It's Not a Fight
The warriors of Chwi Hwa Bang jumped in shock. Yi Jinpyeong smirked.
Heogong Seopmul. A fine technique. But Heogong Seopmul required at least peak-level inner energy to execute, so it was utter nonsense for someone who had just reached Geunlip—no matter how profound his enlightenment—to pull it off already.
What he had unleashed was Pungsin Jigyeol, merely borrowing a bit of the wind energy that enveloped his body. He had told his brothers it wasn't much help in a real fight—but that was only because the technique itself lacked raw destructive power. Depending on how it was used, Pungsin Jigyeol offered endless possibilities. Just like altering the trajectory of those hidden weapons moments ago.
Chwi Go-gae, struck with terror, hurriedly released his whip and rolled across the ground. In that instant, the whip fell into Yi Jinpyeong's hands.
"Damn it!"
To cover Chwi Go-gae's opening, the other two intensified their assault. Even if they mistook Yi Jinpyeong's move for the advanced supreme art Heogong Seopmul and lost their will to fight, these three showed no sign of retreat—they were utterly focused on the battle at hand.
'Not bad at all.'
A world he hadn't seen in a century. There were more decent fellows than expected.
But liking them and fighting were two different things. He stretched the captured whip taut between both hands, then precisely aligned it with the tip of Mae Cheong-ju's lightning-fast sword thrust.
Snap—
The whip snapped in two. Meanwhile, Chwi Go-gae, now weaponless, drew a dagger from his bosom and swiftly rejoined the triangular formation. Not relying solely on his main weapon was good, and his determination to maintain unity with his comrades was even better.
"How long do you plan to just dodge?!"
Jeok An-ho's twin blades slashed at his midsection. A valid point. He was planning to change things up from now on anyway.
He thrust his palm toward the fiercely charged blades. It looked like he was trying to block sharp steel with his bare hand.
"!!!!"
It wasn't bare. A length of whip was now tightly wrapped around Yi Jinpyeong's hand. He had snatched it with this exact purpose in mind.
His leather-wrapped palm deflected the blade at an angle as he stepped forward boldly. By flowing with the enemy's momentum, no fancy footwork or lightness skill was needed. Good eyes and guts were enough.
Yi Jinpyeong plunged deep into Jeok An-ho's guard. Jeok An-ho's eyes widened like saucers as his chest opened up vulnerably, and Yi Jinpyeong grinned, driving his right fist forward.
Thud!
"Gahk!"
Jeok An-ho screamed and tumbled backward. Mae Cheong-ju and Chwi Go-gae, witnessing their comrade's fall, desperately filled the gap in their formation with grim resolve.
But then—Jeok An-ho, whom they'd thought done for, sprang back up and rejoined the formation, swinging his twin blades wildly.
"You alright?!"
Jeok An-ho roared as he lashed out ferociously.
"I can take it! It's nothing!"
Meanwhile, Yi Jinpyeong closed in on Mae Cheong-ju. A sword flashed from Mae Cheong-ju's waist once more.
Whoosh!
The blade grazed Yi Jinpyeong's shoulder, and at the same instant, his fist slammed into Mae Cheong-ju's solar plexus.
Thud!
This time, Mae Cheong-ju endured it without falling, standing firm. He shouted excitedly.
"I see! This guy's attacks are only third-rate!"
Hope lit up the three warriors' faces. The enemy's strikes were bearable after all, and their own blades were inching closer to his body. If they could just hold out and land one solid hit, victory was possible, right?
Gang Ryong watched the fight with bulging eyes. He saw the three warriors fall one by one—only to spring back up and fight on.
The Third Young Master shouted that his punches were nothing, and they pressed their assault with renewed vigor. Bucktoothed Chief Steward Gwak Yeonyong stomped his feet in frustration.
"No way! The young master's punches aren't working?!"
"As if!"
Gang Ryong snorted. Gwak Yeonyong, who rarely took hits from Jinpyeong due to his favoritism and constant debt-collecting errands, wouldn't know. How much those fists hurt.
"Then what the hell is going on... And why isn't the Third Young Master using a weapon?!"
Gang Ryong said nothing. Worrying about Yi Jinpyeong was for amateurs. Better to memorize every single move.
He vaguely sensed it. Unlike his usual style, Yi Jinpyeong was dragging this out—and there was meaning behind it.
Sandwiched among the three, Yi Jinpyeong darted in and out of their spaces. Razor-sharp blades nicked his body here and there, tearing his clothes into fluttering rags.
But the tears were just fabric—his skin remained unscratched. He danced on the knife's edge, never forgetting to plant a fist in their exposed bellies whenever they yielded space.
"Aha!"
Gang Ryong finally got it, leaping to his feet—only to collapse from a wave of pain.
"Aigoo, Brother Gang! You okay?!"
"Urgh... Heh heh heh!"
"Crying one second, laughing the next... This is bad! Must've messed up his head too!"
Groaning in agony, Gang Ryong laughed grotesquely. He had realized what Yi Jinpyeong's movements meant.
It was an extension of what he himself had tried against Jeok An-ho. Though the results were worlds apart...
'I get it. He's teaching me. For my sake!'
As if sensing his burning gaze, Yi Jinpyeong spoke clearly amid the tangle of foes.
"Gang Ryong, you've got sharp eyes and tough hide. Passion too, and above all, talent. All you lack is time. The time you've wasted so far..."
Thud!
Another warrior ate a punch from Yi Jinpyeong. They charged again, clueless to their mistake. It was still bearable. Just one good hit, that's all they needed.
"You need a strategy that maximizes your strengths. What you figured out earlier is part of it. The kind of fight others hate most—relentlessly burrowing into their guard. No matter the damage you take, you land a heavier blow..."
Whoosh—whoosh—
Twin blades flew in succession. A sword blade whistled past his throat by a hair.
Yi Jinpyeong deflected their strikes by a fraction, shattering their spacing and swinging fists repeatedly.
Thud! Thud-thud!
"Your old朴刀 suits you well enough. But something suits you even better. Clinging like a leech, smashing their distance, going for the kill..."
Each time he paused, the three warriors shuddered.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
After pummeling them gleefully, Yi Jinpyeong raised his whip-wrapped hands.
"The answer is bare-knuckle brawling."
Goosebumps prickled Gang Ryong's skin. His new master, Yi Jinpyeong, had personally shown him what he'd need to survive in this turbulent jianghu.
"Young master...!"
The man Gang Ryong choked up.
But worry crept in too.
"Against real jianghu masters, though, brawling would shred my body. And to deal meaningful damage, I'd need massive inner energy, right?"
"Oh? You get it."
Yi Jinpyeong chuckled heartily.
"That's why Yi Gajang needs to get rich quick. I've got places to be, but feeding elixirs to my brothers and you? The coffers won't fill themselves."
"H-hep... Elixirs for me...? Yes, sir!"
Gang Ryong jolted upright, bellowing his response. The promise of precious elixirs choked him up again.
As they chatted amiably...
The Chwi Hwa Bang trio's blades had gone still. Sweat dripped from them as they stood with weapons lowered.
The Chwi Hwa Bang trio slunk away, shoulders slumped. Now only the Yi Family group remained on the third floor of Pung Gaekru.
Yi Jinpyeong suddenly addressed the air.
"Hey. I only said they could leave. I didn't say anything about you."
Gang Ryong and Gwak Yeonyong had no idea who he meant—until Yi Jinpyeong abruptly crack!—smashed through the ceiling and soared upward.