Chapter 31: The Fist King, A Drenched Rat
The Fist King, A Drenched Rat
Chapter 31: The Fist King, A Drenched Rat
Dark clouds trailed relentlessly after Dan Woo-sung.
The rain came and went intermittently before unleashing a torrential downpour on the road not far from the Silver River Merchant Group.
Having pushed himself through rigorous training in the Lightfoot Technique, Dan Woo-sung stood motionless, watching a man being chased from afar.
What kind of trouble did he stir up this time to have dozens of men after him?
Then again, perhaps he hadn't caused trouble at all.
This was simply how his life had always been.
Cheol Myung-ho—the Poison Fox—drenched to the bone, splashed through puddles as he fled before his eyes locked onto Dan Woo-sung.
A single glance was all it took before he bolted through the rain.
Moments later, dozens of men surged forward in pursuit, their footsteps thundering against the wet ground.
Dan Woo-sung turned his head, silently observing the hunted and the hunters. Cheol Myung-ho vanished around a corner, followed by a cacophony of crashes before he reappeared from the opposite direction, desperately calling out to his old acquaintance.
"Ah, long time no see. Quite the downpour, huh?"
Cheol Myung-ho panted, rainwater dripping from his soaked frame as he stared at Dan Woo-sung. He looked less like the Poison Fox and more like a drowned rat.
Dan Woo-sung spoke.
"Keeping busy, I see."
"Me? Always busy."
The pursuers arrived moments later, their footsteps pounding against the wet pavement. They must have lost Cheol Myung-ho and circled back. Most of them looked exhausted, bent over with scowls plastered on their faces, too winded to attack immediately.
Even now, Cheol Myung-ho didn't beg for his life—he just stood there, staring blankly.
Dan Woo-sung spoke first.
"Use my umbrella."
"Ah, thanks."
Cheol Myung-ho ducked under the umbrella, swallowing hard as he glanced between the mob and Dan Woo-sung's expression.
Then he spat out a curse.
"Damn bastards, persistent as hell."
Dan Woo-sung didn't recognize any of them. But their nature was obvious—likely the same breed as Cheol Myung-ho, just from a different territory. More men arrived late, lining up warily as they sized Dan Woo-sung up.
One of them brandished a blade and growled,
"Hand him over. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong unless you want blood on your hands."
Dan Woo-sung kept his eyes on the mob as he asked Cheol Myung-ho,
"Your hands healed yet?"
Cheol Myung-ho flashed his bandaged hand and smirked.
"Nah. Still crippled."
Somehow, he sounded almost relieved to be crippled. Dan Woo-sung couldn't help but chuckle.
He addressed the approaching men.
"You don't seem local, so I'll explain nicely. Wait until Cheol Myung-ho's hands are healed before picking a fight. Today, scram."
One of them scoffed.
"The hell kind of nonsense is that?"
Cheol Myung-ho cackled, pointing at them.
"Hey, hey, my friend's being merciful here. Leave while you still can. I've memorized all your faces—just wait. I'll come find you."
Dan Woo-sung asked,
"Who are they?"
"Jeokye Union. You know I dabbled in auctioneering, right? Went to settle some old accounts, and these bastards stole everything. Absolute highwaymen..."
Dan Woo-sung cut to the chase.
"Black Path?"
Cheol Myung-ho snorted.
"You think they're White Path?"
Despite their exchange, the Jeokye Union men hesitated to attack for one simple reason—Dan Woo-sung radiated an oppressive aura.
In the martial world, drawing a blade on the wrong person often led to annihilation. And those of the Black Path were even more ruthless.
Still, these men were the type who wouldn't back down without testing their limits. Their leader shoved one of his underlings forward. The startled man stumbled before swinging his sword at Dan Woo-sung.
Then—BAM!
A single kick sent him flying through the air before he crashed into a wall with a sickening thud, motionless.
The others froze, unsure if he was unconscious or dead.
Dan Woo-sung spoke.
"Listen up. I'm hungry right now, and if we fight, I'll kill every last one of you. Let's meet again later—whether Cheol Myung-ho comes to you or I do."
At the mention of meeting again, the mob scattered like roaches. Two men doubled back to haul their fallen comrade away before vanishing into the rain.
Dan Woo-sung didn't kill Black Path members indiscriminately. Experience had taught him that even among them, there were men of principle.
Cheol Myung-ho, who had been knocked aside by the kick without realizing it, stood in the rain again and spoke.
"Buy me a meal. I'm starving. Noodles are fine. You stole my noodles last time, remember? I almost died that day—not from your beating, but from hunger. Damn it, you're supposed to eat before getting patched up..."
He could've just asked outright, but bringing up the stolen noodles left Dan Woo-sung exasperated.
"You're unbelievable."
"What about me?"
"You're batshit insane."
"Since when is that news? Let's go. Jin-pyeong Noodles."
Cheol Myung-ho slurped down the broth in one go before slamming the bowl down with a clank.
"Rainy days call for Jin-pyeong Noodles."
He glanced at Dan Woo-sung before raising two fingers at the server.
"Two more bowls here."
Dan Woo-sung's bowl was already empty. The two silently dug into their fresh servings, the sound of rain mixing with their slurping.
Soon, both drained their bowls simultaneously—though Cheol Myung-ho was slower this time.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he frowned.
"Did you install a Glutton Sect branch in your stomach? Never seen you eat like this before. You used to pick at your food... You've changed. Damn, people shouldn't change so drastically. Live properly."
He glanced at the server and raised two fingers again.
"Two more here."
Only after polishing off three bowls each did they finally watch the rain again. It poured as viciously as the Poison Fox's temper.
After a long silence, Cheol Myung-ho asked,
"How are the Double Report Brothers?"
"Doing fine."
"What are they up to?"
"Training."
"Bet they've gotten stronger. Must be eating like demons. Those two aren't human—they're food ghouls..."
"I'm rich."
"Ah, forgot about that. Right. I helped with that too—gave you the final push."
Cheol Myung-ho grinned, prompting Dan Woo-sung to ask,
"So, are you broke now?"
"Not that broke, but you're buying the noodles."
Scratching his forehead with a finger, Cheol Myung-ho suddenly asked,
"By the way, how do you really learn martial arts? The techniques I picked up are too crude. They don't work well."
"Why?"
"'Why'? So I can stand a chance against Jeokye. His lackeys are endless. One-on-one, I'm confident, but you saw them—they swarm like locusts. And they're not even beggars. Too busy running for my life."
Dan Woo-sung asked,
"Want me to teach you?"
Cheol Myung-ho blinked in surprise.
"Well... I wouldn't say no."
Dan Woo-sung stared him dead in the eye.
"You'll do as I say?"
Cheol Myung-ho answered without hesitation.
"Of course."
"Sure?"
"You know me—Cheol Myung-ho, the Poison Fox. Why the sudden interrogation, Your Highness?"
Dan Woo-sung pointed to the floor beside the table.
"Bow once."
Cheol Myung-ho scowled.
"Ah, you bastard. In a noodle shop... Tch."
He stood up, knelt beside the table, performed a quick bow, then sat back down as if nothing happened.
Then he threatened,
"Just try not teaching me. I'll take a shit right in front of the Silver River Merchant Group's gates."
Dan Woo-sung picked up the iron-ribbed umbrella beside him and slowly demonstrated a simple downward strike.
The second time, he pointed to the height of his elbow, emphasizing the angle and position to remember.
Then he struck again.
After finishing the motion, he indicated key points with his fingers—memorize the final stance.
When he set the umbrella down, Cheol Myung-ho exploded.
"That's it? I even bowed! I'll go take that shit right now—"
Dan Woo-sung smacked him upside the head hard enough to produce a thwack.
"Shut up, you idiot. Pick up the umbrella. One-handed."
Cheol Myung-ho grabbed it—then his face twisted instantly.
"Why's it so damn heavy?"
His arm trembled violently.
Dan Woo-sung uttered terrifying words.
"Can't give it to you—it's a gift. Borrow it. Repeat the motion I just showed you one hundred thousand times exactly, then return it. Do it as fast as possible. If you drag your feet, quit martial arts altogether."
Cheol Myung-ho switched to formal speech.
"Your Highness, how many times?"
"One hundred thousand."
"Not a thousand, not ten thousand—one hundred thousand?"
Dan Woo-sung scoffed.
"Since when does the Poison Fox yap so much? If you can't do it, put the umbrella down and piss off, you cripple."
Cheol Myung-ho lowered the umbrella and asked,
"You serious?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Dan Woo-sung grabbed him by the collar.
"Hey—"
"What?"
"You think learning a few flashy moves means you can kill people? A hundred thousand strikes seem like a lot? If you'd swung this umbrella a hundred thousand times already, you could've beaten half those idiots to death with a wooden sword earlier. What were you doing? Running like a drenched rat. Myung-ho, stop living like trash and just die already, you bastard."
"...I don't wanna die."
Dan Woo-sung released his grip.
The two glared at each other like old times.
Dan Woo-sung spoke.
"Are you a rat or the Poison Fox? Know your place. Stop running your mouth."
Cheol Myung-ho had no retort. He turned away, watching the rain pour as his eyes reddened involuntarily.
He kept his head turned until the redness faded, silently observing the storm.
Dan Woo-sung said nothing the entire time.
Eventually, the torrential rain eased into a light drizzle, barely requiring an umbrella.
Once it stopped, Cheol Myung-ho turned back.
"I'll borrow the umbrella."
Dan Woo-sung jerked his chin toward it in permission. Cheol Myung-ho grabbed the iron-ribbed umbrella and stepped out of the shop.
Dan Woo-sung had no idea where he was headed as he vanished into the wind and mist.
When Dan Woo-sung stood to pay, the server hesitantly asked,
"Your Highness, shall I include your friend's portion...?"
Dan Woo-sung handed over the money, met the server's gaze, and gave a slight nod.