Earth-Style Fighting
A barehanded kid was crooking his finger, goading a blade-wielding martial artist to come at him.
Like a newborn pup that had no idea how terrifying a tiger could be—Beomcheon Eumjeok wore a look of pure disbelief at the cheeky provocation.
"Pretty face, zero manners… You wouldn't happen to be that crazy beggar who was shaking down merchants in the marketplace, would you?"
Crazy beggar? So that was how my reputation had been spreading.
The merchants had been the ones acting like complete bastards first. I'd only given them a taste of their own medicine.
"I've got a question for you too."
At my counter-question, one of Beomcheon Eumjeok's eyebrows twitched.
"Fine. I'll answer—call it your ferry fare to the underworld."
He licked the blood-crusted edge of his blade with his tongue and answered with a ghoulish smile.
"I get kidnapping the rich kids to squeeze money out of them. But why snatch the beggars from the warehouse?"
I already knew the reason—I'd heard it from Ilhong. But thrashing dozens of Black Path thugs at the entrance had left me short of breath, so I figured I'd buy a little time while the conversation was going.
"Apparently a blood relative who survived the Haomu Gate uprising stole some kind of sacred relic and ran… Hmm. Come to think of it, they're right about your age. And you don't look much like beggars either."
The mountain-bandit-looking man narrowed his eyes and looked between the two of us. As if weighing something, he stroked his bristly chin a few times.
"Especially that brat next to you… He's very close to what I heard from Haomu Gate. All but one trait, that is."
When his suspicious gaze landed on her, I felt Ilhong flinch beside me. Wondering what trait he meant, I glanced over—and Ilhong quietly averted her eyes from mine.
"Another reason to take you both. I'll slit your throat, and that one might be in disguise, so I'll drag him along and check."
He raised his blade. That sticky, crawling killing intent began to seep out again.
It hadn't been long, but my energy and breath had come back enough. Talking his ear off had been worth it.
"So. Done stalling? Got your wind back?"
He'd seen through it. Probably the confidence of a grown man who couldn't imagine losing to a kid.
"That face of yours has to sell for a high price, so try not to scrunch it up too much when you die."
Was that really something a full-grown adult should say to a child?
Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps. As he started toward me, the old wooden floor screamed under his weight again. The bandit-faced man approached with his massive blade and yellowed teeth flashing.
"Normally I'd take your head in one stroke—but since you ran your mouth, I'll open your gut first and let your entrails spill out."
What a primitive, barbaric era this was.
Ilhong must have thought I was at a disadvantage; she snatched up a club one of the Black Path thugs had dropped and pressed herself tightly to my side. What kind of bravado was that from a kid who hadn't even learned martial arts?
I waved her off as if to say don't, then took a few steps forward to meet Beomcheon Eumjeok halfway.
"After that, I'll dig out your heart. So everyone knows what happens to people who mess with the Gwanghae Faction."
Getting thrashed by a kid would apparently ruin the organization's reputation. Whether from pure malice or wounded pride, I could see the knotted mass of his killing karma writhing.
"You know how it feels when a blade like this punches through your belly and stirs up your guts? Huh?"
Maybe he wanted to see fear on my face. Beomcheon Eumjeok grinned and laid on the blood-curdling talk.
But I wasn't about to flinch at a cheap scare like that. Especially not in this body.
"Yeah, you bastard. I've already been stabbed twice."
A freak who had taken two blade wounds and still survived a fall from a high cliff, no less.
"What? Then how the hell are you still ali—"
No more words. The moment he cocked his head in confusion, I detonated the internal energy gathered at the tip of my foot.
"You're dead!"
Fwoosh!
The bloodbath that began with that ambush stretched on for more than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.
My opponent was a bandit, sure—but a Second-class martial artist who had earned a moniker. Add in his towering height and that long blade, and even closing the distance was a nightmare of reach.
Slash!
The sound of steel cutting flesh. A razor-sharp killing intent carved past my body. One moment of carelessness and a line of blood would open across my vision.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Crimson arcs twisted and warped through the air, fired again and again. If the trajectories of the Third-class thugs I'd fought before were a thin drizzle, then what a martial artist on the cusp of First-class poured out was a stubborn, driving downpour.
Whoosh—! Whoosh—!
Every time something flashed, blood sprayed. Without the Heavenly Killing Star's assistance, even tracking it with the naked eye was nearly impossible—a truly swift saber.
This guy had a body as heavy as a bear's, yet his movements were surprisingly agile.
Shlick!
My right earlobe flew off, and blood spattered hard against the floor.
"Ugh!"
A blade that bent in at a bizarre angle and carved across the back of my arm. The blood-soaked tip glittered in the sunlight.
My red blood ran down the grooves of the floorboards and into the dirt.
I could see it all—where he meant to swing, the direction his killing intent stretched. But seeing and answering with your body were entirely different dimensions of the problem.
I hadn't even been studying martial arts for a full year. Relying only on the Heavenly Killing Star's sponge-like talent for the martial path and the Hundred Knots Divine Fist, I had charged in—and today, for the first time, I truly felt how far my physical foundation fell short.
Whoosh—!
A sharp whistle of air. I jerked my chin back and barely slipped the blade that had been aiming for my throat.
Of course, I hadn't just been taking a one-sided beating either. I'd used the ingenious Whirlwind Steps my master taught me to slip into his guard on sudden ambushes, and I'd thrown punches and kicks with the reckless logic of trading flesh for bone. Now and then, one or two landed.
Crack!
"Kh!"
I could drive them into his chest or his face. Of course, compared to a blade that spilled blood with the lightest graze, it was a pitiful return.
"Hah… hah…"
"You rat-bastard…"
A dim house. Two men, soaked in blood, gasping for air.
Beomcheon Eumjeok was pouring twin streams of blood from his nose after the last punch I'd planted. We were peeling each other like fruit, each of us dodging the finishing blow.
As I weaved and ducked and refused to go down, and the fight showed no sign of ending, Beomcheon Eumjeok ground his teeth.
"…What the hell are you? Why won't you tire out?"
He said it like I was deeply unnatural.
Yeah. Tell me about it. My internal energy was nearly gone, but the moment my life was on the line, this body's stamina refused to burn out. If anything, he—the ordinary martial artist—looked a little more worn down.
"Just die already!"
The blade flashed. He'd said he wouldn't touch my face since it was for sale—yet now he was carving for my neck with chilling intent.
I whipped my head back and avoided a fatal wound. Instead, the edge sliced across my cheek.
I felt blood droplets pop into my vision and launched Whirlwind Steps right then and there.
A form that slips in like the wind
My body glided in. I drove a Whirlwind Kick straight into his solar plexus.
"Guh! You son of a—!"
Beomcheon Eumjeok spat a ragged breath and hurriedly yanked his hilt back. I twisted my waist, gathered centrifugal force, and whipped a fist across his jaw.
Crack!
A heavy, satisfying impact. It landed clean. Proof enough: the Gwanghae Faction's boss staggered like a man dead drunk.
I was about to leap in and finish it. But in that instant, the Heavenly Killing Star slammed a fierce warning into me.
Shhhk—!
I yanked my body and head back, and a razor-sharp edge skimmed past the tip of my nose and shot toward the sky.
Another inch and I would have been split from jaw to crown. So he'd been digging a trap of his own—trading flesh for bone the same way I was.
If I'd charged in blindly, I would have left this world right there.
"What the fuck are you? How did you dodge that just now?"
After sparring for the better part of a tea-time, we both knew each other's skill well enough. He'd clearly thought that last attack was perfect—his face flooded with baffled disbelief.
"Hah… hah. Because you were fucking slow…"
The fight sank into a brief lull. The only sounds were the ragged breathing of two people who had just fought for their lives.
My whole body stung and burned. And it was wet—not with sweat, but with the blood I'd spilled.
On his side, fatigue had stacked up. On mine, wounds had kept accumulating. Nothing fatal, but they say clothes get soaked in a drizzle.
From the piled-on damage, my limbs had been refusing to obey for a while now. Fingertips and toes trembling. Without the Heavenly Killing Star's monstrous durability, my head would have been the one flying by now.
And my internal energy was almost gone. Four years of hard-earned power scraped nearly to the bottom of the dantian.
"Hoo… hoo…"
So this was a real Murim martial artist—not some third-rate street thug waving a blade. Fighting barehanded was pure misery. Without wrapping fist-qi around my hands, even touching the edge of that sword wasn't allowed.
"Hey. Mad dog."
Beomcheon Eumjeok paused mid-breath, glared murder over the blade, and spoke.
Great. Exactly what a guy being called that wants to hear.
"What? Bandit bastard."
At my unchanging attitude, a thick vein bulged on his forehead. But after watching me fight so desperately, his thinking seemed to shift. The man who'd been talking about spilling entrails suddenly changed course and started working his mouth.
"Cool that head of yours and think carefully."
A guy who kidnapped kids telling me to think rationally—a dog walking by would laugh.
"If this keeps going, one of us is definitely going to die."
"Yeah. That'd be you, bastard."
"…You little shit, listen."
No matter what threat came at me, my mouth would not sink. That was something the Beggar Sect's own Dragon Head had personally acknowledged after beating me half to death trying to shut me up.
"Leave that one and go. Then I'll let you walk out alive."
With a blunt index finger, Beomcheon Eumjeok pointed at Ilhong, who still clutched the club tight. He locked eyes with me with a look that said, Well?
Ilhong, startled at being mentioned mid-fight, whipped her head between me and the bandit.
"Think hard, you idiot. Drag this out any longer and my people will be back. As for you? Looks like you've lost a lot of blood—how much longer can you stay on your feet?"
"…"
I did feel dizzy. Just like when I'd been stabbed in the gut and swept into the rapids, that familiar fog—the one that only appeared when life hung by a thread—was wrapping my whole body again.
"…Boss, you're not… right?"
Having been betrayed so badly before, Ilhong looked terrified by Beomcheon Eumjeok's offer. Her round eyes wouldn't stop shaking.
"Hey, Ilhong."
"Y-yes?"
She must have been running through the worst-case scenarios in her head. Ilhong waited for the rest of my words with a face about to cry.
"If my gut gets opened later, just do a good job plugging the hole."
"…?"
Ilhong blinked with a blank look at the cryptic line.
Tsssss—
The ominous energy wrapping my body grew far denser than before. Without the Heavenly Killing Star, I really would have collapsed by now. Standing on the line between life and death.
But paradoxically, once I entered this state, all my fear vanished. It meant that exalted, murderous star was straining with everything it had to keep this body alive.
So I scraped up every last scrap of internal energy left in my dantian. Pure power raced violently along my meridians.
I drew a long, thin breath and took the starting stance of the Hundred Knots Divine Fist.
"…Foolish bastard. You're choosing the bitter cup over the cup of power for a beggar like that?"
Reading my fighting spirit, Beomcheon Eumjeok leveled his blade again.
Not "a beggar like that." My second client. A future blue-chip stock I'd bought at rock bottom.
And I still had one stupid method of fighting that only the Heavenly Killing Star could pull off.
As long as my head didn't come off, the star would somehow keep me alive.
A fighting method I'd learned the day my own sister stabbed me in the gut. I kicked off the ground and charged like a bull.
"Come on and stab me, you bastard!"
Fwoosh!
The blade carved through Dan Mujin's shoulder.
"Aagh! Fuck!"
It must have cut deep—red blood spattered the ceiling and walls in a sudden rain. A scream of pure pain tore free.
And still that tiny little bastard didn't stop charging.
A completely insane son of a bitch, just like the rumors said.
…What the hell kind of freak is this kid?!
Even when the blade flashed, his eyebrows didn't so much as twitch. Beomcheon Eumjeok was stunned by a charge that looked like it had abandoned all regard for life.
And if he wasn't imagining it, the brat was getting more and more used to his Deathblood Saber Method. Movements that already seemed to know where the blade would go—as natural as if he had stolen the forms and principles of the style itself.
"You monster bastard!"
This was their first fight, yet Beomcheon Eumjeok felt as if they had already crossed thousands of exchanges. It hadn't been like this when their blades first met. The sheer martial talent the boy carried made his skin crawl.
If they had met a few years from now, the one who would have gone down helplessly wouldn't have been the kid—it would have been him.
Slash!
"Kh!"
But luck wasn't on the boy's side. No matter how much talent you carried, if you snapped the stem before it bloomed, that was the end.
His body was already covered in wounds, and he had lost far too much blood. Whether from a fading mind or the endless exchange of cuts and punches, he finally left a huge opening.
Whoosh—
He fell for a feint that flowed over his head and raised his guard high, exposing his stomach.
As promised—I'll make your guts spill. Beomcheon Eumjeok crowed inwardly and drove his blade deep into the boy's abdomen, exactly as he'd been waiting to do.
Thuck!
The sound of sharp metal punching through meat. The crimson tip punched all the way through and emerged from his back.
It was a fatal strike with no escape. Dan Mujin froze solid and vomited up a whole handful of blood.
"Kyaaah! No—!"
What a girlish scream, that was. The thought floated through Dan Mujin's fading mind.
"You idiot brat! You should've just left when I said I'd let you go!"
Like a man who had finally swatted a mosquito that had been buzzing around him, Beomcheon Eumjeok laughed in pure triumph.
Whether to make it hurt more, he gripped the buried hilt with both hands and twisted it left and right.
"Ghhh—!"
"Heh heh. Feel that? This is what I meant. The pain of your guts getting shredded!"
For some reason, not a single Murim bastard in this place seemed right in the head.
His insides felt like they were being seared with a brand. But even through the searing agony, Dan Mujin grinned—and clamped both hands over the hilt and Beomcheon Eumjeok's two fists.
The edge of life and death. With his life hanging by a thread, the Heavenly Killing Star's body began to unleash unbelievable monstrous strength.
"Wh-what the—! Let go, you bastard!"
Seeing Dan Mujin's smile, Beomcheon Eumjeok realized something was wrong and tried to wrench himself free. But he was already far too late.
Crrrk—
With raw power, Dan Mujin yanked both hands straight toward himself. The blade sank deeper, and Beomcheon Eumjeok's face jerked in until it was right under his nose.
That face—which short arms and a storm of steel had made nearly impossible to reach—now sat completely unguarded.
"Y-you don't have hands free either, you idiot!"
Both of them had their arms locked. Faced with a blood-soaked red man whose whole body was a ruin of wounds, Beomcheon Eumjeok shouted in horror.
But hands and feet weren't the only tools for hitting people.
Maybe Hwang Geolgae had been smacking him on the forehead all this time for exactly this moment.
Dan Mujin cocked his head all the way back, then smashed a headbutt into Beomcheon Eumjeok's face with a technique name that almost sounded legitimate.
Skull meets skull
Crack—!
Skull against skull. A blow that rattled the very bone of the head.
"Guhhk!"
Beomcheon Eumjeok sprayed an even rougher stream of blood from both nostrils. From the massive shock he lost his grip on the hilt and staggered backward, half-falling.
This time it wouldn't be a trap. Even Dan Mujin, with his monstrous durability, had briefly blacked out and come back from that impact.
So this chance had to end it for good.
But his internal energy was completely empty, a long blade was still stuck through him, and after that reckless headbutt his body looked ready to collapse at any second.
"Y-you dirty bastard…"
Beomcheon Eumjeok's rolled-back eyes seemed to be returning already.
In the Murim, rolling around like a lazy donkey, biting people, and attacking with your head were apparently deeply shameful acts.
But Dan Mujin was from Earth. Winning was what mattered. He gave exactly zero shits about a martial artist's code of conduct.
Which meant he could also do this.
A low blow delivered with conviction
Thud!
With another almost-plausible technique name, Dan Mujin kicked Beomcheon Eumjeok square between the legs.
A deeply unsettling sensation, like something blunt had burst.
"Grrrrk…!"
The man who had endured even the headbutt finally went down—eyes rolled back, foam thick at the mouth.
"Feel that? The pain of your balls getting shredded."
Thud. The sound of a body hitting the floor.
The strongest move you could pull off with no internal energy and no stamina left.
"This is the Sky Love Orphanage style of fighting…"
Dan Mujin stood over the fallen Beomcheon Eumjeok and murmured quietly to himself.
This was the secret that had once let him write the legend of a seventeen-to-one riverside brawl back on Earth.