Clash with the Swift Demon
Two men stood in a small clearing set up outside Heuk Ung's residence.
A crooked, sinister smirk tilted across one man's face.
As a martial artist, you know the rule—if you fail to recognize the gap upfront, you won't survive even a day.
So what? What the hell are you trying to say?
Can't read the room, or is your skill just that far off? Pathetic.
Unlike before, when he'd at least pretended to show some courtesy, the bastard's attitude had completely flipped now that the fight was on.
He'd been arrogant even while moving to the sparring spot, and right up until the last moment—mocking them in that barely audible whisper.
I'll handicap myself for you. What'll it be? Speak up.
Here it comes. Fine, if you're offering to hold back, I won't say no.
Any other martial artist might get offended and refuse, but I accepted it straight up.
Your footwork and defense are fair game, but try not to use any inner energy in your attacks. Cannons are expensive weapons—damage one, and it's a headache.
Kukuku, half my power? Fine, sounds fun. I'll do it.
I hadn't actually expected him to agree. Typical Sapa scum—no way he was doing it out of some romantic notion.
The guy's cunning by nature, so he wouldn't pull this without some ace up his sleeve.
I could guess his thinking. He'd brought up the Pang family earlier on purpose, figuring he had something solid to rely on.
He must've heard the rumors about the youngest son of the North Sea Pang Clan and was convinced it fit me to a T.
Whatever. Didn't matter anymore. Time to turn you into my EXP.
Gripping a torch in one hand and the pre-loaded Hyunja Chongtong in the other, I stood before the Sapa master twirling his sword in flashy loops.
The weapon being what it was, no ordinary folk dared watch the duel—only those strong enough to protect themselves stuck around.
I'll learn a move or two.
Good luck.
We had the edge in intel, but that just made it clearer: under these conditions, there was no beating him.
Sado Gate Master Heuk Ung (??? / ???)
Realm gap too vast. Information unavailable.
Yeah, just like this alert said.
Just facing off had cold sweat beading already. But I needed to get used to this feeling.
Moyong Shin wasn't the absolute strongest in the story, but as the protagonist, he was solidly in the top tiers of the martial world.
And this Heuk Ung punk in front of me? On pure strength alone, he was in a whole other league.
All the martial artists I'd faced so far were small fry who barely knew real martial arts. Time to test how my power stacked up against someone who actually did.
—If I want to beat bastards like him down the line.
The referee raised his hand skyward, and my body tensed.
Begin!
Tadak!
Heuk Ung exploded forward with the Sapa signature Sahangbo footwork, leveraging his specialty speed to close in fast.
Like any game judging character performance by stats, Hongsim Yeonhwa had its own metrics: force, scheme, spirit, talent, and more. Heuk Ung specialized in 'swift'—pure speed.
Channeling his inner energy, he played to his strength with that blinding velocity.
It was like facing archers as a melee grunt—rushing to narrow the gap from the jump and end it quick.
But I'd simulated this in my head plenty of times. Blindly firing at range wasn't the answer.
From game knowledge, his footwork wasn't as refined as orthodox sect styles.
Still, his insane proficiency put it on par with top prestigious clans.
Hitting him from afar? Near zero chance.
With most weapons off-limits, that one cannon shot was my trump card—I couldn't waste it.
Better to keep distance and line up a sure hit.
His style—swift footwork chaining into rapid sword strikes—wasn't the worst matchup, thanks to the cannon's bulk.
Hup!
The cannon's massive size and weight doubled as a shield.
Against light, fast combos instead of heavy hits, just thrusting it out at an angle blocked sword paths easy.
Chaeng, chaeng, chaeng!
Lightning sword swings met the dull thud of blocking metal.
Sure, some masters could wrap their blades in steel-cutting qi, like Pang clan's saber arts or Namgung's swordplay.
But Heuk Ung, swift-focused and handicapped on qi strikes? Not much threat.
Now that's an interesting way to use it.
Thanks for the compliment.
But it's slow.
Whoosh—now he wove his flashy footwork in, body blurring as he thrust.
I scrambled to counter, but matching those moves wasn't easy.
Especially one-handed with the torch.
Chaeng, slash!
Grk.
The cannon's size covered more ground than his swings, so minimal movement blocked most.
But his footwork and wrist flicks let him stab from odd angles—couldn't block everything.
Time passed, and scratches started piling up.
No matter how strong your one shot, if it doesn't land, it's meaningless.
—Can't let him keep pushing me back.
His speed burned stamina fast, but his breathing stayed steady—no fatigue.
Inner energy, huh? Total bullshit.
Grip tightening, old memories fueled my arms.
Either way, better end this quick. Win or lose, didn't matter.
Tsss.
I touched the torch to the fuse, then chucked the nuisance behind me.
Both hands free, I gripped the cannon and aimed.
Too bad the plan to bait him close—making him dodge impossible—had failed.
Lighting the fuse was a huge tell in a real fight; could've lost my wrist or head.
Heuk Ung, reading it perfectly, widened the gap fast.
Finally ditching that clunky toy? About to fire your signature shot, eh?
Damn, he dropped swordplay for pure footwork—had no answer.
Not invisible to the eye, but sniping buildings or ships was easy mode. Hitting a hyper-mobile martial artist? First time.
Straight-line movement? I'd predict and fire.
But he used space wide, zigzagging slyly to kill predictions.
Still, time ticked, fuse burned. Shooting moment incoming—do or die.
Screw it—hit and I win, miss and I lose.
Chill pill taken.
Not life-or-death; just sparring for experience.
His goal—ego boost or embarrassing me? Irrelevant.
Winning's nice, but losing? Just a bruised ego.
Boom!
Familiar gunpowder stink, brutal recoil, iron ball screaming out.
Closer range should make it easier than start, but real fights ain't theory.
The shot at point-blank buried in dirt, leaving a crater.
Ground shook from recoil, dust cloud billowed.
No Heuk Ung flying back like hoped.
Rapid footsteps—he burst through the dust like lightning footwork and sword, charging me.
Whoosh! Too late to parry with the cannon tube—his strike was faster.
Tried smashing to block, but his tricky swordplay slipped past the metal, blade to my throat in one fluid motion.
...I lose.
Shit personality or not, a master's a master.
Worlds apart from those small-time punks throwing names around before.
From bloodthirsty psycho seconds ago to bored spectator, Heuk Ung turned away.
Less than I expected. Good work.
He spat those final words and walked off.
Rude to the end, that prick.
Knew it'd sting, but actual defeat hit bitter. Sigh.
I let out a hollow breath; onlookers fidgeted, unsure how to react.
...Better clear out quick—for everyone's sake.
Hoo, another sigh. I slung the cannon over my shoulder.
Still, solid gains. How martial artists counter my style, the flaws it exposes, paths to fix 'em.
Don't sweat the L—turn it into my strength. Big homework ahead.
Far off, the smug bastard strutted, firing off shots here and there.
Yeah, stay cocky like that.
'Makes you easier to catch.'
Thoughts sorting in my head, I slowly slipped away from the sparring ground.