Kim Yeo-ul's Rampage (1)

Chae Mu-jin stared intently at the man before him. If not for the germanium bracelet on his wrist, he would never have recognized him as Kim Yeo-ul. The once-curly hair had straightened into a wild tangle, and his eyes now belonged to a predator stalking prey.

His physique has ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely changed, too. The build that had once been no different from an average woman’s had transformed into the tall, densely compressed muscle of a fighter. This wasn’t the mild disguise of Superman putting on glasses. It was closer to a full-body transmogrification.

There are transformation skills, but Kim Yeo-ul never had one.

And it wasn’t only his appearance that had changed.

The instant his foot slammed into the ground, his massive frame vanished from sight. Chae Mu-jin arched backward like a limbo dancer. A crimson fist sliced through the air where his face had been. Pride abandoned, he rolled across the dirt to evade the follow-up kick. Blocking was suicide. Even a graze would be lethal.

When Chae Mu-jin dodged, Kim Yeo-ul’s face flickered with genuine surprise. In that brief opening, Mu-jin shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Attack! While I keep his eyes on me!”

No response. Risking a glance, he cursed under his breath.

“These clever little shits.”

The attackers who had ambushed them were already gone, healer comrade abandoned without a second thought.

“You. How did you dodge my attack? You look weak.”

Kim Yeo-ul’s voice scraped like metal on stone.

“This is going to drive me insane.”

Chae Mu-jin had expected the future worst villain in history to possess at least one S-rank skill. But two? And the truly infuriating part was how perfectly the trait and skill complemented each other.

The Seizure skill doesn’t let me check his class, but the skills tell me everything I need to know. Kim Yeo-ul isn’t a mage anymore. He’s a martial artist.

From the perspective of someone planning to raise and then steal, it was a dream come true. Two priceless S-ranks. The only problem was that the monster currently trying to kill him owned them.

“Yeo-ul. I’m not your enemy.”

Combat had never been his specialty. If words could reach him, perhaps persuasion was still possible.

“Don’t care. Just die.”

The moment the sentence ended, Kim Yeo-ul vanished again. This time there wasn’t even a sound.

The speed from before wasn’t even serious?

Chae Mu-jin couldn’t predict where the attack would come from. But he knew where it would land. The instant he felt the hair on the right side of his head shift, he jerked his head aside. Every time the red afterimage brushed past his body, goosebumps exploded across his skin.

The healer who had taken a direct hit earlier had survived thanks to Mu-jin’s defense buff, but he couldn’t cast buffs on himself.

“You’re slow as hell, yet you keep dodging my attacks.”

Only after Mu-jin had evaded seven consecutive strikes did Kim Yeo-ul speak again. Chae Mu-jin had no strength left to answer. His entire body pounded like one giant heartbeat, and even breathing felt suffocating.

He had always worked harder than others precisely because he was weak. He had studied every method of survival. Other people had scoffed, asking why a Supporter bothered training when others would protect him.

So if they fail to protect me, I’m supposed to just quietly accept death?

Exactly like right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now. Supporters weren’t even the top priority like healers. Therefore, they had to know how to survive on their own. Those who couldn’t were always the first to die.

Because he had survived this long, Chae Mu-jin’s mind remained ice-cold even as his body burned.

At least I’m lucky. I met him before Yacha could grow any further. If I had encountered the fully developed Yacha, even predictive dodging wouldn’t have worked.

Still, he couldn’t dodge forever, and his own pathetic attack power could never defeat Yacha. He needed a variable.

And that variable was lying unconscious right in front of him—Kim Ji-woo.

It’s earlier than planned, but this is goodbye, Kim Ji-woo.

He activated his EX-rank skill, Seizure, on the fallen man.

The single trait and skill stolen from Kim Ji-woo possessed straightforward, intuitive power.

The moment he obtained Spirit of the Sword Demon, Chae Mu-jin became a master of the blade.

Kim Ji-woo, you insane bastard. You had a trait this good and still only reached A-rank?

He remembered the sloppy way the man had fought goblins. If that had been the corrected version, then originally the guy must have been clumsy, brainless, and had negative sword talent.

“Now it’s worth trying.”

He adjusted his grip on the crude dagger the goblins had been using. It was cheap, but more than enough to receive the effects of Spirit of the Sword Demon.

Even though Chae Mu-jin had drawn a weapon, Kim Yeo-ul only smiled wider, like a child who had found an interesting new toy. There was no affection for the toy, however—only pure malice that promised it would be thoroughly broken.

A heavy silence fell. Not even the wind blew, as if the world itself had stopped. One second stretched into a minute, and simply standing still drained his stamina from the sheer tension.

The pressure threatened to drive him mad, yet he refused to act impatient. When it came to a battle of patience, Chae Mu-jin yielded to no one.

Tap.

The sound of Yacha dragging his foot struck his ears like thunder. For a split second his body seemed to tilt right. Was the attack coming from the right? Or the left instead? Neither.

He must not be fooled. Of course, it wasn’t Yacha deceiving him. It was himself.

After two frontal attacks had failed, the psychological resistance of surely he won’t attack from the front a third time tried to cloud his judgment. But Yacha would strike from the front again. Because he looked down on his opponent.

Though they had only clashed once, Chae Mu-jin had already seen through his nature. A tyrant who loved to crush others with overwhelming speed and power. He would only attack faster and harder; he would not change his method.

Yacha vanished from sight. The moment Mu-jin heard the foot-drag, he had already activated the skill.

Whoosh—CRACK!

Mount Tai Strike. Before Yacha’s attack could complete, Mu-jin charged in first and slammed the blade down onto his shoulder. Even though the edge bit into flesh, the muscle contracted and clamped down on the blade like a vice. The strength was so monstrous that pulling with both hands produced no movement whatsoever.

I knew he was a monster, but this is on another level.

Even so, he had already predicted this much. He released the sword and sprinted away like a madman. Yacha, clearly not expecting him to abandon the weapon, wore an incredulous expression.

“You don’t even have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠any pride? You coward!”

“Pride is something you can only show when you’re alive.”

“Soon you won’t have pride or a life.”

Yacha bent his knees deeply. The instant Chae Mu-jin saw it, he stopped running as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment and equipped an item.

Equipped gear 1/6. Stored mana: 10/10.

“You don’t even know that running can be a strategy?”

He cast a buff on the Yacha who was trying to kill him. A movement speed buff. Consuming 9.9 mana, he raised Yacha’s movement speed by a staggering 990. It was equivalent to the speed of a KTX bullet train racing at three hundred kilometers per hour.

Yacha realized something had been done to him, but chose to ignore it. The trait Heavenly Dragon Eight Divisions: Yacha reduced all status ailment effects and durations by ninety percent. No debuff or curse should matter.

Of course, what Chae Mu-jin had cast was a buff, not a curse.

BOOOOOOM!

With a sound like a cannon firing, Yacha shot into the sky. Only then did he belatedly realize something was wrong, but it was far too late to correct course. The target, Chae Mu-jin, had already been left far behind.

The tremendous speed and wind pressure made it hard to even open his eyes. Yet through the blur he saw it—a massive cliff.

Chae Mu-jin had never been running away. He had been luring Yacha into the cliff zone.

I have to stop.

Yacha thrashed in midair, but it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meaningless. His speed had decreased only a fraction; it wasn’t nearly enough to prevent the collision. The cliff that had seemed endlessly far away filled his entire vision in an instant.

Right before impact, Kim Yeo-ul’s second self—Yacha—suddenly recalled a single name. Until now he had never remembered anyone’s name. He had killed every person he saw. But in this moment, for the first time since birth, he remembered someone’s name.

“Chae Mu-jin.”

KWAAAAAAAAANG!

Slamming into the cliff at two hundred and fifty-two kilometers per hour, Yacha lost consciousness. Yet the expression on his face just before the thread of his mind snapped was not one of rage, but of satisfaction.

His roar was buried beneath the rumbling avalanche of collapsing cliff debris.