Chapter 46: The Fist King Inherits the Will
The Fist King Inherits the Will
Chapter 46: The Fist King Inherits the Will
When Dan Woo-sung returned in an astonishingly short time to register for the main tournament and left, the receptionist stared blankly at the nameplates before reading them aloud.
"Seven Herbs Ascension, Life-Stealing Strange Staff, Barehanded Young Master... Were they weak?"
After finding the nicknames on the list, he drew a line through them to mark their elimination. No participant had ever cleared the preliminaries this quickly before.
As the receptionist gazed fixedly at Dan Woo-sung's retreating figure, his colleague beside him spoke up.
"What's wrong?"
"That man... he feels like a contender for the championship."
The man who had effortlessly taken three nameplates in an instant had an expression of utter serenity.
"Who?"
When the receptionist pointed at Dan Woo-sung, his colleague shrugged.
"I don't see it."
"What would you know? Just handle the registrations."
The receptionist picked up the nameplate marked "Fist Guest" and dropped it into the wooden box collecting the main tournament participants.
Since the box was empty, it made a hollow thunk as it landed.
Nameplates clattered loudly as they spilled out of the wooden box.
The reception area, illuminated by lanterns, was now filled with judges gathered to finalize the main tournament bracket.
Attendants carried in a large tournament board studded with thin nails arranged in a pyramid shape—fewer nails toward the top. Naturally, whoever hung their nameplate at the summit would be the victor.
Officially, the tournament organizers had a hand in arranging the matchups.
This might seem surprising, but once the reasoning was understood, it didn't feel like outright manipulation.
The judges deliberated and adjusted the bracket to ensure strong competitors were spread apart. First, they categorized the qualifiers into three tiers—gap, eul, and byeong—based on skill. Then, they ensured no two top-tier (gap) fighters would face each other in the first round.
After a while, Old Judge Song, who had enthusiastically declared Dan Woo-sung's qualification earlier, hung the "Fist Guest" nameplate on the far left of the bracket—ensuring he would fight in the very first match.
"Among those I judged, Fist Guest was the only one worthy of the gap tier," Old Judge Song declared.
No one objected. The other judges then hung the remaining gap-tier nameplates sporadically across the bracket. Though minor debates arose, the bracket was smoothly completed.
Right on cue, someone entered the reception area. Those gathered around the tournament board immediately bowed in unison.
"We greet the Alliance Leader!"
Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong nodded as he entered, clasped his hands behind his back, and examined the bracket.
"Not many made it to the main tournament."
Old Judge Song responded.
"We even eliminated some who achieved three consecutive wins. As you instructed, we weeded out those lacking in character."
Yoo Jung-hong studied Old Judge Song before asking,
"Elder Song, were there any instances of the Demonic Path interfering?"
The blunt-tempered Old Judge Song glanced at the other judges, but when none spoke up, he turned back to the Alliance Leader.
"None."
Yoo Jung-hong nodded.
"You've all worked hard. Let the bracket stand as is."
Relieved, the judges and attendants broke into applause.
"Everyone has done well."
As Yoo Jung-hong turned to leave, he paused and added,
"The Flying Dragon, Cloud Dragon, and White Dragon units are to monitor the main tournament participants. Ensure they aren't ambushed or dragged into unnecessary fights. The elders will divide personnel to maintain order. Anyone who harms a main tournament participant—whether from a righteous sect or noble family—will be arrested and thrown into Thunder Prison. Harsh punishment will serve as an example."
"We obey your command."
"If a main tournament participant is injured, it would be no different from the Murim Alliance committing disgrace."
Once Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong disappeared with his hands still clasped behind his back, the judges and attendants finally exhaled in relief. No matter how often they saw him, the Alliance Leader remained an intimidating figure.
The stubborn Old Judge Song crossed his arms and nodded.
"Hmph, he's right. Everyone, let's put in the work. I'll keep an eye out too."
Someone chuckled and said,
"Elder Song, you can rest. Aren't you busy with your research?"
Old Judge Song snorted.
"Nonsense. I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. I won't sit idle while others work. Even us elders must lead by example."
Another man spoke up.
"Elder Song, if you see any shortcomings, please reprimand us at once."
Old Judge Song scowled.
"People will think I'm always angry. Is there no meat in your words?"
From another corner, a white-haired junior elder chimed in.
"What are you talking about? You are always angry."
"You little—"
"'Little'? I'll be seventy the day after tomorrow! After thirty years of hearing 'you little this, you little that,' my ears have grown calluses!"
"If you're unhappy, you should've been born earlier, you brat!"
"Does that even make sense?"
Deliberate laughter erupted, skillfully drowning out the old men's bickering. A booming voice cut through.
"Alright, alright! Elders, let's eat first!"
Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong, strolling with his guards, eventually climbed alone onto the main tournament stage and gazed at the night sky.
The stars were dense and bright—a sign that the weather would be clear on the day of the main tournament.
With a wave of his hand, his guards silently dispersed.
Yoo Jung-hong sat in the Alliance Leader's seat and stared at the empty dueling platform.
His memories remained vivid.
He could still see the young, tousle-haired Yoo Jung-hong stepping onto this stage, the swelling pride after his victory, the faces of those he had fought. He recalled the Alliance Leader's intimidating tone from back then, those who had passed through the Murim Alliance, and those who had turned their backs for one reason or another.
All of it was in the past.
Even then, he hadn't hated anyone in particular.
Wherever they were, he had considered them all part of the same White Path.
Yet he alone had remained with the Murim Alliance until the end.
It had been an incredibly long time, yet looking back, it felt like a fleeting moment.
Friends gradually disappeared, replaced by subordinates with whom he couldn't share his heart. Over the years, even those subordinates dwindled.
Especially during the Five Peaks War against the Demonic Path—countless lives had been lost. The warriors who once clashed on this very stage vanished, replaced by the gruesome scenes of battle replaying in his mind.
The screams echoed vividly in the Alliance Leader's ears.
If someone asked who bore the greatest sin in that horrific war—
The Demonic Path, of course.
But Yoo Jung-hong himself was also guilty.
Because he had been a fierce general, his subordinates had fought without regard for their lives.
His expression darkened.
Wouldn't it have been better if only the strong fought while the weak fled? How could martial artists have waged such a war? In Yoo Jung-hong's vision of the martial world, the strong alone should have gathered to settle their disputes.
Only regret remained—lonely and without answers.
Yoo Jung-hong was not a man prone to such weak thoughts.
Which was why, as he gazed at the night sky, a realization struck him.
Perhaps this will be the last Dragon-Phoenix Tournament I host.
"The Alliance Leader has an announcement!"
As the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament commenced, Yoo Jung-hong rose from his seat on the grand podium.
The dueling platform was surrounded by a massive crowd. Cheers erupted from all directions, some shouting Yoo Jung-hong's old nickname. Raising a hand, he silenced the clamor.
With arms crossed, he slowly surveyed the gathered martial artists—disciples from sects and noble families, nameless juniors, a junior from the Silver River Merchant Group, and even a madman holding a black umbrella under the bright sun.
Yoo Jung-hong smiled.
The troubled expression he had worn alone in the dark night was nowhere to be seen. He had returned to his usual confident, slightly arrogant self—Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong.
"The Dragon-Phoenix Tournament has begun."
The crowd fell silent at his words.
"Forty-five years ago, a tousle-haired youth borrowed travel money in Shaanxi to come here and compete. That youth now stands before you. Back then, the tournament rules were different. Luck played a part—some died. I defeated a master from a noble family in the first round and a master from the Golden Blood Sect in the second. Later, I learned a master from the Black Path had secretly participated. Back then, winning even once or twice was no small feat. Unlike you weaklings."
A smirk spread across his face, and the crowd chuckled in response.
"The runner-up was a man named Jeon Woong, who later joined the Murim Alliance with me. Jeon Woong received the Great Star Blade as a prize, while I was given the Moonwater Sword. In those days, winners weren't guaranteed rewards—but the Alliance Leader at the time made sure we got them. An elder even gifted the Great Star Blade. Back then, how strong could Jeon Woong and I have been? Receiving the Moonwater Sword tied me to the Murim Alliance. The gratitude I felt that day made me stronger. Juniors—"
"Yes, Alliance Leader!"
"This year's champion will receive the Hundred-Year Pure Blossom Ginseng from the Emei Sect."
The participants' expressions shifted—some widened their eyes in shock. This was an elixir so rare that even becoming a direct disciple of the Emei Sect's leader barely granted a chance to obtain it.
"Abbess Hyunui of the Emei Sect said she wished to gift it to this year's winner—someone she doesn't even know. Consider what that means. Even her own disciples struggle to obtain it. She simply apologized for not being able to attend. As for the most outstanding blade master—they will receive the Great Star Blade, lost by its owner in the Five Peaks War."
Yoo Jung-hong pointed to the sky.
"My old friend Jeon Woong will watch joyfully from the heavens. And for the most outstanding swordsman—did you think I'd give the Moonwater Sword? No."
As smiles spread through the crowd, Yoo Jung-hong laughed along.
"The Gu Family Iron Workshop has forged a special sword for this tournament. For context, the Gu Family once crafted the Unforgettable Sword—used by generations of Mount Hua's greatest swordsmen. The new sword's name will be chosen by its recipient. Juniors—"
With a sharp shing, Yoo Jung-hong drew the sword at his waist.
"This blade, still unblemished after the tousle-haired youth became a white-haired Alliance Leader, is the Moonwater Sword. All my life, I have valued righteous-hearted juniors. Because when we depart this world, you must carry on our legacy. The Hundred-Year Pure Blossom Ginseng, the Great Star Blade, the Gu Family's sword—there is only one reason your elders gift these without condition."
He raised the Moonwater Sword upright, sunlight glinting off its blade.
The white-haired Alliance Leader gazed at the clear sky, his tone solemn as if swearing an oath to the friends, seniors, and juniors watching from beyond.
"Because we are the White Path."