317. The Cartwheel Rolls (5)
In the spacious courtyard before Abbot Gong Gong-daesa's residence, the two men faced each other.
Yeon Hojeong cupped his fists in a crisp salute.
"Yeon Hojeong of the Bi-san Yeon Family from Gangdong."
Beom-o's eyebrows twitched. Casual speech from the outset. He could tell the man's age just by looking, yet he came off as awfully arrogant.
But he couldn't exactly match that brashness himself.
"Beom-o of Shaolin."
From afar, watching the pair, Gong Gong-daesa clicked his tongue softly. Beside him, Dang Gwan sat with arms crossed and let out a smirk.
"Thanks to that kid of yours, even the abbot won't be bored."
"Heh, it's just troubling."
Their conversation carried clearly to Beom-o's ears, despite the distance. His eyes darkened. It felt like they were treating him like some inexperienced child, and it soured his mood.
…Muwon. Empty the mind.
Beom-o took a shallow breath, then his gaze drifted to the hand axe hanging at Yeon Hojeong's waist. The blade wasn't even properly sharpened. It was a bit longer than an adult man's forearm, perhaps.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Beom-o asked, "You use an axe?"
"Oh, this?" Yeon Hojeong gave a wry smile. "It's my main weapon, but I've let my hand grow idle lately. Of course, I'll wield it when the moment calls."
"Hm."
Beom-o subtly looked down on him.
An axe, of all things.
Axes weren't weapons for proper martial artists. They suited black path thugs or third-rate bandits who relied on brute weight.
Yet the supposed greatest of the later generation wielded one? The scion of the Yeon Family, famed for swordsmanship, no less?
What a peculiar fellow.
Smiling at Yeon Hojeong, Beom-o refocused his mind.
No matter the weapon, his ability to conceal his presence is real. Can't let my guard down.
Just from masking his aura, the man deserved respect. Still, martial arts varied widely. Many supreme techniques specialized in gathering inner energy.
Beom-o figured Yeon Hojeong's art was something similar.
"Shall we begin, then?"
Yeon Hojeong tilted his head. "Hasn't it already started? I've been waiting."
Confusion crossed Beom-o's face. "What do you mean? I never said I'd strike first."
"…So it's you, huh?"
Yeon Hojeong nodded with a grin. "Got it. Let's start."
Beom-o's mood soured further. That look in Yeon Hojeong's eyes and his mannerisms reminded him of the sect leader or Dang Gwan.
Arrogant bastard.
Smoothly, Beom-o lowered into stance. His poised form evoked a sturdy boulder—utterly flawless.
A faint golden inner energy seeped from Beom-o's body.
One of Shaolin's supreme divine arts unleashed.
A resonant hum spread, like a temple bell tolling. Wooong!
Gong Gong-daesa clapped his knee. "Great Victory Brahma Heaven indeed!"
The energy wave expanded steadily, robust beyond measure. Not flashy or unique, but a masterful art that quietly asserted its presence.
"Come at me first," Beom-o said.
Yeon Hojeong nodded. "Alright."
Sabak sabak.
Beom-o frowned. What the hell?
He'd invited an attack, yet the man approached with no preparation—just casual steps, like strolling in the back hills. No circulating inner energy, no cautious stance. His eyes held no fighter's spirit or tension.
Is he toying with me?
Soon, Yeon Hojeong was within a zhang. Then—
Pak!
Yeon Hojeong's right foot lashed out like a spiked whip toward Beom-o's face.
Beom-o's eyes flashed. Fast!
A slow approach exploding into ferocious kickwork. Even Beom-o, famed Shaolin prodigy, faltered at the speed.
But his body reacted first. Whoosh!
Beom-o's right fist curved like a serpent, targeting Yeon Hojeong's thigh to swat the kick aside before it landed.
In that instant, Yeon Hojeong's foot vanished from view.
Thud!
"Urk?!"
The kick swung down like an axe, stomping Beom-o's instep.
Beom-o's face flushed red. Damn it!
He'd never imagined a stomp to the foot. The Great Victory Brahma Heaven Divine Art protected his bones, but the shock rattled through.
What kind of nonsense is this!
No sparring opponent targeted the instep. Unheard of.
Pang!
Enraged, Beom-o swung both fists.
Yeon Hojeong's eyes gleamed. Seemingly wild swings packed boulder-shattering force and momentum—Shaolin King Kong Fist.
Thung!
Beom-o's eyes bulged. His fists flew apart left and right. Yeon Hojeong's palms had struck his wrist pulses.
He couldn't even discern the technique—lightning-fast.
Yeon Hojeong's left hand slapped Beom-o's chest.
Thwack!
"Kuh!"
Intense pain dizzied his head. Even the divine art struggled to disperse the impact. Not a hard fist, but a soft one—dark energy striking internals.
Reeling back wildly, Beom-o screamed unwittingly.
"Agh!"
Kwajik!
Yeon Hojeong's foot stomped his instep again, grinding so hard the entire foot sank into the earth. Chest-tightening agony and near-fracture pain fueled Beom-o's fury.
"You bastard!"
A lion's roar erupted unbidden. Wooong!
With the bell-like hum, Beom-o's fist writhed toward Yeon Hojeong's upper body—astonishingly swift and supple.
One of Shaolin's Seventy-Two Supreme Arts revealed at last—a strike brimming with profound subtlety that even Yeon Hojeong couldn't afford to underestimate.
Like a coiling dragon, its momentum surged majestically.
Impressive.
Yeon Hojeong inwardly admired. Shaolin arts truly…!
Even in the hands of a half-baked monk who couldn't fully harness them, they unleashed tremendous power and presence. A fitting pinnacle of the martial world.
Rarely would one find arts so refined and majestic anywhere else.
But.
Wung!
Yeon Hojeong's arms glowed with subtle azure light—Azure Dragon Qi circulating.
Whoosh!
The Dragon King Flexible Fist's overwhelming force scattered softly. And Yeon Hojeong's arms coiled around Beom-o's like serpents.
Beom-o's eyes bulged.
Yeon Hojeong leaned back, wrenching.
Kwak!
"Graaah!"
Beom-o's left arm snapped. At least the joint held—small mercy. But the mental shock rivaled decapitation.
Damn it!
A broken arm in sparring? Unprecedented for him. Yet Beom-o countered, shifting weight to strike Yeon Hojeong's jaw with his right hand, rippling blue glow—Guanyin Clear Firm Hand.
Complex inner energy in a split second—raw talent shone, if not battle-hardened.
Yeon Hojeong pressed with his foot.
Kwaduduk!
"Guh!"
Beom-o pitched forward. Pishuk! The strike grazed Yeon Hojeong's shoulder.
No need to dodge outright—disrupt the stance, done. A vicious real-combat ploy.
Before Beom-o realized his miss, a flash of impact blinded him.
Pak!
A knee like an axe smashed his jaw. His mind nearly fled.
That was the true onslaught.
Thwack! Pak! Pwoong!
Triple strikes hammered home. Not lethal internals, but disorienting shocks. With killing intent, Beom-o would've died mid-combo.
Whooo!
White winds surged from Yeon Hojeong.
Kwang!
A single step, Tiger King's strike flew.
Pwoong!
"Kuhuk!"
Beom-o spewed blood and collapsed. Not deflected—all force absorbed. Not deadly or crippling, but proper martial arts would elude him for a while.
Yeon Hojeong dusted his hands. "Good showing."
"Kuhk!"
"Well, then."
"W-Wait!"
Beom-o rose, trembling. Yeon Hojeong smiled. "Impressive. Shaolin monks are tough as nails—they say even one strike like that won't keep you down."
"W-What the hell was that?!"
"What do you mean?"
Beom-o ground his teeth, pale. "Stepping on my instep! Calling that a fight…?!"
Then—
Hwaaaak!
Beom-o fancied the world turning red. Amid it, Yeon Hojeong drew his hand axe.
Whooo!
Flame-laced hot winds enveloped Beom-o.
Gasp!
Beom-o's eyes bulged. A fiend spewing mad flames swung an axe—mountain-sized, no ordinary tool.
Hwaruruk!
Fire ignited the cleaving blade, plummeting to bisect him.
Beom-o squeezed his eyes shut.
Whooo!
The heat vanished, winter chill soothing him. Opening his eyes, Beom-o paled further. The hand axe rested on his forehead.
Yeon Hojeong grinned. "I hear Shaolin arts are profound and vast, countering any technique with higher-dimensional mastery."
"…"
"Was what you learned so shallow it couldn't handle these crude tricks?"
Beom-o's cheeks quivered.
Yeon Hojeong sheathed the axe and saluted. "Shaolin Gong lives up to its name. You lost—not the art."
"…!"
"We'll clash again when the time comes. Next, I'll meet your strength with mine. Rest well."
Yeon Hojeong glanced at Gong Gong-daesa, who sighed and nodded.
On the way back, Dang Gwan asked casually, "Why hold back?"
"What do you mean?"
"Not like you to go easy."
Yeon Hojeong shot him a glare. "Should I have killed him right there?"
Dang Gwan snorted. "Not kill, but cripple him for good. The abbot requested the spar—no complaints."
"That's no good. Better if that monk burns with rivalry and seeks me out."
"How so?"
"If he learns something from me, won't the abbot be more likely to back you as successor?"
Dang Gwan stuck out his tongue. "Snake."
"Timing's awkward anyway. Grab a bite?"
"Nonsense. Mealtime's long past."
"Hm."
"Skip food. Let's drink."
"Shall we? Sure."