Inheritor of the Wolf's Blood (6)
'Fighting well.'
Yeongdo sincerely admired him as he exchanged blows with Mancheon. He didn't know who his master was, but they'd taught him right.
Poking the Dog Toward Heaven — Strikes the dog with the staff, sending it skyward.
Manchon's staff thrust toward Yeongdo ceaselessly battered away the demonic claws aiming for his heart, throat, and vital points. It didn't allow him to close the distance any further. No flashiness, but solid roots and few openings. Especially excellent at vital point defense.
Yeongdo rolled his eyes, analyzing the situation and observing Mancheon.
Yeongdo's strengths were his quick wits and sharp situational awareness. The most essential skill for surviving in the wild wasn't a massive build, powerful jaws, or swift legs. It was the judgment to gauge whether an opponent was stronger or weaker than you.
His animal instincts told him: In body, inner energy, experience—Yeongdo surpassed Mancheon in everything.
However...
He predicted the path of the staff swinging down at his head and dodged sideways. A powerful blow loaded with strength, but too straight-line. Simple.
So he thought.
Slanted Dog Back Strike — Delivers a diagonal blow to the dog's back.
...Manchon's staff technique bridged that gap. The trajectory of the staff, which had struck like lightning in a straight line, curved naturally like flowing water, slicing diagonally toward Yeongdo's neck.
He'd moved to dodge the attack, but it created an opening instead.
No choice—he raised his left arm. Sacrifice the arm to protect the neck.
Crack! Enduring the pain as his arm cracked, he deflected the staff.
He widened the distance, frowning as he scrutinized Mancheon's staff. His instincts, which had carried him through countless brushes with death, screamed: That staff art is dangerous.
Not a technique from the Nine Great Sects like Shaolin, Wudang, or Huashan. Not some yin-yang, taiji enlightenment pursuit. This was a technique made purely to smash something.
The staff assaulted from multiple angles without giving time to think, precisely targeting sore spots like a bastard. No big hits, but it gradually seized control of the fight. Strikes poured down like an unstoppable river. Pure, merciless clubbing.
He felt like a dog dragged before a dogcatcher.
...But that didn't make Mancheon strong.
After all, as a martial artist, Mancheon had a fatal weakness.
Yeongdo licked his lips, eyeing Mancheon's limping right leg. He unleashed his hidden footwork to exploit the opening and evade.
Glides in like a ghost to seize advantageous positions, clings like a shadow to target the blind spot of the slow-reacting right leg.
Observe the enemy, strike the weakness. That's how an assassin fights.
'Fuck—this guy's fighting like a total dick.'
To sum up my current situation simply: Some rotten Demonic Cult bastard's poking me with his fingertip going "Stab! Stab!!" while I'm grunting "Urk—Tekkai (Iron Block)!!" and holding on.
One word: Screwed.
Even when I try to widen the distance for Dog-Beating Stick Technique, the ghost clings right on. The momentum that had slowly shifted my way evaporates like steam.
"What's wrong? Didn't you say you'd kill me?"
Now fully convinced of victory, he grinned twistedly, taunting me. I glared at Yeongdo, panting.
"Hah—hah—."
I wiped the blood trickling down my cheek with my sleeve instead of sweat.
Honestly, I got why he was so cocky. We were even only at the start during the probing. Once the real fight began, he targeted my right leg's blind spot, stabbing and slashing everywhere until my whole body was ragged.
"I believe anyone who fails their given role deserves death. What's your take?"
"...That's some retarded ideology."
"Compared to your leg, it seems perfectly normal though?"
At my sharp retort, Yeongdo smirked, circling me slowly like a cat toying with an exhausted mouse.
"A martial artist's role is to be strong. Nothing more pathetic than a weak-ass martial artist. And a big brother's role is to protect his cute little sister."
Manchon's amber eyes glared silently, filling Yeongdo with ecstasy as he kept yapping.
Taunt the prey that's as good as caught before killing it. Fun hobby.
"Leg cripple, too weak to even protect his sister. Worth keeping alive?"
No need to answer that crap. I steadied my breath and raised my staff, measuring distance and preparing the form despite the pain.
Even on the verge of collapsing in tatters, nothing changed.
Topple the Demonic Cult, save my sister. That was Sima Mancheon's duty and role as Sima Yeomhwa's big brother.
And that unflinching attitude pissed Yeongdo off.
His face hardened coldly. Demonic energy cloaked his hand as he closed in.
"Let's see how long that smug bravado holds."
No need to target blind spots anymore. He was already weakened to hell.
With power incomparable to the start, he slapped aside the staff with his hand blade.
Snap it in two.
Clang! The cleanly severed staff shaft spun in the air.
Matching it, Yeongdo spun his body. A rotation-powered roundhouse kick slammed into the cocky pup's gut.
"Gahk—!!"
Unable to withstand the inner energy-infused kick, Mancheon's body flew like it'd been hit by a dump truck.
Soaring like a shuttlecock, he smashed through the door behind and burst out of the flour-filled warehouse.
Manchon's eyes gleamed. The gambler's gaze refusing to yield.
The form Mancheon had intended wasn't a staff technique from the start. It was lightness skill.
The instant the attack connected, he unleashed lightness skill and leaped backward. That a door, not a wall, was behind was calculated too.
'...This is my escape route!'
The warehouse, filled corner to corner with flour from the brawl. Conditions met.
The real fight started now.
"...Hah!"
Ridiculous, thought Yeongdo.
Where'd all that momentum go? He looked down at Mancheon crawling away, pissing himself.
Liquid trailed from his leg in a long line. No sight more pathetic.
"Fits a half-assed leg cripple who can't protect his sister. Why the bravado from the start?"
Ignoring the chilling sneer from behind, Mancheon kept crawling to maximize distance from the warehouse. His limping leg didn't stop.
Silently fulfilling his role and duty, pressing forward.
"...Around 200,000 BC, humans hunted mammoths."
"...What?"
Yeongdo frowned at the incomprehensible words.
"No magic, no aura, no martial arts. Just stones and wood to take down a 5-meter, 12-ton monster."
"Crazy bastard?"
"Driven by the desire for meat, they challenged and succeeded against mammoths hundreds of times stronger than humans."
A resolute voice, unbelievable from someone pissing and fleeing, echoed.
"Humanity's... true strength isn't some special power like martial arts...."
He didn't stop speaking. Didn't stop advancing.
"Human strength is the will to achieve something! The resolve to overcome fear! Will and resolve pave the path to victory!!"
"...What the hell are you babbling?"
Yeongdo coldly interrogated the back of the nonsensically ranting Mancheon. Inside, Mancheon burst out laughing.
Truly righteous words. Hell if I even know what I'm babbling.
He casually glanced back, checking the situation.
Yeah... Just making noise to draw eyes to me, hiding the sparks approaching the warehouse along the oil trail from the hidden oil drum.
Yeongdo's body froze.
In Mancheon's face as he turned his head, he saw a wolf.
The wolf's backward glance.
Wolf's Backward Glance — The face of the monster wolf that claimed the world, like Sima Yi.
Once, when Sima Yi had toppled Wei and seized near-unrivaled power, a Demonic Cult elder visited to expand the sect's influence. No record of their talk remained.
What was recorded in the Demonic Cult texts—
"Never show front or back to the Wolf's Backward Glance."
—The elder's warning upon returning with white hair.
One line.
Goosebumps prickled his skin. Instinct screamed: No idea what he's scheming, but staying here is dangerous. Pull back now.
But in that instant, an intangible energy crushed his momentarily lax body.
His knees slammed into the ground.
Pressure — Only for this moment. Mancheon staggered up, unleashing footwork. The long-suppressed energy erupted, slamming his leg into the earth with world-stopping resolve. Heavy, scorching Bright King energy boiled fiercely. Crushes the evil spirit.
"Aa—wha, what the—"
To the Demonic Cult bastard rolling his eyes in confusion under the crushing pressure, Mancheon spoke as kindly as to an idiot.
"Gonna take you down and protect my sister. That's it from the start."
He eyed the embers crawling through the broken door into the warehouse. Steeled his resolve.
Grinned refreshingly and dropped the iconic line.
"Resolve set? Mine is."
The flour filling the warehouse met the embers.
No cheers of victory or wails of the demon—just the massive explosion drowning all.