Chapter 89: The Poison Fox, Like Lü Bu
The Poison Fox, Like Lü Bu
Episode 89: The Poison Fox, Like Lü Bu
"Does it have a name?"
After Mad God finished his demonstration, Cheol Myung-ho asked.
Mad God nodded and answered in a serious tone.
"This is the Fox Spear Technique."
For someone of Mad God's caliber, creating a spear technique was no difficult task. Moreover, he had spent the entire journey amusing himself by watching Cheol Myung-ho train inside the carriage. Thus, crafting a spear style tailored specifically for Cheol Myung-ho was effortless.
Cheol Myung-ho stared at Mad God intently before responding, his voice slightly choked.
"I like the name."
Even to Cheol Myung-ho's eyes, the Fox Spear Technique wasn't overly complex. It was a style that suited him perfectly—stripped down to its essentials, barely surpassing the Threefold Sword Technique in difficulty.
But Cheol Myung-ho had already swung his weapon three hundred and twenty thousand times—thrusting, slashing, and cleaving. The spear technique Mad God taught didn't feel simple so much as it felt like an overwhelming force condensed into its purest form.
As if to say: Master this much, and it will be enough.
Instead, Mad God meticulously explained the rotational force generated by the spear's length and weight.
"Understanding the spear means recognizing the variables created by its length and using them to your advantage. Your Black Iron Umbrella is gripped at the end. But when wielding a spear, you'll feel its weight differently. In battle, your grip will shift—sometimes short, sometimes long. Apply the Threefold Sword Technique where you can, and fill the rest with the Fox Spear Technique I've taught you."
Mad God spun the Heaven-Piercing Halberd effortlessly between his fingers, the weapon whirling without ever leaving his grasp. Even this simple display of spear-handling seemed impossible for Cheol Myung-ho to replicate.
But this was Mad God deliberately slowing down for demonstration.
When he accelerated, the halberd spun with such ferocity that it could deflect any hidden weapon.
"Once you grasp the principles of how weight moves, mastery will follow."
With a click, Mad God stopped spinning the halberd and tossed it to Cheol Myung-ho.
Cheol Myung-ho caught it with both hands, stood, and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Brother."
Mad God then asked:
"Have you ever used a sickle to cut grass?"
Cheol Myung-ho nodded.
"Yes."
"What was the stupidest mistake you could make while using it?"
"Swinging too hard, hitting a rock, and having it bounce back—or worse, slicing my own knee."
"If you wield a spear clumsily on horseback, you'll behead your own steed first. A startled horse will throw you off. And then, your enemies will kill you. This is how most deaths in the martial world happen—you die by your own weapon."
It was a warning far more terrifying than any encouragement.
Mad God asked:
"What was your final count?"
"Three hundred twenty thousand, two hundred and three."
Mad God nodded approvingly.
"Good. Keep going. That's your training method. There's nothing wrong with it. Searching for 'meaningful' training is meaningless. Painful repetition is always the right path, no matter the discipline. Fox, reach a million."
Cheol Myung-ho engraved Mad God's words into his heart.
"I will."
Once Mad God vanished, Cheol Myung-ho clutched the Heaven-Piercing Halberd with both hands and laughed like a child. He didn't even know why he was laughing. He just felt... good. Perhaps it was because he had found a purpose in life. With every swing, that purpose grew clearer.
Cheol Myung-ho murmured under his breath:
"I will grow stronger."
The convoy resumed its journey. Initially, it had been a simple escort mission—baiting the Demonic Path while transporting funds for the Murim Alliance. But now, the weakest member of the group, Cheol Myung-ho, had turned the entire trip into a training expedition.
Even Baek Yak's subordinates found Cheol Myung-ho impressive.
At first, they had dismissed him as a rude, arrogant weakling. But there was no denying the intensity of his training. Traveling long distances was exhausting by nature, yet Cheol Myung-ho never stopped swinging the Heaven-Piercing Halberd atop his horse.
The moment they left Gold Mountain behind, an endless wilderness stretched before them.
Since many travelers and escort groups departed Gold Mountain after enjoying its comforts, the wilderness belonged to the horse bandits. Their appearance was hardly surprising—no matter how peaceful the world seemed, bandits never truly vanished.
Even as the bandits emerged on the horizon, Cheol Myung-ho continued swinging his halberd and remarked:
"Bandits."
Dan Woo-sung pushed aside the carriage curtain and watched the dust cloud kicked up by the approaching riders.
"Let's stop."
The drivers slowed the horses, coaxing them to a halt. Dan Woo-sung was the first to step out, addressing Baek Yak and Mad God:
"Please rest here."
The bandits were so numerous that the horizon darkened with their approach, dust swirling thickly in their wake.
Cheol Myung-ho sized them up and muttered:
"Over two hundred."
The bandits halted before Dan Woo-sung's convoy, waiting as a few men raised their banners.
Yellow Dogs and Sand Death—they were written in bold strokes.
This wasn't just a single bandit group but an alliance.
Dan Woo-sung noted their mismatched attire—unsurprising, given that their clothes were looted plunder. Their weapons were equally varied. Despite the Murim Alliance and Yoo Jung-hong's leadership, how could so many bandits still roam freely?
In a way, it made sense.
To them, Dan Woo-sung's group appeared to be an ordinary escort convoy. These bandits preyed exclusively on the weak, never daring to challenge the Murim Alliance or major factions.
Dan Woo-sung considered dispersing them with a few words infused with Internal Energy—but before he could, a voice laced with power boomed from the bandit ranks:
"Hear this, West Wind Escort Bureau! Leave your cargo and weapons where they are. Board three men to a horse and retreat the way you came—and no one has to die."
Had they stopped there, the naive or cowardly might have complied. But the bandits themselves ruined the illusion by bursting into laughter, confirming that things wouldn't end so peacefully.
Baek Yak's subordinates and Cheol Myung-ho exchanged glances, their expressions unimpressed.
Then Mad God stepped out of the carriage and said to Cheol Myung-ho:
"Fox."
"Yes, Brother."
"Go kill them. I'll watch your back."
Mad God then turned to Dan Woo-sung.
"Eui-je, let's go."
"Understood."
Only three men advanced toward the two hundred bandits. Cheol Myung-ho, still mounted, asked the other two:
"Will you charge with me?"
Since he was the only one on horseback, Dan Woo-sung merely smiled in response.
Mad God chuckled.
"Charge as you please, fight as you please. Who are you worried about?"
Cheol Myung-ho gripped the Heaven-Piercing Halberd, kicked his horse's flanks, and surged forward. Almost immediately, he felt his blood boil—whether from the sheer number of enemies or the presence of his companions racing behind him with Lightfoot Technique.
After three hundred and twenty thousand swings, wielding the halberd posed no difficulty.
The bandits poured forth like a tide.
To them, Cheol Myung-ho seemed like a madman.
Though others followed, he charged alone.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud—!
Just before the lone horse collided with dozens of others, Cheol Myung-ho roared like a general from Romance of the Three Kingdoms:
"I am the Poison Fox, Cheol Myung-ho!"
He yanked the reins, his horse rearing as he leaped into the air—cleaving through a bandit's neck mid-flight before plunging into the horde.
Most bandits wielded sabers, straight swords, or greatswords—rarely spears, as travelers and escorts seldom used them. Cheol Myung-ho steered his horse with his left hand while relentlessly swinging the halberd—thrusting, slashing, deflecting attacks aimed at his steed.
One bandit lunged at his back—only for his head to vanish mid-air.
Splat!
When Cheol Myung-ho glanced back, Mad God stood there as if nothing had happened.
Even in the chaos, Mad God asked like a madman:
"What's the count? Include your swings even in battle."
Cheol Myung-ho had no breath to answer—he could only press forward, halberd flashing. Then, from the left, a deafening crack erupted as a dozen men and their horses were hurled skyward, screaming.
"Gyaaaaah!"
Cheol Myung-ho realized the bandits had encircled the trio in a perfect formation before swarming them.
True to his nature, he spat curses while swinging the halberd—then shuddered involuntarily. He nearly burst out laughing in the midst of slaughter. This was a place where instincts laid bare the soul.
Cheol Myung-ho stifled his laughter and growled through clenched teeth:
"Die."
He acknowledged the emotion surging through him. This was the most exhilarating day of his life. He finally understood why people sought strength, why warriors risked their lives in the martial world.
Nothing was more intoxicating.
Once Dan Woo-sung confirmed Mad God was guarding Cheol Myung-ho's flank, he scanned the battlefield for a wider engagement.
As Mad God had witnessed before, Dan Woo-sung's martial arts resembled the descent of a thunder god.
Dan Woo-sung leaped into the air, his sleeves whipping as white serpents of lightning coiled from his fingertips—splitting into multiple lashes that wrapped around half a dozen heads.
The lightning-charged whips tightened—and screams erupted in unison.
When Dan Woo-sung yanked the whips back, the bandits toppled from their horses—some with shattered limbs, others with crushed skulls. Thirty or forty died in an instant, and the undisciplined horde began scattering from the edges.
Then—
Dan Woo-sung, Mad God, and Cheol Myung-ho accelerated in unison, chasing down the fleeing bandits. None of them were the type to let enemies escape.
Dan Woo-sung soared into the air and unleashed a punch—lightning cascaded, reducing men to unrecognizable shreds of flesh.
Mad God's method was even more horrifying.
To avoid harming Dan Woo-sung or Cheol Myung-ho, he unleashed the Vortex Annihilation from a distance. A bizarre sound echoed across the wilderness—like dozens of lives being sucked into a swirling abyss.
Even Cheol Myung-ho had to rein in his horse and retreat from the devastation.
Sixty fleeing bandits vanished without a trace—only a crater remained where the vortex had struck.
Cheol Myung-ho's hands trembled atop his horse. It wasn't fear but awe that gripped him.
With shaking fingers, he tightened his grip on the halberd and pursued a lone survivor—a man clad in yellow robes, far luckier than his comrades.
Unlike the others, this man carried a massive black greatsword on his back. Even on horseback, Cheol Myung-ho struggled to close the distance—the man was unnaturally fast. A chill crept down his spine.
Realizing he couldn't handle this foe alone, Cheol Myung-ho bellowed:
"Master! Their leader!"
Both Dan Woo-sung and Mad God whipped their heads around—Cheol Myung-ho had called for them simultaneously.
Dust swirled as the two blurred toward him.
Cheol Myung-ho spurred his horse, swinging the halberd at the man's neck—only for the bandit to dodge with a tilt of his head, countering with a spinning kick that sent horse and rider flying.
Wham!
Cheol Myung-ho tumbled through the air, cursing before twisting mid-fall and lunging back into the fray. As he swung the halberd, the bandit drew his greatsword and deflected the strike effortlessly—then pressed the attack with overwhelming force.
Each time the bandit tried to flee, Cheol Myung-ho cut off his escape routes with precise halberd thrusts.
Then Dan Woo-sung and Mad God arrived, watching the duel unfold.
Sparks flew as halberd and greatsword clashed like sworn rivals.
Mad God spoke:
"Fox, you kill him. I won't help."
He could have ended the fight with a flick of his finger—but this was deliberate provocation.
Cheol Myung-ho staggered back, a shallow gash on his shoulder from the greatsword. He steadied himself, gripped the halberd as Mad God had taught him, and charged again.
By now, Mad God's voice no longer reached his ears.
He was lost in battle.