Chapter 14
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Overlord Sect's Cheon-sim-dan
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"Has the sparring exam started yet?"
"Started? The interviews aren't even over."
"Then what's with those two over there?"
"Looks like they're about to throw down."
"But that guy's wearing Overlord Sect robes, isn't he?"
"Overlord Sect? No way! Wait, that's the sect leader's son!"
"For real? That worthless playboy?"
"Yeah. But who's the other guy? Never seen him before."
"I overheard someone say he's a reject who's heading home."
"Huh? Why would a reject climb up there? And against the Overlord Sect leader's son, of all people."
"Who knows. Poor guy, though—drawing the short straw against that punk. Word is he's got a nasty rep. Gets drunk and beats the crap out of anyone."
Even scions from prestigious sects and clans showed keen interest in their duel.
"Yubin, check it out. Those two are about to clash."
"Isn't that Cheon-sim-dan?"
"Looks like it. Who's the other one, though? Face is unfamiliar."
"At least this boring entrance exam's getting interesting."
The crowd buzzed with murmurs.
"Whew... it's been ages since I felt this."
I stepped onto the arena, savoring the thrill after so long.
Standing before such a massive audience made my chest swell.
Recalling my old UFC days, I yanked off my shirt.
My savage scars and unrealistically honed muscles burst into view.
The cocky Overlord Sect punk, mid-flex, let out a deflating wheeze.
"Huh... what?"
He'd probably dismissed me as some pretty-boy nobody.
But one glimpse of my human weapon of a physique left him speechless.
Might as well go all in—I kicked off my shoes, going barefoot.
'Fights are best barefoot, after all.'
I approached him slowly.
"Hey! Ready to start?"
"Uh, y-yeah..."
"Examiner!"
"Mind calling it?"
"Finish it in under ten breaths. Begin!"
The spar kicked off. I stepped lightly toward him.
"Come on, attack me all out."
"What? What's your angle?"
"No angle—just giving you a shot."
"A shot at what?"
"Hitting me even once."
"You little shit? You dare? A backwater bumpkin who can't even circulate qi, yielding first strike to an Overlord Sect disciple like me? You're begging to die! Eat this—Overlord Divine Fist!"
Overlord Divine Fist
He lunged with ferocious fury, unleashing a brutal punch.
I watched it to the end, then tilted my head just enough to slip it.
His follow-ups came fast.
I twisted my body minimally, flowing past them all with ease.
His strikes were slower than expected.
Four swings missed. Then a kick.
I tracked it fully, evading with the barest motion at the last second.
"You bastard!"
His attacks sharpened, but nothing changed.
I dodged every fist and palm with simple upper-body weaves left and right.
Boxing's weaving and ducking evasions.
Folks think they're just dodges, but they're key for spotting counter openings amid enemy assaults.
"Damn it! Slippery eel! Overlord Divine Fist: Twelve Flash Heart-Piercer!!"
Overlord Divine Fist: Twelve Flash Heart-Piercer
His onslaught intensified—probably tougher forms in the later stages.
Fakes—what they'd call feints—mixed in occasionally.
But amateurish tricks like that didn't faze me.
His body's direction, shoulder twist, the power flow from legs to torso—it all screamed real or fake from a mile away.
"Gah! You and your petty tricks! I'll show you how worthless they are!"
His forearm swelled briefly, then deflated.
Proof he'd surged his qi.
"Overlord Divine Fist Secret Art: Overlord Chaos Origin Skill!"
Overlord Divine Fist Secret Art: Overlord Chaos Origin Skill
"What the—? Weren't you skipping qi?"
Now I shifted to footwork.
Infused with the Eight Gates Eight Tracks Step's essence.
Cheon-sim-dan unleashed his Overlord Chaos Origin Skill full throttle: twelve strikes and eight variations in a blink.
A ferocious technique showcasing why the Overlord Sect held renown in the martial world.
And true to 'even rotten mackerel shines'—the sect heir Cheon-sim-dan, dosed with elixirs since childhood, boasted first-rate-plus qi depth.
Fierce winds and blasts scattered across the platform.
The crowd gaped in awe.
Not at Cheon-sim-dan's art, though.
At the man dodging with otherworldly grace.
"Gasp! Such movement... possible?"
Perfect distancing, minimal motion, low stance primed for counters.
A flawless trinity of evasion defense.
"What sect's footwork is that?"
"Never heard of such divine steps."
"He got rejected? For real?"
As the spectators buzzed, Cheon-sim-dan burned through his technique's midsection.
To no avail.
"Huff! Pant! Heave!"
Forcing peak form with overtaxed qi left him gasping inevitably.
The bumpkin stood before him, unruffled, staring coldly.
Disappointed tone.
"That all you got? Nothing else?"
"Wh-what?"
"Got more to show?"
"You bastard!"
"Panting from this much? How little do you train?"
"Train? You know how much qi I've built?"
"Impressive brag. My turn now?"
Tae-seong shook his body in that odd rhythm again, closing in slow for a low kick.
A leg kick.
Cheon-sim-dan leaped airborne to evade.
But he wasn't a bird—or a master of midair steps.
What goes up must come down.
Tae-seong timed it perfectly: a taekwondo-style roundhouse.
Thwack!
Cheon-sim-dan crossed his arms in an X-block.
But infused with inner power, the impact rattled him to the core.
"Guh!"
He flew back nearly a zhang—three meters.
Not recovered yet, and Tae-seong's second low kick slammed his left thigh.
Crack!
"Urk!"
Pain like an iron club smashing his leg.
"Nngh!"
Just the beginning.
Crack!
Crack!!
Craaaack!!!
Low kicks hammered his left calf and thigh relentlessly.
An bizarre kick unseen in the martial world.
Looked almost childish.
Just as onlookers wondered its point...
Cheon-sim-dan's legs stuck to the platform like glue—he could barely move.
Sensation gone from his left leg.
Tae-seong hammered on, oblivious.
Crack!!
"Gaaah!"
Craaaack!!
"Urghhh!"
Craaaaack!!
"Hnnngaaaah..."
Obsessively targeting the same spots, the crowd winced with each thud.
Pants hid it, but bruises galore underneath.
Exam over for him post-fight.
Cheon-sim-dan, toyed with by low kicks, gritted teeth for a counter-form.
Useless.
Tae-seong's kicks disrupted his footing pre-emptively.
As if he knew every move.
Truth was, Tae-seong had spotted a bad habit during defense: over-tensing legs on forward steps before strikes.
A subtle flaw.
But Tae-seong's world-champ eye caught such nuances.
Sports teem with injury risks.
MMA worst of all.
Overtraining, carelessness, crash diets—he read foes like books, pouncing on weaknesses.
He'd suffered plenty, even faked injuries for traps.
That ring-honed insight shone here.
Attacks failing at will, Cheon-sim-dan's face darkened.
He yearned to shred the foe with blasts—but everything misfired.
Blame those playful low kicks.
As I wound up another barrage, he waved frantically.
"W-wait!"
"Quitting?"
"Wh-what...? I'm fine!"
But he limped on his left already.
"Sure? Time to wrap up—the interview's ending."
Stage-clearing time.
I pondered his finale.
'High kick? Backspin blow? Spinning elbow? Flying knee? Which dazzles more? How to cap his end?'
Settled on ground work.
Twister—the Korea Undead Jung Chang-seop debuted in UFC. Time to try it.