Chapter 199
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 199
Chapter Title: Lawless Martial Arts (No Path)
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Transcendent speed was palpable.
Floating above the ground mid-dropkick, the world seemed like a thing of beauty. I can do it. Right now, I can do it. Full-Burst Attack.
A dreamlike technique imbued with childhood admiration.
That mythical dropkick struck true.
"—Kehek?!!"
Swoosh!
Immense destructive power. Serka, hit dead-on by the dropkick, flew far off and tumbled across the ground three full rolls. I immediately executed a falling technique to minimize the damage and sprang back up swiftly.
I did it.
I freaking did it.
The attack was a success. Serka had turned toward my shout and instinctively twisted into a defensive posture, but it was physically impossible for a woman's petite frame to block Kim Katt's full-power dropkick.
She was in a dobok to begin with, so her defense was low.
A 100% defense-piercing blow.
"O, oo!!"
"Oooooooo!!!!!!!!!"
I charged madly at Serka once more, circling her as she retched in agony, belting out fanatic cheers.
"Kr... khek! Y-you...!"
"Long time no see, Serka! I've missed you tons!"
"Y-you crazy bastard! *Cough*, *cough*! Urkhek! M-my side...!"
No special reason.
Just wanted to land one good hit.
I recalled the promotion bout.
Back then, I'd acquired Confeito and let things slide. Why? Didn't want to stir up promotion issues. So I spared Serka, who'd tried to drag my party into the pit of death.
Just postponing for later.
Someday, when we met again, I'd beat her down—that was the plan.
And now, reunited with her in this moment, I acted without a shred of hesitation or moral quandary. Morality? Judgment? The half-enlightened true stoner I'd become was long freed from such petty concerns.
What I do is righteousness itself, the path to enlightenment.
"Get up! You KKK bitch! You know how many black folks died because of your kind? Columbus-level fuck! Goddamned imperialists!"
I grabbed her nape and shoulder, yanking her up roughly. Racism. Chanting the echo of that horrific sin. Countless Jews had died. Countless blacks too.
Racism was absolute evil.
The ultimate evil of human history.
I vowed to dedicate my life to confronting it head-on.
Hitler and Columbus could stay on Earth.
At least in this otherworld with Claudy and Winia.
I won't tolerate such beings emerging here.
"Urk...! A-ack! It hurts, hurts! Let go!"
"Quit whining! This is nothing compared to their suffering!"
"W-what the hell... urk!"
I hauled the writhing, grimacing Serka to her feet and slung an arm around her shoulder. Her hell was just beginning. My fist—fortified by extreme muscle conditioning and mana circulation—would mercilessly pummel her gut.
"Brace yourself, racist! As my iron fist, I shall purge your sins!"
"Ur... heuk! D-don't do it!"
Her face drained white at the sight of my fist. She spoke in a voice thick with terror.
No forgiveness.
No mercy.
If you've sinned.
Pay the price.
I wrapped my fist in ki generated from the Yaksha Annihilation forms. The moment that steel fist, brimming with omnipotence, sank into Serka's abdomen.
"Se-Serka!!!"
Sudden furious voices halted my fist. What? Looking over, they were male martial artists in doboks matching Serka's color and design.
"What is the meaning of this!"
Ah.
Comrades, perhaps?
Or same dojo mates?
They charged with the fury of mad bulls. They closed in until they were right in front of me, arm slung around Serka. One jabbed a finger at me and bellowed.
"W-who the hell are you! What did you do to Serka!"
His face twisted in rage as he assumed a martial stance. A sturdy yellow-haired guy. But inferior to me, with plenty of flaws in his form. The one behind... similar.
Sizing up their power, my battle lust surged.
All martial artists are my foes!
I want to fight!
I want to drown in the martial way!
Show me your power!
"Hey, it's a misunderstanding. Serka and I go way back."
"Go way back?"
Even as a gentleman, I had no choice but to smile and attempt negotiation. They hadn't struck first yet. Ideally, I'd take just Serka and wrap this up smoothly.
Want to get back to the inn quick.
The standoff dragged on, and Serka forced out words through gritted teeth.
"Urk...! R-run away! This guy's dangerous...!"
"Shut it, Serka! The dangerous thing is your ideology!"
Think about how many died on Earth because of that brutal mindset! Serka still hadn't snapped out of it, by the looks of her. This was the end. Neither Buddhism, Christianity, nor Zoroastrianism could save her now.
She'd fallen into the demonic path.
Only the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's secret fist barrage could redeem her!
In a rage, I swung my open palm across Serka's yap.
—Slap!
"Kahak!"
Scream erupting.
Lips bursting.
Blood smeared my palm.
"Hahuk! You bastard!"
"Daring to hit Serka!"
The male martial artists gasped in unison. With iron knuckles equipped, they radiated a ferocious intent to pounce any second.
"Stay back! Unless you wanna see Serka bite it!"
Words blurted in the heat.
I immediately wrenched her neck, jammed my fist against her temple, and spun it around. "Urk! Stop! It hurts!" The fist-twirl of terror. Thinking back, it was the move Jjanggu always took from Mom.
"A hostage?!"
"Such cowardice...!"
The shocked men cried out in dismay. This wasn't some hostage play. More accurate to call it capturing a war criminal POW. Even as my fist ground into her temple, Serka spat out words.
"O-oppas! P-please! Just run! I'm okay...! This barbarian's dangerous! Go get the other oppas...!"
...Oppas?
Not blood siblings by looks, so dojo slang? Hold up. What were Kustos and Roel doing? Curiosity spiked, but I shelved it.
Those two had nothing to do with me anymore.
No grudge against Kustos.
A bit toward Roel, sure, but she's a mage—untouchable.
So naturally, Serka eats the blame.
"Even Serka says it! Now beat it!"
"Urk...!"
The martial artists faltered briefly.
But backing off while a comrade suffered? Not the mark of true warriors. Cowards they might be, but they knew loyalty to their own. That's why they'd gotten their asses handed to them before.
"Hang on, Serka! We'll save you soon!"
Yeah. That's more like it.
"N-no need! Hurry and run...!"
Serka's desperate plea.
Her terror was unnatural. Probably instinct picking up that I'm the Heavenly Demon. At any rate, her agonized begging seemed to steel their resolve; the two men exchanged glances and nodded with grim determination.
Utterly solemn demeanor.
Stances assumed.
No waiting for who went first,
—Iyaaaaap!!!
—Kiyaaaaap!!!
Both stomped the earth in sync.
Like Vajra warriors charging hellish demons. Doboks whipping in the wind revealed honed torsos. They barreled at me without a thought for what came after.
What the hell. These lunatics.
Can't they see Serka in my clutches?
In a pinch, I cast Friend Shield to block.
"Friend Shield!"
—Puk-puk-puk!
"Kahaak!!!"
Incredibly, the instant I thrust Serka forward, unbelievable ancient mythical punches slammed into her flesh. "Huhuk!" The blonde martial artist gawked wide-eyed, as if beholding the truth of lost Atlantis.
"W-what did you do! Serka! You alright?!"
"Kuhuk...! *Khek*!!"
I was shocked too.
"Serka got totally wrecked!"
Beaten by her trusted oppa, Serka spewed bile. Too nasty—I just shoved her away roughly. —Puk! The blonde caught her as she toppled.
"You crazy fuck!"
"Nah, you hit her."
"Uwaaaaaah!!!!!!!"
The martial artists wailed.
Seeing them fly into a rage after smashing Serka themselves proved martial artists were off their rockers. And with avalanche momentum, the pair unleashed joint techniques and rushed me.
"Hoo! You've mastered joint assaults!"
Impressed, I assumed the Execution Fist stance. "Kiyoop!" Their kiai sounded just like Kobson's scream. Purely on noise? I'd give it 100.
"Slow."
—Pa-pa-pat!
I unleashed a punch at the first charger, the blonde. At my level, no need for a blade against these clowns. Before his knuckle connected, my fist cratered his face.
"—Kuthek?!!"
"Dominic!"
Dominic, huh.
Anyway, joint assault shattered—but you can't pull back a launched attack. The follower was incoming with a kick.
"Fist. Next up, leg."
No need for Supremacy of the Heavenly Demon. I read the move, sidestepped simply. If naming it... yeah. Execution Evasion Step.
"—M-missed?!"
Execution Evasion Step traced the attack's path; I countered instantly. What technique? Taekwondo? Execution Fist? Heavenly Demon Arts? Ah, so many options—this was bliss.
This was the path of martial arts.
Dodge the attack, deliver the counter.
Those two simple principles felt insanely fun.
It ignited my soul, scorning the weak.
"Lam Kick."
Settled on a foreign kicking art. My whipping leg pierced like a sword thrust.
"Kuhuk!"
"Dobok see-through or what?"
The martial artist rolled across the dirt in a collapsed stance.
"Weak-ass shits. Frailty—that's your downfall. I respect the comrade loyalty, but that's it. Leaning on your buddies? You'll never grasp true strength."
"Urh... uk! Kuhuk!"
In seconds, both martial artists took critical hits and crumpled. Hey, I even pulled my punches. Full throttle? Serial murder spree.
"You lot are just cannon fodder."
Of course, I could shred a truckload of these punks without breaking a sweat.
Forged in life-or-death crucibles, power gripped through sheer survival obsession and extreme training—ain't no joke.
"Kuiku i."
I'd grown stronger.
Sure, mana like a rat dick, but freely wielding it made a world of difference.
Body enhancement without mana drain, ramped efficiency for attacks and dodges. Lightened frame transcended into peak motion.
"Aa...!"
Serka knelt, stroking her shocked-out, foaming oppas. Tough luck. But we still had unfinished business.
I seized her arm.
"Off to a better world."
"What... just what did I do wrong..."
Imperialist.
Racist.
Serial killer.
Obtuse to others' pain, clueless to their own sins. Cross Kim Katt once? Pay till you drop. Mocked me first as barbarian swordsman, inflicted pain—that was Serka.
Unalterable truth.
"We're going together, Serka."
Gripping her tear-streaked arm, I dragged her toward a secluded spot. Witnesses? Sure. But locals? They'd rather spectate with folded arms than snitch.
Fights weren't rare here.
No deaths—this barely qualified as a ruckus.
Hell, some spectators had even clapped moments ago.
"Serka. I've got a ton of grudges against you."
"Huek...! Huek!"
"Don't cry... gonna eat you or something? Just a stick-beating, then you're free."
Dragged her quite a ways.
"Hey."
Someone.
No—a group's mouthpiece called out.
"Barbarian swordsman. Halt right there."
"Another racist fuck."
I turned.
"Hoo."
Just like my first time in Isvant, getting thrashed by martial artists—the scene replayed.
Racists.
No.
Racist Sisters!