This Slap, I'll Return It

Shameless bastard.

A sharp whistle of displaced air cut through the arena as Yeop Pung brought his palm crashing down. His movement was so fast it seemed to leave afterimages in its wake, a dazzling blur of gold. In a single heartbeat he slipped past Gi Beonjin's charge and appeared at the boy's flank.

"Fast!"

Gi Beonjin twisted, desperate to match him — but his body simply could not keep up. He caught a glimpse of Yeop Pung's eyes, cold and brilliantly sharp, locked on him without a shred of mercy. Then he saw nothing but a palm wreathed in golden lightning, already filling his vision as it flew toward his face.

"This slap — I'll return it!"

A thunderous crack rang out across the entire arena. In the same instant, half of Gi Beonjin's face crumpled beneath Yeop Pung's palm. The force snapped his head back so violently that his whole body lifted off the ground and went sailing through the air.

"Where do you think you're going!"

Yeop Pung tracked him without effort, sliding into position at his side. He hiked one leg high and drove it down into Gi Beonjin's back with everything he had.

The impact was sickening. Gi Beonjin slammed into the floor face-first, his head hitting before the rest of him, and the stone came up painted red. He lay there in a wretched heap, looking every bit the defeated dog he was.

In another life, it had been Yeop Pung crushed beneath Gi Beonjin's heel in just this kind of humiliation. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Now the tables had turned. Yeop Pung put his weight into the stomp, and the pressure wrung a mouthful of blood from Gi Beonjin's lips.

"You lost."

He looked down at the boy under his foot, and there was not a ripple of emotion in his eyes. A creature like this had never been worthy of being his opponent. He had merely collected on a debt from the past.

"Yeop Pung… you bastard!"

But the thing under his heel was still thrashing, still fighting to wriggle free, and a stream of filthy curses poured from his mouth.

"You dare attack me? You dare humiliate me in front of all these people? I'll kill you! I'll definitely kill you!"

"Still got a wagging tongue, do you?"

Yeop Pung's voice was ice. He lifted his foot and brought it down on the back of Gi Beonjin's skull. That filthy mouth was mashed into the stone, and two of his front teeth snapped. After that, he couldn't say much of anything.

"Senior Brother, I won, didn't I?"

Yeop Pung lifted his head and looked at the inner disciple serving as referee, who was still standing there in a daze.

"Ah— ah! He won. Of course he won!"

The referee blinked at Yeop Pung, then collected himself and nodded hard. He threw his voice across the arena.

A roar of cheers exploded around the stage. Yeop Pung had won. And he had made it look effortless.

From first exchange to last, the match had not even lasted five minutes. Gi Beonjin — hailed as the strongest of this year's outer disciples — had been reduced to a trampled wreck under Yeop Pung's heel.

The strength Yeop Pung had just displayed shattered every expectation in the crowd. First place in today's inner disciple examination was all but decided.

Up on the high platform, Han Un smiled and stroked his beard. He watched Yeop Pung step down from the stage, murmuring with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had seen something rare.

"Heh heh. This Yeop Pung boy… he's no ordinary talent, after all. Raise him well and he could grow tremendously within a few years. Though… whether we can keep that boy bound to the Cheonun Sect is another question. Wait— oh no!"

Han Un had been lost in thought. Then he slammed his palm on the table and surged to his feet, his eyes locked on a figure standing behind Yeop Pung. His voice cracked across the arena like a whip.

"Gi Beonjin, what do you think you're doing!"

Before every watching eye, the boy who had already lost the match lurched up behind Yeop Pung. A brilliant light flared from the ring on his right index finger, and from it he drew a longsword of keen, luminous blue steel.

A chill ran through the arena. That shameless wretch was breaking the match rules — drawing a weapon! He meant to kill.

Gi Beonjin had lost all reason. Rage swallowed him whole, and he roared as he seized the sword in both hands and swung it at Yeop Pung's back without a shred of hesitation.

"Yeop Pung! Die! Die right now!"

"Watch out!"

The warning cry erupted from below the stage, but no one could reach him in that fleeting instant. Gi Beonjin struck like a viper fat with venom, the longsword driving straight for Yeop Pung's heart.

The female disciples screamed and squeezed their eyes shut.

In the instant the longsword would have run him through, Yeop Pung sprang forward a single step. He spun, and his left arm came up to catch that terrible edge.

Steel bit flesh. Blood fountained from his arm. He had sheathed the limb in golden Profound Qi, but even that was not enough to turn Gi Beonjin's cowardly strike completely aside. Yeop Pung's lips trembled with the pain. Inside his chest, a scalding fury boiled up and broke.

Kill him.

Murderous intent flooded through him. The golden Profound Qi began to heave and surge, and a voice rang through his skull.

Failing to drop Yeop Pung in a single blow only drove Gi Beonjin further out of his mind. He hoisted the blood-slick longsword again and brought it down at Yeop Pung's throat.

"Mongrel! You mongrel! Die! I said die already!"

"You're the one who should die!"

Yeop Pung finally exploded. The roar of his fury shook the entire sparring ground.

Golden lightning burst from his eyes, and his whole body vanished inside a storm of golden Profound Qi. The aura rolling off him felt twice as heavy as it had only moments before. He stood there like the god of thunder himself, descended upon the mortal world, and it was clear he had no intention of suffering another of Gi Beonjin's attacks. His fist clenched. Lightning screamed from his knuckles as he smashed it into Gi Beonjin's wrist.

The crowd heard the horrific crunch of bone shattering. The longsword in Gi Beonjin's hand went sailing into the sky like a kite whose string had been cut. Then came his wretched scream.

"Aaaaagh!"

Gi Beonjin staggered backward, writhing. Both of his wrists had been smashed beyond recognition. Tears and snot streamed down his face; he could not hold them back against the agony. The boy who had been arrogance incarnate finally began to tremble with fear. He stared at Yeop Pung with terror-widened eyes. He wanted to run. It was already too late.

Yeop Pung was already there, a man of golden lightning standing right in front of him. Current crawled through his gaze, and a cold smile touched the corner of his mouth. His left hand shot out like a thunderbolt and drove into Gi Beonjin's chest.

"You dare threaten me? Die!"

A blinding golden flash erupted with a sound like the sky splitting, and a shockwave tore across the stage. The strike landed dead-center on Gi Beonjin's chest.

He made a dull, broken noise and vomited blood. He did not fly backward — the golden lightning held him, caging him in place as his whole body convulsed. He could not get a single word out.

"Die!"

Yeop Pung raised his right hand high. The golden lightning gathering in his palm burned as bright as a small sun. He poured even more power into it and stacked that hand over the left. The force roaring from both palms detonated into a colossal burst of lightning, and Gi Beonjin was swallowed whole.

"Aaaaaagh!"

All anyone could hear of Gi Beonjin was a faint, helpless scream.

The crackle of discharging lightning filled the air. The light was so fierce that people squinted or shut their eyes entirely.

In that moment Yeop Pung looked as though he had borrowed the power of the thunder god himself — mighty, terrible, and utterly unassailable.

"Yeop Pung, stop!"

At last Han Un came running. He stared at the scene before him in horror, his beard trembling.

Yeop Pung — what in heaven's name is that Profound Qi of his? How can a boy of the 1-Vein Profound Realm unleash this kind of monstrous power with a common profound art like the Thunder Roaring Palm?

Astonishment did not slow his hands. Pure blue Profound Qi surged from his palms and formed a gigantic hand, which reached into the lightning and dragged Gi Beonjin out.

"That's enough!"

At the same time, a gentle current of Profound Qi wrapped around Yeop Pung and pushed him clear. At last, the battle was over.

"Gi Beonjin!"

Han Un looked at the blackened figure in his hands, and unease gripped him.

He had expected Yeop Pung to win. What he had never imagined was that Yeop Pung would reduce Gi Beonjin — a boy who had already reached the 2-Vein Profound Realm — to a state like this.

The Gi Beonjin in Han Un's hands had already stopped breathing. His skin was charred black as charcoal. When Han Un touched him, black cinder flakes crumbled away with a dry rustle, revealing the raw red flesh and pus beneath. It was a ghastly sight, almost too horrific to look at.

Fortunately, every one of those wounds was merely external. With the Cheonun Sect's specialized salve for external injuries, he would recover completely within a fortnight.

Of course, reducing Gi Beonjin to this state meant something else entirely: the power of Yeop Pung's Thunder Roaring Palm was enough that even a warrior of the 3-Vein Profound Realm would struggle to withstand it.

Han Un glanced to the side. The two wretches Yeop Pung had sent flying with a slap and a punch still had not gotten up. One of them was a complete wreck, sprawled on the floor. The other was still clutching his belly and rolling on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the ground, his face twisted in agony as if he were in the throes of a difficult labor.

Does it really hurt that much?

Han Un frowned. Yeop Pung had only slapped one of them and punched the other — so why were those two in such deathly pain? This Yeop Pung fellow was astonishingly strong.

He drew a slow breath and looked at Yeop Pung. The golden lightning that had sheathed the boy's body was already gone. He stood quietly in place, as still as a pond with no wind on it.

Han Un studied him in silence. Yeop Pung had just claimed a crushing victory, yet he showed none of the excitement or frenzy that ordinary people would. He was simply calm. Composed.

He does not grow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrogant in victory, nor does he despair ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in defeat. A temperament like that… this Yeop Pung is destined for a great vessel.

Han Un was deeply pleased by what he saw, and just as satisfied with the outcome of the match. After today, Yeop Pung's name would surely thunder through the entire Cheonun Sect, and he would become a third-generation disciple given focused, priority training. Which of the main peaks he would eventually enter to cultivate, however, remained to be seen.

"Call the attendants!"

Having settled his thoughts, Han Un immediately ordered the field cleared.

"Move the wounded, record Yeop Pung's score, and wait for the final results to be announced."

"Yes, sir."

Inner disciples were already standing by. They rushed to Jang Un and Jo Bihong — and one of them cried out in shock.

"Th-this… Elder Han! Half of Jo Bihong's face is completely smashed in!"

Han Un had barely begun to process that when another urgent voice rang out from the other side.

"Elder Han, Jang Un's stomach is severely damaged! Ah, it looks like… even his male meridians have been severed!"

"What?"