his butler just as they turned to flee, arriving with Baekgu and Cheonggu—names bestowed by Suhyun—grinning confidently.

"You filthy cur, blocking my path?!"

"They say insults reveal one's own insecurities. Calling a bastard like you lowly? Sounds legit."

Suhyun taught martial arts and character, but the gang mastered trash talk first. To build patience, he constantly provoked them—effective for both. Sparring losers endured endless barbs, honing their taunts to an art form.

Heukgu's words burrowed inescapably; veins bulged on the son's forehead.

"I'll kill you!"

"Can't even prioritize? You're not just dumb—you're impatient too."

"Raaagh!"

Heukgu smirked, drawing his sword as the son fell for the bait. Baekgu and Cheonggu encircled the butler trying to drag his master away.

"Young master, escape first!"

"Yeah, don't fall for their idiocy. No matter how stupid you are."

The butler's plea, chased by Heukgu's barb, flipped the son's rage completely.

Tsking at his charge, the butler muttered,

"This is why mixed-blood lowborns..."

"Talking smack about your own boss? You're no gem yourself."

Baekgu retorted; the butler sneered.

"Lowlifes like you wouldn't get it."

His ornamental sword gleamed sharply. Baekgu and Cheonggu tensed at the practiced stance and pristine blade.

"You'll gain nothing."

"Why fear a fortune teller's curse when every prediction's wrong?"

Baekgu's sneer sparked the clash. As they subdued the fleeing butler, Heukgu struggled against the surprisingly strong son.

Buoyed by ambushing Daiyen's attackers and facing Lutisat's disciple Teramit, Heukgu's overconfidence shattered. The son was far stronger than expected!

Heukgu held even at first, but a sudden speed burst slashed his chest, turning the tide.

'What is this? Martial arts?'

Blood flowed from the deep gash, but Suhyun's brutal training had inured him; it wouldn't hinder much. He puzzled over the abrupt acceleration.

"Heh heh, where's that cocky mouth now?"

"Right here—blind?"

"Keep talking. I'll make you scream."

"Wanna hear my scream? Here: 'Kuh... aaah'."

Heukgu defended warily against flawless swordplay. Unsure of the style, he noted post-slash pressure with heavier swings.

The wound throbbed wider under weighted blades; he barely parried, wary of tricks. Suhyun had taught vital points—he knew a shallow cut could kill fast. Stealthy combos trumped brute force; he couldn't fixate on the sudden heaviness.

"Kuh!"

But guarding the heavy strike unbalanced him. Posture crumbling, wound reopening, he ate an iron-plated kick, tumbling back.

"Heh heh, rolling like a dog fits."

"Can't tell I'm a dog beastman?"

Reflexively clapping back, Heukgu checked his bruised left hand. Not critical, but a few more hits meant single-handing his sword.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

'Martial arts? Mana cultivation perk?'

He racked his brain fruitlessly. This fantasy world brimmed with variables; quick adaptation was key. Beaten by Suhyun, he'd endured wild abilities—but this eluded him.

"Die already!"

"What idiot dies willingly?!"

Heukgu adapted to the swordplay, but erratic strikes accumulated damage. Light and whip-fast, then abruptly heavy; heavy swings lightened next. Seamlessly alternating orthodox heavy and quick sword styles, the son dominated.

Dodging another burst of speed, Heukgu counterthrust desperately.

Parrying the gentle throat thrust, Heukgu sensed oddity.

'Slower than before?'

The parry was slower—not fatigue, not delayed reaction. Finally, he clocked it: not just style shifts, but speed and power fluctuated too. Changes timed post-fast/heavy strikes.

Not free-switching prowess, but forced by some flaw. What seemed strength was a camouflaged weakness. Heukgu pounced relentlessly.

"Gah! You peasant!"

Exploiting slow post-quick, weak post-heavy, he unleashed a full-power overhead smash.

Clang! Predicting the familiar arc, his all-out strike met the son's blade. The wrist buckled, gap exposed. Heukgu dropped his sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a grapple.

Locking both arms between his legs, Heukgu wrenched with waist power—an armbar. The son, versed in sword wrestling but not joints, panicked. Sword useless, freeing attempt futile—crack. Elbow hyperextended backward; he shrieked horrifically.

"Kraaaagh!"

But the scream cut short. Shifting seamlessly behind, Heukgu choked him out. Thrashing futilely, the son went limp. For all his dominance, a hollow defeat. A thoroughly anticlimactic end.