Dungeon & Commander (193)
As the vibration spread out, weakening the pressure of the Muryang Mugung, Yoo Wan-seop charged straight at the Mongmubok.
The fourth form, Falling Water, unfolded.
The blade aura of the Cheongmyeonggeom enveloped the Phantom Knights like ferocious raindrops, and the Muryang Mugung began shoving the sword away entirely, as if whipping up a gale.
Impressive. Such power.
The stronger his opponent, the more Yoo Wan-seop burned with fervor.
Leaf Shade, Clear Quality, Whispering Breeze—the ultimate techniques of the Cheongmyeonggeom style unfolded in rapid succession. In a space where ordinary raiders could barely stand, Yoo Wan-seop moved freely, sometimes soaring like a feather.
The Cheongmyeonggeom style, honed from his teens to the present, pierced sharper into gaps the more the Muryang Mugung's power and bindings intensified.
Suddenly, needles poured down.
Clang clang.
He deflected them with the Cheongmyeonggeom, but two slipped through—one embedding in his shoulder, the other in his forearm.
...Wind and Rain Needles.
Adding Wind and Rain Needles to the Muryang Subul—it seemed they'd improved since the days he led the Phantoms himself.
Fortunately, no poison coated them.
Yes, now that's more like it!
Yoo Wan-seop raised the Cheongmyeonggeom. He charged and slashed downward.
Boom!
A colossal sword wind erupted, blasting away the three nearest foes.
It was the sixth form of the Cheongmyeonggeom style: Wind Name.
"Huff... huff."
The rough breathing he hadn't heard in ages.
Yoo Wan-seop entertained no thought of defeat. He simply pondered, and pondered again, how to bring them down.
It was Yoo Wan-seop himself who had refined the Muryang Mugung, patching its flaws into a more perfect formation. Thus, no one knew it better... except Ma Jung-hyeon.
The Muryang Mugung's base flow tied deeply to the Eight Trigrams, its progression an application thereof.
One each at east, west, south, north; one each in between like northeast and northwest, forming the skeleton. Applying the method where two occupy one position required sixteen, plus one to command the entire formation—seventeen in total.
They weren't perfect now, having felled several already. Had they deployed the Muryang Mugung from the start, even Yoo Wan-seop might not have held out like this.
Yoo Wan-seop eyed the due north position: the Kan station. Kan was water's seat, yet a fire-affinity raider stood there. His trembling hands betrayed he wasn't the original occupant.
Yoo Wan-seop charged toward Kan.
Or pretended to.
As expected, the one at northeast Gen closed in. The fluid, intimate defense shifting organically was the Muryang Mugung's strength.
Grinning slyly, Yoo Wan-seop instead struck due south Li. The foe fired a Fire Blast at him, but he dodged lightly, tapped several acupoints with the Cheongmyeonggeom's flat, then kicked him tumbling backward—far below.
The entire Muryang Mugung staggered in reverse motion.
Yoo Wan-seop seized the gap to break free. Once outside, he could sweep them away in seconds.
Then, a ferocious aura surged in.
Damn.
The pulling force sealed his front completely; he had no choice but to retreat. Yoo Wan-seop was trapped in the Muryang Mugung once more.
The one now at the due south station was Ma Jung-hyeon himself, who had merely watched until then.
He meant to see it through to the end.
Very well, then. No holding back here either.
Yoo Wan-seop adjusted the Cheongmyeonggeom's angle slightly. No more mercy with the flat of the blade.
They flinched, grasping the implication.
Now it's do or die. Either they kill me here, or I annihilate the Phantom Knights' main force alone.
Round two began.
The Jirisan traverse from Nogodan through Banya Peak and Chotdae Peak to Cheonwangbong was familiar from his youth, but veering off-trail through valleys and up slopes was grueling beyond words.
Without Mokhonbo, traversing the dense forest would have been several times harder.
"You know where he is, right?"
Go Cheolmin asked, suspicion underlying his words.
"Of course not."
"You know how vast Jirisan is, don't you?"
"It's still just a mountain."
Choi Min-su's smile carried an ominous edge.
Their current spot was southwest of Samdobong, not far from Piagol Shelter in theory, but far off the trail—it would take considerable time to reach.
"Hold up a sec."
Choi Min-su deployed Pacheonbo, leaping to a dead tree's crown.
Balancing on the sharp tip, he scanned the surroundings. The setting sun's golden rays bathed him; even another man might feel his heart stir at the sight.
He raised a hand to cup his mouth.
No way?
"Yoo! Wan! Seop!"
The voice, infused with immense inner power, boomed across the wilds.
It was Pacheonhu.
Flocks of birds burst skyward in fright.
Not just squirrels, but boars, foxes—even a Jirisan moon bear, if lurking nearby—would flee from that force.
Hikers heading to shelters for the night would halt, scanning for the source shaking the air.
Go Cheolmin grasped why Choi Min-su was so brazen.
Unleashing Pacheonhu at this key pass—there was no way Yoo Wan-seop, training quietly in his secluded spot, wouldn't hear.
Recognizing the voice, curiosity alone would draw him here: Why Jirisan?
Only top-tier raiders pull stunts like that.
Choi Min-su hopped down, landing lightly. He eyed Go Cheolmin.
"Let's eat."
Meaning: You cook. I'll just eat.
"...Yes, sir."
He was here for Uramata Guild, yet playing errand boy felt unjust somehow.
If Choi Min-su's words became reality, Uramata would shed its third-rate label. Just "the guild led by top raider Yoo Wan-seop" would draw raiders in droves.
Go Cheolmin unpacked his backpack—mess kit and all—to prep the meal.
As he rinsed rice, the radio crackled.
It was the mountain rescue team's radio.
Go Cheolmin dropped the rice and kit, grabbing only the radio, and hurried back to Choi Min-su.
After the briefing, Choi Min-su decided instantly.
"Leave the bags. I'll go ahead—follow."
"...Understood."
Choi Min-su scaled a tree, then bounded along slender branches that would snap under a light step. He vanished over the treetops in moments.
Chosangbi?
Chosangbi—flying over grass. Who knew Choi Min-su had reached such heights.
Go Cheolmin launched into a Tan Mokhonbo sprint.
Pacheonhu, unmistakably.
Ma Jung-hyeon gnawed his lip.
He didn't want to believe it, but that eerie voice carried through the air meant Yoo Wan-seop had a powerful ally incoming—and he'd arrive here in at most fifteen minutes.
Then, the Cheongmyeonggeom Yoo Wan-seop raised overhead vibrated, emitting an odd sound.
Not loud, but burrowing into the mind like a cricket's chirp.
His Clear Quality lives up to the name. Wielding sound arts through swordplay, no less.
Ma Jung-hyeon couldn't help admiring it.
The Muryang Mugung loosened momentarily—Clear Quality had scattered their focus.
Ma Jung-hyeon unleashed the twenty-four forms of the Danhonjangbeop, lunging at Yoo Wan-seop. He probed with the third form Partial Edge Thrust, pressed with the fourth Exploration, and targeted the chest with the seventeenth Remnant Severance.
Yoo Wan-seop countered the ferocious palm strikes with the Cheongmyeonggeom. The chilling sound of Clear Quality cut off abruptly.
The Muryang Mugung regained strength, pressing Yoo Wan-seop anew. But it wasn't enough to fell him as he dodged and riposted nimbly.
This won't do.
Ma Jung-hyeon simulated two scenarios.
First: Finish in fifteen minutes.
How long to corner and kill Yoo Wan-seop in the Muryang Mugung? If doable in fifteen, execute without hesitation.
The issue: Hard to judge.
Ju Shin's supercomputer in HQ basement had calculated Yoo Wan-seop should've perished in the Muryang Mugung's might already. Based on all data, it spectacularly missed.
Had Ma Jung-hyeon not jumped in to seal the gap, Yoo Wan-seop would've terrorized the Phantom Knights then fled into the vast mountains.
In half a year, Yoo Wan-seop had become another man.
Even after losing his right arm, stronger than before.
That's why he had to die here. Untouched, maybe—but attempting and failing? The fallout was nightmarish to imagine.
Second scenario: Grimmer.
Last lockdown at Association HQ, Choi Min-su had punched through the outer wall with buffer Moon Hyorin.
What if Moon Hyorin came too?
Even with Phantom main force intact, it'd be tough.
Why Jirisan, why now?
No leak? Impossible timing. Means a mole. Choi Min-su planting one? Unlikely. Someone gunning for my spot tipped him off. They'd be thrilled—two blunders in a row means demotion.
Several faces surfaced.
He wouldn't accuse yet. He'd investigate methodically, gather proof, then uproot.
Just regrettable to lose this chance to internal squabbles.
Yoo Wan-seop hadn't treated Ju Shin as enemy despite expulsion. Had he raged and severed ties, HQ would've been rubble.
Maintaining uneasy relations, time might've turned them amicable.
But after today, Yoo Wan-seop becomes their most aggressive... dangerously so.
Guild masters, elders, raiders clawing for Ju Shin's top don't grasp Yoo Wan-seop's might ahead.
No Ju Shin raider could harass the Muryang Mugung solo like this.
Telling them? Lukewarm response. Ex-Ju Shin, he's powerless—that's their view.
He wanted to refute, but Ma Jung-hyeon held his tongue—and would continue to.
He didn't want Ju Shin as enemy.
Ju Shin deems any doubting the organization's power an enemy to crush.
Ma Jung-hyeon eyed Yoo Wan-seop.
Panting. Stumbling at times.
Yet eyes calm, mercilessly stabbing or slashing any entering Cheongmyeonggeom's reach. Even Muryang Mugung's pressure failed against this fearsome raider.
Phantom members, proud knights, now cowed. They'd thrilled at orders to eliminate Korea's long-reigning rank-one raider themselves.
"Yoo Wan-seop!"
The voice rang again.
Pacheonhu once more. Choi Min-su approached at tremendous speed.
Less than five minutes left.
Son Hong-gi glanced at Ma Jung-hyeon. Eyes asking: Fight on, or retreat?
Choi Min-su was coming.
So just hold out.
But that fact mattered little. The urge to not just break through Ma Jung-hyeon-reinforced Muryang Mugung, but shatter it root and stem, blazed fiercer than ever.
Next time: Full Phantom Knights—main force plus left and right wings. Falter here, no chance beyond.
Yoo Wan-seop exhaled, eyes gleaming.
Earth Roar—let's do it.
Most time atop Jirisan spent mastering Cheongmyeonggeom's sixth form: Tomyeong.
Even with sound right arm, Tomyeong was a tough fortress.
After full recovery, its outline eluded him—until days ago, grasping what "earth's wail" meant.
Most raiders hole up years perfecting skills, debuting in combat after. One form: five, sometimes ten years.
They boast at parties or drinks: "I devoted ten years to this." Peers praise the endurance.
Yoo Wan-seop stayed silent, inwardly mocking the waste.
Training necessary, of course.
But training alone hits limits slow. Can't delve deep and broad. Lifetime on two, three arts.
Real combat slashes time radically.
Ten years to one; sometimes half; lucky, two-three months.
On death's edge, body awakens hypersensitive. Unleash then—details, links, variations, applications engrave deep. Absorb the form in one go.