IRL Duel (3)
As humanity developed language and constructed civilization, they learned to resolve their problems through words. To bridge disagreements that refused to narrow, they traded speech, striving to minimize bloodshed and conflict. That was the decisive difference between man and beast: the possibility of resolving disputes through dialogue.
Yet because every human being ultimately pursues their own self-interest, certain problems could never be solved through talking alone. When words failed, they turned to force. In truth, violence was in some ways far more convenient than conversation—a clean, binary method where victory and defeat were instantly decided.
The Gallery was no different. If anything, because the Gallery was fundamentally built upon anonymity, the urge to actually persuade an opponent was practically nonexistent. When conflict erupted, users rarely sought common ground; mocking the other party or stubbornly digging in their heels was the standard protocol.
Since one could not swing a blade across an internet forum, the side that flew into a blind, incandescent rage was technically the loser. Occasionally, however, someone would issue an IRL challenge. If words could not settle the score, they would decide it with their fists. It boiled down to something like this:
"Damn, your logic is too god-tier. I got zero comebacks, so let's throw hands instead."
Isn't asking for an IRL fight basically just admitting that out loud?
Because the challenge itself was an admission of intellectual defeat, IRL duels were seldom proposed and even more rarely accepted. The recipient stood to gain nothing; whether they took the bait or ignored it, their moral victory was already sealed. Thus, actual meatspace confrontations were almost unheard of. Forum goers typically chuckled and scrolled past.
Dropping the first upvote right here lmao
Yet if an IRL duel genuinely came to fruition, nothing in the universe was more entertaining. And between Fixed Nicks who enjoyed towering fame across the entire board? That was simply irresistible. With the Heavenly Demon holding an official Blue Tag as a deputy moderator, the community's eyes were glued to the spectacle.
The users brimmed with anticipation over a rare clash between prominent Fixed Nicks. In roughly seven out of ten cases, IRL duels ended with the participants sharing a drink and patting each other on the back. But in the remaining three, blood flowed and bodies hit the floor. This was not Earth, armed with a delicate social safety net and strict laws. And in the Central Plains, men killing each other was simply called another Tuesday.
Bustling murmurs rose like steam over a wide public square in Shaanxi Province. As one of the pivotal commercial hubs of the Central Plains, Shaanxi constantly teemed with travelers and merchants. Today, however, an unprecedented throng of people stood packed shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting in patient stillness.
“Pardon me, brother.”
“Hm? Speak.”
“What in heaven's name has occurred for such a crowd to gather here?”
A passing martial artist had halted, eyeing the abnormal congregation, and addressed a nearby bystander. The bystander turned to inspect the speaker. Unlike a peasant, the man possessed an orderly, well-groomed appearance, a trimmed beard, and crisp black martial robes that roughly signaled his disciplined sect background.
“Ah, it's nothing major. There's supposed to be a brawl breaking out here shortly.”
“A fight? Between Murim warriors?”
“I wouldn't know the exact details. Have you perchance heard of this thing called the 'Gallery'?”
“The Gallery? That vulgar contraption?” The warrior's brow furrowed in disdain. It was clear at a glance he harbored little love for the otherworldly board.
Paying his distaste no mind, the passerby explained why the mob had formed. “Since you aren't familiar with it, I'll keep it brief. You know the Gallery is entirely anonymous, right?”
“Naturally. That is precisely why such foul and uncouth speech runs rampant upon it.”
“Right. So even when people quarrel on the boards, it practically never spills over into real life. And yet...” The bystander gave a brisk summary of the escalating feud. With every sentence, the martial artist's expression shifted: curiosity, followed by mild contempt, and finally—
“What?! The wretches of the Blood Cult are coming here?!”
“Indeed. That is why so many other martial artists have gathered as well.”
Pure shock seized the warrior. The remnants of the Blood Cult had actually issued an open challenge. To this very day, the Blood Cult remained an insidious blight that stirred catastrophe wherever its shadow fell. Even their scattered dregs were not a threat one could dismiss lightly. No matter how many times the righteous sects excised them, they scuttled back like immortal roaches, inflicting psychological trauma merely by drawing breath.
‘Come to think of it, there was a rumor that the Blood Demon achieved Feathered Ascension...’
The tale had begun circulating roughly two days prior: that Wi Ho-chang, the supreme villain and progenitor of the Righteous-Blood War, had in fact achieved Feathered Ascension. Because it had originated as forum hearsay, the warrior had initially brushed it aside. But now, cold doubt crept down his spine. Hearing the entire sequence of events laid bare, the timing felt far too sinister to be mere coincidence.
‘If the Blood Demon truly attained immortality, and the cult intends to use that myth to reclaim their former glory...’
Above all, someone had openly challenged a member of the forum to a duel, discarding the veil of anonymity. Only a monster overflowing with absolute confidence in their martial prowess would dare take such a step. The warrior could not bring himself to walk away. Had the challenge borne any name other than the Blood Cult, he would have clicked his tongue, muttered a curse, and gone about his day. The same grim fixation held every other martial artist in the square in place.
“Placing bets on the victor! Step right up!”
“Put me down for the Heavenly Demon!”
“Heavenly Demon, my ass! Are you underestimating the Blood Demon Sect?!”
“What Blood Demon Sect?! It's six of one, half a dozen of the other!”
“......”
The warrior pressed his hand to his temples. Perhaps he should just leave. The gravity of the moment evaporated as money began changing hands, leaving him with an exasperated sigh.
Normally, whenever martial artists clashed in the Central Plains, commoners fled for their lives. A skirmish between experts was nothing short of a walking natural disaster to the uninitiated. Today, however, was fundamentally different. This was a duel between internet handles—a third-party clash belonging neither to the imperial government nor to the orthodox sects. Even imperial magistrate soldiers stood at a safe distance, leaning against their polearms and snacking as they watched. Was it a Murim affair? Was it an ordinary civilian disturbance? Did the sacred principle of non-interference between government and martial factions apply? The jurisdiction was so hopelessly ambiguous that the authorities simply chose to spectate.
As the appointed hour drew near, the density of the mob thickened.
“What did you just say? You dare insult my sect?!”
“You started it, you bastard! How dare you spew such filth!”
When crowds gathered, words were exchanged, and where words were exchanged, friction inevitably followed. With hundreds of hotheads packed into one square, petty brawls flared up like firecrackers. In the Central Plains, fists invariably flew before reason could prevail. Minor duels began erupting across the perimeter.
“Come now, settle down. Nobody came here to watch you runts scrap. Shut your mouths.”
“Who do you think you're—!”
“I said, shut up.”
The only thing that suppressed force was greater force. Among the throngs of onlookers, several true masters were casually concealed. Thus, an uneasy, iron-fisted peace held the square in check until the clock neared its zenith.
“Why hasn't anyone shown up?”
“Did they talk all that big game just to chicken out?”
“Man, what a letdown.”
The two Fixed Nicks who had been spouting archaic martial jargon across the forum were nowhere to be seen. Under normal circumstances, they should have proudly announced their handles and made a dramatic entrance. As the appointed time slipped away, doubts rippled through the spectators.
‘Of course. Nine-tenths of everything on that cursed board is a lie, and the remaining tenth is an exaggeration.’
The black-robed warrior clicked his tongue in disgust. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he turned on his heel to leave.
Thud!
“Ugh!”
It was like walking face-first into an iron boulder. The impact sent the warrior tumbling backward onto the flagstones. Falling flat on his backside was humiliating enough, but the passerby he had collided with merely continued striding forward without breaking stride.
A surge of indignity twisted the warrior's face. Scrambling to his feet, he roared at the retreating back, “Hold it right there! Do you not know how to apologize?!”
“......”
The figure cast a single, indifferent glance over his shoulder, then turned away. The look dripped with absolute contempt, as though answering was not worth the breath.
The warrior's pride snapped. Flushed with fury, he lunged forward. “You insolent cur, do you have any idea who—!”
Slam!
Before the sentence could leave his throat, a colossal hand materialized from the empty air and clamped around his skull. The palm was vast beyond reason, thick and heavy like an iron cauldron lid, completely enveloping his head.
CRUNCH!
With a casual flex of those fingers, the warrior's head detonated like an overripe melon. Vivid crimson gore sprayed outward in every direction as fragmented skull and gray matter rained down onto the stone. A living, breathing martial artist had been erased from existence in a fraction of a second.
“AAAAAAAHHH!”
“W-What madness is this?!”
The surrounding crowd recoiled in utter hysterics. Even in the Central Plains, where violence was common currency, a public execution this butchered and abrupt shattered their composure. Paying the shrieking onlookers no heed, the giant casually hurled the headless corpse forward.
It landed with a wet slap dead center in the cleared arena.
Thud.
The headless cadaver bounced across the stones of the square. Terror-stricken, every head whipped toward the origin of the throw.
Step. Step. Step.
The crowd parted before him like the waters of the Red Sea. While men of the Central Plains were generally lean, this behemoth towered well over two meters tall. He wore tattered, coarse martial robes, his mane of hair flared wild like a lion's, and from his palms—dyed an unnerving, glistening scarlet—thick drops of blood dripped onto the stone.
Drip. Drip.
One name flashed across everyone's minds like a bolt of lightning: the Blood Cult.
The giant surveyed the petrified crowd, drew in a deep breath from his diaphragm, and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
“The Blood Demon is resurrected, and all blood submits! This Seat is Geumjang! Where hides the Heavenly Demon?! With your wretched blood, the rebirth of the Blood Cult shall be proclaimed unto the heavens!”
The moment he bellowed his forum handle alongside his true identity and declared his bloody crusade, pandemonium broke loose.
“I-It's the Blood Cult! The remnants of the Blood Cult are here!”
“Run! A real monster has arrived!”
“AAAAAAAHHH!”
They had assumed it was all internet banter. The realization that this horrific butcher was real sent the civilians trampling over one another in a mad scramble to escape. As the commoners fled, only hardened martial artists remained—men who understood that a rabid dog of the Blood Cult could not be permitted to walk free.
“To think they truly crawled out of the dark...”
“Geumjang... isn't he one of the direct disciples of the Blood Demon himself?”
“He's still alive after all these decades?!”
On the boards, the cult might have been a laughingstock mocked with memes, but in the flesh, they were terrifying harbingers of slaughter. Geumjang was no mere remnant; he was an infamous devil who had bathed in blood during the Righteous-Blood War. Steeling their resolve, a dozen martial artists drew their weapons and charged.
“GRAAAAGH!”
“B-Brother! You dog—AARGH!”
“KWAHAHAHA! Blood! Offer me more blood!”
It was not a battle; it was a harvest. Geumjang was a veteran slaughterer who had survived the apocalypse of the great war. The modern martial artists, degraded by decades of complacency, stood no chance against him. With every passing exchange, his stained palms grew slicker and darker with their gore.
Squelch!
Crushing another skull in his bare grip, Geumjang casually glanced across the carnage. Mutilated corpses littered the square, and the flagstones had vanished beneath a thick sheen of steaming blood. He grinned in deep satisfaction, scanning the square to see if any prey remained. The area was dead silent.
‘Magnificent.’
He turned his gaze upward toward the sky. With a flick of his intent, he accessed the interface.
[Attached Image: Wide shot of a public square painted entirely in fresh crimson blood]
[Attached Image: Detailed shot of crushed skulls and shattered corpses littering the flagstones]
As of this day, I declare the rebirth of the Blood Cult. Disciples and descendants of our sacred faith across the realms, gather at our ancient sanctuary to fulfill our eternal ambition.
The Blood Demon watches over us from the heavens above—we shall never be broken!
He had published a live update directly to the Gallery. A post of this graphic severity would surely earn him a ban, but he did not care in the slightest. He had written it fully prepared for the penalty. His true objective was the reunification of the Blood Cult's scattered survivors across the Central Plains, and the Gallery was the ultimate instrument for the task.
‘This spares me the grueling labor of tracking them down on foot.’
Rumors in reality moved like molasses, but information in the Gallery spread like wildfire poured over oil. Geumjang had exploited that reach. Even if the post survived for only a few minutes, it was more than enough.
‘That Heavenly Demon wench turned out to be an utter fraud as well. The moment she caught wind of my arrival, she tucked her tail between her—’
Just as he turned to take his leave, satisfied with his handiwork—
“What a wretched pastime. Making such a foul mess of the ground.”
“?!”
A slender, clear feminine voice pierced his ears. Geumjang recoiled in genuine shock. He had maintained absolute sensory vigilance, ready for any ambush, yet not a whisper of presence had registered against his senses. He whipped his head toward the voice.
“You wench... who are...”
“You stand remarkably tall. Just how many feet do you measure?”
Before him stood a woman wearing a broad bamboo hat tilted down to obscure her features. She wore flowing black robes that accentuated her slender silhouette, yet nothing could conceal the mature, breathtaking grace of her carriage. The mere curve of her delicate jawline below the brim was enough to command reverence; she was, by every metric, an peerless beauty.
“Kneel,” she commanded softly.
“What?”
“This Lady commanded you to kneel.”
To order him to bow simply because he was tall—Geumjang stared at her, flabbergasted by the audacity. Why on earth were there so many fools begging for death today? Not that it mattered. If he could bathe the ground in one more pool of blood, he would welcome it gladly.
Geumjang sneered, his red lips curling back. “You tell fine jokes, girl. Are those to be your final words?”
“Yet This Lady is entirely serious.”
Whoosh!
The instant the words left her lips, Geumjang vanished. Crossing the distance at speed invisible to the naked eye, he thrust his blood-dyed palm toward her brow—the exact stance, technique, and brutal execution that a certain gorilla had displayed far away. It was a strike calculated to pulp her delicate skull into red mist.
And yet—
Tap.
“Wh-What?!”
That catastrophic blow ground to a dead halt against a single, slender index finger. The woman looked up slightly from beneath the shadow of her brim and spoke to the frozen brute.
“Did I not tell you?”
Her voice rang with imperial arrogance—not of hollow vanity, but of absolute, undisputed supremacy.
“That This Lady was serious.”
The Heavenly Demon had descended.