Meeting the Golden Body (1)
One technique.
The number of moves Namgung Daeso made to subdue Sorimsa's three great disciples.
If there had been some back-and-forth blows, the outcome might have made sense. But could this even be called one-sided?
Yi-cheon, uncharacteristically excited, must have narrowed his field of vision, leading to carelessness—and ultimately, this result. There was no other way to see it.
Tsk tsk. What a disgrace in front of the sect elders!
One of the three great disciples glared disapprovingly at the fainted Yi-cheon and stepped forward.
I had no idea who he was, of course. I just craved that sensation from before, lingering in my palm—I wanted to feel it again, even faster.
Come on! I don't care if you're the Namgung clan's youngest young master or whatever. I'll show you Sorimsa isn't weak!
Sure.
I gave a short reply and launched myself at Pothead No. 2. (For reference, the guy who came out earlier, took one hit, and passed out was Pothead No. 1. That's what I decided.)
Pothead No. 2 swiftly pulled his arm back. When he thrust it out again, a long staff was gripped in his hand.
That footwork from before. It might fool a dimwit like Yi-cheon, but not me.
Pothead No. 2 retreated, matching my approach to widen the gap, a smug look on his face. Then he leveled the staff ahead.
Tricky indeed. He was skilled at controlling distance. But just that much.
Thinks he can handle it if he watches the footwork?
How do you know what footwork I'll use?
My advancing body curved like a fish swimming against a river current.
That's the Haemnam School's signature technique!
Someone recognized my movement and piped up.
Eyaah!
Pothead No. 2 swung his staff desperately at my sudden change. Even though it came out of nowhere, the staff tracked my path precisely. And the tip quivered faintly—clear sign of serious training.
Sorimsa through and through. No. 1 was the same; easy wins, but each one was a hassle.
Grab it?
I hesitated briefly, but predicting the staff's motion wasn't easy. More importantly, I didn't want to overwrite the sensation still tingling in my hand.
Break through!
My movement shifted. The wriggling body shot straight at the staff.
And as I did, I gave a heads-up.
Watch your pothead, buddy. This one might hit a bit harder.
A pup that doesn't fear the tiger, huh!
Thinking I was taunting him, the staff—wobbling endlessly—whirled around with a whoosh!
I was just warning you!
Then it thrust straight forward.
Pang!
I spun my body mid-charge, kicking the staff upward.
Hoecheon.
You can't block my staff with that.
Not just talk. The staff pierced the kick's force and kept coming.
This one's meant to chain, originally.
Hoecheon.
Iljungcheop.
Crack!
I added another spin to the previous rotation and kicked up again. The staff still advanced.
Hoecheon.
Iljungcheop.
Gajung.
Once more.
Hoecheon.
Iljungcheop.
Gajung.
Cheopcheopsanjung.
Kwajijijijik.
After four kicks, the staff shattered into pieces.
Pothead No. 2 stared at me in shock, clutching the half-remaining staff.
H-how? It's made of Heukjukmok...
No wonder it was ridiculously tough. Heukjukmok was a special tree from Yunnan, said to be as hard as iron.
Oh!
Did I forget to mention? The shoes I'm wearing right now? Heukjukmok too.
Smaack!
Guhk!
I closed in and smacked Pothead No. 2's nape. Like No. 1, his face planted into the ground as he passed out.
I clenched my fist tight.
In that moment, I was certain. Coming to Sorimsa was the right call.
One by one after that.
The potheads stepped up.
By Pothead No. 6, I had to draw my sword. Real blades would be dangerous, so I pulled out the wooden one I'd prepared.
Pothead No. 7.
I named the seventh nameless monk.
He frowned and said,
My name is Ihu.
Not like I'd remember even if he told me. Sorry, but they're all bald as eggs—no distinguishing features even for me, who's never been hit in the head.
Yes, sir. Come on, Pothead No. 7.
Amitabha. Disciple Ihu of the Buddha's path humbly reports to the Buddha. Grant me leave to break the precept against killing today.
It's just sparring—why break a killing precept? Big talk, No. 7.
Are you deaf? I clearly said I'm Ihu just now.
Win, and I'll call you that. Honestly, this is easier.
True story. No malice.
Once I could tell faces apart, I'd use names.
Hoo. Today, I'll avenge my martial brothers!
Seemed No. 7's seniors were Nos. 1 through 6.
No. 7 charged without hesitation, kicking up.
Definitely different from the previous potheads. Even mid-attack, his eyes missed nothing of my movements.
The pressure from his strikes felt heavier, more substantial.
Impressive!
Instead of blocking, I twisted aside to dodge No. 7's kick.
No more of those kicks from before?
No. 7 pressed with follow-up kicks, asking.
I dodged and replied,
You mean when I smashed Pothead No. 2?
Yes.
And with that, No. 7 attacked solely with kicks—no other strikes.
Kicks your specialty, No. 7?
That instant—
Whoosh!
The kicks sped up. I'd been dodging with single steps in place; now I took three to evade.
Just keep dodging. Boring.
I widened the gap slightly, glaring at No. 7.
Suddenly...
Your speech got shorter.
I'm older.
Question meets question.
Thirteen.
Yeah?
Yes.
Tough break.
How old?
Twelve.
Hmm... Not sure if it's okay to say that to a kid, but he looks pretty mature.
Confident in kicks?
Yes.
Now that I looked, he had manners too. Sorimsa disciple, naturally. And kinda cute, even.
Never felt this during a bout before—memories fuzzy. Only life-or-death spars.
Excitement bubbled up.
So I decided to show our No. 7 a special kick technique.
After six nape smacks, my palm hurt—couldn't hit anymore. That helped too.
Several techniques flashed in my mind. Which one?
Perfect! This'll do.
No. 7, here I come.
Yes, bro!
Bro... First time hearing that.
Didn't realize when I said it, but hearing it? Great ring.
No. 7 kicked off the ground, flying low like he was scraping the earth.
My eyes gleamed.
This!
That instant, I kicked off too.
Like folding a freshly drawn picture in half, No. 7 and I mirrored each other perfectly.
The onlookers above, silently watching till now, widened their eyes.
No way!
They'd watched dubiously throughout. Every time Namgung Daeso used a technique, it felt familiar—like something seen before.
But now, it wasn't just familiar; it was the very art they'd trained in body and soul.
The shocking part? Namgung Daeso's Geumgang Yeonhwan Toe outshone even Ihu's in perfection!
Ihu, unlike the others, had focused on kicks—thanks to his thicker-than-average legs.
Thick-boned, literally. His leg bones were twice the normal thickness.
Pakak!
Two sweeping kicks clashed midair. Ihu shot Namgung Daeso a surprised look.
Not breaking? Tougher than I thought.
But!
After the first form, the second clashed.
As always, rotation started from below.
Normal kicks use the waist. But Geumgang Yeonhwan Toe uses the whole body.
Why? It's not for beating foes—it's for smashing them.
To maximize power, rotation always begins low.
Yeonhwan means layering. If the first misses, its momentum feeds the next—with fresh rotation.
Pagak!
A louder crack echoed.
The second kicks crossed midair.
Ihu was shocked again—Namgung Daeso's calf unscathed.
If he endures the third...
Ihu glanced aside briefly.
The one who'd survived his fourth kick—the only one.
And crushed him on the fifth.
More rotations meant exponentially more strain.
The load Ihu endured now was beyond mortal imagination—only his build allowed it.
Ihu's max chains: five.
Pagagak!
Third endured.
Pagagagak!
Fourth too.
So... sturdy.
Ihu truly respected the kid now.
Excluding 'him', first time meeting such tough bones.
Now the fifth.
His trump card, saved to show 'him' at Sajwangjeon.
Sorry.
No mercy this time. Still incomplete, but from here, pure destruction—no other purpose.
Sixth rotation.
No expected sound.
Ihu didn't extend his leg.
Slight slip.
Namgung Daeso's kick whiffed emptily.
Ihu's eyes gleamed.
Geumgang Yeonhwan Toe fifth form: Yeonhwan Hoechuk.
Ihu chained a seventh rotation.
Jijijik.
Muscles tore.
Kagak.
Bones groaned under crushing pressure.
Gagagak.
Even thick-boned Ihu felt cracks forming.
Now it's over!
Ihu unleashed everything in a final kick at Namgung Daeso.
Then—
Spin.
Namgung Daeso's whiffing leg rotated again.
Sixth rotation. Crushing pressure unlike the fifth slammed his body.
Carrying it straight into—
Seventh.
Ihu's eyes bulged.
Rotation unbroken.
Eighth.
What Namgung Daeso truly wanted to show Ihu—No. 7—emerged.
Geumgang Yeonhwan Toe true essence: Samyen Jungcheop!
Pakak!
A clean bone-snapping crack rang out.
Ihu clutched his calf and collapsed.
A silence unlike before descended.
No way...
Jinheo broke it first.
Ihu, Sorimsa's thick-boned kick master—top three among the great disciples.
Given time, top three in the Central Plains.
And he lost in kicks. Bones broken.
Only one possibility.
Jinheo's gaze lingered on I-gwon.
Thought he was the only one...
Geumgang?
Not Geumgang.
Jinheo looked where the voice came from.
Namgung Je-cheon stood there, beaming proudly.
Then what?
Only two in the world unchanged by Daehwadan.
Finding their common thread? Easy for Namgung Je-cheon.
Cheonmu.
......
Why so shocked? First time seeing one? How rustic.
First time. Wanna hit him...
Hmm... Guess it's my fault for a backwater sect. Sorry if it's new.
Should I just kill him...