Chapter 50: The Fist King, Torn Apart
The Fist King, Torn Apart
Chapter 50: The Fist King, Torn Apart
"So? How strong is he? The Golden Sand Sword made it to the finals."
Cheol Myung-ho asked Dan Woo-sung as if genuinely curious, probing for an assessment of the Golden Sand Sword's skill. How exactly was he supposed to explain this to Cheol Myung-ho?
Dan Woo-sung replied,
"I can see traces of them sparring multiple times, but it feels like the Golden Sand Sword held back. Even if Plum Blossom Wanderer had built up his internal energy, he wouldn't have easily defeated the Golden Sand Sword. It was a deliberate restraint."
"So how strong is he, damn it?"
Dan Woo-sung glanced at this simple-minded fool. Talking to this man required lowering his standards to back-alley levels.
"Stronger than you by a long shot."
"That's your answer?"
"Plum Blossom Wanderer will probably still be way stronger than you even ten years from now."
"Ah, that stings a little."
Cheol Myung-ho didn't ask further. His curiosity had been satisfied.
'So he's strong.'
Hwa Eun-wol spoke up.
"They must have arrived early for the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament and sparred several times. Since the Hainan and Hua Mountain sects are major factions of the Murim Alliance, they likely treated each other with respect..."
At that moment, a martial artist from the White Dragon Corps, sent by the announcer, cautiously approached Dan Woo-sung's tent and asked,
"The honorable Judge Cheon wishes to know how much rest time should be given before the next match."
Dan Woo-sung responded,
"We can proceed immediately."
The White Dragon Corps martial artist nodded with a slightly surprised expression.
"Understood."
The martial artist then turned toward Judge Cheon on the platform and relayed,
"We can begin right away."
Judge Cheon glanced at the White Dragon Corps martial artist sent to confirm Namgung Wi's readiness. The answer came back swiftly.
"We can proceed immediately."
The announcer called out,
"Fist Guest and Namgung Wi, please step onto the arena."
Dan Woo-sung and Namgung Wi rose from their seats. Before ascending the stage, Dan Woo-sung glanced at Woo Ja-saeng, who was sitting with his forehead tightly wrapped in cloth. Woo Ja-saeng had returned immediately after emergency treatment and was glaring daggers at Namgung Wi.
Since Namgung Wi had torn Woo Ja-saeng's forehead, Dan Woo-sung intended to return the favor.
Dan Woo-sung and Namgung Wi stood facing each other.
Unsurprisingly, Namgung Wi's expression was grim. He had just witnessed Dokgo Han's humiliating defeat. Namgung Wi wasn't a fool—he knew Dan Woo-sung hadn't yet revealed his full strength.
At the announcer's signal, the two exchanged silent bows.
Namgung Wi exhaled sharply, betraying his tension.
He was well acquainted with Dokgo Han's fighting style—overwhelming opponents by breaking their weapons with his heavy sword or crushing them with sheer force.
But none of that had worked against the merchant's son. That meant Dokgo Han's internal energy wasn't even close to Fist Guest's level.
Deciding the flow of the match, Namgung Wi took the initiative.
He chose a strategy of ironclad defense followed by counterattacks.
He had no intention of engaging in an internal energy clash. Assuming his opponent preferred precise exchanges over brute force, Namgung Wi didn't push recklessly from the start.
Calming his mind, he unleashed the Emperor's Eight Forms, taught to him by his grandfather.
At first glance, it seemed like a rigid sword technique.
But its true essence lay in the meticulous manipulation of internal energy. It was a unique method that gradually wore down an opponent's energy through subtle adjustments. Like his grandfather facing formidable foes, Namgung Wi planned to endure until victory.
Psychological warfare was key, backed by stamina and internal energy reserves.
In many ways, it was a technique perfectly suited to Namgung Wi's physique—solid and unyielding, much like the head of the Namgung family himself.
Namgung Wi moved relentlessly, blending offense and defense with rotational force, intending to drag out the match. His movements remained flashy throughout.
He swung his sword ferociously, as if determined to prevent Dan Woo-sung from closing the distance bare-handed.
He danced like a madman, alone in his frenzy—until a single drop of sweat trickled down his back.
Dan Woo-sung merely maintained a comfortable distance, observing his technique as if watching a performance. It was obvious who would tire first. But with so many spectators, Namgung Wi had no choice but to fight longer and better than Dokgo Han.
'Hold out. Just a little longer.'
Even now, he couldn't shake the thought that Baekri Eon might be watching from somewhere—proof that a man's pride was often his greatest weakness.
Meanwhile, Dan Woo-sung acknowledged Namgung Wi's judgment as sound.
The head of the Namgung family had taught him well.
Had he fought Dokgo Han instead, Namgung Wi would have won.
Against Dan Woo-sung, he focused on defense, flawlessly executing his swordplay without exposing gaps. He was careful not to let his blade be caught and never once considered an internal energy clash.
Dan Woo-sung stared at him.
'You're better than Dokgo Han... but—'
Dan Woo-sung's body was far lighter.
When he feinted, Namgung Wi flinched defensively—only for Dan Woo-sung to halt his motion first, thoroughly disrupting the psychological battle.
Dan Woo-sung lunged again, then abruptly stopped and thrust his fist into empty air.
Whoosh!
Namgung Wi startled, swinging his sword in a wide arc—only to realize no fist wind had come.
He'd been tricked.
"Pfft!"
Cheol Myung-ho burst into laughter before hastily covering his mouth.
"Ah, my apologies."
Though the laughter came from a distance, Namgung Wi heard it clearly. After all his frantic defensive maneuvers, his face burned crimson. He didn't know who had laughed, but the mental blow was severe.
Yet, when it came to the fight itself, he remained far calmer than Dokgo Han.
Namgung Wi charged again.
He swung his sword in straightforward arcs, twisting his waist to alter trajectories, aiming to sever Dan Woo-sung's hands or wrists. Occasionally, he retreated mid-swing, prepared for a counter-grip.
Whoom!
Truly, he was an outstanding martial artist of his generation.
But his breath already reeked of exhaustion.
Meanwhile, Dan Woo-sung studied the head of the Namgung family's martial arts through Namgung Wi. If he aimed to become the strongest under heaven, he would eventually face the Namgung leader himself. After all, those who bore the title of "Emperor" stood above even kings.
So Dan Woo-sung fought as if receiving a private lesson. Namgung Wi poured out every secret technique of the Namgung family to defeat him—making this duel a rehearsal for facing the Namgung leader.
Once Dan Woo-sung confirmed the broad patterns in Namgung Wi's movements, he launched his counterattack, factoring in the sword technique's variables.
Psychological warfare continued.
To sow confusion, he mixed Forbidden Hand Combat and palm strikes alongside his fists.
'Time to end this.'
The moment Dan Woo-sung decided, he unleashed a sudden Sound Attack toward Namgung Wi, who was retreating again.
No direct strike—just an unavoidable sonic assault. With his hands clasped as if forming a fist, the sound waves shot straight toward Namgung Wi.
ZZZRRRIIING—!
The thunderous shockwave from his right fist colliding with his left palm reverberated. Unable to cover his ears while gripping his sword, Namgung Wi grimaced, staggering backward unsteadily.
Since when did fist fighters use sound-based techniques?
Seizing the opening, Dan Woo-sung closed the distance with Lightfoot Technique, something he hadn't used in the tournament yet. Namgung Wi instinctively raised his trembling hands, barely managing to hold his sword out.
Dan Woo-sung stepped onto the blade's flat side and drove his knee toward Namgung Wi's face.
Thud!
Namgung Wi jerked his head back, narrowly avoiding a direct hit—but his forehead was already split open.
As he turned, blood streamed down into his eyes.
Dan Woo-sung stood still, then thrust his fist forward.
This time, it wasn't a feint—it was a Lightning Fist packed with real power. Namgung Wi, disoriented by Dan Woo-sung's deceptive tactics, barely reacted.
Just as Namgung Wi had mercilessly struck the young Taoist's forehead earlier, Dan Woo-sung showed no mercy.
With a desperate expression, Namgung Wi swung his sword to block the colossal fist rushing toward him.
KWA-BOOOM!
The sword clattered across the arena as Namgung Wi, now disarmed, rolled several times before pushing himself up into a half-crouch. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor.
"Hah... hahaha..."
Namgung Wi laughed involuntarily, his face smeared with blood.
Why had he lost so completely?
Though his expression twisted into a grin, self-loathing filled his heart. Impulsively, he rubbed his face with his bare hands as if washing it, smearing blood everywhere.
With a growl, he shouted,
"I yield!"
Even after Namgung Wi's admission, the announcer remained silent, watching the two. Dan Woo-sung walked over, picked up the sword, lowered its tip, and handed it back to Namgung Wi.
A simple gesture, yet the atmosphere grew heavier than during the fight.
When Namgung Wi grasped his bloodied sword, Dan Woo-sung spoke as if encouraging a future rematch.
"Namgung Wi. Let's meet again."
No matter how hotheaded the man was, his warrior's spirit was admirable.
Namgung Wi couldn't bring himself to resent Dan Woo-sung's gesture.
With a calmer mind, he replied,
"I'll challenge you again."
Dan Woo-sung nodded approvingly, and only then did Namgung Wi's tension ease. Wiping his bloodied face, he glanced around before bowing to Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong. He could only console himself that he had fought better than Dokgo Han.
And indeed, the spectators agreed.
Applause and cheers erupted loudly.
As Dan Woo-sung descended from the arena, his gaze briefly met Woo Ja-saeng's. The injured man grinned back.
Silently, Woo Ja-saeng clasped his fists in gratitude. Dan Woo-sung gave an awkward nod before heading toward his tent.
This time, Cheol Myung-ho clasped his fists and raised a finger excitedly.
"Master, just one more to go."
Dan Woo-sung nodded. Only one opponent remained before victory.
Hwa Eun-wol lowered his voice slightly.
"Did you tear his forehead on purpose?"
Hwa Eun-seol and Cheol Myung-ho turned to Dan Woo-sung. He gave a slight nod—yes.
Dan Woo-sung and the Golden Sand Sword suddenly locked eyes from across the distance. Both knew the other had held back considerably.
The Hainan Sect's prodigy and the Fist King each believed in their own victory.
After a short break, the announcer addressed both sides.
"Fist Guest, Golden Sand Sword. Shall we begin?"
Dan Woo-sung stood.
"I'm ready."
From his private tent, Wi Mak-cheon—the Golden Sand Sword—opened his eyes calmly and replied,
"Begin."
As this was the finals, cheers and applause erupted as the two made their way to the arena.
Even after bowing, Wi Mak-cheon didn't draw his sword.
"I'm prepared."
Dan Woo-sung almost told him to draw his blade but held back. For practitioners of Quick-Draw Swordplay, the act of unsheathing was itself a technique.
Surprisingly, the two began the preliminary exchange bare-handed.
Wi Mak-cheon's palm strikes were blindingly fast. It wasn't just pure palm techniques—he seemed to have trained separately in Eagle Claw Kung Fu.
As the skirmish began, his hand forms shifted fluidly.
He aimed for Dan Woo-sung's neck with a hooked grip, then unleashed a palm strike from the left before sweeping low with his left foot toward Dan Woo-sung's legs.
Dan Woo-sung retreated—prompting Wi Mak-cheon to draw his sword with his left hand in a diagonal slash.
SHING!
A blade aura surged at close range. Dan Woo-sung, expressionless, extended a hand wreathed in white energy and caught the aura.
CRACK!
It shattered effortlessly.