Iron Pagoda Tyrant Fist, Han Beom-seong
One hell of a commotion had broken out.
My grip still ached for the first time in ages.
"Hehehehe! Your progress is truly astonishing, my boy. Ogi-Jowon at that age... hehehe, in a few short years, we might well see a new strongest under heaven."
It was high praise upon high praise. Myo Man-li looked perfectly hale as he said it, but I could not say the same for myself. My clothes were torn in a dozen places, and my entire body—not just my hands—bore the marks of his workmanship. His wagers were destructive, and their effects lingered terribly.
Then his expression turned serious.
"But that thing you used at the end... don't tell me it was that."
The Dark Asura Heavenly Sword. The martial art the Asura Pavilion Master Sang-gwan Yeonhwi had left behind for me—I had unleashed it just once, at the very end. That was what Myo Man-li was talking about now.
"...Hoh... so the Sect Master never noticed, yet you went and took someone else's art... no, wait, you're my little brother now, so I suppose that's not quite right either. Little brother."
"Yes, Brother."
"Did you enter the Sect Master's tutelage?"
I shook my head.
"The Asura Pavilion Master came and gave me the art himself. I merely judged that it was a usable technique, so learning it couldn't hurt."
"Hehe, you rascal. The Dark Asura Heavenly Sword stands shoulder to shoulder with the Imperial Heaven-Cleaving Sword of the Emperor Sword Sect's Sword Emperor. And you call that merely 'usable'?"
"I said it out of concern for your feelings, Brother."
"Hehehe. This boy, really..." He cleared his throat. "In any case, the task you asked of me is finished. All of it."
Anyone could see it. He had captured Po-gwon for me.
"Thank you, Brother. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to tell me."
"Bah, what manner of sworn brothers keep accounts with one another? Keep it, and put it to use yourself."
I didn't know the details about Myo Man-li as a person, but the more I learned, the more decent a man he turned out to be.
"And I'll be heading straight back to the main mountain. If there's anything else you need me to do before I go, say it now."
I shook my head.
"There is nothing. After help this great, how could I presume to ask for more?"
"Hehehehe! Good. Good, then live well and keep yourself out of trouble. Come visit me again sometime."
"I will. Travel safely, Brother."
Myo Man-li vanished as suddenly as he had come.
I turned my head. "Un Dohyeon."
"Yes, my lord."
"Congratulations."
Un Dohyeon smiled faintly. What he was being congratulated for, we both knew well enough.
"Three Flowers Gathering is a lofty realm indeed—but do not grow complacent."
"I will remember it, and remember it again."
My sworn brother, it seemed, had an exceptional gift for teaching. Un Dohyeon, who had left as the tail end of Five Dragons Rising to Completion, returned after only a few days having achieved Three Flowers Gathering. True, he had only just entered the threshold of it, but between those who stopped there and those who climbed past, the difference could not be starker.
I drew a bundle of papers from my coat and handed it to him. When he looked at me as if to ask what it was, I told him plainly.
"Candidates for the Branch Hall. I'm considering you for Vice Branch Master of the Jangan Branch, so pick out whoever suits your eye."
"...My lord..."
"You have one day. No more than ten people."
"...Thank you. I will not fail your expectations, my lord."
He bowed his head, and I turned away.
A woman and a young boy—Myeong Hyeon's family. They bowed low to me.
"We heard the gist of it on the way here. And you even removed Geumje... Thank you."
I shook my head. "There's no need for thanks. I merely did what had to be done."
Then the boy spoke. "Thank you."
I regarded him quietly. He could not have been more than six. Myeong Hyeon was hardly wanting in looks, and neither was the woman—and this child had inherited the best of both, and beyond that, a talent for the martial arts that was nothing short of extraordinary. Not a Heavenly Martial Body or anything of that sort, but if he ever trained, great achievement was all but certain.
I ruffled the boy's hair and gave Un Dohyeon a look. Quick on the uptake, he drew the child aside to a polite distance.
The woman and I were left alone. I kept it brief.
"Do not rest easy."
It was something I had to say, to anyone and everyone in her position.
"So long as the Emperor Sword Sect stands, you and that child will live under constant threat to your lives."
"I am prepared for that, my lord."
"Preparation alone is not enough. You must be thorough. Within five years, I will grant you both complete freedom—until then, you need only be careful. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"You will go into hiding at once after seeing Myeong Hyeon today. Do not let that resolve waver."
"We owe you everything, my lord. I will not waver. I have been prepared ever since I saw his face again."
She was a remarkably steady woman. That satisfied me—so long as she never became the thing that dragged Myeong Hyeon down.
"To the Branch Hall. Follow me."
Which sect in this vast world wields the fist better than any other?
Ask a hundred passing travelers, and some ninety of them would answer: the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect.
Its Sect Master, the Invincible Fist Sovereign Gong Wi-ryang, sat slouched in a crooked posture. The expression on his face, matching that posture all too well, was full of grievance—a clear sign that his mood was foul.
Before him stood a total of seven elders. The mood in the hall could not have been worse.
"Would someone care to explain this to me?"
"..."
"I gave clear orders not to move. So where, exactly, has Elder Han gone?"
The one who answered the Sect Master was Myeong Mu-seong— bearer of the title White Tiger Invincible Fist, a master of the Realm of Harmony on the very cusp of Entering Divinity, and Grand Elder of the sect, the same office Myo Man-li held in the Asura Sword Sect.
"...Sect Master. Elder Han is currently leading the Killing Curtain assassins we recently absorbed, bound for Jangan Commandery."
Gong Wi-ryang did not like that answer. Given the overall situation, if his expression had been anything other than sour, that would have been stranger still.
"A complete mess."
"...Sect Master, but did Elder Han not just lose his direct disciple? He moves to avenge him. Surely, just this once, you could overlook—"
"Elder Myeong."
"Yes, Sect Master."
"How many times must I say it? An all-out war with the Asura Sword Sect would bleed us grievously."
The elders fell silent all at once.
"Use your head for once. If it came to open war with them, how much damage would the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect suffer? Win or lose, it is obvious that at least half of us would be dead. And an elder steps into the fray for this? He'd make himself a perfect target for that sect, which is already itching for an excuse. Is it only I who cannot understand this situation? Hm?"
It was, without question, sound reasoning. Neither the Asura Sword Sect nor the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect wanted an all-out war. They were rivals, certainly—but so long as it was only a few branch halls crippled and a few low-ranking martial artists dead, both sides tacitly permitted it. When two of the Eight Great Sects clashed, there was no such thing as a bloodless quarrel. Even if the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect tore the Asura Sword Sect down, the sect that emerged afterward would not be the sect it had been before. Most of the elders would die; Gong Wi-ryang himself might take a fatal wound; and the martial artists below them went without saying.
That was why they had been courting the Asura Sword Sect's elders. That was why they had used Mun Hudo. Everything had its reason. This was the backdrop. If that balance broke, one side or the other would be forced to move, one way or another. Han Beom-seong's little excursion would send ripples far larger than anyone imagined. And to speak candidly—the odds that Han Beom-seong would die were very high. Not at Yi Do's hands, no. The point was that he stood an excellent chance of dying to someone else in the Asura Sword Sect.
Gong Wi-ryang found the whole thing absurd.
"The entire Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect thrown into chaos over one lunatic? Is that even a thing to say?"
"...Sect Master... if it please you, might this old man speak?"
It was Grand Elder Myeong Mu-seong.
"Speak."
"The one we have been courting—'that person'—tells us that those within the Asura Sword Sect who defend the Cruel Demon Dao are not so many."
"Not so many?"
"Correct. Among the sect's key figures, everyone without exception views him with distaste—the Sect Master Dokgo Dan-ya, the Asura Pavilion Master Sang-gwan Yeonhwi, and Grand Elder Myo Man-li being the sole exceptions."
"And?"
"We cannot know what will become of Elder Han. But he moved to slay the Cruel Demon Dao regardless, and knowing his temperament, he will kill that man or die trying. Yet what real gain does our sect stand to win for one man's head? 'That person' says..."
"Get to the conclusion."
Grand Elder Myeong Mu-seong smiled faintly.
"Sect Master. I believe the time has come."
"The time?"
"Yes. The upper ranks of the Asura Sword Sect have no intention of all-out war. Until this very conversation, neither did we. Which makes this the perfect moment."
"Do you have a plan?"
"I do. To begin with—why not seize several of the Asura Sword Sect's branch halls, precisely as the Cruel Demon Dao did?"
"And you think the Kingdom of Jeok will simply sit still?"
"This incident has settled the positions of both the Jeok and Yan royal courts. Both have concluded that this is a matter for the Murim to resolve. Which means that if we occupy the Asura Sword Sect's branches, there is precedent from the Jeok side already—no armed conflict between nations will follow. Moreover, if we invite the Yan court to take those territories, Yan's domain expands. In the end, the Yan royal house will owe the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect a debt, and our ties will grow ever closer—"
Gong Wi-ryang cut him off without listening further.
"Grand Elder."
"Yes, Sect Master."
"Draw up the board."
Myeong Mu-seong's face brightened.
"You will not content yourself with swallowing a few branch halls. I want a masterstroke—full war, our losses minimized, the Asura Sword Sect's devastation maximized. Bring me that plan."
"As expected of the Sect Master. I shall devise the particulars and report."
"Good. And send a highest-grade courier hawk to Han Beom-seong. Order him to return at once."
"Yes."
"And the Young Sect Master."
The Young Sect Master of the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect—Lion Iron Fist, Song Ja-myeong—lifted his head.
"Yes, Sect Master."
"Assist the Grand Elder. See that stratagem brought to completion."
Twenty-eight years old, in the Ogi-Jowon realm. A man whose talent ranked among the very finest of the late-stage disciples had captured Po-gwon. Gong Wi-ryang smiled and asked,
"And 'that thing'? Is it complete?"
Song Ja-myeong smiled as well. "Yes. I expect to ascend to the Realm of Harmony very soon."
"Excellent. Truly the fist sect's blessing."
"You honor me."
That evening, a man was on the move, leading exactly two hundred martial artists.
His face was a thorough blank—no trace of any emotion whatsoever. But that was only the face the world could see. Inside, he was moving on pure fury. The rage boiling up from his depths was so vast it had frozen his features into that mask of stillness.
He lifted his head. Past that hill lay Jangan Commandery.
There was nothing novel about any of it. The Jangan massacre was famous. Thanks to it, the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect had become a laughingstock across the land, and the Cruel Demon Dao Yi Do had earned his name as the madman of the century. If anything, madman was too kind. A true madman would have died long ago.
A meticulous man who does mad things—that was Yi Do. Too meticulous. He had annihilated thirteen great clans without mercy, then cleaned up every last trace behind himself, flawlessly. And before that? He had lured the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect's Jangan Branch into Sambong-hyeon and slaughtered them to a man—every step of it unmistakably the product of careful planning.
And what of Yan's situation now? Locked in a vicious struggle for the throne, the court could scarcely spare a glance outward. More to the point—who had owned the lands around Jangan Commandery, the very lands the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect occupied, in the past? The Kingdom of Jeok had. So which Murim did a sect squatting on Jeok territory belong to? The Jeok Murim. Since the Yan Murim would never accept the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect, and the phrase "Eight Great Sects" had long since hardened into fixed doctrine, Yan had found itself unable to easily answer one simple question: how could land once held by Jeok's sect possibly belong to Yan?
And so, in the end, the two nations had reached an accord. A laughably simple one: neither army would intervene, and the two sects would settle their ranks themselves.
Han Beom-seong—Iron Pagoda Tyrant Fist, one of the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect's elders—walked without the slightest break in his stride. He would kill Yi Do, the Cruel Demon Dao, without fail. Simply kill him? No. He would beat him to death. Beat him until he was pulp. He would pound the man beyond all recognition, and then send the corpse to the Asura Sword Sect.
Han Beom-seong spoke. "Ready yourselves."
At his word, the two hundred entrants of the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect—once Killing Curtain assassins—drew their weapons in a single motion.
"Listen well. Inside that Jangan Commandery lie four clans: the Yun Family Manor, the Hong Clan, the Cheonggang Sword School, and the Myeong Clan. You will annihilate all four. Not a single ant's spawn left breathing—kill every last one. Do you understand?"
"Yes!"
"Distinguish yourselves tonight, and only then will you truly become sons of the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect. And as my people, you will wield real influence within the sect itself. Yes, let it be so: the one who earns the greatest merit tonight shall be named Vice Branch Master of Jangan, and from those who earn less, we will sift and select the members of the Branch Hall. Am I understood?"
"Yes!"
Han Beom-seong was about to give the order to begin.
But the words never left his mouth. Across the way, he saw three men waiting.
"Ha... hahahahaha!!"
He burst into wild laughter. What else could he do?
Those three men. There was no possibility he failed to recognize them.
One wore his battle robe slung carelessly over his shoulders, hair unbound, looking utterly exhausted—but the aura rolling off him was unmistakably that of Three Flowers Gathering.
Beside him stood a man impeccably neat in his dress, two swords hung at his waist.
And the last one—the man radiating a pressure that made the other two seem like nothing at all.
That was him. That son of a bitch who deserved to be torn apart and still wouldn't be enough.
The sword in his right hand was striking. On one face of the blade, a dragon plunged downward; on the other, a dragon soared upward. A legendary blade among legendary blades—once wielded by a Grand Elder of Kunlun in ages past. Hardly the sort of sword such a bastard ought to be carrying.
The one whose eyes had met his spoke in a low voice.
"What's all this racket in the dead of night?"
Yi Do's words crumpled the space between Han Beom-seong's brows into ruin.
"...So you've come to find your own grave, have you?"
Han Beom-seong halted at a distance of roughly ten jang.
Yi Do smiled. "Iron Pagoda Tyrant Fist, Han Beom-seong. I've heard your name well enough."
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing in particular."
"Come to beg forgiveness? Pathetic wretch. To think my disciple died to a creature like you... it angers me. It angers me, boy."
Yi Do paid it no mind. Rave all you liked—the man was a corpse either way.
"You have a habit of twisting people's words, I see. An ugly habit... but I'll let it pass for now. Will you accept the gift I've prepared?"
"...Offering a bribe? Ha... truly... at this point it's almost laughable."
He ignored him. "Myeong Hyeon. Throw it to him."
"Yes, Branch Master."
Myeong Hyeon flashed a grin and hurled the bundle he'd been carrying over his shoulder. It had never been tied shut in the first place, so its contents revealed themselves mid-flight.
Two heads.
Somewhat rotted, maggots writhing through them—but unmistakably human heads. They hit the ground and rolled, tumbling until they fetched up against Han Beom-seong's leg and stopped. He looked down at them, and his eyes squeezed shut.
The head of his one and only disciple, Pung Bi-chang—and the head of Inhak, who had served at his side.
"They took some digging out of the back alleys of Jangan Commandery. Do you like them?"
"...And you call that a gift?!"
Yi Do's eyes sank cold and still.
"Do not raise your voice."
"...You little bastard..."
"The hour is late, and many have gone to their sleep. Who do you think you are, to disturb them?"
Color blotched across Han Beom-seong's face, one hue over another, as his features warped into pure ferocity—the look of the fiend-hearted and murderous. His fists trembled violently; his eyes burned.
And across from him, a smile of unbearable softness spread across Yi Do's lips.
"Come."
Han Beom-seong, wreathed in the natural qi of the earth itself, kicked off from the ground.
And above the two of them, the highest-grade courier hawk dispatched by the Heaven-Breaking Fist Sect wheeled round and round in the night sky.