The Battle Banquet

A crisp clap of hands echoed through the hall.

Every eye turned toward Yoo Seol-ah as she took center stage.

"Now then! A new brother has joined our family, so it’s only right we introduce him properly, wouldn't you say? It’s been far too long—let’s hold a Battle Banquet!"

"Oooooh!"

The warriors of Squad 1 erupted in cheers.

"A Battle Banquet?" Dokgo Jin murmured.

Gwak Hyo offered a rough grin and explained. "Think of it as our own little sparring feast. In front of the whole unit, anyone who feels like it steps up and throws down. Mind you, it gets plenty vicious." His lips curled up further, showing teeth. "Truth is, more than a few bastards are itching to see what kind of monster could possibly earn the Dragon Tiger Plaque. Care to show them what you're made of?"

It was not an arrogant provocation, but the raw, unadorned curiosity and fighting spirit of seasoned martial artists toward a fellow powerhouse. Dokgo Jin let out a quiet chuckle.

"That would not be difficult."

In truth, Dokgo Jin was just as curious about the caliber of the Iron Soul Unit. A warrior's aura offered an approximation of his cultivation, but true skill only laid itself bare in the crucible of real combat.

Gwak Hyo barked at a sharp, agile warrior standing nearby. "Heh heh heh. Hey, Shin Pyeong! Go spread the word to every squad. In half an hour, the Battle Banquet convenes in the training grounds!"

"Understood, Squad Leader!"

Shin Pyeong sprinted out of the hall, practically buzzing with excitement, and Iron Heart Hall began to hum with restless anticipation.

Half an hour later, roughly eighty warriors of the Iron Soul Unit had assembled across the expansive training grounds. Aside from Squads 9 and 10, who were away on missions, every last member was present.

Even Yeom Baek, who rarely attended such casual gatherings, stood watching from a distance with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He, too, was eager to witness the true prowess that had earned the personal recognition of the Master of the Dragon Tiger Pavilion. He had observed Dokgo Jin dismantle the wanderers on Sword Selling Street, but mere ruffians could never compare to the battle-hardened killers of his own unit.

Dokgo Jin stepped into the center of the dusty ring.

"A pleasure to meet you all. I am Dokgo Jin."

Waaaaah!

"Welcome, Dragon Tiger Plaque Master!"

"A genuine monster has joined the Iron Soul!"

"Damn it all, why didn't they assign him to our squad?"

"Right? We should kick your useless hide to the curb and take the Plaque Master instead!"

"Say that again, you bastard!"

"Gwahaha!"

Amidst the raucous banter, gazes brimming with goodwill and intense curiosity converged upon Dokgo Jin from every direction.

Yoo Seol-ah raised her voice above the din. "Alright! He’s family now, so carve his face into your minds! We will now officially commence the Battle Banquet!"

Another thunderous roar shook the grounds.

"Oh! Are we getting to see the Plaque Master fight right off the bat?"

"I can hardly wait!"

Yet Yoo Seol-ah's next words instantly doused their excitement.

"First, the Plaque Master needs to see how our banquet actually runs. He’ll take the field at the appropriate moment, so the rest of you start us off!"

The instant she finished, an eerie silence swallowed the grounds. Warriors exchanged sidelong glances, fidgeting in place, yet not a single man stepped forward.

Given the bloodthirsty temperament of the Iron Soul Unit and the usual frenzy of a Battle Banquet, such hesitation was absurd. But Yoo Seol-ah saw through them immediately.

"Look at you rascals... Every single one of you is scheming the exact same thing."

The warriors scratched their necks sheepishly. If they fought now and drained their stamina, they would lose their chance to test their mettle against Dokgo Jin when he finally took the ring.

"You bastards, are you really going to be like this?"

No one answered.

With a resigned sigh, Yoo Seol-ah had no choice but to single someone out. Her sharp gaze locked onto a particular warrior. "I hear your cultivation has seen some progress lately. Squad Three, Jang San—step forward!"

"...Tsk. What rotten luck."

Jang San grumbled as he stepped into the ring, twin hand axes fastened securely to his waist.

The moment he did, a warrior seated on the far side leaped to his feet. "If Jang San is stepping up, then I'm your man!"

It was Cho Myeong from Squad 5, Jang San’s long-standing nemesis.

"Jang San, cough up the money you owe me!"

"Don't give me that bullshit! You said yourself I didn't need to pay it back!"

"That was drunk talk when I was drowning in wine, you leech! When I say pay up, you pay up!"

"Hah! In your dreams!"

Seeing the pair bicker over the exact same debt for the hundredth time, the surrounding crowd rolled their eyes in collective boredom. The two men dispensed with any customary martial salutes. Glaring at each other with bared teeth, they lunged forward and collided.

Chaaaang!

A deafening shriek of metal shattered the air right from the opening clash. Cho Myeong’s swinging iron staff smashed dead against Jang San’s twin hand axes, sending bright sparks flying in all directions.

Ordinary martial artists would have traded a single exchange before leaping back to measure distance, but the Iron Soul Unit operated by a different creed.

Clang-clang-clang-clang!

Axes and staff clashed dozens of times in the blink of an eye, trading blows in a whirlwind of violence that looked less like a sparring match and more like a mortal duel.

Yet that lasted only a moment.

Spotting a fleeting gap, Cho Myeong abruptly tackled Jang San around the waist, flipping the entire contest on its head. In a heartbeat, the duel devolved into a vicious, muddy brawl.

The elegance of martial forms and the depth of internal energy ceased to matter. All that remained was raw endurance and sheer, stubborn tenacity—a struggle to see who could bite down harder on the other’s throat.

Thud! Crack!

"Give him hell!"

"Now that's what a Battle Banquet is all about!"

The spectating warriors banged the sheaths and hafts of their weapons against the stone floor, howling in bloodthirsty approval. The heat of their frenzy turned the training grounds into a roaring furnace.

In the end, the bout was decided through sheer flesh-and-blood savagery. Even after taking a heavy fist square to the face, Cho Myeong drove his skull forward and delivered a vicious, bone-crunching headbutt.

"Aaaargh... You brainless brute... Is that skull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made of granite?"

Jang San collapsed flat on his back, blood streaming from his nose. Panting heavily, Cho Myeong extended a calloused hand down to him.

"Told you to pay your debts, you bastard."

Jang San took Cho Myeong's hand and hauled himself upright, muttering curses under his breath. The two men, who had looked ready to slaughter each other moments ago, were already clapping shoulders and cackling together as if nothing had happened.

Cheers for the victor; wine for the vanquished.

Watching this display of coarse, unbreakable brotherhood, Dokgo Jin’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. While neither man possessed transcendent martial arts, the raw desperation and unyielding ferocity of their struggle had been unmistakable.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see.

Dokgo Jin folded his arms and gave a slight nod. He grasped the true essence of the Battle Banquet in an instant.

Neither of them fought with full lethal force.

They aimed for fatal vitals, yet pulled their strikes just enough to avoid inflicting permanent injury. The exchanges that flew across that razor-thin line were terrifyingly sharp. In truth, Jang San’s aura had suggested a slight edge in martial prowess, yet Cho Myeong had emerged victorious.

This is not about measuring the hierarchy of internal arts. It is training designed to cultivate raw adaptability, savagery, and the instinct for survival.

A battlefield was no dignified duel. In the time it took to exchange formal courtesies and perform elaborate forms, the man who flung dirt into his enemy's eyes and shattered his groin to stay alive was the true victor. The Battle Banquet was an ordeal crafted to etch that very survival instinct into their bones.

Yoo Seol-ah spoke beside him. "Well? Do you understand what this banquet is about now?"

"I do. It is an exceptionally efficient method."

"As expected of the Dragon Tiger Plaque Master. You caught on fast." She paused, her gaze softening slightly as she watched the dirt-caked warriors laughing together. "Of course, before absolute martial might, some might dismiss these as cheap tricks. But on a battlefield, anything can happen. This is our own desperate struggle to raise our odds of walking out of that hell by even a single fraction of a percent."

She pushed herself upright with a grin. "Alright! The warm-up is done, so how about we see what our new recruit can do?"

Her eyes snapped directly to Dokgo Jin.

In an instant, dozens of pairs of eyes followed hers. Heavy, hungry gazes saturated with raw curiosity and anticipation locked onto him.

Dokgo Jin stepped into the center of the ring without a moment's hesitation. The metallic tang of bloody dirt and the pungent reek of sweat bit into his nostrils.

Yoo Seol-ah smirked, sweeping her gaze over the gathered men. "Having ordinary squad members fight him wouldn't be any fun. Let's see... One of our pillars ought to step up, shouldn't they?"

"Aw, damn it!"

The rank-and-file groaned in disappointment. They knew full well they were no match for him, yet their eyes still burned with the desire to cross blades with Dokgo Jin.

At Yoo Seol-ah's prompt, the squad leaders exchanged quiet glances. Before long, a figure parted the crowd and strode forward.

He was a lean, wiry man whose skin was marked by countless small scars resembling snake scales. His eyes were chillingly dark and dead, like stagnant water in a subterranean pool. At his waist hung a pair of uniquely curved daggers.

"Ooooh! It's the Seventh Squad Leader!"

It was Moon Heum, Leader of Squad 7, known by the moniker "Viper." Even Yoo Seol-ah’s eyes glittered with renewed interest.

Moon Heum curled his lips into a venomous smile as he appraised Dokgo Jin from head to toe. "I've been wondering since the moment you set foot here. Just how monstrous are you to receive the Dragon Tiger Plaque?" His voice sounded like a serpent slithering across dry stones. "Moon Heum, Leader of Squad Seven. Watch yourself. I never learned how to hold back."

The instant the words left his mouth, Moon Heum’s figure blurred into a haze.

Swish!

His movement was fundamentally different from the rough, brawling style of the regular troops. It was silent, swift, and predatory—like a viper stalking its prey.

So a squad leader truly is on a different level.

Yet Dokgo Jin never lost sight of his path.

Slipping into Dokgo Jin’s blind spot with frightening speed, Moon Heum drew a curved dagger without hesitation and slashed directly at his throat.

Sharp. But...

Dokgo Jin leaned his upper body back by a mere fraction.

A frigid gleam of steel grazed past beneath his chin. Had it connected, the blow would have torn his throat open.

Moon Heum’s brow twitched. Did he barely evade it? Or did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he just make it look that way?

He could not be certain.

Let's test it.

Whir!

Dropping low to the ground in a spin, Moon Heum whipped out the dagger in his other hand, carving inward toward the back of Dokgo Jin’s knee. It was a vicious strike intended to sever the hamstring and thoroughly cripple his mobility while avoiding outright death.

Yet in Dokgo Jin’s eyes, the entire trajectory was laid bare. Dokgo Jin’s foot lashed out, catching the flat of the incoming blade.

Clang!

"Ngh?!"

A violent vibration traveled up the dagger, jolting into Moon Heum’s forearm.

Insane! That was just a kick?!

It felt as though he had struck a massive iron sledgehammer.

My right hand is completely numb.

It was an unbelievable outcome from a deflected strike. Moon Heum was lucky he had not lost his grip on the weapon entirely. He staggered back, retreating several paces. But it was no ordinary retreat.

To an onlooker, it might seem like I'm only buying time to shake off the numbness.

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠squad leader was not named lightly. Pretending to fall back, Moon Heum subtly flicked his boot, kicking a spray of dark, ash-strewn sand from the floor straight at Dokgo Jin’s face. His goal was not to inflict damage, but to extinguish his opponent's sight.

Swish!

A black cloud of ash and grit billowed forward.

I know you're strong. But real combat is a different beast!

In the blink of an eye, the dagger in his left hand was already poised to strike.

Shiiik!

Carving through the veil of sand, the blade drove straight toward Dokgo Jin’s chest. Cries of shock and wild cheers erupted simultaneously from the surrounding crowd.

"Whoa! That's vicious!"

"Isn't that taking it too far?!"

The sand struck Dokgo Jin’s face.

In truth, had he deployed the Nine Nether Trackless, evading the trick would have been effortless. Yet he deliberately refrained. Such a technique did not belong in the spirit of the Battle Banquet.

Smack!

The grit peppered his skin, but Dokgo Jin never lost the trajectory of the flying dagger. His hand shot forward with pinpoint precision, clamping down around Moon Heum’s wrist.

Snap!

Moon Heum’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. His vision was blinded... How could he?!

Though dark grit clung to Dokgo Jin’s face, his eyes burned through it with lucid, piercing clarity.

This should be enough, Dokgo Jin thought.

He pulled Moon Heum’s wrist toward his chest, guiding the motion as smoothly as flowing water. There was no violent exertion of raw muscle. Yet Moon Heum felt as if he had been sucked into an inescapable maelstrom, completely stripped of his ability to resist.

Right before his eyes, a calm, composed smile brushed across Dokgo Jin’s lips.

With a subtle twist of Dokgo Jin’s wrist, Moon Heum’s body lifted effortlessly into the air, light as a feather.

How can this be...?

The world spun upside down, and in the next heartbeat, a heavy, crushing impact slammed through his back.

Thud!

A flawless, clinical takedown that left no room for even a scream. Moon Heum’s vision blinked into pitch darkness.

A breathless silence blanketed the training grounds. The Seventh Squad Leader, celebrated as one of the most lethal experts in the entire Iron Soul Unit, had been neutralized in the blink of an eye.

Dokgo Jin calmly brushed the sand from his face and glanced around the yard.

WAAAAAAAAAH!

An earth-shattering roar erupted from the warriors, rattling the very foundations of the grounds.

"I-Incredible! How could he adapt that fast?!"

"As expected of the Dragon Tiger Plaque Master! He truly is cut from a different cloth!"

Had he simply crushed Moon Heum through sheer, overwhelming internal power, the reaction would never have reached such heights. It was because he had achieved victory strictly within the rules and essence of their own Battle Banquet that every single man was left in awe.

Just as the cheering began to subside, a figure stepped into view.

"Even better than I imagined. You've still got plenty left in you, right?"

Yoo Seol-ah stood right before him.

Shring!

The twin swords at her back cleared their scabbards in a single, fluid draw.

"Allow me to show you why I am the Vice-Commander."

A sharp, fearless smile played upon her lips.