Chapter 137
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: Greenwood King (3)
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One of the Five Kings, the Greenwood King was still ranked low among the Twenty-One Divine Lords. Idle gossips dismissed it as exaggerated rumors inflated by boastful busybodies. That was how poorly the martial world viewed bandits.
Yet when the lid was lifted, the Greenwood King proved insanely strong despite his humble roots. Holding his own against a monster like Mujin was praiseworthy in itself.
'His destructive power is one thing, but what the hell is that speed? For real?'
It was the shared thought of Narin, Cheol-ho, and Yuk-chil. Speed and power didn't scale together. The faster, the lighter; the stronger, the slower. No matter how advanced one's martial arts, they rarely broke this mold. That's why specialists emerged, mastering one domain to its extreme.
Swords alone had fast swords, heavy swords, balanced swords, crushing swords, illusion swords, variant swords. Why make such distinctions otherwise? Transcending realms led to the unity of all arts, mastering everything—but that was rare in practice.
Even at unity, one rarely escaped their roots. Yet these two shattered the basics entirely. Their brutal, formless clash boasted undeniable speed and power, like a unleashed beast battling a specter of the battlefield.
Puk! Puk! Puk!
Strikes pierced their rapid exchange. Each hit rocked Jang Pil-do's body.
Creeeang! Puk! Puaak!
A visceral echo ripped through as red blood sprayed. Narin, Cheol-ho, and Yuk-chil gaped at the relentless fight.
Whoa!
Jang Pil-do's attacks had no fixed form—a mad dragon's thrashing in frenzy. Yet Mujin matched every move. With each assault, Mujin's fists drummed Jang Pil-do's frame.
'No way!'
'Is that even possible?'
'Amazing, Master!'
Block, counter.
That was understandable. But amid mutual attacks, one side took a one-sided beating. It meant countering every strike with his own. Slow exchanges might make sense, but this was blistering pace.
Afterimage offense?
Grasping its meaning, they were stunned speechless.
That speed felt slow to him?
Their perspectives diverged wildly. Looking again, Jang Pil-do was already drenched in blood, rags clinging to his battered form.
Puk!
His face bloomed red from a clean hit. Countering even while fading was impressive. But it didn't faze Mujin, who read every move and hammered vital points mercilessly.
Pupupupuk!
His counters dwindled sharply.
Jang Pil-do's strikes merely cleaved air, while Mujin's were swift and precise. More astonishing: he predicted the next moves flawlessly. He read the flow, dragging Jang Pil-do along.
—What an irritating martial art.
'Isn't it perfect, kaaah!'
—Don't get sentimental. I'll shatter it someday!
'No chance. You know that.'
You never fought Mujin twice. End it in the first clash, with no dragging. Past a certain point, he became someone else entirely.
That was the terror of the War King Art.
Familiarity.
Perfectly piercing insight into the foe.
Even Jang Pil-do's unpredictable fists fell under Mujin's control. He hadn't even gone all-out. Just sparring to sharpen his senses. Now fully tuned, his interest waned.
"Let's end this."
True to his word, Mujin's speed shifted again. He blurred into multiples before their eyes. As his afterimages struck in unison, Jang Pil-do floated midair, defenseless and pummeled.
Kuueueuk!
Blood foam spewed from his mouth, glinting like red petals in the sun.
Kwaaaak!
As he sagged limply, Mujin seized his throat.
Kwadudud!
His grip tightened.
"Try any tricks, and your back becomes your chest."
"......You bastard."
Jang Pil-do regained hazy awareness. He'd aimed for a last gambit, but Mujin was too sharp.
Pupupuk!
Futile resistance only invited more punishment—Mujin thrashed him.
Kuueueuk!
Unrivaled force loaded his fists. Each impact jolted deeply; Jang Pil-do groaned despite himself.
"......Why?"
"Wanna die?"
Mujin's curt question chilled him to the bone. No bluff in that tone. His death today would ripple far, yet Mujin exuded casual arrogance.
'Insane!'
He couldn't fathom why the Zhuge Clan targeted him. Better left untouched. Sending assassins? They were moths to flame, despite their cunning rep.
To kill Mujin, they'd need full mobilization. Suddenly, resentment surged—maybe a Zhuge ploy to discard him.
"I'll spare you...... Khek!"
"Wanna die?" meant "Speak, and live"—or so it flipped.
So why the beating?
Beyond any guard lapse, every undefended spot got hit. But the reason eluded him.
"Speak casually again, and you're dead."
Ah!
An unthinkable reason left him speechless. But to Mujin, it mattered deeply. Greenwood King or not, a bandit was a bandit. He didn't scorn professions, but thieves weren't likable. Hearing half-assed familiarity from one? Infuriating, obviously.
Basic common sense.
Bandits sometimes played hero, but Mujin called bullshit. Roots limited them. No redemption efforts either. People thrived longest on their own stage.
"Talk shit and die, or polite and live?"
A warrior's pride on the line. But dying over words? Public verdict unclear.
Not so strange, really.
Insult an emperor, and you're done.
—You're no emperor.
'Better than any emperor punk.'
Emperors? Born into it, not earned. He respected founders for building empires.
"I'll serve you as brother!"
"Pity."
"No need to court the whip."
"Indeed."
Jang Pil-do folded quick. Politeness saved his neck; no pride worth dying for. Instinct screamed: Mujin could kill him, no joke.
'This should smooth things.'
—Still a thief.
Hwahwahwak!
Neatly split firewood stacked invitingly, flames crackling. A wild boar from the slopes skinned, oiled, skewered, and roasted.
Sizzle!
Dripping fat crisped golden on the fire.
Tents pitched, they gathered before it.
A hulking man, roused by the commotion, slumped by the fire. Bruises everywhere, scabs crusting. He winced at throbbing pains.
"Awake?"
"Thought I was dead, brother."
"Didn't die."
"So I'm alive."
Jang Pil-do was dazed. Defeat stung, but such a rout? First time. Strutting the world like his playground, today he met his match.
"I braced for defeat someday, just not today."
"Braced? Bullshit."
Easy to talk tough.
Humans learn only at the precipice. Don't preach untested advice; no one buys it.
"What are you, brother?"
"Think of me as the world's strongest alive."
......Whoa!
Jang Pil-do deemed himself brazen, but surpassing that? Unimaginable. Casually claiming top dog, far from humble. Yet unknown? Laughable.
"Self-praise doesn't spread."
"Strategic choice?"
"Nice phrasing."
"......Timing's perfect."
Spot-on strategy. The Demonic Cult lurked unseen. Exposing himself handed them leverage. Know your enemy to fight. Self-knowledge helped too.
No fool to gloat and sabotage himself. Prepared for risks, but he'd stack the odds.
Swipe!
Jang Pil-do scanned Mujin's group.
Eyes lingered on Cheol-ho. Age unknown, no shock—but seventeen? Mind-blowing. Future looked exhausting.
Warriors didn't judge by faces. How many seventeen-year-olds matched him in the current scene? Fingers sufficed to count.
"What're you staring at?"
"Figured you for a pretty boy."
"......I'm no playboy!"
"What's wrong with that? Sounds fun."
"One woman suffices!"
Cheol-ho seethed. Face twisted—boar cooking or him?
"Scowl makes you uglier."
"Better than you!"
"I'm no looker, but you win."
Cheol-ho swore two masters for a sec. Lumped Greenwood King with inhuman freaks. Vowed payback someday.
—Must you provoke?
—Look, he's fired up.
—Odd master-disciple pair.
—Says the weirdo.
Mujin had telepathically egged Jang Pil-do on—a master's deep care to motivate Cheol-ho. Constant self-drive forged absolute experts into meat shields...... heroes.
Weird bond to Jang Pil-do. But results dazzled; Cheol-ho shone now—what storms ahead?
'Brother's a typhoon!'
Man or monster? Unclear.
Fighting him firsthand amplified it. Rare full exertion. Losing even in Blood-Eyed Mad Dragon mode? Shocking.
His boasting rang true: world's best.
"How can I serve?"
"No long wind-up—nice. First, my money: all of it."
"Not what Zhuge wants."
"You want it too."
"I ignore petty face-saving."
"Says the pretender."
Zhuge used bandits to kill Mujin, but Jang never intended that. Black Cloud Fortress held symbolic weight despite low bandit status.
Thieves had their code; bandits guarded till the last. Assassinating Mujin risked backlash, internal strife.
Jang reined in-house while probing Zhuge. Even if undesired, they couldn't blame bandits—win-win.
"Using me as shield."
"Yep."
"If I betray?"
"Bandits vanish."
"Ouch, major loss. Opt out."
Meat done, liquor poured. Joking lightly, but truth. Mujin could pull it off casually. Chain of absurdities today: first ever.
"Only you threaten me."
"Better now than later—no cure then."
"Pardon?"
"Don't wander solo. Axe you trust chops your foot."
"Profound words."
"Surado wants bandits."
Jang Pil-do paused mid-bite on boar leg. Publicly, bandits and Yangtze allied. But he knew the hidden power plays.
"Nangnak's no match."
"Not refined enough."
Surado Nangnak, Yangtze Eighteen Strongholds' lord, infamous. His signature Surado Blood Path evoked demonic Asura.
Fame-wise, below Greenwood King—likely in strength too. Greed kept him quiet; timing not ripe.
Strong as Jang was, no match for a group. If Surado sprung a trap, brutal fight inevitable.
"Can't drop guard around you, brother!"
"Blind frenzy optimized isn't invincible. Combat's alive like organisms—instinct alone won't win. Master your madness fully to unleash your art's potential."
Chill raced Jang Pil-do head to toe. His secret, unknown: Blood-Eyed Mad Dragon seemed invincible, but true peak needed perfect control.
"Dragged into headache."
"Quit, feel better."
"I got a shred of loyalty."
"Me too."
Cheol-ho, Narin, Yuk-chil tilted heads. Trusting scraps of loyalty? Shaky pact, ready to shatter. Since when trust people?
'Betrayal incoming?'
—Yup.
Mujin didn't trust either—just following scripted history.
But something forgotten. Pre-departure advice or such.
'What?'
—Don't ask me.
'Feels like I skipped a reminder.'
—Big trouble.