The Third Prince’s Fist
“Third Brother, what was that you just called me? A brat? You taught yourself manners?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You understood perfectly well, so why ask again?”
Cheon Mutan was left speechless. Of all the reactions he might have expected from the sudden barrage of abuse, anger was not the first to rise in him — it was sheer disbelief.
“Has the fallout from your qi deviation scrambled your head? Have you gone mad? You look completely out of it.”
Cheon Sohyeon gave a snort of laughter.
“Fallout? What fallout? Didn’t I tell you? This thing called the inner demon changes people. I’ve decided to live by saying whatever’s on my mind without holding back. Better than bottling it up until I end up with a rage-induced illness, don’t you think?”
He was taking the situation as amusing rather than unpleasant. What lunatic in the world would stare down a Shaolin monk with those dead, fish-like eyes and pick a fight?
Since it looked like everything from the grand strategy down had gone to hell, he decided to find out first what was going through the brat from the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s head.
After all, learning about the Demonic Cult was more important than anything else.
“What are you even talking about all of a sudden…?”
“I’m saying I’d rather live the way I want than rot away in misery. And you can stop calling me brother when you don’t even mean it. It’s disgusting to listen to.”
“...You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
After a brief silence, Cheon Mutan’s lips curved into a long, thin smile.
“They say a brush with death changes a man.”
He let out a sneer and continued, “For once, you’re saying something welcome. Or rather, with an attitude like that, maybe there’s no need to bother with manners at all. You could even end up making yourself sick, couldn’t you? Right?”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.”
Cheon Mutan chuckled.
“Seems we were both equally uncomfortable, then. Fine. Let’s scrap the pretense and speak honestly. Calling you brother from the start was a stretch anyway.”
“A stretch?”
As if asking why, he met the question with a gaze full of doubt. Cheon Mutan gave a low, taunting laugh.
“Why pretend you don’t know? How pathetic. It’s because of your lowly birth, isn’t it?”
“And what exactly is wrong with my birth?”
“So you really are losing your mind. Fine, since you seem to have forgotten, I’ll spell it out for you. A lizard with no home, no refuge, no one to rely on. That’s your essence.”
Cheon Mutan pointed at Cheon Sohyeon.
“You think you’re some kind of young dragon and thrash around like one, but don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve got no roots. Your end will be a pitiful one — cutting off your own tail and fleeing like a coward until you finally die.”
“Wow, my little brother’s got a gift for words. A lizard, huh…”
Cheon Sohyeon nodded as if impressed, then bared his white teeth in a grin.
“Not bad. That’s enough to stomp some arrogant ants into the ground. If things are too one-sided, nothing’s more sickening to watch. Still, whether you’re a lizard or a dragon, aren’t ants basically the same either way?”
Fsss.
Dark demonic energy leaked between Cheon Mutan’s breaths.
“What exactly are you relying on to act so damn cocky? Have you been lying in bed so long you lost your will to live? Or do you think the Chief Military Strategist is going to come back and save you?”
“The only thing I’ve ever relied on is this body of mine. More to the point, what exactly do you mean by ‘lowly birth’? No matter how much of a scumbag you are, you wouldn’t be insulting Father, would you?”
Cheon Mutan’s expression twisted.
“...Father?”
“That’s right. Father.”
In an instant, his face flushed red, and his breathing roughened as though he’d swallowed poison.
“You don’t mean the Cult Leader, do you?”
At the same time, a sinister surge of demonic qi washed out and filled the surrounding space.
It was an accomplishment hard to believe from someone that young, but after the encounter with the Chief Military Strategist, it didn’t stir much of an impression.
“That’s right, you unfilial little bastard. We both carry the name Cheon, so what’s this nonsense about lowly or noble? Have you lost your mind?”
Red light flickered in Cheon Mutan’s pupils. His heightened emotions were drawing out the movement of his demonic energy.
“...Since when have you been calling him Father?”
The degree of agitation was greater than expected.
Through that, Cheon Sohyeon also learned that the Cult’s disciples did not casually call the Cult Leader father.
In that case, he had made a fatal blunder — but the Cult Leader himself clearly didn’t care, so it wouldn’t matter.
Cheon Sohyeon casually spoke the truth.
“Since the day people started calling me the Third Young Master.”
“So it really is true… He does favor you.”
“Favor?”
“You’re not going to deny it now, are you? The Chief Military Strategist coming all the way to this miserable little brothel to see you, this physician by your side — if all of it was arranged by the Cult Leader, it wouldn’t be strange at all. Just what the hell are you, anyway…?”
Sama Ryang, who had been silent until now, spoke up.
“Fourth Young Master, if I may be so bold, my being by Third Young Master’s side is not the Cult Leader’s intention, but rather something I personally requested of the Medicine Hall Master—”
“Shut up.”
Cheon Mutan’s voice dropped heavily. He fixed Sama Ryang with a murderous stare.
“Who said you could join the conversation?”
“...”
“I’ve only left your family seated there because they still do some small part for the cult. Shut your mouth before I smash your skull and make you kneel.”
For such an arrogant, overbearing tone, Cheon Sohyeon let out a hollow laugh.
“You really are the same brat through and through. Why are you looking for an obvious answer from outside? You know exactly why, don’t you?”
Cheon Mutan glared at him with open hostility.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The reason you treat me differently is because you’re checking to see what I have that the others don’t. For example, the Five Stars, or…”
Bang! Bang! Crash!
“That damned Five Stars! Five Stars! Five Stars!!”
Unable to contain his rage, Cheon Mutan smashed the table again and again.
“Cut out that bullshit. Just because people have been hyping you up a little, do you really think you’re the cult’s number one?”
A ferocious glint flashed in Cheon Mutan’s eyes.
“The only reason you’ve stayed ahead all this time is because you were born before me. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the Five Stars or whatever other junk you’re spouting. You know that, which is why you’ve been holed up in a back room all this time—”
“You mean if you had enough time, you could catch up?”
“Of course I could. What, are you really spouting such obvious nonsense? You’re not even worth calling a power in the first place, so you’d have been left behind ages ago—”
“I see. Not a bad mindset, I suppose.”
Cheon Sohyeon stroked his chin and looked Cheon Mutan up and down.
“Whether it’s actually possible is another question, though, unless you’re immortal.”
Crash!
“You son of a bitch!”
Cheon Mutan split the table in two and shot to his feet.
Crack!
Cheon Sohyeon immediately thrust out his right palm and slapped the broken table aside.
He was certain that it was time for a different kind of conversation.
Crzzzt!
Sharp energy gathered in Cheon Mutan’s hand, and he sliced the flying table cleanly in half.
“So you want to…”
Thud!
Before the words were even out, Cheon Sohyeon drove his shoulder into the opening. It was a common technique among Shaolin martial artists. In other words, a body check.
The move was as simple as its name suggested, but when driven with the force of the whole body, its power was undeniable.
It should have been — and yet.
“What are you doing?”
The figure that should have been sent flying was only forced back a few steps.
Damn it.
Cheon Mutan spat a curse and raised his knee.
“You pathetic bastard!”
Dammit!
Cheon Sohyeon immediately crossed both palms to block it.
The dizzying shock that ran through his hands made him stagger and slide back.
He had learned a lot of things today. One of them was that Cheon Mutan’s martial skill was stronger than he had expected.
“C-Young Master!”
Sama Ryang stared at him with trembling eyes.
No matter how much his martial prowess had rapidly improved, he was still a body that had only just left the sickbed. Trying to seize the advantage against the Fourth Young Master was nearly impossible.
Cheon Mutan bared a greasy smile.
“You’re not even fit to be eye candy, and yet you don’t know your place. Did you crawl out of your bed just to show us this pathetic sight?”
“...”
Cheon Sohyeon shook out his trembling hands.
From that brief exchange, they had both realized the same thing. No matter how hard he’d worked to temper his body, he was still in a weakened state.
That was why Sama Ryang’s voice was laced with concern, and why Cheon Mutan was so smug.
It was enough to make anyone furious, but he did not waver.
Martial arts did not come solely from hardness, after all.
Huuuu.
Cheon Sohyeon exhaled deeply, spread his palms wide, and settled into stance.
He extended his right hand straight ahead and drew his left to chest level, bending his knees to lower his center of gravity.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
His muscles were stiff enough to make the posture look almost comical, but for the Prajna Palm, it was an ideal stance.
Cheon Mutan snorted.
“You look like you’ve thrown your pride away. Why don’t you just beg?”
“You want to fight with your mouth?”
“...You can barely keep your body together, and you’re still talking?”
Cheon Mutan drove out a fist packed with vicious force.
Smack!
Cheon Sohyeon did not dodge the incoming blow. He struck it aside from the flank.
Crack—
When his first strike was blocked, Cheon Mutan erupted with fury and unleashed a flurry of lightning-fast punches.
Whoosh!
Cheon Sohyeon broke through the barrage with upward palm strikes, and now and then he softened his movement into a circular sweep, gently redirecting the force.
The palm techniques unfolding from his fingertips cleaved elegantly through the air.
Because the flow of demonic energy was still unfamiliar, it felt awkward, but the principles within it were no different from what he had spent a lifetime learning.
It was martial arts carrying the mercy of Buddha, the kind that did not destroy a vile villain but offered him instruction instead. The Prajna Palm.
Cheon Mutan roared and thrust out both hands.
“You despicable bastard—!”
Cheon Sohyeon met the fierce onslaught as flexibly as reeds bending in the wind.
He sent out his paired palms with fluid grace to block the attacks, and though his upper body swayed precariously, both feet remained rooted and steady.
Crash! Bang! Bang!
“You’ve learned some unheard-of trick, haven’t you? Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep blocking.”
The movements that had once traced a straightforward line grew more expansive, more aggressive, and then the sound of tearing air burst forth.
Cheon Mutan had begun mixing feints into his punches.
He would swing as though striking high, then shoot a hand toward the ribs; at times he sent out kicks as well, stirring confusion.
Yet every time, they were stopped by Cheon Sohyeon’s Prajna Palm.
“I could keep this up for seven days and seven nights, you know.”
Each of his movements carried the subtle principle of overcoming strength with softness — softness prevails over hardness.
“Shut up!!”