Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: All Dead
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"What a shame. I heard your ultimate technique is the Shaolin Staff Method, but I won't get to see that flashy staff work."
"If I had my Shaolin Staff Method, you'd have died on the first day."
"I'll let you strike first."
"You dare treat me like this? I won't let you off!"
Hyeon-gak let out a roar and shot forward.
In the end, he was the one striking first. But for an excuse to attack, his momentum was anything but ordinary. It was a heavy movement, like an avalanche shoving aside ancient trees!
"Vajra Immovable Body Method! Impressive."
Gong Cheon-ak, who had leaped half a zhang into the air, raised both palms to the sky.
Rumble!
Suddenly, thunder roared. Bluish energy poured from his fingertips.
'Five Thunder God Palm!'
Among all the strongest humans in the current martial world, the Heavenly Demon—the one who placed him atop this stage—had two palm techniques that defined him: Cold Heaven Ice White Palm and Five Thunder God Palm.
While Cold Heaven Ice White Palm radiated powerful yin qi to freeze an opponent's internals in an instant, Five Thunder God Palm delivered thunderbolt-like strikes that crushed bones.
Any hint of underestimation vanished from Hyeon-gak as he powerfully thrust up his left palm.
In that fleeting moment, his palm heart glowed red-hot. Heavy energy blasted toward the sky.
'Hundred Strikes Palm!'
It was the Shaolin Temple's true ultimate technique.
Gong Cheon-ak's Five Thunder God Palm dropping from above clashed midair with Hyeon-gak's Hundred Strikes Palm surging from below.
It was the moment when the two greatest powers shaking the current martial world—the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult and Shaolin Temple—collided.
Boom!
A massive sound erupted, like wringing out a wet blanket. The air compressed, and a powerful shockwave exploded outward. Both men felt a bone-rattling impact and were pushed back several steps.
'At least one jia!'
Hyeon-gak's mind cleared in a flash. One jia referred to the cultivated through sixty years of diligent training.
Gong Cheon-ak, barely into his late twenties, couldn't have lived for 120 years. It must be the result of mastering sinister inner arts befitting a Seventh Star Lord of the Demonic Cult and consuming spirit medicines.
Gong Cheon-ak was equally taken aback. He had pegged Hyeon-gak's as one level below his own, yet the monk had only retreated a single step after taking a palm infused with ten layers of power.
One more thing: at the moment of clash, the rebounding energy came in continuous waves, like galloping horse hooves shaking the earth—powerful enough to burst muscles.
'This is orthodox martial arts!'
Gong Cheon-ak shot forward again, unleashing his second stance.
A rock-hard fist pierced through Hyeon-gak's forward space.
A fierce gale whipped up.
Hyeon-gak twisted his upper body sharply while deploying Capturing Hand from the side to coil around Gong Cheon-ak's wrist.
Judging he couldn't match raw power, he aimed to win with technique. Fortunately, Shaolin's Capturing Hand—which twisted and struck the wrist simultaneously—was renowned throughout the martial world.
"Capturing Hand 18 Strikes!"
"You're no amateur!"
Gong Cheon-ak retreated two steps in succession to buy time.
Hyeon-gak stuck to him like glue, extending both hands. The two wrists twisted like living serpents, snatching at Gong Cheon-ak's.
"Just give up already!"
"Hmph, says the one who should!"
As Hyeon-gak tried to snap Gong Cheon-ak's wrist in one go, the man's fist suddenly flew in.
Offering his wrist to smash the face—a chilling energy enveloped the fist.
'When!'
In that instant, Hyeon-gak reflexively raised his left arm to block Gong Cheon-ak's fist.
At the same time, his right fist was already gouging into Gong Cheon-ak's side, infused with ten layers of power, of course.
Thud! Thud!
After exchanging one blow each, the two sprang back several steps. Even with Golden Bell's protective qi raised, Hyeon-gak felt pain like his arm bone had shattered.
Gong Cheon-ak felt his side burning like it had been seared by fire. If not for the extreme cold over the past four days draining their power reserves, both would have suffered broken bones and shaken internals.
Yet there was a clear difference, however slight.
Hyeon-gak's left arm was unusable from the powerful strike, while Gong Cheon-ak's waist remained intact.
Hyeon-gak had to admit Gong Cheon-ak's fist and palm power was a level above his.
"Farewell, stone head!"
In that moment, Gong Cheon-ak's form soared into the air. From a zhang high, his dropping fist gleamed with purple energy. The pressure hit before the fist itself.
'Heaven-Earth Great Net Hand—this bastard...!'
A hand technique turning into fist, fist into palm—truly bizarre martial arts of the Heavenly Demon. How many leaders of the orthodox martial world had fallen to that fist?
Hyeon-gak sensed he stood at death's door.
The moment he had awaited since first learning martial arts. His fated opponent, who might claim his life, had finally appeared.
'If only I had my Shaolin Staff Method...!'
In this desperate crisis, a thick strand of seaweed flew from the left, slapping Gong Cheon-ak across the face.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Struck by the powerful seaweed slap, Gong Cheon-ak flailed in midair and plummeted.
"Which bastard!"
Gong Cheon-ak whipped his head around with a guttural roar.
A bellow no less fierce answered instead.
"Shut up!"
It was Heuk Do-san.
Heuk Do-san stood there, neck wrapped in fresh seaweed strands, dripping water.
He must have dived into the sea to forage and come back with seaweed. He gripped a dagger in one hand and an axe in the other, shoulders hunched like mountain peaks—clearly furious.
"Who risks their life diving for food, only for you lot to start brawling before eating? Should I dump you all in the water?"
"You—you really...!"
Gong Cheon-ak's face flushed crimson. Flames seemed to pour from his eyes.
He looked ready to charge and tear Heuk Do-san limb from limb. Dagger and axe were invisible now.
"It's not like we're sharing anyway."
Dang Yak-ran spoke up boldly.
"You think I gathered this much to eat alone?"
Heuk Do-san slammed the seaweed from his neck to the deck.
It looked like over a basketful. Fresh and green, mouthwatering at a glance.
Dang Yak-ran alternated stares between Heuk Do-san and the seaweed, expression caught between dream and reality.
"Really...?"
"Busy, so I yanked whole stalks. Pick the tender leaves and share. Ugh, freezing."
Heuk Do-san hurried to the campfire, squatting to warm himself. His skin was seaweed-colored from the icy seawater.
Dang Yak-ran and Bing-seol rushed to the strands, picking soft, chewable leaves.
Their mouths stretched ear to ear. How many days since they'd tasted food?
Gong Cheon-ak and Hyeon-gak, who had just been clashing palms ferociously, stood dumbfounded. They glared at each other, exchanging glances.
'Eat first, fight later.'
'Sounds good.'
'Might as well eat comfortably.'
'Fine by me.'
'No cheap shots, right?'
'Attacking while eating isn't human.'
Smacking their lips, they sidled toward the campfire.
Heuk Do-san was still naked, wings tucked tight, shivering as he dried off.
Moments later, Dang Yak-ran and Bing-seol distributed heaps of seaweed to everyone.
One bite brought the salty, fresh taste of seaweed.
They were at the point of gnawing rocks—seaweed was a miracle.
With tearful gratitude, they devoured it ravenously.
"You not eating?"
Bing-seol asked Heuk Do-san.
"Eat plenty. I'm good."
Gong Cheon-ak thought:
'What the hell is with this guy?'
Hyeon-gak thought:
'Definitely crazy.'
Dang Yak-ran thought:
'Is he fattening me up?'
Bing-seol thought:
'Put some clothes on.'
A rabbit with horns. When he'd caught fish, he'd eaten alone without offering any.
Today, after slaving away, he yielded it all. Maybe he was better than expected.
"I heard seaweed only grows near shores. How'd you get this? Is land close?"
Dang Yak-ran asked, mouth stuffed and chewing.
"You know your seaweed."
"Not a total idiot."
"Sea has mountains and valleys too. About ten zhang in, there's a ridge of tall reefs. Got lucky."
"They say where seaweed grows, there's abalone..."
"So?"
"Just saying."
"Want some? Dive in and get it yourself!"
Heuk Do-san suddenly bellowed. No wonder he was mad—after braving the frigid depths for seaweed, now abalone talk.
Dang Yak-ran mumbled apologetically.
"Got it. Sorry."
The basketful vanished in moments.
Soon, aside from a bit left for Yeom Jin-sang, even the tough stalks were gone.
No telling when more food would come—they ate it all.
"Ah, can't eat more."
Dang Yak-ran flopped back, belly swollen like a pregnant woman's.
"Thanks to you, we ate well."
Bing-seol nodded.
"Amitabha, never knew fresh seaweed tasted this good."
"Good work."
Hyeon-gak and Gong Cheon-ak rubbed full bellies and retreated.
With stomachs stuffed, sleepiness crashed in. The promise to fight after eating? Forgotten.
"Tch, that much?"
Heuk Do-san tossed a plank scrap into the fire, stoking it. He slightly lifted both wings.
There, stuck to his armpit flesh: two adult inn-sized abalones.
Heuk Do-san peeled them off one by one, slapped them on the fire, and started roasting.
Eyes bulged.
'Figures from that guy.'
'Amitabha, crafty bastard.'
'Sneaky jerk!'
'What a person...'
Thoughts in Gong Cheon-ak, Hyeon-gak, Dang Yak-ran, and Bing-seol's heads.
Heuk Do-san ignored the glares, carefully roasting, adjusting the flames.
Heat made milky broth bubble. Seeing the flesh sizzle inside the shells twisted their guts.
"Broth first?"
Heuk Do-san wrapped an abalone with leftover seaweed stalk, bringing it slowly to his mouth. As the cloudy broth neared his lips—
Bang!
The cabin stair door exploded. Yeom Jin-sang burst out clutching a dipper. His clothes were soaked to the thighs—something had happened.
"No matter how much I bail, it won't stop."
"I know. That's why you bail once a day."
"No—feels like the hull's breached. Water's pouring in. Can't keep up."
"Nonsense. Hull was fine—why breach?"
"Don't know."
Sensing trouble, Heuk Do-san jumped up, shoving his head through the torn deck plank hole.
No need to ask. Everyone crowded, peering into the cabin side by side.
Yesterday morning, water reached shins. Now, it lapped at waists.
"What the hell?"
A gushing stream bubbled from the bow corner. Fresh hole, clearly. Serious one.
Dipper-bailing wouldn't cut it. At this rate, sinking in less than an hourglass.
"Damn it!"