Gibosak's Doomed Ambush

A dozen or so scruffy-looking layabouts, clutching shabby wooden clubs that looked borrowed from some Beggar Clan bum, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were huddled against the alley wall. Leading them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was Gibosak. As I approached, he raised his club.

"Jongchil! You think you can strut around at the Yongho Contest like some hotshot? A rootless punk like you humiliating me? As a great hero of the jianghu, I can't just let this slide!"

"Haha. That's all you've got with your posse in tow? Guess a so-called great hero of the jianghu can't even stand tall without some ass-kissing lackeys."

"Shut your trap! Insulting the hardworking disciples of Kangmokjang? I won't let you walk away with both hands intact."

Gibosak let out a heroic bellow, and his lackeys raised their clubs, charging at me. Their movements were so slow, it made me yawn. I didn't even bother raising my guard—just sidestepped with footwork alone.

"Urgh! Don't run away like a coward! You call yourself a righteous sect warrior?"

"Lately, it feels like I'm hearing more dogshit than usual. If you wanna get beat, keep it up."

I smashed the jaw of the guy swinging from the left. Six or seven molars went flying like corn kernels. He let out a death-cry wail and toppled over.

"Manseok! Senior Brother! This guy's no joke!"

"You idiots! Use your inner energy!"

Gibosak bellowed, unleashing his qi.

"B-but... that could kill us..."

"Forgot who's got our backs? No one's around anyway! Just bury the bastard!"

"Yes, sir!"

Gibosak had just spilled something I couldn't ignore. I'd have to capture that fucker and interrogate him separately.

"Here I come! Raaah!"

Gibosak and his thugs channeled inner energy to strengthen their bodies. Every one of them was at least a second-rate warrior.

Not bad skills. They'd rule the back alleys as bosses. But that's as far as it went.

"How much do you underestimate me?"

Three lackeys surrounded me, launching a coordinated strike—one from the left, one from the right, one from behind, all swinging clubs.

Simple moves, but for an impromptu combo, the execution was solid.

They're covering each other's blind spots.

Kangmokjang's coordinated technique, no doubt.

A waste to use on thug work.

But it's weak.

Eliminating blind spots isn't everything. Without absolute striking power, one side's bound to break.

I fired a straight punch into the left shoulder of the guy coming head-on. Sparing his skull was my last mercy.

"Gaaah!"

His left shoulder exploded off. One down, a gap opened. I slipped through it, dodging the follow-ups.

I whipped around with a spinning back kick, locking joints into the shins of the remaining two. Their legs bent like zerglings'. They passed out without even screaming.

"Eek! S-Senior Brother! He's way stronger than we thought!"

The surviving lackeys trembled, staring in horror at their blood-soaked comrades.

One gushed blood from his face like a waterfall; another clutched his severed shoulder, screaming for a doctor.

The two unconscious ones had bones piercing skin in grotesque display.

"You morons! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Attack! Attack, I said!"

Gibosak swung his club in rage, but not one obeyed.

One lackey bolted like a rabbit.

Not on my watch.

I severed his tendons with a Holy Missile. The coward toppled mid-escape.

Thud!

"Hngh! Spare me! I just followed orders!"

He crawled like a mole, snot and tears streaming. Annoyed, I stomped his head. Crunch! He died instantly—misjudged the force.

Gibosak glared with a mix of fury and fear. Instinct drove him back. I grinned and closed in.

"I've got questions for you."

"S-stay back! Eek! Fuck it!"

Suddenly, he pulled something from his bosom and shoved it in his mouth, chewing furiously.

What the hell? An elixir?

His face flushed beet red. He pounded his chest like a moonstruck werewolf, howling. No giant ape transformation, though.

"Raaargh! This stuff packs a punch!"

Veins bulged at his temples like tattoos. His aura shifted instantly—from trickling stream to bursting dam.

What kind of drug is that?

No common pill does that. Probably tied to the backup he mentioned. More reason to take him alive.

"Die, Jongchil!"

Gibosak snapped his club with a knee strike and drew his sword. The drug seemed to have stripped his reason.

Not surprising. That level of doping demands a price—losing your mind is natural.

I gathered my energy. No plans for a prolonged scrap. No time for that.

I unleashed a relentless barrage without pause. Up, down, up, up, down. He couldn't even swing his drawn sword properly.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

"Gaaah! You demon bastard! My turn... gaaah!"

"Dumbass. Give it a shot."

Straight punch to his face from the front.

Crack!

A satisfying clang like striking a brass bowl, and Gibosak crumpled.

His body swelled into a bloated, bruise-covered mess. Even doped, he never touched me.

That's the skill gap.

Gibosak couldn't beat me dead or alive. He proved it by dying for real.

"Gurgle..."

"Huh? Already dead? Shit. This fucker had a ton I needed to ask... Hey, get up. I know you're faking it, asshole!"

I nudged his head with my foot. No response—just his limp tongue lolling out insolently. Pissed, I kicked it harder.

"Fuck. Guess I'll ask the remaining lackeys."

I approached the survivors cowering in the corner like they'd seen a ghost.

"See my power clear enough?"

"Y-yes, sir! Crystal clear! Please spare us! We only came under Gibosak's pressure! Great hero! I wanna live!"

Gibosak was already toast. One lackey had crossed the River Styx.

Time for a cleanup.

Killing a righteous sect warrior wouldn't end as rumor. Even from a shit sect like theirs, it could blow up. Might even get branded a public enemy.

"Answer my questions right, and I'll let you live."

"Ask away! We'll spill everything we know!"

They kowtowed desperately, heads to the dirt. Clueless that their fate was sealed.

"Earlier, Gibosak mentioned solid backing. Who?"

"Th-that... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠We only heard bits, but he said the Namgung family gave the word."

"Namgung?"

"Yes! No lie! Senior Brother said it himself."

Word from the Namgung family. I pieced it together.

Namgung Jigon's scheme? He learned I humiliated him, approached this punk, and sicced him on me.

Namgung's speed was impressive. One of their warriors must've been watching when I roughed up Gibosak.

Reason was obvious: wreck my condition before tomorrow's match. Cocky in words, scared underneath.

They didn't think I'd lose to these losers.

Next question.

"What was that pill Gibosak popped? Face turned red like he ate a chili. Your sect's secret medicine?"

"N-no such thing! Even if we had, we wouldn't know. Truth!"

No lie in their eyes. So Gibosak got it elsewhere.

Flow points to Namgung supplying it.

Then where'd Namgung get it?

Recalled the original story. Namgung doesn't have such drugs.

Sure, prestigious sect with plenty of elixirs—but this was different. The kind that permanently damages your meridians as side effect.

Demonic cult doping, basically.

Maybe Namgung's in bed with the cult. Makes sense in murim—temporary enemy alliances happen. Not common, but not rare.

Namgung was already off-script. Culprit: the Brain Spirit Pill prize.

"Alright, got it. As promised, you're free."

"Thank you! Great hero! Your ocean-deep mercy—we'll never forget. Lips sealed forever."

"Good. Then run an errand. Got a message to deliver."

"Leave it to us! Who and what?"

"Tell Gibosak to eat shit."

"Pardon?"

Crack!

I caved his skull like a watermelon. The other gawked in shock.

"G-great hero! What the hell? You promised! Righteous sect scum?"

"Haha. Thanks. Best compliment ever."

I'm no righteous secter. Finished the rest in under a minute. Blood stench would draw guards soon. I slipped away quietly.