Martial Arts Tournament (4)
Martial Arts Tournament (4)
"Crimson Ring Sect's Sect Leader Docheol! Another victory!"
"Aigoo! Search that bastard's pockets! Did he go and swallow a Rejuvenation Pill somewhere or what!"
"Aigoo! What about my money! My money! My money!"
Docheol was piling up consecutive wins with unstoppable momentum. The middle-aged man observed the situation with a displeased expression. According to his predictions, Docheol should have been eliminated midway or turned into a corpse at the hands of the Purple Nether Sword, but what Docheol was actually showing was an overwhelming presence.
No matter who challenged him, he dodged their attacks lightly and planted his own strikes like lightning. His clean fighting style made the middle-aged man uncomfortable.
"He's a fellow with quite some skill, isn't he? With that level of ability, he could've just devoured the Crimson Ring Sect Leader outright."
The Tournament Killer, who had quietly approached the VIP seats, spoke to the middle-aged man in a low voice. The VIPs glanced at the Tournament Killer's face and responded with shrugs or indifference. The middle-aged man looked down at the arena with a sullen expression and spoke.
"What does it matter? What's important is what happens to that bastard today. How remarkable his skills are is not the point."
"Still, isn't it a bit of a waste to kill young blood like this?"
The middle-aged man stared at the Tournament Killer. There was no killing intent in that sidelong glance, which made the Tournament Killer's face stiffen on its own.
"How curious, that you'd worry about the future of the martial world."
The Tournament Killer knew exactly what the middle-aged man meant by "curious." He nodded and took another step back. A murderer who had killed young people all along simply because they rubbed him the wrong way had no right to judge the worth of others.
He'd done it all along, so killing one more person this time would be no different.
The Tournament Killer watched Docheol rampaging with soaring momentum and muttered.
"I'll finish him quickly."
*******
A muscular giant emerged from the direction of the VIP seats and was walking toward the inn. I'd never heard the Tournament Killer's description, but the average level of the bastards participating in this tournament was third-rate to second-rate. There was no way any of them could have connections to the VIPs from the Murim Alliance or the Nine Sects One Gang.
Therefore, that bastard coming from the VIP seats had to be the Tournament Killer.
He was showing off his bulging muscles, and his clothes were tattered like a Beggars' Sect disciple's, revealing muscle through the holes. At his waist, he wore a chain with a weight wrapped around him like a belt, and there was a knife scar on his face.
He was staring intently at me just as much as I was watching him, and his eyes were narrow and elongated, giving the impression they had been drawn on with a brush.
"We'll meet in the finals."
His voice was as rough as his appearance. Even just speaking, it carried the oppressive weight of a fierce dog's growl. Murderous intent flashed in his eyes, and I could be certain this bastard was the Tournament Killer.
I nodded and said,
"Facing a martial artist like you in the finals will be an honor."
He still had matches left, but he was talking as if he would naturally advance to the finals.
Of course he would. Because he's the Tournament Killer.
Since his match was about to follow soon, I shifted my gaze to the stage where the bout would take place. The opposing martial artist was already up on the dueling platform, loosening up.
The opposing martial artist primarily cultivated kicking techniques, a fighter who used flashy and irregular footwork. Every time he stomped and struck the ground with a thud-thud, thick clouds of dust rose.
"Hyup! Hyup! A-hyup!"
Every time he kicked the empty air, bizarre battle cries rang out along with the sound of cutting wind, and the spectators watching from nearby were wholly absorbed in predicting the outcome.
"Which of the two do you think will win?"
"Heh, my friend. You're only saying that because you haven't seen Oh Mi-jun's kicking style yet!"
"No, have you seen the martial arts that big guy uses? He'll be no match at all!"
The outcome was obvious to me, but it turned out that the kicker was a more formidable expert than I'd assumed. Brimming with confidence in his own skill, he wasn't the least bit intimidated by the Tournament Killer's overwhelming presence, and he stretched out his leg and said,
"Please teach me a lesson."
"I'll teach you one."
As the two finished their greetings, the officiator waved his hand. The man waiting at the edge of the stage struck a gong, and the moment the gong sounded, Oh Mi-jun's kick flew at the Tournament Killer. It wasn't a swift and flawless attack like Sannyeo's, but its speed had a sharp edge to it, flying at the Tournament Killer like a swallow.
"Huh?"
But.
Far from dodging Oh Mi-jun's kick, the Tournament Killer grabbed the bastard's ankle, then slammed him into the ground as if playing with a doll.
Kwang!
"Uwaaaaak!"
The sound of bones breaking could be heard, and Oh Mi-jun screamed like a beast. When the Tournament Killer lifted his body again, Oh Mi-jun's foot was completely shattered, dangling like a broken umbrella rib.
"Uwaaaaak! Aaaaak!"
"Th-The winner! Gong Hwi of Seokcheon!"
"Uwaaaaak! Aaaaak!"
Oh Mi-jun was carried out, screaming in a wretched manner. It was doubtful whether a third-rate martial artist's connections and finances could ever fix that leg. The Tournament Killer laughed heartily and opened his mouth.
"I apologize. You were so strong, I ended up putting strength into it without realizing."
His tone was hearty, but his actions were violent. That contrast made him seem like an even more brutal figure.
And then the Tournament Killer looked at me. Was his intent to intimidate me? If he'd savagely crushed a man with that kind of intent, he was quite the character. With a face full of murderous energy, he returned to the inn, and now the only competitors remaining in the inn were me and the Tournament Killer.
As soon as he returned, he sat in a spot directly facing me and fixed his gaze on me. The tension between his brows made it almost look like he was trying to kill me with a glare.
Of course, no matter how much he threatened me, I had no reason to surrender. Now that the Murim Alliance had moved to eliminate me, there was no escape route unless I proved my skill.
I said to him,
"You're tensing up too much. Relax. Where would I even run off to?"
"Surrender. If you get scared and run, you can save your life."
The Tournament Killer spoke, staring fixedly at me. I knew it wasn't just a simple bluff, but knowing it didn't change anything. I raised my cup and said,
"You've been in the martial world for a long time, yet you still don't know how the world works. If you run at a time like this, is that really living? Is this martial world such a generous place that it would embrace a coward?"
The Tournament Killer's muscles swelled up. His muscles were so taut that it seemed like even an axe strike wouldn't land properly. He subtly showed off his muscles and said,
"If you get caught by me, your body will never be able to use martial arts again. All the bastards who got cocky and trusted their skills against me have been smashed to pieces, just like that kicker a moment ago."
I showed him the axe at my waist and said,
"I've smashed plenty of bastards who brag about their strength in front of me, too. Are you scared of me, is that it?"
The Tournament Killer's face flinched. He looked like he couldn't comprehend what he'd just heard. For his sake, since he hadn't caught my words, I said it again, calmly.
"Are you scared of me? Is that why you're begging me to surrender, putting so much strength into your arms like that?"
I pointed at his arm with my finger. After hesitating for a moment, the Tournament Killer bared his teeth and laughed. With that vicious mug of his splitting open into a grin, he looked exactly like a beast.
"Ah, I see."
He nodded, laughing.
"Then I'll grant your wish."
The Tournament Killer rose from his seat. Then, jingling the chain at his waist, he said,
"Everyone just calls you the Crimson Ring Sect's Sect Leader, but do you have a nickname?"
I rolled my eyes for a moment. It was because I'd never thought about a nickname. In the first place, nicknames like that only sound cool when someone else gives them to you. I stared at the bastard for a moment, then decided to just mess with him.
"In my hometown, they called me Twin Axes. Because of the two axes."
"Twin Axes?"
As he said that, he scanned my waist. Seeing only one axe out, he made a puzzled face.
"Please prepare for the next match!"
"Humph!"
The Tournament Killer tilted his head, then shook it as if trying to shake something off and left his seat. In the meantime, I spoke to the people helping run the tournament and got one more hand axe brought to me.
******
"Now, the next match! Crimson Ring Sect's Sect Leader Docheol and Seokcheon's Gong Hwi!"
And the moment we stepped onto the dueling ground, the Tournament Killer alternated his gaze between the axe in my hand and the axe at my waist, wearing a slightly confused expression.
Of course, the nickname 'Twin Axes' was a lie, and I'd never learned dual axe techniques.
I had no intention of learning dual axes in the future, either, nor did I have any intention of even trying to swing two axes in front of this bastard.
But I had never shown myself fighting properly in this tournament. Because my enemies had been too weak, the Tournament Killer wouldn't be able to gauge my skill either. He would agonize over my hidden move and exhaust his mental energy.
As long as the fight properly took shape, from this very moment on, the Tournament Killer would be conscious of my empty left hand and the axe at my waist.
If he fought while conscious of an imaginary move, a gap would inevitably form.
Even if a gap didn't form, the psychological battle was mine from the moment he became conscious of it now.
The Tournament Killer glared at me and said,
"I'll learn a lesson from you."
"Sure."
"...."
I won again.