Chapter 2: The Fist King Accepts
The Fist King Accepts
Episode 2: The Fist King Accepts
Dan Woo-sung had no choice but to accept the situation before him.
Of course, the question "why" clung to him like a persistent tail.
Why was his fate after death reincarnation? And why as the eldest son of a merchant group, not even a martial artist?
It was something he could neither comprehend nor trace the cause of.
The circumstances surrounding his death were infuriating enough to make his skin crawl, but being reborn into the body of someone he had never even met was utterly absurd.
The only saving grace was that he had retained his own mind and memories within Lee Jin-eon's body.
Only then did Dan Woo-sung take an objective look at this unfamiliar vessel he now inhabited.
To put it simply—it was the body of a sickly man.
The room reeked of medicinal brews mixed with the stale, sour scent of illness.
'A man this frail, yet indulging in women...'
From a martial artist's perspective, it was incomprehensible.
Steadying his mind, Dan Woo-sung carefully reread the letters.
Most inquired about the Grand Prince Lee Jin-eon's well-being and health, though some contained thinly veiled insults toward his younger brothers.
One letter in particular frequently mentioned alcohol, brothels, and women's names. After reading through them all, he reached a conclusion:
These people weren't waiting for the Grand Prince's return—they were waiting for the return of his money.
'Bastards, every last one of them.'
It made sense.
As the eldest son of the Silver River Merchant Group, he must have recklessly splurged on drinks and entertainment.
There was nothing more to glean from the letters.
Meanwhile, the more Dan Woo-sung assessed Lee Jin-eon's body, the more its flaws became glaringly obvious.
It was a wreck.
A heavy drinker, a womanizer, and someone who had abandoned martial arts training halfway.
Even while reading the letters, dizziness struck him several times—this body was a complete disaster.
Dan Woo-sung shuffled unsteadily across the spacious room like a toddler learning to walk before stopping at the door.
A maidservant waiting outside immediately opened it.
As he stepped out, his pale face prompted her to instinctively offer support.
"Young Master, where would you like to—?"
Before she could finish, a physician with snow-white hair and dignified bearing approached with quick, measured steps.
"Young Master, are you feeling alright?"
The maidservant supporting him was visibly tense, as if his collapse would mean her death. The physician, however, wore a different expression—not concern, but something closer to surprise.
'How the hell are you standing?'
That was the vibe.
Dan Woo-sung glared at the physician, unable to decipher his reaction. The man quickly averted his gaze, bowing his head.
Scanning his surroundings, Dan Woo-sung noticed no guards in sight—only maidservants and the white-haired physician. Instinctively, he checked for any martial artists capable of harming him, but aside from the physician, there wasn't a single man in sight.
In a deliberately calm tone, he spoke.
"I needed air. I'm fine now—leave me."
"Understood."
When the maidservants hesitated, he added,
"I'll rest now. Don't disturb me."
"Of course. Please rest well."
Even as he spoke, Dan Woo-sung still wasn't used to the sound of his own voice. He patted the maidservant's hand reassuringly before retreating into his room alone.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sank into thought.
The physician's expression left him simmering with irritation. A mix of disgust and suspicion swirled within him—he needed to recover quickly and investigate further.
'For a physician to look at me like that...'
At first glance, no one here seemed capable of harming a pitifully ill man. But a physician was different. He wanted to drag the man by his hair and interrogate him, but in this state, Dan Woo-sung might keel over before getting any answers.
Taking a few steadying breaths, he closed his eyes.
From the Fist King's perspective, he began quietly analyzing this problematic body.
Not poisoned.
He checked his own pulse, then carefully pressed his fingers against his muscles and abdomen.
The stomach and intestines were the biggest issues, but it wasn't a severe illness. Given how exhausted this body felt, it was clear Lee Jin-eon had neglected his health intentionally.
First—his body was saturated with alcohol.
Second—he had no energy.
The scent of perfume lingering in the room and the weakness in his lower body suggested excessive indulgence in women—far beyond what his health could handle.
At this point, it was practically assisted suicide.
In Dan Woo-sung's opinion, a man like this needed regular beatings to straighten out. But who would dare strike the eldest son of the prestigious Silver River Merchant Group?
Sending him to a secluded villa for recuperation was probably the best they could do.
'I've been reborn into the body of a man with no self-control.'
But Dan Woo-sung did have self-control.
That was how he had risen from nothing to become the Fist King.
Picking up a mirror, he glared at his reflection—as if two souls were confronting each other through the glass.
In that moment, Dan Woo-sung asked, and Lee Jin-eon answered.
'You really were a hopeless bastard, weren't you?'
'Were you any different?'
'Of course I was.'
'What do you plan to do? You could die soon.'
'I have no intention of dying. I can recover from this—more than recover. I'll prove that even a worthless body like yours can become the Fist King.'
'Is that possible?'
'It is. You just watch, weakling. Now rest. I'll handle the rest.'
In his past life, Dan Woo-sung had been a rugged man with sharp features and an imposing presence. Lee Jin-eon, however, was a delicate noble who had never trained a day in his life.
Yet now, the Fist King's smirk twisted those soft features—transforming Lee Jin-eon's entire demeanor in an instant.
Regardless of the Silver River Merchant Group's internal affairs, restoring his martial prowess was the priority. With their wealth backing him, he could become stronger than ever before.
First, Dan Woo-sung focused on expelling the impurities from his body using the martial art he knew best—White Lightning Ten Stages.
Under normal circumstances, an hour of energy circulation followed by rest would suffice. But his body was in such dire condition that this session felt more like a resurrection ritual.
The dwindling ember of life within him flickered back to life under the Fist King's guidance. Carefully nurturing that spark, Dan Woo-sung formed a nascent dantian—laying the foundation to rebuild his internal energy.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, he had completed the initiation into White Lightning Ten Stages.
Exhaling deeply, he muttered,
"Huuu..."
A growl from his stomach signaled hunger—a good sign. The hangover had faded, and his pallid complexion had regained some color.
Clutching his empty stomach, he walked to the desk.
A half-finished bowl of soup sat there. Sniffing it and stirring the contents, he nearly laughed in disbelief—it was Dragon-Phoenix Soup.
'You damn fool...'
Dragon-Phoenix Soup was made from chicken and turtle, a tonic for the healthy. For Lee Jin-eon's condition, it was practically poison. His body grew weaker while his libido remained active—no wonder he was a wreck.
Now, the physician's expression made sense. Whether or not he had poisoned Lee Jin-eon, he had certainly hastened his decline.
Dan Woo-sung sighed, realizing just how foolish Lee Jin-eon had been.
'Don't worry. I'll kill him with your own hands.'
Suddenly, he studied his palms.
Hands varied from person to person.
Some were ill-suited for fist techniques—uneven knuckles that broke easily even with proper strikes.
Fortunately, Lee Jin-eon's hands weren't like that.
They were just soft and thin, untouched by hardship.
Clenching his fist, Dan Woo-sung resolved to recover fully before addressing the problems surrounding Lee Jin-eon.
Until then, laying low was the wisest course.
The stifling air in the room prompted him to throw the window open.
The crisp mountain breeze rushed in, scattering the stench of perfume and sickness clinging to the bedding.
Dan Woo-sung inhaled deeply.
Though his body was frail and weak, his expression radiated confidence—unshaken by his physical state.
Even reborn into a sickly vessel, the mere chance to live again filled him with gratitude.
A maidservant outside, noticing he was awake, called out,
"Young Master, what would you like for your meal?"
"Come in and tell me."
"Yes, I'll enter."
After listening to her list of available dishes, he replied,
"For now, just prepare rice porridge for breakfast and lunch."
"Huh? Rice porridge?"
Her eyes widened. The Grand Prince rarely ate properly—instead binge-drinking and feasting whenever hunger struck. Hearing him request porridge was shocking.
Dan Woo-sung continued,
"Skip dinner. Just bring a variety of fruits—small portions of each. I'll nibble if I get hungry..."
He planned to endure days of near-fasting.
Pointing at the Dragon-Phoenix Soup, he added,
"Take that away. And from now on, no more tonics. Replace alcohol with lukewarm water at my desk."
"Yes, understood."
The maidservant left, eyes still round with disbelief.