Chapter 9
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Pretty Profitable?
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They said the Heavenly Demon always traveled with his personal guard, making a one-on-one fight nearly impossible.
But calling it a hundred elite first-rate masters—what a joke. Building that kind of force single-handedly was next to impossible unless you were from a prestigious sect or the Murim Alliance.
'Sigh~ It's like the world gathered every single thing that's absolutely impossible.'
Thanks to my master, though, I could advance my preparations to kill the Heavenly Demon by at least thirty years.
And that wasn't all he left behind.
There were also three Soul Revival Pills, elixirs he'd collected over his lifetime.
They weren't on the level of the Great Return Pill, but Soul Revival Pills were something even money couldn't buy in the martial world.
Of course, they probably weren't obtained through legitimate channels, but I was just grateful to my master and decided to consume them all.
Normally, one Soul Revival Pill granted the benefit of twenty years of internal energy cultivation.
Combining three would mean at least a full Jiazi—sixty years—of internal energy boost.
But the higher one's mastery, the less efficient elixirs became, so for me, even half a Jiazi—about thirty years' worth—would be a blessing.
For now, I focused on gathering the internal energy my master had scattered throughout my body into my dantian.
If I left it alone, it would dissipate back into the great nature.
Over the next six months, I absorbed the internal energy my master left behind. After that, I consumed the elixirs and built up my own.
In between, I practiced the martial arts he bequeathed.
Surprisingly, the techniques my master left shared many points of connection with the MMA I knew.
The Dark Emperor Supreme Heaven Art was divided into three parts: the Dark Emperor Supreme Heaven Sword for swordsmanship, the Dark Emperor Supreme Heaven Fist for fist techniques, and finally the Dark Emperor Supreme Heaven Palm for palm strikes.
Among them, I focused on the fist techniques.
I'd learn the other two out of respect for my master's wishes, but I had no intention of making them my main focus.
The Eight Gates Eight Tracks Step was a footwork technique designed to open the body's vital gates in eight directions even in dire situations—similar in some ways to modern footwork.
It transferred lower body power to the upper body for attacks and allowed flexible responses to enemy strikes from any direction.
Combining it with my own experience, I refined it into something even more like future footwork.
It took another six months to fully master the forms of those two techniques.
If my internal energy level had been what it was before the secret sub-branch massacre, I never would have reached this realm even after twenty years of training.
Mount Song.
The place where everyone knew the Shaolin Temple stood.
The hideout of my master, a public enemy of the martial world, was a small cave midway up one of Mount Song's steep cliffs.
It was the perfect example of "the darkest place is under the candle."
'Even for my master, this location choice is on another level.'
It even let me naturally infer where the Soul Revival Pills came from.
This would make even the Shaolin abbot tremble in rage.
I left that cherished place and descended into the world.
The world after a year felt like a decade had passed.
Descending the mountain, I set my course not for Luoyang, but for Xi'an.
Quite a few people in Luoyang knew my face.
Only the Luoyang secret sub-branch had been exposed; the Demonic Cult's illegal gambling dens and the Gold Flower Gambling House were still thriving.
I also wanted to avoid Nanyang, which housed another secret Demonic Cult sub-branch.
For now, I needed to build my strength away from their eyes.
That's why I chose Xi'an.
With the Huashan Sect and Zhongnan Sect—two of the Five Great Sects—holding the area, even the Demonic Cult couldn't encroach easily.
Henan and Shaanxi provinces faced each other, so the travel distance was short.
I checked the money I had on hand.
Unfortunately, there was one thing my master—perfect in every other way—lacked: greed for wealth.
He only had enough to live on without issue.
Clink~ Clink~
Rummaging through my pouch, a few copper coins tumbled out.
The travel expenses and extra funds from the Nanyang assassination mission had all been spent during the task.
All I had left were a few copper coins, the necklace I'd swiped after killing Gil Yeo-hong a year ago, and the precious sword gifted by a first-rate warrior strapped to my back.
Sure, selling either would fetch a good sum, but cashing them in right now would be tricky.
'Hmm, guess I need to scrounge up some money first.'
As I mulled over such worldly concerns while crossing an unnamed small mountain, black shadows blocked my path.
A man with a wolf or dog pelt draped over his shoulders approached me.
"Hey, buddy! Nice threads you've got there."
The particularly cocky-looking guy had a short sword at his waist, so he clearly wasn't up to any good.
"You talking to me?"
"Who else is here besides you, pal?"
"What a moron. Heh heh heh heh."
"Can't read the room, huh?"
Shing—
Suddenly drawing his sword, the man thrust it toward me with a friendly smile.
"That outfit. Mind if I try it on?"
"Ah!"
Only then did I realize I'd run into bandits.
Truth be told, I'd never encountered thugs or robbers in my life, so this atmosphere felt utterly alien.
Who would dare mess with an MMA fighter?
But conversely, it felt refreshingly novel.
'So this is what it feels like to run into thugs. Back when I traveled with Baek Yi-ho, we never met types like this. Guess they see solo travelers as easy pickings?'
Suddenly, Baek Yi-ho's absence hit hard.
But whatever. It didn't matter.
Trash like these bandits could be subdued with a single finger.
In this era without proper law enforcement, everyone carried some kind of self-defense weapon.
That's why people traveling long distances usually formed groups at relay stations or inns with fellow travelers heading the same way.
Solo wanderers were nothing but tasty prey for them.
The bandit pointing his sword at me got down to business.
"No use running. Hand over everything—that sword on your back, your clothes, and all your money."
"Fine, whatever."
Like a man resigned, I offered no resistance as I leaned my cloth-wrapped sword against a nearby tree and stripped off my upper garment.
My massive muscles and ferocious scars were laid bare before them.
"Gah!"
"Hup!"
"Gulp......"
The three bandits' faces stiffened in an instant.
"As you can see, I don't have much on me. But what about you guys? Got anything?"
"W-what?"
"Looks like you punks need to help me out. Empty your pockets."
"......"
The bandits couldn't hide their bewilderment.
The tables had turned on them in a flash.
But the bandits, who flinched for a moment, regained courage from their numbers and all drew their swords, shouting more menacingly.
"This bastard lost his mind?"
"You know who we are?!"
"Want me to gut you and check what you ate today? Huh?!"
But when my index finger pierced straight into a thick tree trunk, their eyes bulged.
Thud! Crunch! Crraaack!
It was a technique I'd devised by infusing demonic arts into the second-rate martial art "Golden Lion Demonic Claw Technique" I'd learned in the training hall.
A second-rate technique, sure—but backed by my immense internal energy, it was no longer second-rate.
I yanked out a chunk of the tree and tossed it at their feet.
"So, which one of you punks wants their guts ripped out first?"
They fell silent.
The young punk was a martial artist.
'Damn it, we picked the wrong guy......'
We had one unbreakable rule.
No matter what, never tangle with imperial troops or martial artists.
To third-rate bandits like us, martial artists were the most terrifying existence.
Martial artists.
Fancy name, but they were systematic killers trained in advanced murder techniques.
And here this pretty-boy kid was casually gouging a sturdy pine tree with his bare hands.
How could a human hand pierce wood that hard?
Curses bubbled up naturally.
No one but a martial artist could do that.
And the kid pulled out the cloth-wrapped sword he'd bundled up, proudly showing it off.
No matter how you squinted, it was an extraordinary treasured sword.
No normal person would carry something like that.
'Son of a bitch! You wear that on your belt or strap it to your back! Then we wouldn't have messed with you! Why wrap it in cloth like an idiot?!'
Biting back tears, I switched to surrender mode.
"W-we surrender! Hurry, everyone—give the warrior all our possessions!"
"Ah, it ain't much. Work's been scarce lately, heh heh."
"M-me too."
We handed over everything we had.
Surviving came first.
You have to live today to see tomorrow's sun.
As soon as I drew my treasured sword, they obediently emptied their pockets without a hint of resistance.
They knew better than anyone that trying to protect a few coins against someone stronger could cost your life.
In the mountains, the one with the sword was king.
The money they offered wasn't a fortune, but enough to cover food and lodging for a while.
"Ptoo! Ptoo! One, two, three...... One nyang of silver and seventy jeon ten pun. Damn, pretty profitable?"
I could see why bandits did what they did.
Regret washed over me—why hadn't I realized this sooner?
From that day, my personal creed took shape: fleece the bandits, not ordinary folk.
It was a bit disappointing that they'd surrendered so quickly.
"Shame. If you'd resisted even a little, I'd have just killed you all. I even had some new technique forms to test."
My casual, emotionless remark terrified them more; they trembled like dogs in the fifth lunar month.
I spoke to the bandits as if granting a favor.
"I'll spare your lives. But keep your mouths shut about me if you value your skins. Unless you want to meet me again. You know what happens if we cross paths twice."
I curled my hand into the beast-claw shape from the Golden Lion Demonic Claw Technique and jabbed at their stomachs. A faint stench of urine wafted from somewhere.
Drenched in cold sweat, they rasped out replies.
"W-we'll remember! We won't breathe a word!"
"Thank you for sparing us, sir!"
"I'll trust you. See ya...... Oh, one last thing."
At "last," the color drained from the bandits' faces.
They thought I'd changed my mind.
To them, I offered sincere advice.
"Quit this crap. You'll die soon."
With that, I left.