Chapter 33: The Fist King and the Terrifying Men
The Fist King and the Terrifying Men
Episode 33: The Fist King and the Terrifying Men
The passage was uncomfortably narrow.
Men with blades stood shoulder-to-shoulder, leaving just enough space for a single person to pass through as they glared at Dan Woo-sung.
As he stepped forward to enter the gap, he suddenly slapped the cheek of the man scowling at the front and remarked:
"Too cramped."
Thwack!
The man tumbled backward into the room he had been guarding, crashing into furniture with a loud clatter. The sound of shattering glass and ceramic followed—likely a water jug or something similar being smashed to pieces.
From inside, Jeokye's voice spoke again.
"...Too noisy. Just let him through."
At his command, the men lining the passage stepped back, clearing a path.
Dan Woo-sung smirked.
"Man knows how to set the mood."
The Black Path had a talent for atmosphere.
And Dan Woo-sung liked it. The kind of tension that made beating someone down all the more satisfying. That aside, just from his voice alone, Jeokye sounded like the kind of ruthless, cruel bastard he expected.
When Dan Woo-sung arrived, the door swung open on its own. A half-naked woman stumbled out, her eyes hollow and unfocused. She swayed unsteadily, unable to even lift her gaze before collapsing under the indifferent stares of the men lining the hallway.
Dan Woo-sung wasn't looking at Jeokye.
Instead, his eyes were locked onto the staggering woman. Blood stained the inside of her thighs—likely from internal bleeding.
He also memorized the faces of every man who had watched her with such apathy.
Jeokye's voice called out again.
"Stop gawking and close the damn door."
When Dan Woo-sung turned, he saw Jeokye sitting alone on a bed inside the room. The command to shut the door had been directed at him.
Stepping inside, Dan Woo-sung closed the door behind him, then stood with his hands behind his back, studying Jeokye.
The man's physique was impressive.
He was so massive that one might mistake him for a different species. Large enough to grip a woman's head in one hand, easily. He wore only pants, leaving his torso exposed—a body honed by years of external martial training.
A literal mountain of muscle. The kind that could crush the average martial artist's internal energy with sheer physical force.
Jeokye spoke first.
"You wouldn't be standing here if you weren't strong. Who are you?"
Before Dan Woo-sung could answer, one of the men outside announced his identity.
"He's the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group. Matches the description."
Jeokye frowned.
"That's you? You came alone?"
Dan Woo-sung didn't answer. Instead, he strolled around the room, inspecting everything with casual disinterest.
He was already treating Jeokye like a dead man.
He examined the desk, glanced out the window, then walked over to the bed where Jeokye sat. Like a cleaner checking for stains, he flipped back the sheets.
The blood wasn't splattered in gory excess—instead, pinkish stains dotted the fabric in circular patterns.
Somehow, that made it worse.
Jeokye was visibly stunned by Dan Woo-sung's silent disregard. No one had ever treated him with such open contempt before.
As he wandered, Dan Woo-sung stole a glance at Jeokye's expression and muttered under his breath.
"...No redeeming this one. How should I kill him so the rumors spread far and wide?"
Jeokye let out a derisive laugh before replying.
"Rumors? Fine. We'll fight in the streets. Gather a crowd, and I'll give you the show you want."
When Jeokye stood, his sheer size made Dan Woo-sung seem small in comparison.
Jeokye glanced at the window, then—despite his massive frame—swiftly lashed out with a kick aimed at Dan Woo-sung's face, intending to send him flying outside.
Dan Woo-sung leaned back slightly, letting the foot and the rush of air whip past his face. Then, in the same motion, he twisted his body and delivered a mirroring kick with his left leg. Jeokye raised his right arm to block.
But blocking wasn't enough.
CRACK—BOOOOOOM!
The force of the kick sent Jeokye's enormous body crashing through the window, shattering not just the glass but the entire wall as he hurtled outside.
The door burst open as Jeokye's guards rushed in, their eyes darting between the gaping hole in the wall and Dan Woo-sung.
Unhurried, Dan Woo-sung walked to the broken wall and peered down at Jeokye, who had landed below.
Somehow, Jeokye had managed to break his fall. He rolled his neck, loosening his muscles.
Dan Woo-sung had planned to finish this in front of a crowd anyway.
After a moment, he leapt down from the fifth floor, landing with eerie silence.
Jeokye, still recovering from the kick, was more shocked by the effortless descent than the attack itself.
His men had already surrounded the area. Familiar with their leader's fights, they cleared a wide space and waited.
The Jangsan Faction, Nopyo Gang, Flood Dragon Gang, and remnants of the Hongnak Fortress pushed others aside to claim front-row positions.
It wasn't just young fighters, either.
Veterans who looked like they'd spent decades in the martial world stood ready with weapons in hand.
Jeokye wasn't scared by a single kick.
But Dan Woo-sung wanted as many witnesses as possible for what came next.
No matter how many underlings jumped in, Jeokye would die here today.
If even a few of these men had shown the woman kindness—if they had helped her or looked at her with pity—Dan Woo-sung wouldn't be this furious.
But they hadn't.
So he stayed silent.
Anger like this required focus.
Somewhere in the crowd, a metallic shink sounded as two men dragged forward an enormous iron chain, handing it to Jeokye.
Jeokye took it and swung it in a wide arc with one hand.
A meteor hammer—rarely seen, and devastating. Most weapons wouldn't even get close before being smashed aside.
With a grin, Jeokye charged. The massive hammer carved a curved path through the air toward Dan Woo-sung.
WHIIIIIIP!
Dan Woo-sung ducked, then caught the hammer's chain with his right hand. Slowly, like a tug-of-war, he pulled.
CLANK—TWANG!
In an instant, the chain snapped taut. Jeokye, despite bracing himself, was dragged forward, his feet scraping against the ground.
Screeeeeech—
Even as Jeokye strained with both hands, the distance between them shrank.
Using the recoil from the pull, Jeokye launched himself into the air, lunging at Dan Woo-sung with the speed of a pouncing beast.
A shame he had trained in the hammer and fist arts.
His movements weren't self-taught—they bore the hallmarks of a true fist master. He had clearly spent years mastering how to wield his overwhelming physique to dominate armed opponents.
But every punch he threw telegraphed its path, and Dan Woo-sung was faster. There was no need to drag this out.
A fist-artist facing the Fist King.
Could there be a worse matchup?
After dodging a few strikes, Dan Woo-sung used the Lightfoot Technique to slip behind Jeokye and drove a single fist into his ribs.
Only those who've been hit there know the pain.
CRUNCH.
Dan Woo-sung's fist sank deep into Jeokye's torso before pulling free.
With a grunt, Jeokye twisted, swinging his left arm back in a wild strike.
Dan Woo-sung noted that bigger targets meant more places to hit. With short, precise bursts of movement, he closed in and drove an uppercut into Jeokye's gut.
THUD.
Again, his fist buried itself in muscle before withdrawing. Even in agony, Jeokye retaliated with the disciplined strikes of a trained fighter.
But every attack left openings. Dan Woo-sung's fists hammered home—face, abdomen, groin, ribs—each impact resonating like a drumbeat.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
As Jeokye's knees buckled, Dan Woo-sung grabbed his collar and slammed him into the ground in a sweeping arc.
CRASH!
The sheer force—a blend of internal and external energy—lifted Jeokye's massive frame before smashing him down.
Yet he still didn't lose consciousness.
Dan Woo-sung pressed a knee into Jeokye's throat and gripped his face with his right hand.
"GAAAAAAAAAAH—!"
Ignoring the scream, Dan Woo-sung glanced at the onlookers and channeled the White Lightning Ten Stages into Jeokye's body.
When two men rushed him from behind with drawn blades, Dan Woo-sung rose and slashed the air with a hand-blade, unleashing a razor-edged surge of lightning energy.
This, perhaps, was the first time he had truly shown his strength.
SCHLICK!
The attackers' heads flew free as their headless bodies collapsed, gushing fountains of blood.
Dan Woo-sung stomped back down on Jeokye's throat, then knelt and gripped his face again, flooding him with another wave of lightning energy—this time layered with second-stage force.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAH—!"
Dan Woo-sung clamped a hand over Jeokye's mouth, then seized his skull with the other and intensified the lightning.
When one of the Flood Dragon Gang members shifted nervously, Dan Woo-sung's head slowly turned toward him.
Their eyes met.
In that instant, Dan Woo-sung thrust his right hand forward like a blade, releasing a deafoning thunderclap. A fist-shaped surge of white lightning engulfed the man.
BOOOOOOM!
Not just him—five or six other uniformed gang members were blasted backward, landing motionless on the cold ground.
Dan Woo-sung returned his attention to Jeokye, still gripping his head as he pumped more lightning into him.
Screams convulsed in Jeokye's throat.
Probably begging for his life.
Dan Woo-sung didn't care to listen.
He kept his hand clamped over Jeokye's mouth, steadily increasing the voltage. Second stage. Third. Fourth. By the fifth, his right hand was sheathed in crackling white energy. When Jeokye's thrashing body finally stilled, Dan Woo-sung released him.
Was it over?
No.
Rising to one knee, Dan Woo-sung raised his fist high—the same motion used to shatter boulders—and drove it down into Jeokye's face.
CRUNCH.
His skull cratered into the ground. The earth around it split in jagged, lightning-burned fissures.
Finally, Dan Woo-sung stood, brushing dust from his knee. He folded his arms and waited.
Hoping someone else would try their luck.
But with Jeokye dead in such a brutal fashion, who would dare?
When no one moved, Dan Woo-sung scanned the crowd and spoke.
"What gives you the right to demand tribute?"
No one answered.
Surrounded by Black Path enforcers, Dan Woo-sung looked like an avenger sent by all those who had ever been tormented or killed by their kind.
His gaze settled on Mad Leopard, one of the stronger-looking men.
"You. What's your rank?"
Silence.
Dan Woo-sung's figure blurred—then reappeared in front of Mad Leopard, driving a fist into his gut.
THUD.
Mad Leopard's body lifted into the air before crashing down.
Dan Woo-sung waded into the remaining Black Path members—striking, stomping, seizing the skulls of those who tried to flee and flooding them with lightning. When others rushed him, he cut them down with blade-like surges of energy.
...
Not far away, a fleeing man tripped over someone's outstretched foot.
When he looked up in panic, he saw a figure in a grotesque leather mask holding a pitch-black umbrella.
Just before the umbrella descended, the man spoke.
"...Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-four."
CRACK.
The heavy iron umbrella fell in a simple arc, crushing the man's skull.
Of course—it was Cheol Myung-ho.
"I remember every face, you bastards."
He swung the umbrella through the air again, murmuring:
"Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-five."