The Emperor's Vessel
The man stared at Yi Jinpyeong for a moment before turning his gaze back to Un Sa-nang.
"Well now. It seems another man has appeared in the meantime."
Un Sa-nang no longer looked at him. Propping herself up with both hands on the ground, her pale face twisted in desperation as she shouted toward Yi Jinpyeong.
"Young master! Ignore me and run! He's completely different from back then. It was my mistake to think you could stand against him. For now, escape and bide your time for a later reckoning!"
Un Sa-nang's desperate cry. But Yi Jinpyeong had no intention of heeding her words.
"What nonsense."
"But—!"
"I can't just hand you over to that bastard. What would our second brother say if I did?"
Un Sa-nang was at a loss for words. Panic was plain on her face.
Yi Jinpyeong spun the pipe idly in his palm and continued.
"So shut up and just watch. Yi Gajang never yields to anyone."
The black-clad man nodded.
"Yi Gajang, huh. So that's it. No wonder your martial arts felt so intriguing."
"Intriguing? Once you experience it firsthand, it won't be fun at all."
Yi Jinpyeong quietly drew up the power of wind, wrapping it around his hands and feet. Ready to soar lightly at any moment and pierce the bastard's heart clean through.
The pressure from the black-clad man's aura had only held him down briefly. Now, he thought only of one goal, one outcome—eliminating the enemy.
"Hahaha."
He let out a dry laugh.
"I've heard more than enough about your clan to last a lifetime. Long ago, in the distant past, it was your ancestor who played the decisive role in toppling our cult."
Yi Jinpyeong thought to himself: That was none other than this body. My very existence is your cult's calamity and extinction.
But he had no intention of voicing it aloud. The world's greatest martial artist from a century ago, Yi Gyeol, and the current Yi Jinpyeong were still worlds apart.
"They say of your clan: glory was but a dream of one night, while ruin stretched on like an eternity. I heard you'd already crumbled to dust, but it seems the New Cult's intelligence network isn't as ironclad as thought. Even after all those endless years, here you are, daring to block my path at this very moment."
Yi Jinpyeong found the man's tone utterly grating. Mocking his clan's current state? He no longer cared. How many had said his family was finished? If he hunted them all down for revenge, half the world would vanish.
What truly irked him was the black-clad man's arrogance. Speaking as if he already owned the world—insolent, irreverent. As if no one before him mattered.
That role had always been Yi Jinpyeong's own.
"Fine then. I'll burn your body to ash myself. Just like your shadow lackey, just like the rest who fell here—I'll shove you into that hellish pit of agony you all love so much."
But the black-clad man showed no sign of listening.
"Excellent. A most meaningful encounter. Just as our cult prepares to unfurl its will upon the world once more, the descendant of old Yi Gajang appears right before this body."
The black-clad man extended his hand. Slowly, oh so naturally.
He murmured lowly.
"Come. And kneel before me."
In that instant, an irresistible force clamped down on Yi Jinpyeong.
***
'Kuh—!'
Yi Jinpyeong summoned every ounce of his energy. He had a plan, after all.
The moment that annoying bastard attacked, he'd leap through space itself, unleashing a full-power strike to cleave him in two.
But the man gave no opening. With a mere extension of his hand, he bound Yi Jinpyeong's entire body and dragged him in.
Invisible hands seized Yi Jinpyeong in an instant. Unlike the man's outwardly calm, serene appearance devoid of any demonic qi, the energy extending from his hand was a writhing, tangling, roaring mass of demonic power—like entrails of a beast twisting in agony.
Black torrents coiled around Yi Jinpyeong's limbs like they owned him, pulling him inexorably closer.
Ma Yeong Seop Hon Su.
Demonic Shadow Soul Capturing Hand.
It was a power and technique he'd faced—and shattered—before.
But the current Yi Jinpyeong lacked the strength to surpass it.
'...This bruises the pride.'
He abandoned clashing force with force. Steadying his staggering body, he instantly converted his summoned energy to Mok-gi.
Linking his body to vine-like energy sprouting from the earth, he rooted his feet like a tree. It stopped the bastard from dragging him at will.
Not elegant or beautiful, but it worked.
Still, this was just a stopgap.
He'd suspected it from the start, but he had to admit the enemy was leagues beyond him.
"Impressive. Let's see if you can withstand this too."
The black-clad man, palm open, slowly clenched his fist.
Gong Ak Myeol Sal.
Empty Grip Annihilation.
With a single gesture, space folded. The pulling force reversed, and in a flash, space crumpled, crushing Yi Jinpyeong from above.
The very technique that had burst the head of the Wudang warrior who bowed to him.
His breath caught. Terrifying pressure.
Blood vessels burst in his eyes, reddening his vision; blood streamed from his nose.
Without swift action, his entire body might explode.
Gulping down surging blood, he shifted the Mok-gi binding him to the earth into Geum-gi.
Geum Hwan Gae Sang.
Golden Ring Armor Form.
The faintly glowing green energy turned golden, sheathing his body thinly to resist the pressure crushing his bones, muscles, and skin.
The black-clad man's eyes gleamed.
"Shifting attributes perfectly with each moment... Seeing it with my own eyes makes it even more intriguing. But you can't use multiple at once? I heard your ancestor from back then mixed them wildly."
Who are you mocking? I'm nowhere near that level yet.
And he couldn't use multiples simultaneously either. If the bastard wielded pulling and crushing forces together, Yi Jinpyeong wouldn't be holding out.
'You're far from it too, you little shit.'
He cursed endlessly in his mind, but no sound escaped. All his power went to resisting the pressure.
As Yi Jinpyeong held firm, the man's fist stopped closing further. Staring alternately at his hand and Yi Jinpyeong, he raised an eyebrow.
The pressure escalated another level.
Everything reddened. A ringing filled his ears.
Blood he'd barely suppressed erupted like a fountain from his mouth.
The metallic stench of blood filled the air.
Yi Jinpyeong, who'd spilled countless pints of blood, found the sight of his own strangely alien.
Yet he endured. All he could do was endure.
But still.
"Remarkable. How far can you go?"
With the man's words, another massive shock assaulted Yi Jinpyeong.
Once more. And again.
The pressure intensified relentlessly. Yi Jinpyeong's body shredded apart, but he neither collapsed nor yielded.
The man's fist never fully clenched.
Then, in an instant... all energy vanished like mist.
The crushing pressure lifted abruptly, sending Yi Jinpyeong's desperately resisting body floating halfway into the air before crashing down.
Thud. Thud.
This time, the black-clad man approached directly.
Standing close, face-to-face, he looked down at Yi Jinpyeong. Without hostility, in a tone of pure admiration, he spoke.
"Incredible. I never imagined anyone could defy my will like this. And with such a small frame and inner power... I acknowledge you."
Acknowledge? Screw your acknowledgment.
That arrogance boiled his blood anew.
But what enraged him most was that, while he'd poured every drop of strength into resisting—exhausted—the black-clad man looked utterly untouched.
Yi Jinpyeong stared up stubbornly, saying nothing.
Up close, the man was even more beautiful, alien. His skin, transparently white as if luminous, stood out against the pitch-black night. Slender and lithe, yet broad-shouldered with long, elegant arms—like a perfected sculpture.
Graceful, dignified, unhurried. Born to rule the world.
The being spoke to Yi Jinpyeong.
"So kneel. Bow your head of your own will, and I'll take you under my wing. I won't hold your past sins against you."
Yi Jinpyeong understood what manner of man he was.
The world brimmed with extraordinary beings, past and present. But none like this.
A born conqueror, vessel of an emperor. In Shaolin, he'd rewrite its history; in Wudang, the same. Born to the imperial house, he'd be emperor.
No matter the path.
But he'd joined the Demonic Cult, treading the path to Cheonma.
If he grew further, claiming full power... he'd surpass all past Cheonma.
And destroy the entire murim.
Even Yi Jinpyeong himself might not be spared.
But... so what?
Was he to fear him? Kneel before him?
"Puhahaha!"
With the man right in his face, barely able to stand, Yi Jinpyeong burst into booming, hearty laughter.
"Won't hold my sins against me? How kind of you!"
Yi Jinpyeong steadied his breath once more. A flurry of emotions flashed and faded—leaving only one Yi Jinpyeong.
The boy from a century ago, sword at his side, stepping forth to conquer the world: Yi Gyeol.
Full of nothing but challenge.
His eyes were his answer.
The mid-twenties demonic cultivator, nearing his peak, gazed down at the fifteen-year-old boy whose eyes had returned to calm resolve.
"Fine eyes. Not one to kneel to just anyone."
Understanding Yi Jinpyeong's nature, he nodded.
And said,
"Then let me hear it. What scream will you make?"
He extended his pale hand.