Heavenly Thunder... Martial God? (4)
“Ugh, you damn old bastard!”
The moment their palm forces collided, Im Pilsaeng was hurled back by a massive shockwave, his face twisting in rage as he spat out curses.
“Not bad at all. To think you'd reached this level. I figured Shandong's top swordsman was just all flash with his blade, but... keh heh heh, this makes coming out into the world after so long worth it.”
Dokbi, however, seemed utterly unfazed by the profanity, grinning with evident delight as if amazed by an opponent worthy of his power.
Im Pilsaeng ignored him, his eyes fixed on the inn. It was even farther now. And in the meantime, Dokbi blocked his path again.
“Piao Xiang Shou, you scum!”
Mingled with the roar of thunder in his ears came a cacophony of noises: the clash of metal, the splintering of wood, the shattering of furniture. Every sound fueled his anxiety.
What if something's happened to the young master...?
Im Pilsaeng ground his teeth viciously, glaring coldly at the old monster barring his way.
“Hah, damn it all. An old freak who should be rotting in his grave—what the hell makes you crawl out into the world?”
“Kekeke, what a mouth on you. Well, with skills like yours, I suppose you've earned the right to talk big.”
“Yang Taek put you up to this?”
“What?”
“So senile you're desperate for cash?”
“You think it's just about money? Nah, I just got curious hearing how you'd made a name for yourself in Shandong.”
“Oh, so not pride or greed—curiosity, huh? Bullshit excuse if I ever heard one.”
“What can I say? It's the truth. Nothing beats the thrill of clashing with a real powerhouse for a martial artist. So what're you waiting for? Entertain me!”
Dokbi bared his teeth in a feral grin, his eyes gleaming through the pouring rain. The killing intent radiating off him, carried by the cascading water, sent chills crawling over Im Pilsaeng's skin.
KABOOM!
A thunderclap boomed as lightning split the sky, illuminating the world and casting Dokbi's silhouette in an even more sinister light.
Dokbi Yeo Jeokgwang. Im Pilsaeng knew of him—a monster from two or three generations back, pushing a hundred years old.
An evildoer who'd terrorized Jiangsu Province, not Shandong, but his infamy had spread across the seas. Hundreds had died needlessly at his hands, entire families wiped out. When the murim world finally intervened, it only added to the body count.
At his peak of Uigi realm mastery, he rivaled sect leaders. Only absolute experts who'd grasped the river-crossing realm could stop him—but scouring the Central Plains might yield barely a dozen such giants, none willing to dirty their hands over one old poisoner.
Dokbi knew it too, never straying from Jiangsu. As his crimes mounted and grudges piled up, Shaolin dispatched the Slaying Precept Monks—priests granted license to kill.
They returned empty-handed, and that was the last anyone heard. That was all Im Pilsaeng knew of Dokbi too.
The man had vanished one day, staying hidden for decades. Folks figured he'd finally met his heavenly punishment.
Yet here he was again. Right in front of Im Pilsaeng. To kill Jin Yeo-rip.
“What, just gonna keep glaring? I broke my seclusion hearing I had a worthy foe. Tsk tsk, this won't do. Guess I need to give you a reason to fight. Word is, that kid inside's your young master, right?”
“......”
“Better hurry. The kid I came with said to rip off the limbs, send 'em to the father, and lop off the head to show the money lord.”
Im Pilsaeng's eyes twitched at Dokbi's words.
Golden Eyes... going that far? Tormenting the husband who'd already lost his wife—with his son's death too? Rubbing salt in the wound of bereavement?
Im Pilsaeng gnashed his teeth furiously, then slowly regulated his breathing.
Stay calm. Excitement tenses the body, dulls the blade. He's a villain, sure—but a peak master from generations past.
“Damn, my booze must be stone cold by now. Was gonna play the cool Kwun Uhn-jang for once.”
“Booze?”
Dokbi tilted his head, but Im Pilsaeng used the quip to loosen up, letting his sword tip droop toward the ground—no answer needed.
“Someone once said, a swordsman who thinks too much just gets a headache. Stick to the blade.”
Ting, ting-ting.
The clear patter of rain on his blade echoed, steadying his frantic heart.
“So no fancy ideas. Just the sword. My best shot.”
“That's the spirit! Come on already—I've been waiting!”
Dokbi's eyes burned with ecstatic anticipation, his face split in a grin. Im Pilsaeng lowered into stance.
“The young master's got enough strength to protect himself. I'll kill you first.”
“......”
“Dying to fight me? Doubt you'll get the chance.”
Im Pilsaeng's eyes flashed coldly, then settled into icy calm.
“Old freak. Time to send you back to the grave.”
He dropped low. His foot shot forward.
Whoosh!
Water sprayed violently from his step, and in an instant, Im Pilsaeng closed the gap, his sword cleaving space in two.
Im Pilsaeng's signature technique. A brutally swift strike that always drew blood once drawn—earning him the title of Shandong's top swordsman.
Slash!
He'd poured everything into that single blow, certain it couldn't be dodged. And right enough, a line appeared across Dokbi's throat.
Cut. So he thought—until Dokbi's severed body and head dissolved like rain-washed mist.
Then the voice came.
“A sword worthy of the title Shandong's top.”
“......!?”
Im Pilsaeng's eyes widened in shock at the perfectly intact voice.
How...? I definitely felt the blade bite.
As if answering his doubt, Dokbi—forehead gashed long, face drenched in blood—hurled a palm strike at Im Pilsaeng's chest.
Damn it! Too shallow.
Regret flashed, but he desperately raised his blade. Dokbi's palm slammed into it with ferocious power.
CLANG!
“Guh!”
The rebounding internal energy sent Im Pilsaeng flying farther than before, his innards churning with pain as he grimaced.
No time to recover. Dokbi's eyes alight with rapture, he launched after him.
“Taking a break already? We're just getting started!”
“Hah.”
A sigh escaped. Damn old coot packed a punch. Should've lopped his head clean off—next time, deeper.
Im Pilsaeng swung with venomous fury in his eyes.
***
Around the time Im Pilsaeng's battle kicked off outside the inn.
“Piao Xiang Shou... Yeo Jeokgwang, you never learn!”
“Why fix what ain't broke?”
“What?”
“I like money. Makes life comfy. And the thrill of killing? Electric.”
“You mad bastard! You call yourself an assassin?”
“Eh, close enough. Call me what you want.”
As Tak Sobak sidled closer with a smirk, Kang Seong-gil leveled his kitchen knife.
“Oh? Gonna fight? With a butcher knife?”
“Doesn't matter! Been out of practice too long, but I'll remind you Gu Jungdo's name ain't hollow!”
“Oho, scary stuff. Sure, even a rusty blade from Gu Jungdo's still Gu Jungdo—but how could I handle that heavy swing? Lucky for you, I brought a gift for my senior.”
“What?”
“......Behind you.”
Behind? There were only three people inside.
“Watch out, senior. His armor's thick—even Gu Jungdo's weight won't slice it easy.”
Tak Sobak's helpful warning ended as an overwhelming presence crashed in. Kang Seong-gil's eyes bulged wider.
No way... from outside?
BOOM!
Something smashed into the inn with force, punching through the wall. A round object hurtled straight at Kang Seong-gil.
“Kekeke, called in Tanggu too. Cost a pretty penny, but snaring Gwiyeong needs the best.”
Explanation given. But Kang Seong-gil couldn't hear it.
THUD!
Tanggu barreled into him bodily. Even as the kitchen knife sliced flesh and drew blood, the ball-like fighter didn't stop.
CRASH!
Straight through the opposite wall. Holes gaped in both sides of the inn, Kang Seong-gil tumbling out with Tanggu.
“Well then, looks like it's just you left, handsome young master?”
“......”
Jin Yeo-rip grimaced at Tak Sobak's sly, slitted-eyed grin.
Figures. Those narrow eyes screamed bad news from the start. These types are always the hidden expert, the angelic villain, or the polite blackguard. This one's all three.
“Young Master Jin, what'll it be? Would be great if you stuck your neck out nice and long. Spent too much calling Dokbi and Tanggu—might take a loss here.”
Jin Yeo-rip eyed the sweetly cooing Tak Sobak and asked.
“Money buys anything, huh?”
“Spot on. That's me. Folks call me greedy. But you're awfully calm. Thought you'd piss yourself in terror. Makes sense, though—with guts like that, you can screw over Golden Eyes. Must've trusted that one bodyguard to come this far.”
Tak Sobak marveled at Jin Yeo-rip's composed expression. Truth was, he was just keeping a poker face. Inside, he was cursing up a storm.
What the fuck is this shit? Just came for drinks. Rain sounded nice, friends were cool. Now I'm gonna die boozed up. Why's Im Pilsaeng so damn slow? Shandong's top sword, sliced three hundred on Tai Mountain—believed it no question!
Thunderous booms shook the ground outside louder than the storm. Im Pilsaeng's stand-in, Kang Seong-gil, had flown off like a frog hit by a rock.
Alone now. No one to protect him.
A slitted-eyed monster threatening to lop his head, hiding insane skills. Even peeking through those tiny slits, the eyes were terrifying.
But focus. Enter the tiger's den, keep your wits...
Y-yeah, might live?
“Ahem! Mind if I ask something?”
“Fire away. You're about to enrich my comfy life by dying soon—least I can do.”
“How much?”
“Hm?”
“My head's price.”
“Why ask?”
Why? To haggle, duh. I'll pay more, okay? Just fuck off?
Jin Yeo-rip asked with genuine intent, and Tak Sobak beamed.
“Hah, merchant's son through and through. You read people well.”
“......”
Did it work? For real? Spill it! I'll pay! No, I got no cash—but Dad does. Yeah, that's it. Why blades when money works? Wall Mountain Bandits priced heads cheap!
“Hundred taels of gold.”
“......”
“Upfront. One extra tael right here, and I vanish without a word.”
Tak Sobak eyed him invitingly. Jin Yeo-rip smiled, detached from worldly concerns.
Hundred... taels? Just say no. Hundred taels sound like some stray dog's name?