A Buddha Without Mercy
Soseon Sect.
The characters had been painted in a firm, vigorous hand. The compound itself was small. There were no grand halls to speak of — just two buildings and a single training ground.
Sun Wukong stepped through the gate, and his brow furrowed.
"There's no presence at all."
His ears twitched, straining. His nostrils flared. Not a single human presence registered.
Namgung Muyoung's face had gone rigid.
"The scent of blood..."
He turned to Sun Wukong, his expression hard. It was the smell of blood. The closer they had drawn to the estate, the thicker the stench had grown. By the time they arrived, it was enough to make a man clutch his nose.
Sun Wukong gave a bitter smile.
"We're a step too late."
Namgung Muyoung and Seowol immediately split up and searched every corner. Not a single living soul emerged. No corpses were visible either. Bloodstains marked the ground, and debris lay scattered where things had been smashed.
"There's no question a massacre took place here."
Where had all the bodies gone? Sun Wukong found them without the slightest trouble.
"Over here."
"Nngh...!"
Muyoung swallowed a groan. Seowol's face remained expressionless, but a quiet fury kindled in her eyes.
The corpses had been piled high near the wall by the well. Muyoung ground his teeth, his voice thick with rage.
"What kind of bastards would dare do something like this..."
Sun Wukong examined the bodies with calm detachment.
"They all died at once. Didn't even get a chance to fight back."
All thirty corpses had crushed chests or shattered skulls.
"One palm strike each. They dropped like flies."
They hadn't even managed to draw a blade. The gap in skill had been that vast.
"A master of this caliber doesn't raid some backwater martial hall for no reason."
"It must be that blood-scent Teacher Sun was tracking, yes?"
Given the circumstances, Muyoung had no choice but to trust him. The blood-scent Sun Wukong had picked up long before they even reached the village.
"But they're all dead like this... I'll search for other clues first."
"No."
Namgung Muyoung tilted his head at Sun Wukong's word. Sun Wukong glanced around as he spoke.
"There was a room in that building where a woman stayed."
"Ah, yes."
There had been a room with traces of a woman. Sun Wukong pointed at the corpses.
"There's no woman among these."
"...!"
"And these bodies were only half-burned."
Muyoung's pupils flickered. Sun Wukong continued, unhurried.
"They meant to burn this place and erase the evidence."
"If these are the same ones who attacked the Wudang Sect, that tracks. Nothing covers a trail like fire."
That would also explain why they'd gone to the trouble of piling the bodies together. Sun Wukong pointed again.
"There's a puddle here. These bodies are wet, and they're caked with dirt."
"Which means..."
"Someone survived. They put the fire out after the killers left."
That was when it happened. Sun Wukong suddenly drew his steel staff and swung.
CRAAASH!
"Guh!"
A slender figure cried out and went flying, slamming into the wall. Sun Wukong clicked his tongue.
"Tsk."
Startled by the sudden strike, Namgung Muyoung and Seowol drew their swords and dropped into guard. Sun Wukong waved them down.
"A survivor."
The one who had lived through this. She must have been the one who doused the flames consuming the bodies.
The woman leveled her sword, her face deathly pale. Her stance had decent form, but the tip of the blade trembled.
"Y-you... what are you to those bastards who killed my father?!"
"We're not on their side, at least. Put the sword down."
"..."
The wariness in her eyes didn't fade. Namgung Muyoung took a step forward.
"Look at our martial uniforms. We come from the Namgung Clan."
"The Namgung Clan!"
The woman cried out in relief. Her sword clattered to the ground and she crumpled as if her legs had given out. Namgung Seowol rushed forward to catch her.
"They... they came for us..."
"Stay calm. Before the attack — did anyone come to the Soseon Sect?"
"A Wudang Taoist... covered in wounds. He came here."
Muyoung's head snapped around. His eyes met Sun Wukong's, who stood gripping his steel staff. Sun Wukong grinned.
"See? Told you."
"..."
Muyoung's pupils trembled. Sun Wukong suddenly whirled his steel staff through the air in a dazzling flourish.
"They're persistent enough to hunt a fugitive all the way here."
His voice dropped low.
"Which means there are bound to be some still watching. Just in case a survivor turned up."
"...!"
Sun Wukong cracked his neck from side to side. A faint smile touched his lips.
"All right. Quit lurking in the shadows like cowards and come on out, you vermin."
The roar rippled outward, a shockwave of sound that shook the air itself.
Black shadows erupted from the trees, the rocks, and the ground itself — like a flock of sparrows bursting from dense branches in a sudden, frantic scatter.
The woman's face, already pressed against Seowol as she collapsed, went white as paper. There was no need to ask. These were the killers who had made this slaughter.
Sun Wukong showed no surprise. He leveled his steel staff. He had sensed their presence the moment he set foot in the compound, and he had already counted every last one of them.
Eleven.
Only one among them was worth taking seriously. The other ten were small fry.
Sun Wukong's eyes flicked rapidly across them. But what happened next caught even the Great Sage off guard.
"They're running?"
He let out a hollow laugh. The moment they were spotted, the black-clad men bolted in the opposite direction. Sun Wukong glanced sideways.
"Because of the Namgung Clan, huh."
Muyoung and Seowol were wearing Namgung martial uniforms. He concluded the black-clad men had recognized the clan and chosen to flee.
These are the same bastards who went after the Wudang Sect. What would they be afraid of?
The ones left behind were probably just the dregs. You didn't waste elites on sitting around to see if a survivor crawled out of the wreckage. Sun Wukong already knew from his senses that these black-clad men were thoroughly unimpressive.
But his nature was not so soft that he would simply let fleeing enemies go.
Sun Wukong muttered the words, and the voice rang out with startling clarity, echoing through the air around them. The arm gripping the steel staff drew all the way back.
"...!"
Muyoung's eyes went wide. That enormous steel staff looked too heavy to swing even with both hands — and Sun Wukong was holding it with a single arm, drawing it back in a long, taut line, like a bowstring pulled to its limit before releasing the arrow. He closed one eye, gauging the distance and the angle.
"..."
For a moment Muyoung doubted his own ears. A Buddha — with no mercy? But the question barely had time to form. A catastrophic sonic boom tore through his hearing and shredded every thought in his head.
Sun Wukong's right arm swelled monstrously as it snapped forward, launching the steel staff. Not thrown — fired.
SHREEEEEEEK—!
A devastating roar of torn air. The surrounding energy and atmosphere spiraled into a visible vortex at the staff's tip, a writhing current so clear that both eyes could see it churn.
BOOOOM!
"...!"
The impact was indistinguishable from a thunderbolt bomb detonating. The black-clad man struck by the steel staff had his right shoulder ripped clean off, as if it had been torn away. A fraction further to the left and his entire upper body would have been shredded from his torso.
The remaining men's faces went deathly pale. They glanced at their fallen comrade — and ran even harder. They fled like rabbits before a predator, sprinting with the madness of prey that knows it is about to be eaten.
Sun Wukong's body launched into a great leap. Muyoung and Seowol scrambled after him. The moment the three of them gave chase, the black-clad men fled with even more desperate fury.
This is insane...!
Jeokho, the leader of the black-clad men, felt his lips tremble.
Why the hell is the Namgung Clan here?!
This was Anhui Province, yes. The domain of the Namgung Clan, undisputed lords of the region. But Hefei was a long way off. The Soseon Sect wasn't even in a proper town — it was a rural school sitting in the middle of nowhere. There was no reason for the Namgung Clan to come charging out here just because word of a tragedy had spread. Even if they did come, it would be days later.
How did they even know?
How had they traced it to this place? The site of the Wudang massacre was a considerable distance from here. They hadn't left a shred of evidence that would point anyone in this direction.
"GRAAAAGH!"
The thought didn't last. A scream from behind ripped him out of his head. The sickening sound of tearing flesh and the shriek that followed sent a chill down his spine. Jeokho didn't even turn around. He was certain that if he looked back, his legs would lock up completely.
Never mind the Namgung Clan — what the hell is that man?!
The corner of his eye twitched. Golden hair. A powerful, imposing build.
He's not even wearing a Namgung uniform, so why is he with them...? A guest retainer? I've never heard of a foreigner serving as a Namgung retainer — and now they're keeping a monster like this?
The man's exotic appearance had registered as a curiosity, nothing more. All that had mattered was getting away from the Namgung Clan. The plan had been to stay hidden until they left, then slip away unseen. But that freak had read their presence as if it were written on the air.
KRAAAANG!
"Gahk!"
Another roar. Another scream. Jeokho's sprinting legs began to shake.
He's launching an iron staff the size of a house pillar like a javelin?
The raw physical power was staggering. And if it wasn't brute strength — if it was internal energy — that was even worse. The expenditure would be monstrous. The efficient thing to do would be to close in and swing, not waste energy showing off like this. The fact that he was burning internal power so extravagantly could only mean one thing: this was a true master sitting on a vast, bottomless reserve.
A genuine monster. One I can't possibly handle!
Even when they had attacked the Wudang Taoists not long ago, no one had projected this kind of dread, this kind of pressure, this kind of crushing presence. His superiors had butchered the Wudang martial artists before he could even register what was happening.
I have to get out of here and report this somehow. Some freak showed up with the Namgung Clan!
His entire body was soaked in cold sweat. The screams drawing closer, vivid and wet. The sound of flesh tearing. The bone-chilling roar of something ripping through the air. The hideous, continuous noise of human bodies bursting apart. He endured all of it and kept running — until, at some point, he realized the screams were growing fainter. Then they stopped altogether.
Even that catastrophic sonic boom, the one that had been tearing vortices through the air, cut off at once. He couldn't hear his subordinates' breathing. He couldn't hear the footsteps of pursuit. The sacrifice of the other ten had bought him the distance he needed. He had shaken them.
...Or so he thought. Until the whisper brushed his ear.
"How long are you gonna keep running, huh?"
"...!"
Every hair on his body stood on end. Jeokho drew his sword on reflex. His body spun. The draw and the rotation of his torso happened as one — faint internal energy riding the blade's tip, the torque of his waist loaded into the cut in a single instant. It was a reaction so fast that if the enemy had been right behind him, blocking or dodging should have been nearly impossible.
CLAAANG!
Jeokho's face went rigid. The sword-draw was one of his proudest techniques. It was the reason he had been given a role at all, despite his shallow internal energy and the modest depth of his martial arts. Even his superiors had clicked their tongues in admiration at the white streak of light that erupted from nowhere. He had swung with genuine confidence.
The blade met a steel staff wreathed in dull, ink-dark light. It didn't just stop the cut. Pain exploded through his wrist as if the bone were about to shatter. The well-honed edge of his sword chipped and crumbled from a single collision.
"You crazy—!"
"Sorry. I blocked with the tip."
The end of the steel staff, sheathed in pitch-black radiance. In a single exchange, Jeokho's sword had been reduced to scrap.
But he was not the kind of man who would surrender here. Jeokho planted both fists at his waist and drove them forward. Straight punches loaded with force and killing intent poured out in a indiscriminate storm.
"I figured you were just some small fry, but you've got the basics down, at least."
Countless fist-shadows hurtled toward Sun Wukong's face. Sun Wukong gave a short, amused breath of a laugh.
A single thread of crimson energy bored into the shadows — like hell's own magma, risen to devour him whole.
Jeokho's face went white with horror.