Chapter 52: The Fist King, Let's Forget About That Now
The Fist King, Let's Forget About That Now
Chapter 52: The Fist King, Let's Forget About That Now
Just as Alliance Leader Yoo Jung-hong had done with Dan Woo-sung, he casually revealed the prizes awaiting the winners of the Phoenix Tournament to Hwa Eun-seol. The rewards for the women's division were no less impressive than those for the men's. Three roots of Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng and the privilege for the four semifinalists to select a weapon from the Alliance's secret vault—these announcements left Dan Woo-sung and his companions stunned.
The preparations were thorough, and the generosity was grand.
Yet, Alliance Leader Yoo still seemed apologetic, as the Hundred-Year Snow Ginseng paled in rarity compared to the Hundred-Year Pure Snow Ginseng. There was no need for such regret, but he felt it nonetheless.
Even the Hwa siblings found themselves lost in thought.
They couldn't help but reflect on the rumors and reputations surrounding the Alliance Leader—both from the Imperial Society and the wider world. Beyond his apparent desire to look after the younger generation of the martial world, they could discern nothing else.
Despite his reputation for being extreme and decisive, he showed none of that harshness toward his juniors.
It wasn't until the meal was nearly over that Alliance Leader Yoo suddenly fixed his gaze on Cheol Myung-ho.
Cheol Myung-ho, who had been eating absentmindedly—barely aware if the food was entering his mouth or his nose—flinched and bowed his head slightly.
"Alliance Leader, I am Cheol Myung-ho."
Though it was merely a greeting, Yoo Jung-hong smiled.
"That scar on your cheek—it looks like a sword wound."
Cheol Myung-ho touched his cheek and replied,
"No, it wasn't a sword. A dagger."
Yoo Jung-hong blinked before asking,
"How did it happen?"
Dan Woo-sung, Hwa Eun-wol, and Hwa Eun-seol all turned to look at Cheol Myung-ho. His eyes widened, but no words came out. His story felt too insignificant in comparison.
Seeing his hesitation, Yoo Jung-hong chuckled warmly.
"Ah, an uncomfortable topic, I see. No matter. Your face is quite memorable, and that scar only makes the impression stronger—before I even knew who you were."
"Ah..."
Cheol Myung-ho swallowed hard. His mind went blank. When he thought about it, his story was absurd—something utterly unworthy of being told to the leader of the Murim Alliance. To him, it had just been a passing incident, but now, the mere thought of speaking made his hands tremble with shame. Yet, under the weight of their gazes and the unbearable silence, he had no choice.
"...I used to run a gambling den. Got into a fight with a man who refused to pay his debts. A dagger went through my cheek."
He blurted it out.
Here, in the Murim Alliance.
And before the Alliance Leader himself.
Dan Woo-sung stared at his friend's face. He couldn't tell what Cheol Myung-ho was thinking, but his eyes were bloodshot.
Yoo Jung-hong nodded.
"I see."
With a smile, he rolled up his sleeve. The four of them turned their attention back to him.
From his wrist inward, a grotesque scar ran along his arm.
"Back when I couldn't even grow a proper beard—naturally, I wasn't half the swordsman I am now. Just avoiding getting beaten was an accomplishment."
The words were simple, yet somehow amusing. The four of them held their breath as they listened.
"My father ran a tavern where he served liquor brewed by our relatives. Our family had a long-standing distillery—he even worked as a porter. One day, I saw him getting beaten by drunkards at the tavern. There were too many for me to handle alone. Without a weapon, I knew I'd just get beaten alongside him. So, in the middle of the chaos, I grabbed a club and rushed back. Even in my fury, I swore I wouldn't kill anyone—just swung wildly until five or six of them were sprawled on the ground. They were just drunks, nothing formidable. But even in that brief moment, I felt something strange—like I'd grasped some kind of technique in the midst of swinging that club. No one died, but they were all knocked out."
Yoo Jung-hong lowered his sleeve and continued.
"My father rushed over in shock and immediately began stopping the bleeding on my arm. I hadn't even realized I was injured. To this day, I don't remember how it happened—maybe someone tore at me in their drunken rage, or maybe I scraped it against the shattered edge of a table. Either way, as soon as the bleeding stopped, my father and I fled. Riding on his back as he ran—I'd never seen him move so fast. His sleeve was torn too, soaked in sweat and wrapped around my arm. Maybe that's why... this scar never faded."
Yoo Jung-hong looked at Cheol Myung-ho.
"Everyone who steps into this world has their own story. That Black Iron Umbrella—is it your weapon?"
"I borrowed it. From this friend."
"That pitch-black thing suits you well."
When Yoo Jung-hong grinned, Cheol Myung-ho laughed along.
"Thank you. Hahahaha—"
His laughter stretched on far too long, making the others stare at him. Though he was laughing, to them, it sounded more like weeping.
Yoo Jung-hong called out to him in a relaxed tone.
"Myung-ho."
"Yes, Alliance Leader."
"Do you regret the way you lived before?"
"Yes."
"If you can correct yesterday's mistakes and live properly today, that alone makes you a fine man. There's no need to dwell too much on the past. Whether you wield that umbrella or a blade—let's meet again. Preferably on the White Path..."
"Yes."
Even that single word was difficult for Cheol Myung-ho to force out.
Yoo Jung-hong stood.
"Staying too long with an old man must be tiresome. Go and rest. It's been a long day."
As the four rose to bow, Yoo Jung-hong waved them off.
"Take care on your way."
"Take care as well, Alliance Leader."
After exchanging farewells, Hwa Eun-wol turned and said,
"I'll escort Eun-seol back. Tonight, let's have a drink—just us men."
He then addressed his sister.
"You have a duel tomorrow. Go rest."
"Yes."
The four quietly left the Alliance headquarters. Since there was an inn below Hwa Eun-wol's quarters anyway, the three men walked in silence, as if escorting the lone woman among them.
Dan Woo-sung, Cheol Myung-ho, and Hwa Eun-wol drank together—and the atmosphere suited them perfectly.
As they drank, Hwa Eun-wol occasionally glanced at the merchant's son and the former gambling den owner.
They were strange men.
But perhaps because of that, the liquor tasted better. Midway through, Hwa Eun-wol spoke up casually.
"Our ancestor—well, the first family head, I should say."
Dan Woo-sung and Cheol Myung-ho turned to him.
Hwa Eun-wol continued with a cryptic smile.
"He originally had no name."
How could a person have no name?
"His first given name was Hwa Sam—'Sam' likely referring to rank or number. He once carried a letter under orders from Lord Jin So-han to the Wudang Sect, where he met the Wudang Sword Immortal. It was there that he was given a new name—Hwa Un-ryong."
Dan Woo-sung and Cheol Myung-ho listened silently.
"When Ancestor Hwa Un-ryong returned and told Lord Jin So-han of his new name, the response was... 'At Wudang Mountain, there is the Cloud Dragon Waterfall. It was there that Lord So-han and the Sword Immortal once spoke. Now, whenever the Sword Immortal gazes upon that waterfall, he will think not only of me—but of you as well.' From then on, whenever Lord So-han addressed him, he made sure to include 'Un-ryong' in his name. According to our ancestor's own words, it was the first time past the age of twenty that he felt treated like a human being. Because before that... he had been an assassin who once faced Lord So-han as an enemy. A killer who lived only to obey—kill when ordered, eat when ordered, train when ordered. That was the origin of our Hwa Clan. A grown man who received a name, was treated as human, and only then began his family's legacy."
Hwa Eun-wol felt lighter after speaking.
"After hearing the Alliance Leader's words, it seemed unnecessary to hide our past. So I rambled a bit."
Cheol Myung-ho's story had been shared. Now, Hwa Eun-wol's had been told.
But Dan Woo-sung had nothing to offer.
He poured drinks for the other two and raised his cup.
"The descendant of an assassin, a former gambling den owner, and a merchant's son. Let's share a drink."
The three downed their liquor in unison.
Suddenly, Dan Woo-sung turned his head toward an approaching figure. Dokgo Han, his face still bruised, walked toward them with stiff expression.
The three silently watched as Dokgo Han plopped down in the remaining seat and spoke.
"Don't stare like that. I just came for a drink."
He looked at Dan Woo-sung.
"I watched the finals after my loss. You held back quite a bit. Let me toast you."
Dan Woo-sung pushed an empty cup forward.
With a glug, liquor filled it.
Dan Woo-sung took the bottle from Dokgo Han's hand and poured for him in return.
The two drank without another word.
Dokgo Han wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—some liquor had trickled from the injuries Dan Woo-sung had given him earlier. He then pulled out three promissory notes and placed them on the table.
"First time drinking something this expensive. See you around."
As Dokgo Han set the notes down, Hwa Eun-wol smirked in disbelief. Thirty thousand nyang—and he was already walking away.
Hwa Eun-wol stared at the three notes before pushing two toward Dan Woo-sung with a finger.
"I can't take all of this. I wasn't even the one who fought."
Dan Woo-sung immediately pushed the twenty thousand nyang back.
"I have no reason to take it. And if we're talking about the gauntlet's value, thirty thousand is far too little."
Cheol Myung-ho sighed inwardly as he watched twenty thousand nyang shift back and forth between them.
These lunatics... Rich boys playing their own games.
He glared at the notes. If they slid his way, he'd pocket them without hesitation. But that didn't happen.
Clicking his tongue, Cheol Myung-ho spoke to Hwa Eun-wol.
"Tch, just buy more drinks. Must be nice being wealthy—none of you seem to care about money. Stop playing around with it. It's unbecoming."
He stood first, slinging the Black Iron Umbrella over his shoulder.
"Well, I've got training to do. I'll take my leave."
As he trudged away, Hwa Eun-wol called out curiously.
"What kind of training could you possibly—"
Cheol Myung-ho turned and looked at Hwa Eun-wol and Dan Woo-sung. Then, without warning, he swung the umbrella vertically, followed by a horizontal slash, ending with a thrust.
He slung the umbrella back over his shoulder.
"That kind."
Hwa Eun-wol stroked his chin pensively before nodding solemnly.
"Hm. Impressive."
Once Cheol Myung-ho was gone, Hwa Eun-wol swallowed hard and turned to Dan Woo-sung.
"Why would you teach him that?"
How could you teach him such a scam?
His tone carried that implication—having heard Cheol Myung-ho occasionally refer to Dan Woo-sung as "Master."
Dan Woo-sung replied,
"Cheol Myung-ho is stubborn. He won't ask for the next technique until he's swung that thing a million times. Right now, he doesn't need fancy swordsmanship or internal energy. The question is whether a former gambling den owner can swing a Black Iron Umbrella a million times or not. Everything hinges on that."
Hwa Eun-wol stared at him.
Dan Woo-sung voiced the Fist King's belief.
"A man grows stronger through sheer will alone. The descendant of an assassin, a gambling den owner, a merchant's son—let's not dwell on that anymore. Just like the son of a brewer..."
The two looked at each other and grinned simultaneously.