Chapter 16: The Fist King, Today Like My Past Life
The Fist King, Today Like My Past Life
Episode 16: The Fist King, Today Like My Past Life
Dan Woo-sung wasn't the type to just sit around waiting for elixirs. Training in the fist was an addiction.
Many sects emphasized mastery of weapons or preached that amassing internal energy was the only shortcut to becoming a true martial artist.
The path of the fist was fundamentally different.
More than any other sect, Dan Woo-sung's method fixated on the body itself—its raw, physical refinement.
The annex was thus a place for reshaping his physique. Though already surrounded by high walls, additional screens were erected around it to block prying eyes—especially with so many servants and escort team members constantly moving about.
Only the Double Report Brothers occasionally witnessed Dan Woo-sung's training sessions.
But even that was only when they had the time.
Right now, the twins were drenched in sweat, struggling to maintain the stances Dan Woo-sung demanded. These were movements one might expect from a third-rate sect, yet Dan Woo-sung treated them with deadly seriousness.
His philosophy was simple:
There comes a moment in desperate battle when your internal energy runs dry.
After that, you fight with your body alone.
Fortunately, the Double Report Brothers already possessed superior physiques and natural strength, allowing them to steadily master external techniques under Dan Woo-sung's guidance.
Neither had realized just how grueling external training could be.
They endured frozen postures—as if struck by ice-based techniques or pressure-point strikes—strengthening their muscles and endurance to the brink of collapse. Being brothers only made them more stubborn.
Whoever collapsed first would lose.
And since Dan Woo-sung himself was enduring the same brutal regimen, their resolve only hardened further.
Their daily routine was relentless:
Sunrise—training.
Meal—rest.
Three-way sparring.
Black Dog Rebound Technique training.
Meal—rest.
Lectures on combat tactics, psychological warfare, and critical points in battle.
Then another meal.
The three of them ate like ravenous beasts.
The diet was Dan Woo-sung's design, prepared by the Silver River Merchant Group's most senior chef.
Only after nightfall were the Double Report Brothers granted free time, while Dan Woo-sung immersed himself in breathing techniques.
Even the twins had to admit—the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group was a terrifyingly disciplined man.
But this routine lasted barely half a month before it was interrupted.
"Young Master, a friend named Joo Ja-ryang has come to see you."
At the servant's words, Dan Woo-sung—who had been meditating alone in his room—opened his eyes, pulled on his robe, and replied:
"The main hall?"
"Yes."
"If I'm late, tell the Double Report Brothers to eat supper without me."
"Understood."
When Dan Woo-sung arrived in the main hall, he found the perennial exam-failure Joo Ja-ryang sipping tea.
Joo Ja-ryang smiled upon seeing him.
"Grand Prince, you've been well?"
Dan Woo-sung sat across from him, smirking faintly.
"What wind blows you here?"
"I've got urgent news. And wanted to see your face."
"Have you eaten?"
"I'm fine."
After briefly studying Joo Ja-ryang's complexion and eyes, Dan Woo-sung asked:
"You've cut back on drinking?"
Joo Ja-ryang scratched his head awkwardly.
"Ah, drinking? Well... I've had a cup or two since we last met. Not much reason to drink lately. Even the other scoundrels have been quiet."
Dan Woo-sung chuckled and nodded.
"No wonder you look better."
"Anyway—you know the Poetry Pavilion, right?"
Dan Woo-sung searched his memory before nodding.
"I do. A scenic retreat for scholars."
"You know who's gathered there now?"
"Hmm. Hard to say. I've been holed up at home."
"The Sosunpa faction has swarmed the place."
"Wasn't that a spot for scholars like you?"
"That's what I'm saying—even our gatherings have been canceled. I got curious and looked around. Turns out even their faction leader is there. Remember what Sa Ma-geuk mentioned last time? Rumors about them setting up a branch, and their dealings with your merchant group. I don't know the details, but I thought you should know. I ran into Sa Ma-geuk on the road, and he agreed you should be informed."
Dan Woo-sung smiled.
"Our scoundrel scholar brings valuable intelligence."
"Ah, so it's useful? I thought I might be sticking my nose where it didn't belong."
"Very useful."
Knowing the Grand Prince had occasionally slipped Joo Ja-ryang spending money in the past, Dan Woo-sung casually probed:
"How much for this information? Seems like premium intel even the Underworld Gate wouldn't know."
Joo Ja-ryang grinned.
"Maybe I should start my own faction—the Scholar's Gate. We bookish types are surprisingly good at gossip. Too much studying makes mouths flap. You'd be amazed what spills out."
Dan Woo-sung shook his head.
"Not the Scholar's Gate. Too pretentious."
"Then?"
"The Failed Exam Gate."
"Ugh... Wait, that's actually not bad."
Dan Woo-sung clasped his fists in salute.
"Lord of the Failed Exam Gate, your intelligence is appreciated. Payment will be deferred... I'll treat you to drinks later."
Joo Ja-ryang returned the salute clumsily.
"Is that any way for the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group to talk? Just kidding. I don't need money. Money just makes me think of booze. Life's been easier since I cut back... and my stomach's happier. Even Hong Seol doesn't cross my mind as much."
Hong Seol was a courtesan Joo Ja-ryang had been fond of. Dan Woo-sung feigned shock.
"Has our scoundrel scholar finally come to his senses?"
"Not fully yet—still lingering regrets. Anyway, message delivered. I'll take my leave. We talked it over last time—none of us will disturb you unless you reach out first. You know how it is. We've got time to spare, never enough liquor, and always longing for women."
"Understood."
As Dan Woo-sung moved to escort him out, Joo Ja-ryang didn't refuse. On their way to the gate, Joo Ja-ryang suddenly remembered something.
"Ah, right. What will you do about Sosunpa?"
"Hmm. Kill them all?"
The casualness of Dan Woo-sung's terrifying statement made Joo Ja-ryang halt mid-step.
"Friend, I'd rather not see your name on the martial world's most-wanted list."
Dan Woo-sung clapped him on the shoulder.
"I'll handle it. Go on."
At the gate, Joo Ja-ryang turned back and offered a formal fist salute.
"Grand Prince, then. May fortune favor you."
Dan Woo-sung returned the gesture.
"Lord of the Failed Exam Gate, travel safely."
Joo Ja-ryang smirked before departing. As he walked away, he suddenly paused, replaying their conversation in his mind.
"The Failed Exam Gate..."
He still had no idea what to do with it, how to gather information, or whether it could even be profitable. But the name lingered on his tongue, refusing to fade.
The moment Joo Ja-ryang left, Dan Woo-sung headed straight for the escort team's armory. Passing through the weapon maintenance area, he examined the displayed arms before selecting a roll of bandage cloth. He wrapped it tightly around his forearms and palms, then paced restlessly.
Sosunpa's presence near the Silver River Merchant Group was no coincidence. They must have heard about Guyang Hoo's fate. If they wanted money or intimidation, their leader would've visited directly—not holed up in the Poetry Pavilion.
Dan Woo-sung didn't know their exact plans.
Nor did he care.
Because he intended to go to them first.
After changing into the escort team's black uniform, he strapped a short iron baton to his waist—standard night patrol gear. Then he draped a winter scarf around his neck, loosely knotted so it could be pulled up to cover his face.
Exiting the armory, he told a passing servant:
"I'm going out for a bit."
The servant smiled brightly.
"Take care, Young Master."
The night air was crisp outside the merchant group's compound. Dan Woo-sung felt no particular emotional turbulence. To him, pests flocking to light and scavengers drawn to money were equally predictable.
The Poetry Pavilion stood near the Blue South River, a scenic estate where scholars gathered—swimming in summer, ice-fishing in winter. Its surroundings were quiet, befitting its scholarly patrons.
Once clear of the bustling streets, Dan Woo-sung activated his Lightfoot Technique and sprinted. Though incomparable to his speed scaling Mount Jiuhua, it still fell short of his prime. Yet focusing on his body's condition as he ran left his chest feeling strangely refreshed.
As the Poetry Pavilion's lights came into view, he gradually slowed, transitioning into a walk while loosening his muscles. Stopping at a distance, he stretched like a gymnast before finally inspecting his hands.
White Lightning Ten Stages.
He had mastered the theory up to the tenth stage, but his current energy level only reached the third. Even reaching that was absurdly fast.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, he channeled energy into his hands—white sparks, like fireflies, gathering at his fingertips.
Staring at the pavilion's gate, he considered his options:
A surprise attack?
Scale the roof and target the leader first?
Or lure them outside?
After a brief deliberation, he suddenly smiled.
"Today... like my past life."
Spreading his arms wide, he strode forward. A sharp snap echoed from his shoulders as he pulled the black cloth over his nose and tied it securely.
Then he kicked the Poetry Pavilion's front gate clean off its hinges.
BOOM!
The Sosunpa martial artists inside jolted in shock, whirling toward the entrance. They had been feasting—a long table laden with dishes, empty wine jars already littering the floor.
"Who the hell are you, bastard?!"
The moment they realized only one man had shattered the gate, curses erupted.
There were far more of them than expected—at least thirty by rough count.
Without a word, Dan Woo-sung strode sideways, scanning for the faction leader. A man approached, looking baffled.
"What? You barged in alone?"
Dan Woo-sung tilted his head.
"Where are the scholars? Why just you lot?"
Hearing him ask for scholars, the man relaxed slightly, scowling.
"You crazy son of—URK!**"
His words died as Dan Woo-sung's fist buried itself in his gut. Gripping the man's throat, Dan Woo-sung warned coldly:
"Draw your blades, and he dies first."
Before he even finished speaking, weapons hissed from sheaths all around.
With a simple twist of his left hand, Dan Woo-sung snapped the man's neck.
"No camaraderie, I see. Not comrades—just fellow scum."
As the corpse crumpled with a thud, Yum Ji-sang emerged from the inner rooms, adjusting his belt.
"What's all this noise? Who's this?"
"Brother Goong is dead!"
Yum Ji-sang locked eyes with Dan Woo-sung and immediately commanded:
"Kill him. He's skilled."
Having likely been entertaining a courtesan earlier, Yum Ji-sang readjusted his waistband before glaring at Dan Woo-sung.