An Interesting Town. Gwak Sung, the Unlucky Strategist of the Dongbeonhoe
Gwak Sung was having a truly difficult day. When he had arrived at Yi Gajang leisurely fanning himself with his hand fan, he had assumed everything would proceed smoothly according to his plan, just as it always had.
But now, he found himself locked in a fierce blood battle with some nameless shorty from Jang Gapae. And this guy was no pushover. Gwak Sung would have to revise his assessment that Jang Gapae was just backed by strong supporters—he also had to admit his information on them was sorely lacking. Where the hell had a powerhouse like this popped up from? And what was with this tenacity?
Slash! The sharp blade of Gwak Sung's sword sliced into the shorty's shoulder. It was a wound shallow enough to brush off, yet deep enough to end the fight if he made a fuss about it. But the shorty didn't care one bit, swinging his longsword even more ferociously.
"You... damn it. You really want to fight to the death?"
"What, trying to act all high and mighty now? We started this, so let's finish it."
Gwak Sung's face twisted once more. Clearly, his skill outmatched the opponent's by half a notch. But the shorty was charging in recklessly, ignoring his own safety. Every exchange left Gwak Sung at a disadvantage, yet the guy kept swinging relentlessly. Psychologically, it was a massive burden, fatigue piling up relentlessly. It was a razor-thin contest—one misstep, and it was the road to the afterlife.
No choice. If you want to die that badly...
Killing intent flickered in his eyes. Gwak Sung decided to unleash his trump card, one he'd been saving. As the opponent's blade aggressively closed in, he deliberately let it graze his skin just a bit, then slowly slowed the motion of the fan in his left hand. A meticulously laid trap, intricate and subtle.
And sure enough, convinced he'd wounded him, the shorty's attacks focused on the area the fan was supposed to defend. Just as Gwak Sung smirked inwardly in triumph and the shorty, sweating profusely while ramping up his assault, plunged deep into his range—
"Duck!"
A sharp shout rang out from somewhere. As if entranced, the shorty snapped his head down, and whoosh! Gwak Sung's hidden trump card—a blade suddenly protruding from the folded fan—grazed past the shorty's crown by a hair's breadth.
Not only was a blade concealed in what looked like an ordinary fan unexpected, but that swift motion from his left arm would have been impossible if it had truly been injured.
Damn it!
Gwak Sung clicked his tongue, having missed the perfect chance to end the opponent's life. Without that shout, he could have finished it. Who the hell had ruined his decisive moment?
He spotted the culprit in the shorty's equally stunned gaze. None other than Yi Gajang's third young master—the one who had lured them both here, forcing this unavoidable clash.
That infuriating brat was thumbing his nose downward, jeering at him with a drawn-out boo.
"Dirty tricks are no good! Fight fair and square!"
Gwak Sung was utterly dumbfounded.
Did that punk kid just read my move...?
It was unbelievable. His technique involved subtle shifts woven into orthodox movements—something even seasoned masters with countless battles under their belts rarely detected. And it wasn't luck. Every time he tried to deploy his trump card again, Yi Jinpyeong's warnings pulled the shorty from the brink of death.
After two or three repetitions, Gwak Sung's rage boiled over. Forgetting he was in a desperate duel, he bellowed hoarsely.
"Shut that bastard up! Kill him!"
That was the moment. The mad third young master shouted again.
"Mid-stance, Gwi-gok acupoint!"
Chill! Goosebumps erupted across Gwak Sung's skin. What Yi Jinpyeong had just warned about wasn't his own technique—it was the opponent's. The shorty's sword was precisely slicing toward the center of his body. But how could it target the Gwi-gok point from there?
Was he seeing something Gwak Sung had missed? His body reacted faster than his mind. The sword thrusting to deflect the blade hesitated, and instinctively, he twisted his body aside—
At that instant, Jang Gapae's shorty slammed his own wrist down, abruptly altering his sword path. The massive longsword twisted at an eerie angle, slashing precisely where Gwak Sung's shoulder had been moments ago.
"!!!!"
Startled, Gwak Sung snapped his fan open with a flap and wildly swung the blade to create distance. His chest went cold. That technique the opponent had just used—striking his own joint to force a change—was something he'd never seen or even heard of before.
Without Yi Jinpyeong's warning, his arm would have been severed for sure.
The shorty stood frozen, sword halted, staring blankly. His gaze turned to Yi Jinpyeong, face full of disbelief. Gwak Sung understood his shock. Just as his own secret move had been countered, the shorty's sure-kill strike had been foiled too.
The shorty muttered.
"What... how..."
Yi Jinpyeong grinned broadly.
"Now it's fair, right? What's the holdup? Keep fighting."
"What the hell kind of—huh!"
As the baffled shorty let out a hollow laugh, this time Gwak Sung charged first, giving no quarter. Fan blade unfurled sharply, sword sweeping wide to press the attack. His pride was wounded. Surviving thanks to someone else's advice? What the hell was that crazy kid thinking? Why interfere when they could finish each other off? And above all—how was it possible?
He couldn't comprehend it. All he wanted was to end this sticky brawl and grab the boy by the collar.
The shorty desperately parried with his longsword, but seeing Gwak Sung's savage expression, he grinned instead.
"Now that's more like it!"
Sweeping his sword wide for protection, he bellowed wah! His eyes flashed wide, body seeming to swell as he pushed his power to the limit. No more holding back—pure intent to kill.
The shorty's arm joints spasmed, tracing bizarre trajectories. It was the same technique that had nearly severed Gwak Sung's shoulder earlier. He wasn't caught off guard now that he'd seen it once, but it remained threatening and unpredictable.
The fight dragged on. In that razor-edge tension, like walking a cliff—
Gwak Sung poured everything in. No more tricks. Even his purpose here faded from mind. Qi surged from his dantian, flooding every corner of his body. This was a clash of swords and blades, but also of their very lives.
Each direct clash shook their bodies. Gritting teeth, enduring, unleashing all they had.
"Good, great!"
The boy's clapping echoed. Admiration or mockery? No telling. But neither had bandwidth for distractions anymore.
Sweat flew, blood splattered everywhere. The world quieted to their heaving breaths. A trance state.
Suddenly, the fan barely blocking the sword momentum snapped in two. Seizing the gap, the shorty's blade sliced toward Gwak Sung's waist.
Gwak Sung had two choices: take some damage and retreat, or thrust his nearly-there sword into the shorty's throat.
In the frozen space where the world halted...
Gwak Sung peered deep into the shorty's eyes. He saw the flicker of hesitation. Relief washed over him.
I'm faster. He'll back off for sure.
Even if the shorty withdrew now, he couldn't fully block. Victory would be Gwak Sung's.
Confident, he drove the sword deeper. But then, the shorty's eyes changed. Resolved, unyielding. His blade didn't stop.
Damn it!!!
Too late to retreat now. Mutual destruction. Yangbae-gu-sang. The term flashed in his mind. Here? Now? Against some nameless foe? Dizzying.
That instant. In the sluggishly flowing time, something moved on another plane. A cool breeze, and...
Suddenly, the boy appeared between them. One hand pushed the flat of the longsword aside; the other yanked Gwak Sung's sleeve holding the sword.
Full-force strikes, yet he slipped between them effortlessly, leisurely. Time resumed.
Bam bam bam!!!
Weapons veered, artfully missing vitals. Shorty and Gwak Sung leaped back. One clutched his belly, the other his throat—the spots nearly pierced moments ago.
The boy stood between them, smirking.
"That's enough. No need to kill each other, right?"
"......"
"One-on-one's done. Now gang up!"
The two warriors said nothing. A silent glance exchanged consent. No more fight left. No major wounds, but utterly exhausted. Inner energy and stamina depleted, cherished clothes torn to rags.
But more than that... they had no desire to swing weapons before the boy. Especially after witnessing his inexplicable movement.
Blood-soaked from head to toe, the shorty glanced between Yi Jinpyeong and Gwak Sung, then grinned.
"Dongjeong Lake. What an interesting town. See you next time."
No lingering attachment, he turned away. His Jang Gapae underlings hesitated but followed hastily without a word, fleeing Yi Gajang.
Yi Jinpyeong had no intent to stop them. Just a smirk and a shrug.
Gwak Sung watched blankly, then shouted as realization hit.
"Wait! What's your name? What's your rank in Jang Gapae?!"
From beyond the wall, the departing shorty replied.
"Who cares about names or ranks? For a guy who might die anytime."
Thud thud thud... The Jang Gapae thugs vanished, shaking the ground.
Now only Yi Gajang and Dongbeonhoe remained.
"A shorty who knows when to retreat. I like him!"
Yi Jinpyeong nodded approvingly. Gwak Sung glared, barely holding his trembling body. Just looking at the kid stoked fury.
But unlike his pre-fight vow, he couldn't charge. Questions burned, but he wanted no words with him. Not today, anyway.
"...We're pulling out."
Dongbeonhoe warriors packed up. One subordinate timidly asked about the rice sacks piled in the corner.
Yi Jinpyeong brazenly declared.
"Gifts stay behind, right? Taking back what you gave is tacky."
Rage surged again. Urk— A metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Internal injury.
Ptooey! He spat blood, but it mixed with thick saliva, splattering his clothes.
Seeing it, Yi Jinpyeong burst out laughing.
"Ugh, you filthy cur. Get lost already!"