The Fist King Observes the Pre-Festival

Episode 40: The Fist King Observes the Pre-Festival

"Did you really think there were no lunatics in this world crazier than you?"

"Not exactly."

Dan Woo-sung sat on the floor, gazing at the dazed Cheol Myung-ho as he continued.

"You worthless Poison Fox runt. You might be a big shot in your little neighborhood, but out here in the martial world, no one even knows who you are. And if I killed you, no one would even bother asking your name."

That was the harsh truth. Cheol Myung-ho retorted weakly.

"Why do you have to say such painfully accurate things?"

"Because you've swung your sword a hundred thousand times, so now I'm telling you the next part of the story."

Cheol Myung-ho nodded slowly.

"Ah, thanks, you bastard."

"I don't intend to teach you some fancy sword technique."

Cheol Myung-ho slumped slightly as he replied.

"Then how am I supposed to get stronger? Like you said, there are plenty of martial artists out there who've trained longer and harder than me, mastering techniques from renowned sects."

Dan Woo-sung spoke in a calm tone.

"Myung-ho."

"Go on."

"Joining a prestigious sect, learning famous sword techniques, training under a great master—none of that is everything. Becoming strong is a far more fundamental matter."

Cheol Myung-ho listened intently, his expression deadly serious.

Dan Woo-sung continued.

"It all comes down to one thing: who lives with more sincerity."

"That sounds like something I both understand and don't understand at the same time."

"If you ask the loudmouths of this world to name the greatest sword technique since the dawn of martial arts, nine out of ten will say the lost Dokgo Nine Swords."

"I've heard of the Dokgo Nine Swords. Most kids swung sticks around yelling that name when they were young."

"Even seasoned martial artists hold the Dokgo Nine Swords in the highest regard. But those same martial artists unanimously agree that only one man's blade technique ever surpassed it. And I don't disagree."

Cheol Myung-ho swallowed hard before asking.

"What was it?"

Dan Woo-sung answered.

"The blade technique of 'The Drunken Blade,' Jin So-han."

"Never heard of him. Who was he?"

"His titles are too many to list. This man wasn't from any sect. Even in his youth—not much older than us—he was already hailed as the strongest under heaven, an undefeated warrior. If you're serious about the martial world, you need to know his story first."

"Tell me."

"He held a sword as soon as he could walk, and until his early teens, he danced with it."

"Danced? Why?"

"Because he was from an entertainment troupe."

"Ah, you mean that kind of dance? The sexy one where they strip opponents with their blades?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Exactly."

Cheol Myung-ho cracked a joke but then jolted in surprise.

"Wait—seriously?"

"He trained in that for over ten years. Not a single day missed. Whether he'd ever step into the martial world or spend his whole life dancing, he didn't know. But what mattered was that he practiced that dance more sincerely than anyone else. Why?"

"Not for money, I'd guess."

"No. Because if he slipped up, his partner would get hurt. According to records, he mostly danced with the elder sisters who raised him. Imagine how he must have felt. A little orphan boy, swinging his blade over and over, just so he wouldn't hurt the women who took him in."

"That's... sincere."

"Then what meaning did that dance hold as martial arts?"

"Well... it wasn't formal training, so..."

"For over a decade, he swung his blade solely to avoid cutting his partner. You showed up in front of me after swinging yours sixty thousand times in sixty days. Jin So-han swung his for ten years. Just to avoid hurting someone."

"Then... wasn't he insane? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠From where I'm standing, he sounds completely nuts."

"I wouldn't know. But here's the important part. Later, he met masters and learned formal blade techniques. The man who spent ten years swinging his sword to avoid killing was now learning techniques meant to kill. His understanding of the blade must have exploded. A true enlightenment."

"That's insane."

"So-han unified the Black Path, dismantled the Demonic Path, defeated the orthodox masters, and became the strongest under heaven. Sure, he had teachers, but his blade technique was undoubtedly his own. That's why his art surpassed even the legendary Dokgo Nine Swords. Even now, people say that in the long history of martial arts, no one will ever wield a blade like Jin So-han again."

"Huh. That's incredible."

Cheol Myung-ho nodded slowly.

Dan Woo-sung spoke again.

"That's why I'm telling you this. The prestige of techniques, traditions, sects—none of that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠matters. How strong you become comes back to one question: Will you live as a rat, or as the Poison Fox? That's all."

Cheol Myung-ho murmured in agreement.

"Just that question, huh?"

"Train only enough to become strong as the Poison Fox. The rest is up to fate. Even I don't know what'll become of you. So, what will you do?"

Cheol Myung-ho met Dan Woo-sung's gaze squarely and answered.

"Teach me the next part."

"No regrets?"

"None."

Dan Woo-sung stood, took up the Black Iron Umbrella, and demonstrated horizontal slashes and thrusts—the basics of the Three Talents Swordplay. But it was no easy feat, given the umbrella's weight compared to a longsword.

Handing the umbrella over, Dan Woo-sung asked,

"Got it?"

"Do I look stupid? Of course I got it. I'll swing it a million times, not just a hundred thousand."

"Come here."

Dan Woo-sung gestured toward the window and flung it open. The streets below were packed with people ahead of the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament.

And since they were staying in the most expensive inn, most passersby were martial artists.

Opposite buildings, the streets below, even the diners on the first floor—nearly all of them carried weapons.

Dan Woo-sung and Cheol Myung-ho stood side by side, observing the crowd.

Dan Woo-sung pointed at a passing swordsman—an unremarkable-looking man.

"How many times do you think that guy's swung his sword?"

Cheol Myung-ho crossed his arms and replied.

"Hmm... five hundred thousand? A million? Doesn't seem particularly strong."

"And the guy next to him?"

"No idea. Looks more like a master than a swordsman."

Dan Woo-sung nodded.

"See that?"

"Just a feeling."

"Did you have that feeling before swinging a hundred thousand times?"

Cheol Myung-ho's eyes widened as realization struck.

"Ah... probably not."

"They call it 'reading the opponent's stance.' The sharper your senses and experience, the better you gauge an opponent's strength. The stronger you become, the more accurately you can read them. Of course, stances can be hidden. Because at its core, combat is psychological warfare."

Cheol Myung-ho suddenly turned his sharpened senses toward Dan Woo-sung. When the hell did his arms get that thick and solid? He realized with a chill that this man could kill him with a single swing.

"...I think I get it."

Dan Woo-sung smirked.

"That's why martial artists watch their words. Save the vulgarity for when you're with me. Otherwise, you'll get yourself killed."

Cheol Myung-ho gulped.

"Got it."

Still gazing outside, Cheol Myung-ho muttered,

"There are so many strong people here. Like you said, I don't see anyone I could easily beat."

"This is the Murim Alliance. And with the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament coming up, every young master has gathered here. It's no exaggeration."

Cheol Myung-ho blinked in surprise.

"Wait—were you planning to compete?"

"Why else would I be here?"

"What's your goal?"

Assuming he was asking about winning or reaching the semifinals, Dan Woo-sung chuckled.

"You'll see. And watching the tournament in person is rare, so I booked a room nearby to observe everything. You'll learn a lot. Not like you have anything better to do."

Cheol Myung-ho clasped his fists in mock salute.

"Yes, I have absolutely nothing better to do. Thank you for your sharp and deadly insight. Then I'll take my leave. The Poison Fox needs to find a room."

Dan Woo-sung nodded.

"Yeah. Get lost."

Cheol Myung-ho grabbed the Black Iron Umbrella and stepped out of Dan Woo-sung's room—only to pause in the hallway, glancing around with a solemn expression.

He turned back, staring intently at the closed door.

Then, with an utterly blank face, he knelt and bowed deeply toward Dan Woo-sung. Countless thoughts and vows swirled in his mind. Finally, he stood and muttered as he walked away.

"Thanks for sparing me. And I'll repay the debt of teaching me. Because I'm the Poison Fox."

With the umbrella in hand, Cheol Myung-ho left the inn.

Even after Cheol Myung-ho's departure, Dan Woo-sung kept watching the streets below. Something was about to happen. The crowd was thickening, the atmosphere electric. He hadn't chosen this inn for the view, but it was perfect.

The event unfolding was the Pre-Festival—an unofficial warm-up before the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament.

Dan Woo-sung wasn't sure if it was sanctioned or not, but every martial artist in the inn had their windows wide open, observing the scene.

Soon, the crowd formed a dense ring around a makeshift stage, where a man stepped forward. Flicking open a fan, he addressed the spectators.

"Do you know why I've come here today?"

Answers erupted from all directions. Nodding, the man continued.

"Correct. You've all guessed right. For those unaware, let me explain. The Dragon-Phoenix Tournament has too many participants. Countless fools collapse from exhaustion or suffer Qi Deviation waiting for preliminaries. And the chance of facing the opponent you truly desire? Slim. So, through this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Pre-Festival, we'll thin the herd, let rivals clash under tournament rules, and—most importantly—relieve your boredom. But heed this: If you feel outmatched here, don't even bother entering the main event. You're not cut out for it. We don't want the tournament cluttered with mediocrity."

Cheers rose from the crowd. Dan Woo-sung had never competed in the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament, but the Pre-Festival's energy was just as fierce.

The man pointed at several spots where Murim Alliance members watched.

"The Alliance will be observing. Cowardly ambushes, hidden weapons, interference—all will be met with instant execution. I don't know how many are watching, so think twice before acting rashly."

What should this be called?

In a way, it was a chance to make a name. Preliminaries were scattered, but here, every interested party gathered in one place.

Dan Woo-sung smirked, arms crossed.

This was a martial world far removed from the lonely path he'd walked in his past life.