Please, Just Be Normal (4)
“A divine talent appearing once in a hundred years! Pfft! Ah! Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help it—it’s just too funny, pfft!”
Anyone could tell it was a deliberate jab. The heated atmosphere cooled in an instant. And every time Namgung Je-cheon’s laughter rang out, it grew even more tense and murderous.
Jinheo furrowed his brow. His gaze was so icy cold it could have frozen anyone who met it.
Everyone turned sharp glares at the culprit who had stirred this up. Deep down, they all agreed with Jinheo. They’d witnessed I-gwon’s superhuman effort with their own eyes—something no ordinary human could dream of matching.
‘Aigoo, this fool…’
Mujikja, who could at least claim no direct involvement in the current mess, let out a deep sigh.
‘That madman’s gone and done it.’
He resolved to shut the lunatic’s mouth, even if it meant smashing that thick skull of his.
‘Damn it!’
But the moment he thought to move, he realized it was already too late. Jinheo had taken a single step toward Namgung Je-cheon faster than he could react.
The distance between them was about ten jang—quite far, by any measure. Yet that one step had closed the gap just enough to bring Namgung Je-cheon into Jinheo’s attack range.
Judging by Jinheo’s murderous glare and expression, anyone who dared intervene in that space would be shown no mercy, no matter who they were.
A peaceful resolution seemed impossible now.
Mujikja glanced at Ilseon Dosa, the one man who might mediate. The monk was sighing deeply, just like him.
-Is he really going to kill that madman?
Ilseon Dosa’s transmission lacked any real conviction, catching Mujikja’s eye.
-Haa…
Mujikja sighed again and decided to watch how things played out.
‘Damn it… That damn luck of his better kick in this time too.’
A dry voice emerged from Jinheo.
“Why are you laughing?”
If he’d done it knowing the situation, he was just a madman. Even if he hadn’t, there’d be no leniency.
Namgung Je-cheon replied in a calm tone.
“It’s funny. A divine talent that appears once in a hundred years?”
The people around shot pleading looks, begging someone to shut the madman up. But no one dared step forward recklessly. The bastard was Namgung Sega’s deputy strategist, after all. If so much as a scratch befell him, heads would roll.
In the end, those pleading eyes turned to the only one who could intervene: Jingak.
This time, even Jingak couldn’t shrug it off. Bracing for the worst, he transmitted to the Four Vajra Guardians.
-If that senior brother moves to beat the madman, you must rush in and stop him. Understood!
This was an order as binding as the precepts of the Diamond Sutra. The Four Vajra nodded with resolute eyes.
Then a discordant voice cut in.
“Honestly, I don’t know much about martial arts… No, maybe I know a little now? Anyway, I pride myself on having a keen eye for it.”
“And? What’s your point?”
“I just thought it was funny calling that level of skill a once-in-a-century prodigy from some backwater village. Not that I mean to disparage Shaolin. But honestly, at Namgung Sega, I’ve seen at least thirty martial artists that age with better skill.”
Behind his nonchalant facade, though, Namgung Je-cheon was genuinely surprised. There’d been a bit of exaggeration in his words.
‘That level puts him in the top five fingers, at least.’
Maybe even top three. He already knew I-gwon was exceptional. He’d experienced it firsthand over the past year and a half.
But if even he agreed with Jinheo here, no one would stand up for Namgung Daeso. So he’d bluffed for now.
‘Even I have to back our youngest young master!’
In truth, Namgung Je-cheon believed Namgung Daeso outshone I-gwon. No—more than anyone else in the world!
He raised his arm, pointing at Namgung Daeso.
If I-gwon was top five…
“Look! That youngest young master over there is the second-best martial artist I’ve ever seen with my expert eye.”
It was a narrow-minded, outrageous claim. But Jinheo sensed the sincerity in it. His voice softened slightly.
“Second? Then who’s first?”
Everyone knew Namgung Je-cheon was a madman. But as Namgung Sega’s deputy strategist, he’d managed the world flawlessly. He’d met countless martial artists and taken their measure with his own eyes. Thirty wasn’t a bad rank among them.
And curiosity piqued about who was number one.
“Why ask the obvious? The Martial God.”
All nodded gravely at that. The mere title carried immense weight.
But even the Martial God’s weight couldn’t crush Namgung Je-cheon.
“And right after him is that youngest young master there.”
To Namgung Je-cheon, the Martial God was someone to eventually trample. And Namgung Daeso was the one to make that small dream come true.
“Now, open your eyes wide and watch closely. No matter what you imagine, what you’ve seen so far, or what you think you’ll see next—expect more than that.”
Those present thought: Definitely a madman, but damn if his tongue isn’t silver.
All eyes naturally turned to Namgung Daeso and I-gwon.
Right now, I had no spare attention for anything else.
‘No openings.’
From the moment I-gwon’s body began glowing with golden light, I couldn’t find a single spot to target.
“This is insane.”
No matter how hard I pushed the Samjae Simbeop, no information came through. It felt like I was cut off from the world. All I could sense was myself, the ground under my feet, and the sword in my hand. Everything else belonged to I-gwon.
Sabak.
‘If I take one step like that…’
I-gwon’s form blurred and vanished, reappearing right in front of me in the same pose, staring me down.
Geumgang Budong Sinbeop.
Unlike when he’d been racing up the mountain peak, the pressure was no joke now. Was this guy for real? It was the first time I’d seen those playful eyes turn dead serious. Without that goofy bald grin, just looking at that hulking frame made me want to piss myself.
If I’d run into him on a dark night road, I’d have fainted on the spot. Good thing it was daytime with people around.
Huh? Je-cheon’s already over there in the distance.
Why was everyone glaring at him like they wanted to kill him? He was grinning like an idiot. Madman. Ignore it.
“If you won’t attack, I will.”
Growing impatient, I-gwon stepped toward me.
‘I wanted a bit more time to think.’
Just one step. The pressure was on another level, crushing me. Looked like his earlier “I’ll smash you” threat was dead serious.
“Fine! Come on!”
If I could beat this monster, Third Brother wouldn’t be so tough! This guy was definitely leagues above the rest. Even in Namgung Sega, few his age could match him.
In that instant, I-gwon appeared before me like he’d teleported.
‘Damn that Geumgang Budong Sinbeop!’
No telltale movement at all—impossible to prepare. If I could read other cues, maybe, but his presence swallowed everything.
Still, my eyes tracked him steadily. He thrust out his index finger.
Geumgangji!
Its hallmark: devastating power concentrated on one point! Underestimate that single finger, and you’d get a hole punched through you.
But that was bare-handed. I had my sword. I blocked with the flat of the blade.
Suk!
‘Gasp!’
His finger pierced the blade effortlessly. I yanked back just in time. A split-second slower, and that strike would’ve been fatal.
I-gwon pursued instantly, now kicking out with his leg.
Geumganggak!
Golden radiance coated it too. Unlike before, I didn’t counter—instead, I dropped low and dodged.
The next attack followed seamlessly. I twisted left to evade again.
>
My spars with Shaolin’s blockheads hadn’t been for nothing. Every time I-gwon attacked, I read it perfectly and slipped away.
The problem? Knowing didn’t mean I could counter.
I swung my sword with resolve.
Jing-!
A massive vibration jolted through from the clash. I nearly dropped it. Felt like striking solid iron.
Three more collisions, and the blade snapped.
“Fuck!!!”
I hurled the broken sword at him. He tilted his head, dodging easily.
I expected him to charge again, but he bent his knees and held still.
‘That’s…’
Mabo stance! Only one Shaolin art started from there, as far as I knew.
I hurriedly backed away. I-gwon, eyes locked on me, lightly placed both fists at his sides. Then he unleashed them like thunderbolts.
‘Damn! Still too close!’
We were ninety-nine paces apart.
‘Can’t dodge this!’
Baekbo Singwon hurtled toward me.
‘One down?’
No way! I snapped my head up to check I-gwon. He was gone. I looked skyward.
He’d already reached above me, extending his other arm.
Kurung!
Another Baekbo Singwon blasted from point-blank.
But that wasn’t all. His form whipped around, appearing diagonally for a brutal body slam, golden light radiating from his entire frame.
‘Shit!’
I slammed my feet into the ground with Cheon Geun Chu. First, I parried the incoming Baekbo Singwon with my own.
The second dropped from above. No time for another technique—I channeled all my qi into my arms and deflected it.
It worked, but my knees sank into the earth.
I looked ahead.
‘This is crazy!’
The biggest threat remained. I-gwon barreled in like a freight train, golden light converging on his head.
Shaolin’s killing blow! Geumgangdu!
Hard to face head-on with eyes open. Like a sun hurtling straight at me.
I poured every last drop of qi from my dantian into my arms and thrust forward.
Kwakwakwakwa-kwang!
A colossal roar echoed. But louder still was the creeeak… of twisting muscles.
My arms shuddered violently. Muscles ballooned like they’d burst, veins bulging crimson.
‘Is this even human? It’s a fucking bull!’
He pushed; I held. Without my feet anchored, the first impact would’ve sent me flying, only to get smashed by his follow-up headbutt. Pure luck.
But holding out changed nothing. His head inched forward, prying my arms apart. Slack off for a second, and that monstrous skull would cave my chest or face.
I didn’t want to imagine the aftermath. Worse, my qi was running dry. Bones ground audibly, dizzying my ears.
‘Lost.’
No path to victory. Power-wise, I was outclassed from the start.
My qi finally gave out. Arms went limp.
I mentally consoled my future self, broken and bedridden.
‘Skip this Sawangjeon!’
Arms collapsed fully. Unobstructed, the golden dome charged.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Fainting was familiar by now.
That instant—my qi stirred on its own again.
‘What’s a rat-tail remnant gonna do?’
I was used to it acting independently.
‘Last gasp? No way, impossible.’
The scrap ignored me, flowing freely. I soon recognized its intent.
Taiji.
‘Right, back to your roots.’
Lucky you, having a home to return to in tough times.
My arms followed the qi’s flow. Effortless motion, no strain.
As his head met my arm, it flapped like caught in a massive wave. Each time, my qi rippled along.
But it merely sloshed, returning to lazily trace the taiji.
A question hit me: Why not swept away? Against that natural disaster of a skull.
How could a rat-tail qi hold form?
His dome was nearly at my chest. My flailing arm brushed his shoulder. The charging force surged back through.
Slosh.
Qi tossed by the wave again. Yet after, it just swayed, back in place, redrawing taiji.
Slosh? In place, taiji. Slosh? In place, taiji. Slosh? In place, taiji. Slosh? In place. Slosh? In place. Slosh?Slosh?Slosh?Slosh!!!