Chapter 42: The Fist King Blushes
The Fist King Blushes
Chapter 42: The Fist King Blushes
The silence Dan Woo-sung created was beautiful.
No one had expected this unknown young man—unarmed and unfamiliar—to overwhelm his opponent so effortlessly. The stunned silence that followed was inevitable.
To Cheol Myung-ho, this meaningful silence was equally beautiful.
Wow... He shut them all up.
The expressions of Jo A-sol's comrades, dragging their unconscious companion away, were also worth seeing. They couldn't utter a single word, knowing full well that Dan Woo-sung had deliberately spared Jo A-sol by striking the ground instead of his body.
"Impressive!"
"Who is this guy?"
A few people clapped, while others murmured among themselves. The silence finally broke, restoring the lively atmosphere of the pre-festival. Even the rising talents from prestigious clans and sects exchanged glances, shrugging as if to say they had no idea who this man was.
Of course, if members of the Moyong Clan or the Guyang Clan had been present, they could have identified Dan Woo-sung. But the Guyang Clan was keeping a low profile due to Guyang Saeng's disgrace, and the Moyong Clan had no time to spare for the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament after their former clan leader's disappearance.
Thus, Dan Woo-sung remained an enigmatic, suddenly emerging powerhouse.
Would anyone dare challenge him now?
The top contenders watched him with interest but had no intention of participating in the pre-festival. After all, they needed to be in peak condition for the main event.
Eventually, a challenger seeking fame stepped forward from the opposite side of the arena.
His reasoning was simple:
Dan Woo-sung had easily subdued Jo A-sol, but he was unarmed.
He looks strong, but fists have clear limitations. And he's not even wearing gauntlets—his arrogance is excessive.
Confident in his swordsmanship, the man introduced himself.
"Yeon I-bo of the Muryang Sword Style, from Hamnyeong."
In the martial world, not all fighters belonged to sects—some identified themselves by their personal styles, though such cases were rare.
Dan Woo-sung responded with just three words.
Yeon I-bo drew his twin swords with a sharp shring and asked,
"You have no gauntlets. Are you sure about this?"
Dan Woo-sung folded his arms.
"I'm sure."
Just then, a voice infused with internal energy cut in from a nearby inn's window.
"...My apologies for interrupting, everyone."
The voice was clear, drawing all eyes toward the building. There, leaning casually against the windowsill, was Hwa Eun-wol, the young leader of the Autumn Wind Falling Leaves faction, lazily fanning himself.
Closing his fan, Hwa Eun-wol addressed the arena.
"...I'd like to gift this fist-fighting nobleman a pair of gauntlets from our clan. Not the spiked kind meant for offense—just protective gear for his hands. What do you two think?"
Though the question was directed at the fighters, the spectators answered first.
"Gift them!"
"Excellent! That's fair!"
Dan Woo-sung smiled faintly at Hwa Eun-wol. He didn't need them, but refusing would be impolite.
Yeon I-bo's expression soured, but he reluctantly agreed.
"Fine. I don't want him injuring his hands either. Go ahead."
His glare at Hwa Eun-wol was unmistakable.
Damn meddler...
Hwa Eun-wol turned to his attendants.
"Yayul, deliver the gauntlets."
A stern-faced man bowed.
"Understood."
He strode toward Dan Woo-sung and handed over a pair of gauntlets made from an unusual material—thin, flexible, and clearly designed purely for protection.
"I'll put them to good use."
Dan Woo-sung slipped them on and nodded in gratitude to both Yayul and Hwa Eun-wol.
"Young Master, your consideration is appreciated."
Hwa Eun-wol grinned.
"Think nothing of it."
Cheol Myung-ho sidled up to Dan Woo-sung and whispered,
"Hey, you sure these aren't poisoned or something? Your hands alright?"
Dan Woo-sung shot him a look.
"Think before you speak. Martial artists have sharper ears than you."
"Ah, right."
Cheol Myung-ho glanced nervously at Hwa Eun-wol, who burst out laughing.
"Umbrella Noble, you're quite memorable yourself. So the two of you are friends?"
Cheol Myung-ho chuckled awkwardly and bowed.
Hwa Eun-wol studied them with amusement, piecing things together.
Ah, this must be the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group. Friends calling each other 'master'—what an odd pair. The martial world truly is fascinating.
His intuition was eerily sharp.
Dan Woo-sung stepped forward and raised a hand.
"Let's begin."
Yeon I-bo settled into stance—left sword guarding, right poised to strike. Even in a pre-festival duel, victory could mean severe injury or death.
He struck first, slashing at Dan Woo-sung's shoulder with his right sword while sweeping low with his left. Spinning, he accelerated into a rapid flurry of strikes.
Twin-blade styles had flourished in recent years, a legacy of Jin So-han, the Drunken Blade—the only dual-wielder to ever claim the title of Strongest Under Heaven. The Muryang Sword Style was no exception.
But Dan Woo-sung moved before the blades even reached their mark. He read every motion—shoulder drop, swing trajectory, footwork—dodging effortlessly.
Creating distance, he spread his arms and locked eyes with Yeon I-bo. This was the perfect chance to test his footwork combined with the Ihwa Divine Technique.
To Dan Woo-sung, the entire Dragon-Phoenix Tournament—pre-festival included—was a training ground.
Still, he remained mindful of not revealing his full strength with so many watching.
As Dan Woo-sung closed in again, Yeon I-bo crossed his swords and unleashed seven rapid slashes—a dazzling display befitting a swift-blade style.
Cheol Myung-ho rubbed his arms.
Goosebumps.
Had he been in that arena, he'd have been diced into pieces.
But Dan Woo-sung's footwork left the blades grazing past him by hair's-width margins.
Yeon I-bo, despite being the attacker, was the one shrinking back in shock.
A master.
No simpler word could describe it.
Adjusting his stance, Yeon I-bo shifted between defense and offense—70% guard, 30% strike—reacting to Dan Woo-sung's movements with precision.
Then, with a startled gasp, he leaped into the air. Dan Woo-sung had slid in low with bizarre footwork and swept a vicious kick at his legs.
Midair, Yeon I-bo realized the low strike had been a feint—a psychological trap for the next attack.
Damn it!
He pointed his left sword at Dan Woo-sung and hurled the right one like a dart.
Shink!
A desperate move, but twin blades allowed such gambits.
If he attacked recklessly now, Dan Woo-sung might seize his sword—or his arm.
But Dan Woo-sung snatched the thrown sword by its hilt midair, twisted, and—
Clang!
Yeon I-bo's remaining sword went flying.
In an instant, he was disarmed. Refusing to yield, he lunged forward with a palm strike.
Dan Woo-sung's counter resembled a move from the Wudang Sect—using the Ihwa Divine Technique to entangle Yeon I-bo's arms, then twisting and throwing him.
Yeon I-bo flipped through the air, spinning several times before crashing to the ground with a thud.
Before he could rise, Dan Woo-sung's foot stamped down beside his head.
Crack!
The ground cratered beneath Dan Woo-sung's heel. Yeon I-bo froze, breath catching—he'd nearly died.
Then, Dan Woo-sung helped him up.
"Brother Yeon, you alright?"
Yeon I-bo blinked dazedly before reflexively replying with honorifics.
"Ah—yes, I'm fine."
With the match decided, cheers erupted—not silence this time, but applause for a well-fought duel. The fact that no one was seriously injured eased the crowd's mood.
Yeon I-bo, still flushed, bowed.
"I've learned much today."
"A good match."
Yeon I-bo grinned.
"I'll be rooting for you in the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament."
Dan Woo-sung nodded slightly.
The pre-festival's host stepped forward, slapping his fan against his palm for attention.
"...As the host, I must declare this nobleman barred from further pre-festival duels."
Booing followed, but the host smirked.
"No exceptions. The Murim Alliance confirms he's the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group—a main tournament participant. Such strength belongs on a grander stage. What say you, Grand Prince?"
Dan Woo-sung agreed.
"I'll stop here."
The host bowed.
"We'll meet again in the main event."
Dan Woo-sung gestured to Cheol Myung-ho.
"Let's secure lodging."
Cheol Myung-ho sighed in relief.
"Let's go."
Earlier, the crowd hadn't budged for Cheol Myung-ho.
But as Dan Woo-sung walked, the sea of people parted effortlessly. Cheol Myung-ho grumbled under his breath.
"Weakness is a sin. Absolute sinners. Making way like the Red Sea—disgusting."
Dan Woo-sung smacked the back of his head.
"Watch your mouth."
Cheol Myung-ho deliberately raised his voice for the crowd.
"Yes, Master! Please stop hitting my head!"
"You lunatic—what 'master'—?!"
As onlookers stared, Dan Woo-sung's entire face burned crimson.
He'd been outplayed.
Whether it was a misunderstanding or not, being seen as a man who smacked his disciple's head was downright embarrassing.
"Just shut up."
Cheol Myung-ho replied even more formally.
"Understood. My lips are sealed henceforth."
In that moment, Cheol Myung-ho had an epiphany:
In public, my 'master' won't hit me.
A true blessing.
From his perch at the inn's window, Hwa Eun-wol watched with a knowing smile.