Chapter 151
Chapter 151
No Contest
It was an insult so degrading that spitting in his face would have been the more gentlemanly option—
“Heh heh, your spirit alone is unmatched under heaven.”
The old monk merely laughed it off. It was because his years of cultivation were by no means shallow, and because the difference in standing between the two of them was far too great for him to recklessly vent his emotions.
The young man standing beside him, however, was a different story.
“Master, leave him to me. I'll take care of him for good.”
“Do not act rashly, Siho. Your turn will come as well.”
Even so, the old monk patted his disciple's shoulder as though pleased that he had become angry on his behalf before stepping forward himself.
Watching the exchange, Croft made a huge fuss as if he could already picture the commotion that was about to unfold.
“Don't damage him. We'll have to braaainwash him later. You can't stitch back together what's no longer there, can yooou?”
“It'll be fine. Just toss him into a medical pod afterward, and it'll heal him on its own.”
“In that case... just don't kill hiiim.”
After taking the package out of the pod, Croft turned his back. To a born scholar like him, analyzing data took priority over petty revenge. His footsteps toward the laboratory were as light as feathers—
The old monk wasted no more time and gestured with his hand.
“Hang him where everyone can get a good look.”
No one asked how.
Silently, the syndicate members bent steel beams and connected pipes, constructing a cross.
The burly men pulled Ga-on out of the pod and roughly fastened him onto it.
Seeing him hanging there like a slab of meat in a butcher's shop, as though symbolizing his miserable fate, the old monk nodded in satisfaction.
“Heh heh, they called you a Fighting Dog, did they? But looking at you now, you're nothing more than a yapping puppy. Tell me, how do you feel?”
The old monk demanded an answer, but Ga-on's gaze remained fixed on a single man.
A giant of a man with the imposing build of a tiger.
'Dae Gwanmu.'
They had fought once before. It was only after meeting him that Ga-on had learned a bounty had been placed on his head. The fact that Dae Gwanmu was here could only mean one thing.
The old monk was his master.
Having fitted the final piece into place, Ga-on finally turned to face the old monk.
“What's your name?”
“This old man is called Muryong. It's a name that should never be revealed to an ignorant fool like you, but at the very least, you ought to know who defeated you.”
In that case, it was only proper for him to give his own name in return—
“Baek Ga-on.”
As soon as he spoke, Ga-on climbed down from the cross by himself.
The drugs had never worked on him in the first place. The only reason he had remained still was to watch just how much these clowns would make fools of themselves.
Naturally, Muryong knew nothing of that and merely concluded that Ga-on had an unusually high resistance.
“You seem to have a few tricks.”
As he spoke, Muryong glanced at Ga-on's empty hands before deliberately opening his own palm.
“Rest easy. I ordered them not to bring firearms. After all, isn't a well-honed technique the greatest weapon?”
And beating him into submission would be far more satisfying.
As if agreeing with Muryong's quiet remark, the burly men surrounding Ga-on gradually tightened the encirclement. As a bonus, each of them released an overwhelmingly fierce aura that was enough to make onlookers shudder.
Leading the group was Siho, who had been itching for this moment.
A golden opportunity to outshine his senior disciple Dae Gwanmu and catch Muryong's eye—
“Die.”
He closed the distance faster than anyone else.
Every member of Ryungyeong was a specialist in close-quarters combat. Even the lowest-ranking foot soldier could dodge bullets at point-blank range.
The source of that ability was the Slot, Hwayeon.
It was a miraculous device that integrated various sensors used to analyze the surrounding environment while automatically executing evasive maneuvers and counterattacks based on the information it received.
With its own unique specifications and performance, it was an item traded exclusively within Ryungyeong.
Since the supply was limited, it was distributed according to rank.
The one Siho possessed was a Standard-grade Hwayeon. Though it belonged to the lower grades, it was still a treasure that could never be obtained on the open market.
To Ga-on, who had already finished warming up in his dream, however, it was only fast enough to make him yawn.
“Ghk.”
Hooking his foot behind Siho's, he broke his balance before grabbing the back of his neck and twisting it like the cap off a bottle.
The sequence flowed as naturally as running water, but Siho himself never had the chance to appreciate it.
His consciousness had vanished the instant the first clash ended.
A tragedy born of greed.
That was how the underworld worked.
The first to die was always the fool who lacked awareness.
The same went for those who challenged others without knowing their place.
That said, his death itself was not meaningless.
It became the catalyst that awakened everyone else's vigilance.
In an instant, the burly men's tactics changed completely. Instead of charging in like enraged bulls for a quick fight, they scattered in every direction.
It was the prelude to a battle of attrition.
Occupying the four cardinal directions, they forced him into a four-way dilemma.
One hand could never block ten.
Numerical superiority was nothing more than that.
Yet a punch that shot forward along the shortest possible path shattered that very notion.
No—it tore the concept itself to pieces, as though rebuking it for its complacency.
Thud... thud... thud...
The sound of rolling bodies piled atop one another as the floor was dyed crimson.
It was difficult to find anyone with all four limbs intact.
Finding someone whose head was still attached was even harder.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a complete massacre.
“Heh heh.”
Despite every one of the subordinates who had accompanied him being wiped out, Muryong's expression remained perfectly calm.
If anything, he simply shook his head.
“I raised them with such care, yet to think they'd perish so pathetically. It seems I spoiled them too much.”
That was because he judged by his own standards.
If he stepped in himself, creating a scene like this would not take him very long either.
Staring directly at Ga-on, who was emitting something from his shoulders that could have been either steam or heat, Muryong settled into his stance.
“It looks like you've finished warming up. Now, I'll be your opponent.”
Suddenly, Muryong vanished from sight and appeared directly beneath Ga-on's chin.
His footwork had reached the realm of divine speed, striking from an impossible angle. Even knowing the theory behind it was nowhere near enough to master such a technique, and it offered a glimpse—if only indirectly—of the level he had attained.
Ga-on, however, saw through even that and moved to respond.
Or rather, he would have—
Had the incoming punch not suddenly accelerated.
Boom!
The abrupt change in speed was utterly unnatural.
It was as though a jet engine had ignited.
Ga-on hurriedly raised his palm and redirected the punch, but he couldn't stop the point of contact from being torn apart like fabric. His skin and muscles split open, exposing the bone beneath.
His mistake had been failing to clearly track the punch because of Muryong's long sleeves.
“So the only things you've gained with age are years and cheap tricks.”
“Cheap tricks? I merely borrowed the wisdom of my predecessors.”
Deceleration and acceleration.
By exploiting the difference between the two, he manipulated the rhythm of his attacks to create an optical illusion.
It sounded simple enough in theory, but several impossible obstacles had to be overcome.
First, one had to read the flow of the air.
Second, one had to guide the opponent's gaze.
Neither was a domain granted to ordinary humans.
That was why Muryong had sacrificed both of his eyes.
Supporting his empty eye sockets were Slots capable of reading vibrations and waves.
Having completely abandoned visual information and relying solely on positional data, no deception could fool him.
Because he measured only what truly existed.
Moreover, he was a master of Xingyiquan.
A master who had spent decades refining it.
“What is it? You're staggering.”
There was a saying:
Shuhari.
A term commonly used to describe the stages of martial arts.
Shu referred to faithfully learning and respecting the forms and techniques passed down by one's master.
Ha, however, was different.
True to its name, it meant breaking apart the framework of martial arts one had trained until it could be used instinctively.
In other words, it was the stage of transcending established forms and forging one's own path.
Unlike the countless mediocrities who relied solely on the specifications of their weapons, Muryong had reached the level where he could fully utilize everything he had mastered.
Xingyiquan, which combined only the strengths of various martial arts, demonstrated its true worth in hand-to-hand combat.
Just like this—
[Xingyiquan Secret Technique: Amtugyeong]
Using his extended rear leg as a support, he threw a punch.
Up to that point, it was nothing more than an ordinary straight punch that could be seen anywhere.
But what if it were unleashed from a distance barely wide enough to fit a finger?
And without the slightest preparatory motion?
It became an ultimate technique unlike any other.
Boom!
The impact overturned Ga-on's stomach, forcing bile back down his throat.
What Muryong pursued was close-quarters combat.
More specifically, combat at such close range that their skin nearly touched.
The punch he had just unleashed reflected that very philosophy.
A method of releasing force known as Chon-gyeong, or Hidden Force.
In the 21st century, it had become widely known as the one-inch punch.
But for such destructive power to come from a bare body alone was absurd.
Which was why Ga-on pulled Muryong into his embrace.
To see exactly what was hidden beneath those fluttering sleeves.
Riiip—
Between the shredded sleeves, the true nature of the technique was finally revealed.
It was a specially made prosthetic arm crafted from carbon fiber.
At the center of its forearm, densely woven with artificial muscles, sat a rotating cylinder resembling a string of prayer beads.
The fist was the muzzle.
The forearm was the barrel.
It would not have been an exaggeration to say its structure had been copied directly from a revolver.
However, it had not imitated the philosophy of a compact handgun.
In reality, the rounds it fired were 12 mm in caliber.
The sort of ammunition one would expect from an anti-materiel sniper rifle.
The kinetic energy discharged from it was delivered entirely through the punch.
Muryong himself was the weapon.
And yet—
“Didn't you say you hadn't brought any firearms?”
“I didn't bring one. It followed me. No... perhaps even that distinction has become meaningless. We've crossed the boundary between each other and become one body. Tell me, how is this any different from a callus?”
The instant the rotating cylinder turned and fired, Muryong's punch erupted once again.
Despite already being in contact, an overwhelming impact equivalent to a full-powered strike crashed through Ga-on's entire body.
Yet instead of retreating, Ga-on seized Muryong's wrist.
The orthodox approach would have been to create distance and wait for an opening—
“No contest.”
Muryong simply didn't possess enough to justify the trouble.
How could he?
The secret technique he had proudly displayed was nothing more than an inferior imitation of the Arhat techniques.
“...What did you do?”
Muryong stared blankly at his prosthetic arm, now twisted out of alignment like a braided pastry.
He had clearly taken the initiative.
He had clearly forced Ga-on onto the defensive.
Then why?
Countless questions filled Muryong's eyes, but Ga-on gave no answer.
Instead, he placed his palm against Muryong's abdomen.
“This is what Amtugyeong really is.”
The release of force at zero distance.
Not merely point-blank range.
At the first sign of the rotational force surging upward from the dantian, Muryong instinctively realized something was terribly wrong.
Back when laws governing genetic engineering were still inadequate, Ryungyeong had cultivated Genius Babies at random.
Muryong had been one of the chosen seeds.
Fortunately, his talent was exceptional, allowing him to survive until he became an old monk in a world where failure meant death.
He had crossed countless battlefields.
Yet he had never encountered anything like this.
No...
He did know of it.
At least in theory.
This was the Ri stage of Shuhari.
A realm attainable only by those who had gone beyond martial arts itself, casting aside what they had once revered as immutable law and truth.
Only then did he understand what his disciple, Dae Gwanmu, had been trying to warn him about.
What Dae Gwanmu had witnessed was likely nothing more than a fragment of this.
'The one trapped inside the well... was me.'