Chapter 39: The Fist King After 100,000 Strikes
The Fist King After 100,000 Strikes
Chapter 39: The Fist King After 100,000 Strikes
"How has your master been? I haven't heard any news."
Dan Woo-sung answered Yoo Jung-hong's question honestly.
"There's been no contact. The situation is similar to that of the former head of the Moo Yong Family."
Yoo Jung-hong crossed his arms with a grave expression.
"Like Moo Yong-chu? The Fist King wasn't one to stay in touch often, but surely not because of this?"
"Yes. The connection has been severed."
The unspoken words—permanently—lingered bitterly in his mouth.
Yoo Jung-hong sank deep into thought before responding.
"Then I'll relay this news to the Three Gods and One Saint, linking it to Moo Yong-chu's case. Those wise elders will take precautions if needed and mobilize resources if there's anything to investigate."
"Understood."
Yoo Jung-hong spoke with resolve.
"I must grow stronger. If the Demonic Path resurfaces, we'll have to fight like we did before. It must have been before your time. I was there at the final battle against the Demonic Path."
"You mean the Five Tombs War?"
"What's known as the Five Tombs War was followed by another, lesser-known battle. The Three Gods and One Saint fought against one Grand Master of the Demonic Path. That was the decisive battle that ended the war. Who could understand the despair of that time?"
Regret clung thickly to Yoo Jung-hong's expression. His pride must have taken a heavy blow back then.
"Every time I hear that the Sword God is still in seclusion, I'm reminded of that day. Even if it was the final battle that decided the Sacred-Demon War, the fact that the Three Gods and One Saint fought a single man... It's a hidden history I often recount to our alliance members. It's also why we must grow stronger."
Yoo Jung-hong looked at Dan Woo-sung.
"Come to think of it, if that Grand Master left descendants, they'd be around your age. Grow stronger, junior. Overwhelmingly... and selfishly."
Dan Woo-sung nodded, finding the word selfish strangely fitting.
"I will."
"I hope to see you at the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament. Rest well."
Yoo Jung-hong gestured toward the door as if dismissing him. Dan Woo-sung rose quietly and walked out but paused briefly. He couldn't help but be curious about the battle after the Five Tombs War—one even he hadn't known about.
"Who was the man who fought the Three Gods and One Saint alone?"
The Five Tombs War was ancient history—before he'd even earned the title of Fist King.
Yoo Jung-hong smiled faintly.
"What name would the pinnacle of the Demonic Path need?"
Dan Woo-sung nodded. Both of them recalled a title neither wanted to mention.
"Was he truly killed?"
A cruel answer slipped from Yoo Jung-hong's lips.
"We cut him apart—again and again—then burned the pieces and scattered the ashes across five sacred mountains. If disaster strikes again because of him, I'll be the first to draw my sword. Should his descendants appear, I'll ensure not even ashes remain."
The White Path could be just as ruthless as the Demonic Path.
"I'll take my leave."
Alone in the grand hall, Yoo Jung-hong no longer resembled the revered senior Dan Woo-sung had once admired. Instead, he seemed like a monster forged by the times.
As if the opposite of the Demonic Path wasn't the White Path—just another kind of monster.
But Dan Woo-sung thought to himself:
Would I have been any different?
No. He wouldn't have.
Perhaps the Demonic Path created the White Path, and the White Path, in turn, birthed the Demonic Path anew—an endless cycle turning the martial world into the Asura Realm.
Dan Woo-sung had never denied that he, too, was an asura.
After Dan Woo-sung left, the executives and elders returned to the grand hall.
Yoo Jung-hong delivered his verdict.
"Guyang Saeng is sentenced to life imprisonment. The Grand Prince of the merchant group is far stronger."
If the Alliance Leader said so, it was so.
"Understood."
"With conditions. If the Guyang Clan spends the next ten years tending to civilian affairs, avoids martial conflicts, and refrains from causing trouble with money or force, his sentence will be commuted to 'ten years of labor.' Consider it a sealed punishment. But if the Guyang Clan stirs trouble during this period, or if Guyang Saeng causes problems after his release, the life sentence will stand. Tell them to restrain themselves unless they wish for their clan to be wiped out. Announce this as an Alliance Leader's decree."
The members responded in unison.
"We obey."
"Treat the junior from the merchant group with courtesy as our guest. Guide him so he may participate in the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament. Though not an alliance member, he stands out among the younger generation. Treat him without discrimination."
Only the head of the executive branch replied this time.
"We will carry out your orders without fail."
"Dismissed. And tomorrow, summon Baek Han-gyeong to my office. I have questions for him."
"Understood."
Yoo Jung-hong was meticulous. His reason for calling Baek Han-gyeong was simple—he wanted to hear about the journey with the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group. Baek Han-gyeong was honest and wouldn't waste words. If his account aligned with the Alliance Leader's impressions, then the Grand Prince was indeed a promising junior.
'The Hundred-Year Purifying Ginseng...'
The Alliance Leader's tone had been casual, but the significance wasn't lost on Dan Woo-sung.
The Hundred-Year Purifying Ginseng was a rare elixir, typically reserved only for those who'd rendered great service to the Ami Sect. The fact that they'd readily offered it at Yoo Jung-hong's request showed that the White Path factions still revolved around him.
As the name suggested, the ginseng possessed purifying properties—a mystical elixir.
The stronger the martial artist, the greater its benefits. When combined with breathing techniques, it could swiftly neutralize toxins.
Long ago, during the protracted conflict between the Ami Sect and the Sichuan Tang Clan for dominance over the region, an Ami immortal began cultivating this ginseng for future generations.
Of course, the conflict never reached a definitive conclusion—the Sichuan Tang Clan abandoned its expansionist ambitions and realigned itself as a more flexible White Path faction.
Yet even now, the Sichuan Tang Clan remained the Foremost Poison Sect Under Heaven. An elixir created to counter their toxins, even if its energy-boosting effects were modest, was undeniably a treasure of the martial world.
Dan Woo-sung made up his mind.
'I must secure the Hundred-Year Purifying Ginseng.'
It was essential for countering poisons, so his decision to participate in the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament was settled.
"Did everything go well?"
Baek Han-gyeong, having finished his report to the higher-ups, returned to find Dan Woo-sung lost in thought.
Dan Woo-sung nodded.
"I met with the Alliance Leader."
"Ah, then things must have gone smoothly. Good. We should arrange lodging—shall we head to the guest reception hall together?"
Dan Woo-sung glanced around the Murim Alliance grounds.
"I'd rather not impose. I'll find lodging outside, like that young master from the Autumn Wind Falling Leaves faction. Speaking of which, I keep forgetting his full name—only 'Choo Pung' sticks in my mind."
Baek Han-gyeong burst out laughing.
"That was Hwa Eun-wol, the young master of the Hwa Clan. Then I'll accompany you until you secure lodging."
"Let's go."
As they walked side by side, Dan Woo-sung asked something that had been on his mind.
"Which division do you belong to, Baek Warrior?"
Baek Han-gyeong answered.
"The Special Operations Flying Dragon Unit. Besides us, there's the Cloud Dragon Unit and the White Dragon Unit. We're all relatively young and operate directly under the Alliance Leader. If he reassigns us elsewhere, we're integrated into existing divisions. Among ourselves, we call that 'graduation.'"
The Alliance Leader always kept an eye on the youth.
He nurtured them as part of a long-term strategy to strengthen the Murim Alliance's forces. Warriors like Baek Han-gyeong were talents handpicked and cultivated by the leader himself.
Anticipating crowds, Dan Woo-sung chose the largest inn and the most spacious room. Unless something extraordinary happened, he planned to train in seclusion until the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament began.
No matter how bustling the streets became, Dan Woo-sung shut himself away, cutting ties with the world for a time.
But one person couldn't be avoided.
Three days later, Cheol Myung-ho—the Poison Fox—arrived at the Murim Alliance and, after inquiries, tracked down Dan Woo-sung's lodging.
"Hey, I'm here."
Dan Woo-sung, in the middle of external energy training, responded immediately to Cheol Myung-ho's voice.
"Come in. The door's open."
Cheol Myung-ho pushed the door open, glanced around, and whistled.
"Damn... Spacious and nice. I barely slept rushing here."
He turned his gaze to Dan Woo-sung.
The Fist King's upper body now exuded a presence as solid as the Black Iron Umbrella. Cheol Myung-ho wasn't the only one who'd trained relentlessly. Seeing the sweat glistening on Dan Woo-sung's body, Cheol Myung-ho swallowed the curses he'd prepared.
"I finished all 100,000 strikes. I'm a man of my word. I came here—riding horses, boarding ships—to ask for the next step."
"Good. Have you eaten?"
Cheol Myung-ho shook his head.
"No? Buy me a meal."
"You beggar, always asking for food. Today, you're paying."
"Fine."
After changing clothes, Dan Woo-sung joined Cheol Myung-ho downstairs in the inn's dining area.
"How does it feel after completing 100,000 strikes?"
Cheol Myung-ho set down his chopsticks, rolled up his sleeves, and flexed.
"See these marks? There's no 'feeling.' Just thicker arms."
"Eat first."
They shoveled food into their mouths in silence. Dan Woo-sung, having devoted himself to training, ate like a soldier on campaign. Meanwhile, he intermittently studied the shifts in Cheol Myung-ho's eyes and expression.
The man was stubborn by nature.
Dan Woo-sung doubted he'd give up easily.
Which meant it was time for a harder challenge. If the foes ahead were monsters, Dan Woo-sung would forge monsters of his own.
Back in the room, Dan Woo-sung gripped the Black Iron Umbrella and uttered terrifying words.
"Out of your 100,000 strikes, only one was useful."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Shut up and listen."
"Fine."
Dan Woo-sung focused, then executed a simple, precise downward strike. The umbrella descended in a straight line with a whoosh, stopping without a tremor.
"To block an attack, strike an opponent, deflect a blade, or parry a spinning hidden weapon, you must respond with the most efficient strike from your 100,000 attempts. Otherwise, you die."
Cheol Myung-ho's face twisted in shock—yet somehow, he understood Dan Woo-sung's cryptic words.
"The most efficient strike out of 100,000. The most precise slash out of 200,000. The fastest, most accurate thrust out of 300,000. The most deceptive feint and counter out of 400,000... Refining these, arranging them in the most effective sequence—that's what forms a technique. Then, masters of a school study, refine, and polish it through repetitive training until it becomes a perfected sword style. But is mastering the style the end? No. Application and real combat are different."
Before Dan Woo-sung could finish, Cheol Myung-ho staggered and collapsed onto his backside.
Thud.
His face drained of color. He hated that he vaguely understood Dan Woo-sung's convoluted explanation. Completing 100,000 strikes hadn't suddenly made him smarter—yet somehow, it made sense.
With an expression bordering on tears, Cheol Myung-ho spat out curses.
"God damn it... Why the hell are sword styles so complicated? Are all martial artists insane? What kind of bullshit is this? Can't we just live simply? Ah, I get it now. I perfectly understand why these bastards keep suffering from Qi Deviation. They're just crazy! You lunatics!"