The Fist Saint Falls
The Bihwang Gauntlets were gloves forged by weaving red cloud iron—the variety of cloud iron that absorbed internal energy—together with sea-dragon whiskers, the material known as haeryongho.
Haeryongho possessed a peculiar nature: once it drank in internal energy, its fibers bristled like thorns. Inject water into those fibers and beads formed at every tip. Inject poison instead, and those same beads waited until the moment of impact, then stabbed like needles and delivered the toxin.
Add the red cloud iron’s durability, which far surpassed ordinary steel, and the result was nothing short of a calamity for any fist artist. Worn by its master, the gauntlets could not only stop a blade with bare hands but seize and snatch it away.
The true terror lay in the fact that both red cloud iron and haeryongho drank internal energy. The wearer could pour out as much power as he wished; rather than hindering him, the haeryongho obeyed his will and became a lethal weapon.
To every fist artist it was an uncrossable wall. In the hands of its owner it became the finest treasure in the world. That was the Bihwang Gauntlets.
“How the hell do you have those—urk!”
Hwangbo Baek spat blood mid-sentence. Only then did he understand how deep the danger had become.
“A poison I prepared especially for you. You’ll barely have time to repent, so don’t bother thinking of anything else.”
Thud.
Hwangbo Baek’s knees gave way and struck the ground. The reason an entire great clan could be placed in peril by a single piece of equipment stood revealed in full.
“Clan Lord!”
The captain of the Fierce Tiger Unit lunged on pure instinct to shield Hwangbo Baek.
“St-stop…”
Even as his mind reeled, Hwangbo Baek tried to restrain the man—too late.
Boom!
The captain slapped Ja Gangcheon’s driving fist aside. He only altered its path; a stinging pain nevertheless bloomed across the back of his hand.
“The Bihwang Gauntlets!”
He could manage no more words; he simply stared at Gangcheon’s hands and shouted. Startled elders of the council immediately moved to encircle Gangcheon front and rear. The chaos was thick, yet experience had taught them what must be done. Grief and tears could wait—provided they survived to shed them.
Two elders closed in to eliminate the threat that was Ja Gangcheon.
“Shameless old men!”
A fierce cry rang out as Song Jain appeared. She thrust a palm strike at Hwangbo Cheonju, who had been angling for Gangcheon’s back. Unwilling to meet a poison-laden fist, Cheonju sidestepped; Song Jain claimed the space he vacated.
With his rear secured, Ja Gangcheon spoke in a voice stripped of emotion.
“I’ll finish this as quickly as I can.”
“Sometimes trusting one’s comrades is the wiser path.”
Song Jain soothed not only his back but the urgency knotting his heart.
“I have your rear. Cheongu and Panseok are where you cannot see them. Even my lame-legged son refused to hide and is gripping a sword. He says that if I die he will at least chew off the assassin’s fingers.”
“He only acts that way because he’s certain you won’t die. Pil-saeng hyung is rather good at that sort of performance.”
“Knowing the truth and still letting myself be fooled is a mother’s duty—and her amusement.”
While they spoke, Hwangbo Taesan gathered the fallen Hwangbo Baek into his arms and retreated.
“Father!”
That single cry told everything.
“You bastards! I will never forgive you!”
Hwangbo Baek was dead. The tiger that had ruled Shandong Province had perished in a single blow. Measured against his achievements and stature, the death was so simple it felt almost unjust.
Hwangbo Taesan, unable to contain his fiery nature after losing his father, charged forward; an elder hastily held him back.
“This is the moment to withdraw.”
“Don’t bother. You’re all going to die anyway.”
Ja Gangcheon stabbed a fist toward Hwangbo Taesan. The startled elder pulled the young lord clear and prepared a counter—then a smile touched Gangcheon’s lips.
A trap!
The strike at Taesan had been a feint meant to create an opening in the elder. In the blink of an eye the elder faced death; he twisted as the Bihwang Gauntlet streaked for his throat. With the smallest possible motion he slipped past the fist and withdrew without forcing the issue, opening distance once more. The movement was so natural the previous crisis seemed almost unreal—proof of his experience and skill.
“If the Bihwang Gauntlets are all you have, you will die here.”
Confirming that Taesan had fallen back, the elder bared his teeth.
I need only dodge.
He simplified the situation. However dangerous the gauntlets might be, if every blow could be avoided, that was enough. And he possessed the confidence to do exactly that.
Hwangbo Cheonju, renowned even among the council as their strongest master, recovered his composure with the dignity of age. He deliberately drew one foot back. Exactly as expected, Ja Gangcheon—true to his instincts—shot forward.
Hm?
Cheonju had already planned the dodge and the finishing counter, yet Gangcheon’s footwork felt uncanny. Each time a faint sway registered, the distance collapsed at an alarming rate. Still, his experience was not so light that such tricks would unseat him.
Excellent footwork, yet full of openings.
A dazzling sequence of steps launched a kick toward Cheonju’s side. The blow was lightning-fast, yet Cheonju slipped back smoothly—then sprang forward like a coiled spring. The reverse was five times quicker than the retreat; Gangcheon faltered.
He raised the Bihwang Gauntlets to guard his face—only for Cheonju’s fist to stop short. The other fist, meanwhile, drove into Gangcheon’s ribs. A perfect feint followed by a real strike, so swift even Gangcheon felt a flicker of admiration.
Thud!
Yet something was wrong. The sound was not the one either man had expected.
“Kh!”
“Hup!”
Both staggered from the shock. Internal energy that had burrowed into Gangcheon’s body twisted his organs until breathing became a struggle. The greater misfortune, however, belonged to Hwangbo Cheonju.
“I clearly avoided it…”
Though he had kept a fair distance from the Bihwang Gauntlets, a large needle mark now marked his own fist. Only then did the torn fabric of Gangcheon’s robe reveal something that was not flesh.
Yonglingap—the Dragon Scale Armor.
Who could have imagined that after the Bihwang Gauntlets he would also wear the Yonglingap?
Gangcheon himself was inwardly startled.
Without the Yonglingap I would be dead.
They said the world held many masters; the saying was clearly no exaggeration. His eyes had barely tracked the blow, and his body had possessed no time to react. The result, nevertheless, was the opposite of what it should have been.
“Urk!”
Struck by a lethal poison of Poison Valley itself, Hwangbo Cheonju vomited blood and collapsed.
Hwangbo Taesan’s entire frame began to tremble.
“Seems a little late to run.”
“Protect the young lord!”
The remaining Fierce Tiger Unit hurled themselves into the path of Taesan’s escape. In that instant Gangcheon checked the situation at his back. Song Jain was still engaged with Hwangbo Homyeong.
No problem there.
Homyeong already wore a look of panic. Song Jain pressed an overwhelming assault—poison arts in one hand, a fan in the other. The bizarre tinnitus that rode the wind itself produced a nauseating sensation, as though someone were yanking the base of the skull. Homyeong’s limbs began to tangle.
Song Jain, once counted among the Ten Great Masters of the Murim, was proving with her own body that the assessment had never been excessive. Cold, relentless, unhurried, she simply dried her opponent out. One hand spat a palm of virulent poison; the other wielded the Soul Demon Fan, scattering the mind. The dual assault was more than even a great clan’s representative master could endure.
Satisfied, Gangcheon turned his attention to his own foes with measured calm. The blow to his ribs still twisted his insides, yet he allowed nothing to show on his face.
“Young Lord! You must go!”
One Fierce Tiger warrior shouted toward Hwangbo Taesan. Grasping the reality of the situation, Taesan had no choice but to accept; the moment he turned, the unit formed a wall before Ja Gangcheon.
Seeing their resolve to hold no matter the cost, Gangcheon deliberately left them alone.
“I will kill you with my own hands!”
Taesan swore vengeance and spun away.
Now.
Until that instant Gangcheon had remained still. He stamped the earth and moved.
“Wha—!”
“S-stop him!”
With astonishing lightness he vaulted the entire line of Fierce Tiger warriors and closed on Taesan’s back.
“Young Lord!”
Taesan felt the icy brush of danger and whirled—only to meet Gangcheon’s fist already splitting the air. With no time to meet it head-on he simply dropped where he stood, then rolled sideways the moment he glimpsed his own shadow stretched long under the moonlight. It was a wretched, crawling dodge unworthy of a young lord of one of the Five Great Clans. Consoling himself that it was a choice made for revenge, he pushed himself upright—
“Huh?”
A searing pain bloomed on his shoulder. Nothing more than a graze. Yet Gangcheon was already withdrawing, as though nothing further were required. The Bihwang Gauntlets were fatal no matter where they touched the body.
“N-no!”
Denying reality, Taesan took a step. The wound flared as if set ablaze.
“Kh!”
His breath locked; the air he forced out carried a metallic tang. Sweat poured from every pore. Tears, snot, and saliva spilled beyond control. Thought froze under the violent change, and sensation began to fade from his entire body.
Thud!
A body that could no longer feel toppled sideways. The sole mercy was that even pain had vanished. Only the crushing inability to breathe remained; he sucked desperately at the air with all the strength he had left.
“I won’t kill you. I’ll need you for quite a few things yet.”
The left fist that had grazed Taesan’s shoulder carried not a killing toxin but a paralytic poison.
Hope? Or despair? Taesan lost consciousness before he could decide.
“Young Lord!”
Before the Fierce Tiger Unit’s eyes their clan lord, their young lord, and the elder reputed as their greatest master had all fallen. The young lord still drew faint breaths, yet they judged him already dead. Their despair, however, was not finished.
“Urk!”
A choked groan rose from behind the unit. Turning, they saw a figure collapse limply. Hwangbo Homyeong—one of the two pillars of the clan—had already turned a deep purple. The poison arts that had seeped into him little by little had finally flooded his entire body.
Thud!
He resisted until the very moment his breath stopped, yet in the end he too lost his life and fell.
Ja Gangcheon in front, Song Jain behind. The Fierce Tiger Unit tasted despair.
“You invaded. I assume you were prepared never to return?”
Trained warriors, they did not beg for their lives. Instead they locked eyes, confirmed one another’s resolve, and reached a single decision.
—Break through one side.
Faced with threats before and behind, they chose Ja Gangcheon.
—Even one man must live to report today’s massacre to the clan.
If every last one of them died here, the remaining clan members would suffer the same catastrophe.
—At the very least they must be told of the Bihwang Gauntlets and the Yonglingap.
Thus they staked their lives and crashed into Ja Gangcheon. The youngest warrior was assigned the role of escapee. Yet Gangcheon did not give ground; he charged forward instead.
Whoosh!
He never collided. Footwork carried him cleanly through their ranks in an instant, and the unit scattered exactly as trained—countless drills had etched the response into their bodies.
One of us can live.
They still failed to understand Ja Gangcheon.
Thud.
Having stripped off the Bihwang Gauntlets, Gangcheon swept both hands toward the four men whose backs were turned.
Shiiing!
Eight iron nails streaked unerringly toward the fleeing warrior’s nape and spine. The technique of which the Demonic Art Mistress So Cheongbi had once boasted—the Thousand Nail Blood Prison—unfolded from her son Ja Gangcheon’s hands.
“Kh!”
“Guh!”
“Kkeuh…”
“Ugh!”
Not a single exception. The silent dart technique was so clean that Song Jain, who had accelerated in pursuit, almost felt embarrassed.
“Manor Lord. Let me look at your wounds first.”
“There’s still one left.”
Song Jain scanned the surroundings with a puzzled frown. No living member of the Hwangbo Clan remained. Most had fallen to poisons of her own making; she had been certain of their deaths. Gangcheon’s words, however, summoned a forgotten face.
“Hwangbo Jeong is missing.”
“Ah!”
He was the weakest among them; they had simply overlooked him. That he had come here at all with that frail body was strange enough.
“No need to hurry. I know exactly where he is.”
Ja Gangcheon turned and headed for the warehouse where Gu Donggu was confined.