Chapter 47: The Fist King Secures an Easy Victory
The Fist King Secures an Easy Victory
Chapter 47: The Fist King Secures an Easy Victory
The old leader of the Murim Alliance never expected everyone to understand his heart. He held only a small hope that among them, a few might one day become successors capable of taking his place.
Yoo Jung-hong smiled as he made his declaration:
"Let the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament begin!"
Applause and cheers erupted from all directions. As Yoo Jung-hong returned to his seat, Dan Woo-sung crossed his arms and briefly reflected on the leader's words.
Because we are the White Path.
Being the White Path didn't mean they took excessive pride in it, nor that justice belonged solely to them by virtue of their status. It simply meant they were a gathering of people striving to uphold the principles of humanity.
For that alone, the old man had lost much. Yet, even so, wasn't his declaration a vow never to forsake the White Path until his dying breath?
The difference between the White Path and the Demonic Path was that the former always stood their ground.
Whether their opponents were strong or weak, whether they themselves were powerful or not—those who fought to the death while holding fast to their convictions were the true White Path.
That was why the White Path was stubbornly, maddeningly persistent.
Just as Dan Woo-sung was lost in these thoughts, the announcer called out the names of the participants.
"First match of the main tournament: Fist Guest versus Twin Spears of Hebei. Let the battle commence!"
The announcer's voice signaled the start of the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament.
What more words or reflections were needed?
Now, it was time for Dan Woo-sung to witness the strength of the White Path firsthand.
From the isolated tent where participants waited, Cheol Myung-ho stared intently at Dan Woo-sung, who returned the gaze.
Neither could tolerate the other's sickeningly sentimental demeanor.
Simultaneously, the two clicked their tongues and turned their heads away. Without a word, Dan Woo-sung strode toward the arena.
On the opposite side, Twin Spears of Hebei had already ascended the stage, loosening the tension coiled in his neck and shoulders.
A master of dual spears—this was a type of opponent Dan Woo-sung had never faced before.
Two short spears were crossed and sheathed on his back. They were longer than a dagger but naturally shorter than a full-length spear. However, their shafts were entirely forged from metal, giving them a weighty presence.
Twin Spears of Hebei brightened upon seeing his opponent lacked a weapon. Most fist fighters still attached blades to their gauntlets, after all.
"Are you a fist practitioner?" Twin Spears asked.
Dan Woo-sung wanted to reply:
Yeah. I'm the Fist King.
But he kept the words to himself, offering only a slight nod.
Among martial artists, swordsmen were the most common, followed by saber and spear users. Fist practitioners, however, were either extraordinary masters or complete amateurs—there was no middle ground.
Twin Spears took this as a good sign.
This should be an easy win.
He had never heard of this man before, nor the alias "Fist Guest." Moreover, he didn't seem affiliated with any major faction or school.
I can win.
He repeated the thought to himself like a mantra.
The announcer spoke:
"Salute."
Dan Woo-sung and Twin Spears clasped their fists in respect. The announcer on the platform then delivered a brief command:
"Begin."
There was no separate referee on stage. Every spectator, including Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong, served as judge.
The two fighters closed the distance as they circled the wide arena.
Since footwork was crucial in martial duels, the stage was spacious.
Twin Spears—Wi Ho-yeon—silently drew his twin spears and gripped them firmly. With a confident expression, he declared:
"Let's begin."
Dan Woo-sung halted and tightened the gauntlet Hwa Eun-wol had given him around his fist.
For a moment, the two sized each other up—then they moved simultaneously.
Dan Woo-sung charged forward without hesitation, while Wi Ho-yeon, emboldened by his opponent's bare hands, launched an aggressive assault. With twin spears, offense and defense could be seamlessly controlled, making the exchange feel effortless.
But something felt off.
The Fist Guest's speed was far beyond what he had anticipated.
Startled, Wi Ho-yeon thrust his right spear at Dan Woo-sung, who was already within striking distance, while his left spear swept in a defensive arc.
Whoosh! Swish!
Without slowing, Dan Woo-sung tilted his head to evade the spear aimed at his face while simultaneously kicking the shaft of the left spear with his right foot.
Thud!
Wi Ho-yeon staggered back but quickly steadied himself, bolstering his courage.
What was that? Just a shove.
Had internal energy been infused, the spear would have been knocked from his grip—but his opponent didn't seem skilled enough for that.
Wi Ho-yeon twisted into a spinning stance, adding momentum to his twin spears as he attacked again.
Clang!
One spear descended vertically before the spinning follow-up slashed horizontally. The next strike targeted Dan Woo-sung's legs, and then Wi Ho-yeon leaped into the air, thrusting both spears downward in unison.
It was a dazzling assault.
Dan Woo-sung retreated, dodging the spears—then abruptly seized both shafts mid-air with his bare hands.
Wi Ho-yeon twisted his entire body in midair, attempting to wrench free.
It was a split-second decision—a desperate counter to tear through the gauntlets.
But before the spears could rotate fully, Dan Woo-sung released his grip, stepped forward, and instantly seized the shafts again. His movements were precise, like a veteran who had seen countless battles.
Clack! Screech!
The friction between gauntlet and metal rang out. Wi Ho-yeon was still airborne.
His eyes widened.
This strength—
Only now did he notice how thick and solid his opponent's forearms were compared to the rest of his physique.
Struggling midair, Wi Ho-yeon resembled a child flailing helplessly. His face flushed red with humiliation.
Yet he couldn't just let go of his spears.
At that moment, Dan Woo-sung yanked both weapons downward—dragging Wi Ho-yeon with them—and delivered a swift kick to his face.
Thunk!
The twin spears embedded themselves into the arena floor with a heavy sound.
Simultaneously—
Wham!
Wi Ho-yeon went flying.
The spectators' heads and gazes swiveled in unison, tracking the arc of the soaring Twin Spears of Hebei.
"Whoaaa—!"
"Is he alright?"
Despite crossing his arms to block the kick at the last second, Wi Ho-yeon looked completely unconscious. The shockwave from the impact had traveled through his arms and rattled his brain.
"Wait—his posture—"
Amid the crowd, Hwa Eun-wol flicked his sleeves and leaped forward, catching Wi Ho-yeon by the collar mid-descent before gently laying him on the ground.
Only then did the audience exhale in relief.
Hwa Eun-wol examined him briefly before announcing:
"He's unconscious. No life-threatening injuries."
From the platform, the announcer declared:
"Fist Guest, victory. Please rest in your assigned tent and await further instructions. Leaving the premises is prohibited."
The cheers weren't particularly loud—most didn't even know who Fist Guest was.
Yet, even after the applause died down, Cheol Myung-ho remained stone-faced, clapping stubbornly.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Every moment was a lesson to him. Whether people found it strange or not, he kept clapping with relentless determination.
That bastard—the master's friend—is seriously strong.
"Bastard," "master," and "friend" were all bizarre terms referring to Dan Woo-sung.
As Dan Woo-sung descended from the arena, the Hwa siblings approached.
When the White Dragon Faction's martial artists guarding the participant area blocked their path, Dan Woo-sung said:
"They're with me."
Hwa Eun-wol smiled and clasped his fists.
"Congratulations on your victory, Grand Prince. Poison Fox, we meet again."
Why had Hwa Eun-wol come? Having made a bet with Dokgo Han, he now intended to stick close to Dan Woo-sung's side. Just in case someone tried to interfere.
Dan Woo-sung smirked.
"Young Master Hwa. Lady Hwa."
Cheol Myung-ho replied stiffly:
"Not 'Poison Fox.' Call me Cheol Myung-ho, the Poison Fox."
Hwa Eun-wol nodded as if understanding.
"Ah, Lord Cheol, then."
"No, that's not—I'm the Poison—"
Dan Woo-sung cut in.
"Enough."
"Yes, sir."
Cheol Myung-ho finally shut his mouth. Then, noticing Hwa Eun-seol standing behind her brother, his eyes widened before he firmly pressed his lips together. Pretty women made him lose his words—so he resolved to stay silent.
Hwa Eun-wol fanned himself lightly while watching the arena before speaking up.
"I didn't participate. But Dokgo Han of the Dokgo Clan provoked me, so I impulsively bet thirty thousand nyang on your victory. Not to pressure you, of course. Hahaha..."
"Huh?"
Hwa Eun-seol was more shocked by this than anyone.
Hwa Eun-wol pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shh. How many times have you seen your brother gamble? And how did those turn out?"
"You won every time."
"Exactly."
When the siblings turned to Dan Woo-sung, he replied curtly:
"Good call. I'll make sure you don't lose."
There were many reasons—but more importantly, he had no intention of losing in the first place.
Dan Woo-sung showed them the gauntlet he had received.
"Does this gauntlet have a name? An elder from the Murim Alliance guessed it might be the 'Thousand-Year White Silk' crafted by the Baekri Clan."
Hwa Eun-wol nodded in surprise.
"Who recognized it?"
"The preliminary judge did. An elder with considerable experience."
Hwa Eun-wol nodded again.
"It is indeed a Baekri Clan artifact. We once presented their patriarch with a sword for his birthday, and in return, he gifted us this. According to him, it's called 'Thousand-Year White Silk.' The Baekri Clan transitioned into swordcraft generations ago, so he said it would be better wielded by a more suitable master."
Dan Woo-sung acknowledged this with a nod.
He didn't ask what the Hwa Clan's primary martial arts were. Based on what he had seen so far, they seemed adept at concealing their true strength. Hwa Eun-seol wielded a sword, while Hwa Eun-wol still carried a fan—suggesting their martial repertoire was broad.
The four turned their attention back to the arena.
This time, the nameplate on the far right of the bracket was called.
Hwa Eun-wol smiled as he explained to Dan Woo-sung:
"The man with the pitch-black greatsword is Dokgo Han of the Dokgo Clan. As for his opponent, the young Taoist named Jong Gu-ja—I'm not familiar with him. Dokgo Han is a favorite to win, so this'll be over quickly."
Hwa Eun-seol asked:
"How many moves will it take?"
Hwa Eun-wol studied Dokgo Han's opponent before answering:
"Three. What do you think, Grand Prince?"
Dan Woo-sung crossed his arms, observing Dokgo Han and his adversary before replying:
"One or two should suffice."
Cheol Myung-ho, who had vowed not to speak, couldn't resist his curiosity.
"Why?"
"If he wanted to kill him, one strike would be enough. But since he won't, he'll either unleash a second move or use internal energy."
In any case, the difference in skill was obvious.
Dokgo Han stood motionless as his opponent charged forward, sword raised.
Dokgo Han simply thrust his greatsword forward.
A strangely crisp metallic sound rang out—and Jong Gu-ja's sword stuck to the greatsword as if magnetized.
Then, internal energy surged forth.
Jong Gu-ja paled as Dokgo Han snapped his sword in half with a flick.
Half-dazed, the Taoist had already landed on his backside. Had his sword not broken, he might have suffered severe injuries.
Only the Dokgo Clan's martial artists erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.
The judge pointed at Dokgo Han.
"Dokgo Han, the Bladeless, wins."
"Bladeless" referred to the Dokgo Clan's greatsword—a weapon without a sharp edge.
In this brief duel, Dokgo Han had firmly cemented himself as a tournament favorite in the eyes of all spectators.