Chapter 47: Chapter 47
– Wolha Village, Market Alley.
“No way, Seventh Young Master! Have you been hiding such powerful martial arts all this time? Mae-gi nearly lost his liver! Hahaha!”
“Hahaha! What else.”
As Mao erupted into hearty laughter, the Black Dragon Faction brightened, shoulders squaring with pride. On the rooftops, villagers waved torches and cheered.
Meanwhile, the Slaughterhouse exchanged uneasy glances, plunged into confusion. Until moments ago, this had been a man trembling with fear. A single strike had completely reversed the momentum.
Dong-tak’s mind went blank.
‘The Seventh Young Master has never properly trained in martial arts… When on earth… This is an overwhelming level of mastery that even the Boss couldn’t match.’
He too was a master who had reached the absolute realm. Naturally, one look was enough to gauge the general level.
But that single strike just now was unmistakably an attack possible only beyond the supreme realm.
And the Seventh Young Master had done it? Dong-tak stared at Mao, then shook his head in disbelief, brow creased deeply.
“That’s right, it’s me! I’m a genius! Hahaha!”
Waving at the cheering villagers and strutting. The very picture of frivolity. Impossible to believe such a man had unleashed that strike.
But…
Looking back, his subordinate lay buried under the rubble of a collapsed building, and cold sweat beaded his own palms. This was undeniable reality.
“What should we do?”
Subordinates who had clustered tightly around Dong-tak whispered. Dong-tak glared murderously, teeth clenched, and muttered.
“Fuck. What do you mean what! If you saw that, could you do anything?”
His gesture sent every assassin’s gaze backward. The crumbled wall. Their comrade’s corpse, only feet protruding. Gulps all around.
Dead instantly from a single blow. Never seen anything like it. How does a punch send a man flying like a cannonball? This was simply beyond their league to contend with.
Even Meteor Iron Legs, reckless as he was, knew the value of his own life.
Dong-tak swallowed dry, then stepped forward with forced bravado and addressed Mao.
“It seems… you’ve obtained a fortuitous encounter.”
“Fortuitous encounter?”
The strutting Mao suddenly went stone-faced and glared.
“I thought you had no interest in martial arts… As expected of the Cult Leader’s heir. This humble Dong-tak has learned something.”
“What. Earlier you told me to go home and sleep.”
“That was… a slip of the tongue…”
“Ah, right. A slip of the tongue. A thoroughly insolent slip.”
As Mao swaggered forward, Dong-tak’s face crumpled like wadded paper. A worthless bastard once called a good-for-nothing, daring to…
“I heard everything. Everything. Every word you bastards muttered.”
“Ghk!”
Dong-tak flinched. Mao regarded him wickedly and spoke.
“I’ve done my share of terrible things, so I can’t entirely condemn you. But I’ve been thinking hard about this. I may be a dog, but you bastards are incurable mad dogs. Now you’re trying to harm cult members in broad daylight?”
“…It’s night, actually.”
Right. Night. But…
“Night. So it’s fine to kill at night? This bastard has seriously twisted ideology. What are you, some new cult? Everything’s forgiven once the sun goes down? If your subordinate secretly met your woman at night, would you forgive that? If he brought you the underwear he wore that day as a gift, would you forgive him? Would you wear it?!”
“No, fuck, that’s disgusting! What does that have to do with…”
“Shut up! I’m not done talking. Look. You bastards are beyond saving. You don’t even realize your own sins. Going after Jang I-seo and me, that’s fine. That’s between me and Ma I-sin… that bastard. But Cheol-yeong and Jang-deuk. And these innocent villagers. Are you even human? And you dare hope to walk away unharmed?!”
THUMP! Were these truly the words of the good-for-nothing Mao? Murmurs erupted everywhere, astonishment overriding all else.
Some shed tears of remorse, berating themselves for having pointed fingers at the good-for-nothing all this time.
Others glared with eyes full of disbelief. Such profound thoughts from him? Impossible.
A truly unprecedented event.
But this time, Mao was genuine. He might have lived as a good-for-nothing, causing nothing but trouble. But he had never harmed the innocent.
Yet these bastards had twice tried to kill people whose only crime was being near him.
This had crossed the line completely.
“So. What would you have us do? If there’s a way to live, please tell us.”
Naturally, they wouldn’t listen with open ears or honest hearts. They had no conscience to begin with.
No amount of lecturing would produce genuine remorse.
Their sins were already so tattered and numerous that one more would hardly make a difference.
And Mao knew this well. A dog knows a dog.
Therefore…
“Each of you takes one hit from me.”
A challenge.
Mao felt the internal energy swelling in his dantian once more and offered his calculated proposal.
The More-the-Better Fist was an unprecedented aberrant technique that dumped all internal energy into a single strike.
After using it, at least a quarter-shi had to pass before any meaningful recovery.
That was why he’d done nothing but stall with conversation until now.
‘It won’t be as powerful as before, but one clean hit to that gut should be enough.’
The calculation was complete.
As Dong-tak hesitated with furrowed brow, Mao cracked his knuckles. Crick. And pressed harder.
“One hit settles the past. Or should I just kill you all? I’m showing tremendous mercy right now. I’ll let you live. So decide. Take a hit and leave, or take a hit and die.”
“Hmm…”
Honestly, there was nothing to deliberate. The gap in skill was dimensional. Behind him, the assassins watched with pleading eyes.
But Dong-tak hesitated.
Fear was part of it. True. But the longer he stalled, the more a question nagged.
‘If he wants to hit me, he should come and hit me. The bastard’s telling me to decide. Why. Why should I?’
He looked like an ignorant boar, but Dong-tak was actually among the more cunning in the Slaughterhouse.
The more he thought about it, the more it grated. Such situations did exist occasionally. When the opponent wanted to inflict greater humiliation. But why now?
“Understood. Then… please come this way.”
“Hah, you bastard. A fucking wise choice.”
Mao grinned and approached. Dong-tak walked forward as well. The two men advanced toward each other from their respective camps.
Dong-tak deliberately slowed his pace, studying Mao’s gait subtly. Something was wrong.
Uncoordinated legs. Feet splayed at an angle, each going its own way.
A shit habit that would never appear in someone trained in footwork.
Looking up from his slanted stance, he saw fists clenched tight. Higher, chapped lips. And the pupils…
‘Trembling?’
Trembling like a coward bluffing. He’d tried to hide it, but Dong-tak’s eyes didn’t miss it. Moreover, he couldn’t even meet his eyes, staring only at his stomach.
The unmistakable stench of a clumsy amateur.
‘Look at this bastard.’
Dong-tak couldn’t quite define it, but his lips kept creeping upward. What was this feeling?
Finally, standing face to face, Mao rolled his shoulders and spoke.
“If it hurts, cry. At least offer some consolation to the dead. Got it?”
“Heh heh. I’ll try.”
“Laughing? Cocky bastard. Let’s see if you laugh after taking it.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Dong-tak offered his body with hands clasped behind his back. Hit him wherever. Mao, infuriated, circulated his internal energy in a single surge.
VWOOM!
Tremendous yang energy gathered around his fist once more, blazing white.
And the promised strike launched.
“MORE-THE-BETTER-FIST-!”
FWAAASH!
At the explosive energy point-blank, even Dong-tak’s smirking expression hardened. Definitely not a mistake. That fist was real. Taking it meant death.
But,
‘How clumsy. Heh heh heh.’
Amateurish. This was nothing more than a thug’s bare punch. True, the internal energy infused in it made it difficult for even an expert to dodge if caught off guard. But that applied only to a sudden encounter.
In a situation like now, where everything from the pupils to the shoulders, the bending elbow, and the twisting waist telegraphed exactly where he was aiming, the story changed.
FWISH!
Dong-tak twisted his massive frame sideways in an instant, letting the incoming fist sail past.
“H-huh?!”
FWOOSH!
The More-the-Better Fist cleaved empty air, burning it. As Mao turned his head in bewilderment, Dong-tak stood there baring his hideous gums in a grin.
“Heh heh heh heh. I see you haven’t learned to aim yet.”
“Y-you bastard!”
“Then there’s no reason for me to take it.”
A fiasco. A colossal fiasco.
“Ah, ah. That said, I can’t very well beat the Seventh Young Master myself. Well, try again. I’ll oblige. Of course, while we do, my men will be killing people left and right… and you’ll just have to pretend not to see. Heh heh heh.”
“You son of a bitch!”
Mao grabbed Dong-tak’s collar, trembling. But his internal energy was already depleted. The bottom would show at any moment.
“Kgh!”
Sure enough, when Dong-tak seized Mao’s wrist, sharp pain creased his brow. But the bigger problem was something else.
“Look at this. Our Seventh Young Master… has no internal energy?”
Dong-tak’s wicked smile. Having his wrist locked was the gravest blunder.
‘W-what do I do?’
Mao’s mind went blank. Everything had been exposed.
“Boys.”
“Yes!”
Dong-tak gripped Mao’s arm, tilted his head, and issued a savage order.
“Start with those bastards laughing and jeering up on the rooftops. Wipe them all out.”
“N-no!”
Chilling dread. As Mao screamed, the assassins surged forward past Dong-tak. Despair flooded Mao’s face. Dong-tak savored the long-awaited ecstasy.
‘J-Jang I-seo… what do I do?’
Mao, on the verge of tears, thought of him desperately.
Then.
“Kagh!”
“Gakh!”
Unfamiliar screams erupted from the distance. Dong-tak grinned wider. And Mao…
“Y-you…”
Erupted in astonishment.
“Hm?”
Sensing something wrong with Mao’s reaction, Dong-tak whipped his head around. And saw.
A masked figure, barely five cheok tall, wielding a short spear with agile movements, cutting down his subordinates mercilessly.
“Idiots! Can’t you even block?!”
The boy’s still-young voice rang out in frustration as he wove through the surrounding enemies.
“You didn’t leave, brat…”
Mao greeted tearfully.
The eternal brat. His brother.
Sixth Young Master Maeng Hwi.
He had appeared as a steadfast ally.