Chapter 27 Asura Twelve Forms (1)
“Fuck!”
I rolled my body backward in a flash. I mean, I really tumbled head over heels. Weapons as massive as the stone statues smashed into the ground, kicking up debris and leaving craters behind.
[Lazy Donkey Roll? Use your footwork, footwork!]
Lazy Donkey Roll. It literally meant “a lazy donkey rolling on the ground.” For a martial artist, it was downright humiliating. But I wasn’t a martial artist to begin with.
“You have to teach me footwork before telling me to use it!”
This damn Pa Cheon had never taught me any footwork techniques.
[Blame your own trash-tier martial talent! Why waste effort teaching someone who couldn’t even use it properly anyway!]
“Sorry to disappoint!”
Sado Hwan had been a true genius before mastering the half-assed Heavenly Demon Divine Art. He might’ve reached Super Peak just by coasting on natural talent. In fact, now freed from his flesh and trapped in the sword, he wielded the Asura Twelve Forms with effortless grace.
From his perspective, I must’ve been frustrating as hell. Even without projecting internal energy, Sado Hwan’s body was a monster spec-wise.
The kind of physique that couldn’t shatter boulders barehanded but could leave fist imprints without breaking a sweat. Right now, I could at least see the attacks coming and react.
But the problem was the pilot: me. No matter how top-tier the machine, a trash pilot crashes the fighter jet every time.
Of course, I wasn’t some total klutz or sloth. It’s just that Peak and Super Peak masters were usually geniuses, and compared to them, I was hopelessly outclassed.
“Eek!”
No time for idle thoughts. I was dodging by rolling on the floor, but the stone statues were unleashing another barrage.
Whoosh—!
A massive axe from one statue grazed right past my nose. The dizzying wind pressure whipped my hair back. I backpedaled to evade the thrusting spear that followed, but another statue’s saber was already sweeping low at that spot.
[The statues are using a combined formation...?]
“Tch!”
I kicked off the ground amid Pa Cheon’s shocked words, leaping high enough to nearly meet a statue’s gaze.
That instant.
Screeeeech—!
Yet another statue’s sword slashed horizontally, aiming to bisect me. If I had Un Yeop Ja’s Cloud Dragon Eight Forms, I could dodge, but wingless me had no midair evasion options.
[You idiot! Jumping into the air? Trying to make yourself a sitting duck?]
“Dumbass, you can fly!”
[Oh.]
I grabbed Pa Cheon. He lifted off, carrying us out of the attack zone.
Thud.
I landed and scolded him.
“Get your head in the game. You can fly.”
[…….]
Anyway, those two attacks had revealed something.
“Those things have a cooldown after each strike.”
[Cooldown?]
“A delay before the next attack.”
After the statues—with their varied weapons—each unleashed one assault, there was about five seconds of breathing room. Then the barrage resumed.
They said this was an easy ruin.
Everything kept deviating slightly from what I knew.
Or maybe this is easy for real martial artists.
No time to dwell. Another wave incoming.
I ducked the axe, spun like a top to dodge the spear. No breather before the massive saber slashed sideways. I threw myself flat to the ground, barely evading. And—
[Dodge!]
I pushed off the floor hard, like a push-up, sliding backward. Inches from where my head had been, a statue’s sword stabbed down. The statues’ hardness defied belief—same stone as the cave floor, yet shattering it effortlessly.
At this rate, I’d die a hundred times out of a hundred. One hit killed me; they needed multiple to drop. Unfair as hell, like a rigged game. Worse, games respawned on death…
Die here for real, and I’m gone.
My goal: survival. By any means.
Even lame excuses to make others fight for me.
“This won’t work. We retreat.”
[I’d love to, but… no chance.]
I glanced back at Pa Cheon’s words.
Roar—!
Too focused on dodging, I hadn’t noticed: the mist-shrouded path we’d come through was now a wall of flames. Intense enough to block all vision, scorching heat crawling up my back.
“Illusion, right?”
[No. Real fire.]
Pa Cheon sensed via otherworldly means, so probably accurate. Even illusory flames would burn the same. Either way, backtracking was suicide.
Damn. Too cocky relying on Murim Returner intel.
“Fly around, buy time. They’ll dismantle the formation or come rescue us.”
I gripped Pa Cheon. What can those statue punks do if I’m airborne?
That optimism didn’t last.
Roarrrrr—
The flames blocking the passage began creeping inward. Slow but steady, swelling to squeeze the cave.
Worse, the statues moved faster, more precisely—like rusty joints loosening. I wasn’t used to dangling from a flying sword. Pa Cheon zipped freely; I flopped like seaweed.
They even leaped now. Cave ceiling high, but their jumps nearly brushed it. Explosive speed from those hulks limited my aerial dodges.
“Ngh!”
Swept by a sword-wind, I slammed into the wall and crashed down. Breath-stealing impact. Scorching heat made breathing hell. Wanted to collapse, but five seconds later? Dead.
[Send internal energy to your lungs! Breathing eases!]
No time to waste. I scrambled up, rolling sideways. Sure enough, weapons thudded into the wall where I’d been.
Dodged, but haze crept in. Heat? Pain? Smoke filling the cave?
Slap!
I smacked my own cheek hard.
“Focus.”
My greatest strength? Not smoke endurance or Murim Returner knowledge.
Willpower.
Through ordeals, setbacks, mockery as an orphan, sales drone, actor-wannabe—I endured like weeds in concrete.
No different now.
Flames tightened. Statues close enough to touch.
“Think, Kim Dong Yun.”
The answer lay within, as always. Crisis sharpened focus; focus bred immersion.
In peak flow, I scanned surroundings.
Overlooked till now: attack scars pushed me back, clustered at a distance.
That clicked.
Stone statues’ purpose.
Ruins like a dungeon; statues, treasure guardians. Protect the prize.
What if the treasure vanished?
Grab the treasure artifact, and their reason to exist… gone?
They herded me away to defend it.
“Pa Cheon!”
I bellowed to steel my resolve.
“We’re breaking through!”
[Suicide!]
“Stay like this, I’m dead anyway. Not dying today.”
I stomped hard. Statues lunged like cat-chasers after a slippery rat.
I’d only passively evaded. Keep that up, just get pushed back.
Target: altar beyond them.
To reach it—
“Hah!”
—punch through the attacks.
Boom!
Dodged the overhead axe by shifting left. Spear thrust waiting.
I hurled forward. Saber and sword statues side-by-side ahead. No footwork, but schoolyard forward roll? Doable.
[You mad bastard!]
Pa Cheon cursed. Rightly so.
I rolled between the saber statue’s legs.
Roll ended; I threw every ounce of limb power forward. Pa Cheon’s flight boosted me—Superman speed straight ahead.
Then.
[Danger! Behind!]
Twisting, I saw: saber and sword statues whirling, arms cocking back.
“...!”
This trajectory hit the altar. But exposed to their strikes.
Fork in the road.
Decision instant.
Scraaaape—!
I forced my flight to halt, skidding back with deep gouges, pivoting.
Saber and sword crossed in an X-slash incoming. No basic dodge would cut it.
[What’re you doing? To the altar!]
“Shut up!”
Snarling, I assumed stance. Left foot three steps back. Weight to left, body tilt rear. Surge internal energy to arms.
[That stance… fool! Reckless! You can’t even swing a sword properly!]
All or nothing.
“Huuu—”
Inhaling, I thought.
All-nighter sword practice yielded insight.
My martial talent sucked. But acting? That I had. Only then could I wield proper swordplay.
Not me swinging.
“I’m—”
Genius-era Sado Hwan swings. I’m just acting him.
“—Sado Hwan.”
Breath held.
Like text scrolling past eyes: every Murim Returner scene I’d devoured flashed through my mind. Eerie sensation.
Body moved ahead of thought.
Right foot stamps forward huge. Right arm thrusts full power, sword arcing down. Before full descent, left hand on hilt-pommel surges energy for extra drive!
Swish.
No flapping clothes. No whooshing air. Just wind grinding on blade.
Soon.
X-crossed saber and sword.
Pa Cheon—my swing—crushed them.
Craaaaaack!
Cave-shaking roar and shockwave erupted.
“Argh!”
Recoil flung me back far. Statues too—stumbling, crashing down with thuds.
Head spinning, breath iron-tanged. Internals shaken, wuxia-style.
Other statues vaulted the fallen, charging.
But I grinned.
Hand already on altar. That was the plan—bounce toward it.
“Checkmate, you bastards!”
I snatched the treasure artifact atop.
Then.
Rumble!
Charging statues disintegrated at joints—like invisible razor slices. By touch, mere rubble.
“Hah… thought I was done for.”
I collapsed. Nausea surged, but puking might mean blood—scary, so swallowed. Worst pain ever; arms channeling energy quivered like aspen leaves.
[You…]
“What, gonna praise me?”
Pa Cheon’s stunned query.
[How the hell did you use the Asura Twelve Forms?]
My single stroke.
One form of the Asura Twelve Forms.
Pretending to Be the Heavenly Demon