Chapter 71: The Poison Fox Itches to Get His Ass Kicked
The Poison Fox Itches to Get His Ass Kicked
Episode 71: The Poison Fox Itches to Get His Ass Kicked
Dan Woo-sung kicked the broken sword with his foot, stacking it atop the corpse's remains before stomping it into the ground.
There was something eerily familiar about his actions—they bore a striking resemblance to the Heavenly Demon's methods.
Was it because both men had vengeance etched into their minds? Or perhaps their thought processes were simply alike. Maybe, aside from their differing worldviews, they shared more similarities than differences.
He returned the corpse—once a man who had refused to be tainted by evil—back to the earth.
He had no desire to study the body, nor any intention of repurposing the shattered sword. There was always the risk of corruption, of being influenced by the dark energies of the Demonic Path.
Returning it to the earth was the cleanest solution. Especially since this wasn't just any sword—it was a Demon Sword, one that resonated with its wielder.
The night he killed one of the Sword Demon's subordinates...
Dan Woo-sung dreamed of his past life's battles, reliving them like nightmares on loop. Was it regret weighing on him? Or perhaps some lingering malevolence from the sword's dark energy?
He couldn't tell.
Regardless, he spent the night locked in combat, replaying the fight as if analyzing every move.
This time, he fought far more efficiently.
He deliberately targeted the eyes with relentless precision. The stolen swords were either driven into the ground with infused internal energy or hurled as far away as possible. In one scenario, he obliterated all twelve subordinates before facing off against a man he presumed to be the Sword Demon. The moment he seized an opening, he drove two fingers straight into the man's eyes.
Squelch—
A horrifying sound.
Then, his abdomen pierced, Dan Woo-sung collapsed—only for the battle to reset as if nothing had happened.
A vicious nightmare.
This time, he used his Lightning Step Technique to break free from the encirclement, maintaining distance while darting in and out of combat. As the situation unfolded, the presumed Sword Demon intervened much sooner than before.
The dream twisted into chaos, skipping through time.
At one point, after slaughtering every swordsman in his path, Dan Woo-sung collapsed from exhaustion. A man in violet robes approached slowly, laughter bubbling from his lips.
"Fist King, you fight like a rabid beast."
Words he'd heard in his past life. Back then, it had been spoken by a swordsman—but in this dream, it was different.
Yet the outcome remained the same.
The man reached out as if he'd been waiting for this moment, seizing Dan Woo-sung's head in his grip.
Dan Woo-sung couldn't move. The paralysis between dream and reality felt disturbingly similar to actual exhaustion.
Then—his eyes snapped open.
"Damn it..."
He rose, drank water, and tried to decipher the dream's meaning. It wasn't just a simple premonition of defeat.
The nightmare's true master wasn't the Sword Demon—it was the man in violet robes.
His behavior, always lurking and observing, had unsettled Dan Woo-sung from the start.
It wasn't just him being watched—even the Sword Demon's subordinates occasionally received the same chilling gaze.
The feeling was absurd but unmistakable:
"Who should I devour first?"
Applying demonic arts to this scenario provided an answer.
"Does he possess an energy-draining demonic technique...?"
Both the presumed Sword Demon and the violet-robed man exuded an aura of absolute malevolence, as if their very souls were steeped in evil.
Sleep now completely evading him, Dan Woo-sung changed clothes and left the Silver River Merchant Group.
The cold night air greeted him as he wandered aimlessly, eventually arriving outside Baek Yak's lodgings. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the streets.
Only then did his turbulent mind finally settle. He planned to walk endlessly, waiting for Baek Yak until dawn.
A thought struck him:
Without a fortuitous encounter, it was unlikely he'd grow significantly stronger anytime soon.
And he wasn't the only one.
Cheol Myung-ho, Sa Ma-geuk, Lee Ja-eon—even the Murim Alliance's leader—were all in the same boat.
Relying solely on luck wasn't an option. A man couldn't depend on fortune alone.
Which meant his path was clear.
Day by day, he had to push forward, growing stronger through sheer effort. The fact that Baek Yak—a rare master of Extreme Yin—stood by his side was itself a stroke of luck, a blessing.
As dawn broke, Baek Yak finally emerged from her lodgings.
She stared at Dan Woo-sung, sensing he'd been waiting for her all night.
"How long have you been here?"
The moment he saw her, it was as if dark clouds had lifted. He was certain now—breaking the Demon Sword must have left some lingering influence. The negative energy from his nightmares had completely vanished.
Dan Woo-sung smiled.
"About two hours."
Baek Yak's eyes widened like a startled rabbit as she approached.
"Did you not sleep at all?"
"I killed one of the Sword Demon's subordinates yesterday. Had some nightmares too. Let's talk while we walk."
"Understood."
As they headed toward Yangping Lake, Dan Woo-sung recounted the previous night's battle in detail.
Baek Yak listened silently, nodding occasionally—then suddenly grabbed his hand.
Partly out of affection, partly because...
She channeled her Extreme Yin energy while Dan Woo-sung unleashed his Extreme Yang, their hands remaining clasped. Along the way, he formed spheres of lightning, which she froze solid. She conjured a single white flower of Extreme Yin, which he shattered with a bolt.
They were an unusual pair.
Training and romance intertwined seamlessly.
Lightning and frost in harmony.
Extreme Yang and Extreme Yin in balance.
Soon, Yangping Lake froze over before splitting apart in jagged lightning patterns. Baek Yak encased Dan Woo-sung's lightning barrier entirely in ice.
Now was the time to reveal the secret techniques they'd been holding back.
Unveiling one's martial techniques was akin to baring one's soul.
Dan Woo-sung waited patiently for Baek Yak's decision, in no rush. For now, he was simply grateful she made his nightmares vanish without a trace.
Cheol Myung-ho was still swinging his Black Iron Umbrella—but now, he had actual targets.
Disciples of the Eight Dragons Sect.
He'd started sparring with low-level martial artists, but now he faced the sect's deputy leaders. After consuming the elixir, even they struggled against him.
Not because his swordsmanship was exceptional.
Cheol Myung-ho still relied on three moves: overhead smash, horizontal slash, and thrust. But through daily sparring, he'd learned to minimize hits by moving desperately, like a cornered beast.
His adaptability had improved drastically.
Plus, the Black Iron Umbrella's weight ensured he never lost ground in live combat.
CLANG!
Nothing delighted him more than seeing his opponents strain to block his strikes. It was as if he'd become addicted to smashing downward.
The essence of swordsmanship lies in the overhead strike—he'd grown fond of that idea.
Ha Jeon-ik, who'd returned after tracking the Gold-Silver Assassin Society, watched with quiet astonishment.
"Young Master Cheol, you've improved remarkably."
At first, he'd thought this training absurd—no one in the martial world practiced like this. Yet Cheol Myung-ho, wielding only three basic techniques, was steadily growing stronger against his subordinates.
Ha Jeon-ik tilted his head.
"Fascinating."
Drenched in sweat, Cheol Myung-ho flashed a confident grin at Ha Jeon-ik.
"Sect Leader Ha, let's spar."
Ha Jeon-ik raised a hand in refusal.
"Another time."
Internally, he scoffed.
"This brat's lost his mind."
Cheol Myung-ho pestered him.
"Come on, let's go. What, scared? Can't be. The mighty Eight Dragons Sect Leader..."
Ha Jeon-ik snorted.
"Scared...? Young Master Cheol, even defeating deputy leaders is an incredible leap. Captains will be tougher. You'll need another fifty thousand swings before you're ready. I'll spar with you then."
Even Ha Jeon-ik had started counting Cheol Myung-ho's repetitions.
Cheol Myung-ho lowered his umbrella, then clasped his fists in salute.
"Sect Leader Ha, I challenge you. I am Cheol Myung-ho, the Poison Fox—a scoundrel of the martial world. Teach me a lesson."
A vein pulsed on Ha Jeon-ik's forehead.
"Fine. Clear the area."
How hard could it be to beat some sense into him? After ordering his subordinates to vacate the underground training hall, Ha Jeon-ik approached and returned the salute.
"Make your move."
Cheol Myung-ho grinned wildly, shouting "Watch this!" as he charged, swinging his umbrella downward in a vertical slash.
Ha Jeon-ik sidestepped to the right, evading the strike—then drove a spinning kick straight into Cheol Myung-ho's face.
WHAM!
Cheol Myung-ho's body spun like a top before crashing against the far wall with a thud, briefly knocked unconscious.
Silence filled the training hall.
A subordinate stifled a laugh. Ha Jeon-ik jerked his chin toward Cheol Myung-ho.
"Wake him up. This idiot—who does he think he's challenging?"
"Yes, Sect Leader."
Cheol Myung-ho groaned awake, clutching his battered face as he staggered to his feet. His dazed expression was priceless.
Ha Jeon-ik smirked.
"You alright, Young Master Cheol?"
Cheol Myung-ho burst out laughing.
"Did I black out? Me? Cheol Myung-ho? What'd you hit me with? Your foot? Damn, nice kick."
Ha Jeon-ik chuckled.
"Indeed. Rest up, then try the captains—"
Cheol Myung-ho swung his umbrella wildly, advancing again.
"Let's go again."
The man had no fear. Ha Jeon-ik's smile faded.
"Young Master Cheol, you want another beating?"
Cheol Myung-ho nodded vigorously, eyes blazing.
"Hell yeah. What, you scared? My whole body's itching for more!"
Ha Jeon-ik shot to his feet.
"This brat's got the nerve to speak casually just because he's the Grand Prince's friend. You're decades younger than me!"
Cheol Myung-ho retorted:
"I'm gonna be the Nine Dragons Sect Leader—of course I'll talk how I want. Come at me, you bastard. The day you lose to me is the day you're stripped of your title!"
Ha Jeon-ik's face flushed crimson.
"You insane little—!"
He lunged forward with swift footwork, aiming a push-kick at Cheol Myung-ho, who stood perfectly still. It felt strange—as if Cheol Myung-ho was waiting for the right moment.
At the last second, Cheol Myung-ho twisted aside, countering the kick with a thrust of his umbrella.
THWACK!
Once again, the gap in their internal energy sent Cheol Myung-ho flying into the wall—but this time, he braced himself, slamming a palm against it to cushion the impact.
Ha Jeon-ik's foot stung, leaving him momentarily speechless.
Cheol Myung-ho pointed his umbrella at him.
"Hey, Eight Dragons Sect Leader. If this were a real sword, your foot'd have a hole in it. Admit it. Call it a draw. How's a guy with a hole in his foot gonna fight? Wanna go again?"
Ha Jeon-ik stared blankly before laughing in disbelief. Then, in a low voice, he ordered a subordinate:
"Bring me a wooden sword."
Once armed, he leveled it at Cheol Myung-ho.
"Listen here, Cheol Myung-ho. Take your beating and don't go crying to the Grand Prince."
Cheol Myung-ho bared his teeth in a grin.
"You think I'm a kid? Snitch after getting my ass kicked?"
Ha Jeon-ik's temper flared. The bastard had a talent for infuriating people. The two squared off, then charged like bulls intent on smashing each other's skulls.
CRACK!
Their wooden swords collided—then split clean down the middle. Cheol Myung-ho went flying once more, skidding across the floor.
Ha Jeon-ik stared at the broken sword.
Only now did he understand why the Silver River Merchant Group's Grand Prince had such high hopes for this man.
When he looked up, Cheol Myung-ho was already rising, one corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.
This man was a rare breed of madman.
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