The Demon Bares His True Form
Ryeong-ju no longer bothered hiding his demonic qi, the essence of something not quite human. It unfurled from his body in serpentine tendrils, snaking outward in all directions. The boundary between the night's darkness and the demonic qi blurred into indistinction. Thud, thud. With each step that shook the earth, shadows rippled from his toes like waves. His face and body gleamed blindingly white, a stark contrast to the night-hued demonic qi spreading around him. Now, striding naked with every hair on his body standing on end, he evoked not beauty but grotesque horror.
"Aigoo, what an ugly sight. So damn ugly. What sin did this old man commit to witness such a hideous scene in his twilight years..."
No Gae shook his head. Amid all this, the old beggar's pointless muttering was utterly absurd.
"Old timer," Yi Jinpyeong said, "you've never fought alongside anyone your whole life, have you?"
"Think about it. Would I have ever had the need?"
No Gae was a legendary figure who had voluntarily abandoned his position as leader of the Open Faction. Moreover, the era he had lived through was one of peace, untouched by threats from the Demonic Cult. A supreme master like him would never have needed to join forces with another to face a single foe.
Yi Jinpyeong was no different—he had never fought in tandem with anyone either.
"Here's the plan. Pretend I'm not here and move as you please."
No Gae nodded, grasping the intent, but voiced a concern all the same. "What if we clash like before?"
"That won't happen now."
Yi Jinpyeong had already analyzed No Gae's movements from their earlier exchange—his timing, style, and patterns. Though the old man had lost an arm, his skill still surpassed Yi Jinpyeong's. The strategy was simple: No Gae would confront Ryeong-ju head-on, while Yi Jinpyeong provided support tailored to the flow. Forcing coordination or holding back out of consideration would only hobble their full potential against Ryeong-ju.
Ryeong-ju's steps quickened, his demonic qi thickening further. No Gae lowered his stance and extended his remaining arm. Curling just his fingertips on his splayed palm, a ripple of inner energy surged forth, emitting a pure white glow that repelled the darkness and demonic qi.
The playful demeanor was gone; his lips pressed into a firm line. Only the dignity of a veteran who had dominated the martial world remained.
Yi Jinpyeong positioned himself behind, regulating his breathing. A reliable ally had joined, but victory was far from assured. A geezer who'd lost an arm just days ago and a boy not yet fully grown—that was their reality.
He's not fully complete yet. There has to be a gap somewhere. I need to find it.
In that instant, Ryeong-ju closed the distance and thrust both arms forward. A rending sound tore through the air as twisted black currents—demonic qi with gaping, malevolent maws—surged toward them. A tidal wave of demonic power crashed in, thousands of eyes and mouths shrieking independently like living entities. This assault carried a level of force beyond the previous one.
No Gae showed no perturbation. With a mere grunt, he planted his feet firmly. The energy he gathered flowed from his knees through his hips and spine to his right hand. It lacked the ferocity or flashiness of Ryeong-ju's demonic qi—simply serene, steadfast power. Dense, refined inner energy erupted from his palm in a subtle white radiance.
The clash against the howling demonic qi boomed—BOOM!
No Gae's feet sank deep into the earth, but he held firm against the frontal assault.
Ryeong-ju extended his hands again. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!!! Endless waves of demonic qi battered relentlessly. Yet No Gae stood unmoved, enduring.
This was the pinnacle of the Open Faction's might—one of the Nine Great Beggars Sects that commanded the world. Unbound by the heavy duties of leadership, No Gae's pure inner arts, honed over a lifetime of martial devotion, shone brightest now.
Ryeong-ju sneered. "Not bad for a dying old coot. No wonder those fools fell to you."
No Gae offered no retort. No energy left for banter—he poured everything into withstanding the intensifying demonic onslaught.
In the brief lull where their energies stalemated, Yi Jinpyeong struck. Riding the wind's currents, his form whipped around. Ryeong-ju's eyes tracked him relentlessly, but No Gae's presence forcing a frontal standoff changed the dynamic.
Yi Jinpyeong circled freely in a vortex, his pipe wreathed in metal qi stabbing, his heel kicking, his black dagger slashing down. Each blow carried extraordinary weight. Ryeong-ju peeled off one hand to warp space amid fending off No Gae, but with his focus split, Yi Jinpyeong's barrage slipped through unscathed.
Then No Gae grunted again, advancing a step. The old man and youth's rhythm synced tighter. When Ryeong-ju probed No Gae's empty left side, Yi Jinpyeong sealed the gap with a piercing thrust. When Ryeong-ju shifted toward Yi Jinpyeong, No Gae pressed forward another step.
The glow from No Gae's right hand gradually pushed back the darkness. Meanwhile, Yi Jinpyeong's purgatory flames scorched Ryeong-ju's body in patches. Bereft demonic qi wailed and thrashed, as if each strand possessed its own will.
"You filthy vermin..." Ryeong-ju muttered.
No emotion colored his voice, but the tide had undeniably turned against his favor. Who could have foreseen he'd struggle against a wandering beggar and a scrawny kid from the Yi family—not even the sect leaders or clan heads of the Nine Great Sects or Eight Great Clans?
Pungchakmakbuljeong—the wind cannot be grasped or fathomed.
As Yi Jinpyeong's form plunged deep beyond the perimeter once more, Ryeong-ju abruptly withdrew the pressure on No Gae and pivoted toward him. Left hand lunged at the boy before him; right unleashed Gongakmyeolsal, preemptively sealing escape routes. He aimed to eliminate the persistent irritant first.
But Yi Jinpyeong didn't evade as before. He activated Geumhwan-gaesang, sheathing his body in metal qi armor, and met the devouring charge head-on—like No Gae had.
Yi Jinpyeong knew full well a direct clash favored Ryeong-ju overwhelmingly. Every prior bout proved it. Yet he trusted: if he endured perfectly just once, No Gae would exploit it for another fracture.
The white demon's hand slammed down—BOOM!—engulfing Yi Jinpyeong.
Grasping the intent, No Gae didn't rush to aid or rescue. Instead—Jingak.
Shifting his weight, he stomped fiercely. The earth quaked violently, the rebounding force absorbed wholly, coursing through his body. Muscles in calves, thighs, waist, shoulders, and arm swelled sequentially, culminating in an explosive burst from his palm.
Paoksinsang—the apex of Open Faction palm arts. A devastating force that crumbled any hardness.
Sensing the ominous surge, Ryeong-ju whirled to counter. But Yi Jinpyeong, crushed gruesomely into the dirt, bound him like unyielding vines, denying the turn.
From the old beggar's palm erupted visible shockwaves, warped ripples detonating in a heavy, rending roar.
BOOM!!!!!!!
Skreeee— Ryeong-ju's body was hurled back several zhang. He halted abruptly, standing tall... while No Gae, having unleashed all into that single point, belatedly checked on Yi Jinpyeong—who'd looked pulverized into paste.
"Whelp. You alive?"
"...Manageable."
Fortunately, Yi Jinpyeong hadn't crumpled or shattered. Merely buried deep. From the crater, he clawed his way out, hand trembling. Operating dual energies while tanking the frontal hit had left him battered, yet he first assessed the enemy.
His face twisted at Ryeong-ju still standing firm.
The unmoving Ryeong-ju turned. A thin trickle of blood lined his lips.
"How long has it been since I last bled?"
He murmured, wiping it away. Astonishing compared to his inhuman displays thus far. But Yi Jinpyeong felt no satisfaction.
Ideally, No Gae's strike would cue his follow-up. Yet Ryeong-ju had committed apocalyptic force to end him in one blow. Surviving was a mercy, but failing to inflict greater damage marked it a failure.
Ryeong-ju, blood wiped, withdrew the demonic qi spewing everywhere back into himself. But this signaled no end. An even more chilling aura emanated now.
Yi Jinpyeong laughed hollowly. "Still more in the tank?"
Ryeong-ju closed his eyes, murmuring incantations. His already pale body grew whiter, then translucent—skin fading to reveal bulging muscles, flowing blood, a vigorously pulsing heart.
"Whelp. Big trouble. That ain't human."
No Gae clucked his tongue.
"Shouldn't we exterminate the non-human, then?"
Yi Jinpyeong replied.
When Ryeong-ju's eyes snapped open, they were pitch-black voids. No human semblance remained. It lunged once more at the elder and youth.
No Gae unleashed Haengnyong Ship-pal Jang; Yi Jinpyeong summoned the fourth stage of Gwi Hwa Yeon Cheon Gong, Yeompa, to meet it.