Failed Possession Chapter-20

## Chapter 20

—

His body was restless.

That alone was the reason Bakered visited a day earlier than planned.
He had no interest whatsoever in the lightning-attribute grimoire, **Seven Forms of Flashing Thunder**, which he had won on their behalf under the condition of sharing *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist*.

So he hurriedly left his lodging. There was the minor problem of not knowing where the Gold Marigold’s estate was, but he did know the location of the Dercia Magic Tower.

It was a sudden visit, but he didn’t worry about being rude.

Fist Wolf Bakered was that kind of man.

He went to the Magic Tower, asked them to call Gold Marigold, explained the situation, and came together with her to the estate.

*‘I’ll just teach him the basic movements quickly and be done with it.’*

Up until the moment he opened the estate gates, that was what Bakered thought.

On the way, Gold Marigold had briefly explained what kind of person “Yuri” was.
A guy who had never properly learned martial arts until now.
A guy who had only just entered inner energy yesterday through the near first-rate **Pure and True Heart Method**.

And in the process, after swallowing one **Azure Heaven Pill** from the Namgung clan, and simply for the reason of having a good childhood friend, he had even obtained *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist*—

Compared to his background and ability, the one thing he had absurdly good luck in was fortune.

*‘Not someone you can like.’*

Bakered had rarely been lucky.

Though he carried the blood of the Laspion family head of Sairan’s prestigious house, as an illegitimate child he had never once been acknowledged by the family.

A common story.

Before becoming head, the young man had fallen for a plain, modest girl who worked carrying dishes at a small tavern.

The child born from that relationship was no blessing to him.
Rather, a burden.
So he gave money, and the girl tearfully accepted.

From a very young age, Bakered grew up outside the family and wasn’t even permitted to use the surname “Laspion.”

He couldn’t inherit the sword art the Laspion family was proud of.

In rebellion against a bloodline and fate that would never acknowledge him, the young Bakered chose a spear instead of a sword and joined the city guard of Sairan rather than beg the family for pity.

*I have nothing to do with the Laspion family.*

Thinking that, he lived his life without ever going near them.

Until twenty years ago.

The tragedy happened overnight.

The prestigious Laspion family—renowned for its swordsmanship—was annihilated. Of dozens in the main house, not a single survivor remained. Over a hundred servants and knights who maintained the estate were all killed.

The only one who survived that tragedy—

was Bakered, the one man never allowed to use the Laspion surname.

The guard handled crimes within the city.

As a guard, Bakered witnessed the carnage firsthand. The killers weren’t alone. Sword, magic, spear. The investigation concluded there were three perpetrators. And the family head—the strongest of Laspion, Bakered’s father—had died struck by all three.

As a guard, Bakered carried the corpses.

He lifted torn children with his own hands and dug out his father’s body buried beneath the collapsed floor of the central hall.

When he was young—

he had met his father exactly once.

A man hiding his face beneath a robe came to the now-prosperous tavern and drank alone.

Late into the night he talked with the tavern’s mistress, then called the drowsy boy who had fallen asleep over an empty table to sit in front of him.

‘Do not hold a sword.’
‘Do not come looking for the family.’
‘But if there ever comes a moment when you truly need help…’

That was when he gave him the Laspion family crest.

He honored that desperate request. He didn’t hold a sword, and he never visited the family.

A moment when he truly needed help?
Such a moment never came in Bakered’s ordinary life. And even if it had, he didn’t think he would go.

Because his father had trailed off at the end.

—All the bodies that could barely be called intact were buried in the Laspion family cemetery.

That day, Bakered took the Laspion crest he had shoved away in a drawer and carried it to his chest.

The moment he entered the cemetery, he felt it vibrate.

Visiting alone late at night, he followed the crest’s guidance to a hidden chamber.

Several letters filled with pitiful apologies.
A large sum of money.

The Laspion head hadn’t expected to die like that. He had merely thought that someday, when he died, perhaps the illegitimate Bakered might visit once. This room existed as a feeble excuse and consolation for the guilt he had ignored.

Who in the world had massacred the Laspion family?

He couldn’t learn the culprits’ identities.

But he did learn that all of Laspion’s secret sword arts had vanished.

That day, Bakered quit the Sairan guard.

He laid down the spear he had chosen instead of the sword.

The fact that the people he had never considered family had died pierced by spears unsettled the young man’s heart.

He still didn’t attach the surname Laspion to his name.

But if he ever met the ones responsible for that tragedy—

he wanted to introduce himself as Bakered Laspion.

For twenty years he wandered in revenge for a family he had never truly considered family. Even now, he couldn’t fully explain why he kept wandering.

But those twenty years as the Fist Wolf had become an enormous obsession.

That was the life he lived.

Not a life one could call lucky.

So Bakered disliked Yuri.

He thought him someone without madness or obsession. Whatever his past, he came to Lutran and enjoyed luxury beyond his means simply because he had one good childhood friend.

He still didn’t like Yuri.

But now—

not a trace of those thoughts remained.

His gaze had been stolen by the fist Yuri swung.

There wasn’t even a shred of inner energy in that punch, yet it didn’t feel shallow at all.

*‘Footwork…’*

The reason Bakered desperately wanted *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* was because of the footwork he had already learned.

**Fluttering Wind, Following Clouds.**
The footwork created by Yang Ilsu, founder of the style.

Twenty years ago, Bakered obtained the footwork—but not the fist art.

*‘There’s no way he knows about Fluttering Wind, Following Clouds.’*

He had only entered martial arts yesterday.

Yet Yuri used footwork along with the fist art.

To be precise, it was still clumsy steps that barely qualified as footwork—but that very fact shocked Bakered even more.

*‘He created the necessary footwork with nothing but instinct and intuition?’*

Impossible.

*‘Don’t tell me this bastard’s a possessor…?’*

The suspicion flashed through his mind, but he immediately denied it. The talent possessors had was affinity and understanding of mana—hardly suited to martial arts.

Some possessors had mastered martial arts, yes.

Among the Martial Zeniths: Chuk Shin-do and Elaia Yudel were confirmed possessors, while two others were suspected.

But all four shared one trait.

They were masters of Force Qi techniques.

Techniques requiring perfect control of massive inner energy were closer to magic, demanding mana affinity and understanding.

The man in front of him wasn’t like that.

Just a first-tier chick who had barely begun.

He had only absorbed half of the Azure Heaven Pill’s energy. No way he was a possessor.

“You said you’d come tomorrow. Why are you here?”

Yuri couldn’t stand straight without Elena’s support. His body felt heavy, legs trembling, no strength from his back to fingertips.

The recoil from swinging his fists for so long.

“I’m here isn’t important.”

Bakered finally opened his stiff lips.

“Your name’s Yuri, right?”
“Yes.”
“Yuri. What exactly were you doing just now?”

“You saw it though…?”

“I was practicing the first form of *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist*.”
“The first form. Its name?”
“Floating Cloud Drift.”
“That style only described how to use fists. Why were your feet moving too?”

Yuri blinked.

He barely remembered—after some point he had fallen into a trance—but he did remember moving his feet.

‘Right… that’s when.’

Something had felt lacking. Something didn’t fit. Then the puzzle piece clicked—and from there his fists, legs, and body just moved.

The missing piece had been his feet.

He hesitated, then answered.

“Fist arts are for hitting the other guy, aren’t they?”
“All martial arts are.”
“The opponent won’t just stand still. Wouldn’t it be stupid if I stood still and only swung my fists?”
“That’s… true.”
“So I moved my legs too. Standing there punching felt weird.”

Bakered silently stared at Yuri’s face.

No profound depth. Just a simple, obvious answer.

Yet there were countless people who couldn’t put even that simple, obvious thing into practice.

“Clinging only to forms just because you’ve learned martial arts is foolish. If your specialty is thrusting, yet you still stab when you should be swinging and cutting, you die fast.”

“…”

“You’re not that kind of fool. Like you said, fist arts are for hitting the other guy, and the one you’re hitting won’t just stand still. Even if the bastard is some idiot who stands there, you still have to move closer to hit him.”

“Are you complimenting me?”

“Yes. I heard Heavenly Thunder Orca acknowledged you. Seems you’re indeed worth acknowledging.”

As one martial artist to another, Bakered sincerely acknowledged Yuri’s talent.

“But right now, that talent is a pity. Your body isn’t fully keeping up with your aptitude.”

“I do train my body fairly hard.”

“Trying hard isn’t enough. You must train until muscles tear and bones break.”

Bakered strode forward and grabbed Yuri by the shoulders. As if taking a doll from Elena, he lifted Yuri up with both hands.

“A man shouldn’t be this light…”

“No, I don’t think I’m that light…”

Yuri muttered with an awkward expression.

He wasn’t flabby—having brawled since childhood and even lived through gang life, he actually had a fairly solid build.

But compared to Bakered, he looked pitiful. Bakered’s forearm alone was as thick as Yuri’s thigh.

“Thin, but your frame is good. Your muscles are firm and elastic—excellent. A body well-suited for martial arts. You just need more training.”

“Are you saying I need to bulk up like you, Sir Bakered?”

“No. That’s unnecessary. The fist art I learned is called **Vajra Shattering Fist**. It embodies the principles of weight and dominance. I shaped my body to suit it.”

Yuri’s feet returned to the ground.

“*Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* embodies softness, speed, and change. For a style like this, you don’t need to grow your body hastily.”

“Speedy bowel—”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Yuri quickly shut his mouth. Bakered tilted his head but continued.

“Softness and speed are difficult to reconcile, but as you showed, *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* is fundamentally a two-handed style. Even I haven’t seen the manual yet, but while wandering to find it, I heard many stories about Yang Ilsu, the founder. They say his left fist moved softly and created changes, while his right fist was fast enough to split light.”

Bakered crossed his arms and looked down at Yuri.

Yuri, who had been quietly listening, spoke up with a simple question.

“You said you shaped your body for your original martial art. Is it really okay for you to learn *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* too?”

“It’s true I’m best at weight and dominance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything else.”

Bakered snorted.

“And the reason I’m learning *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* is to combine it with **Vajra Shattering Fist** and create a new fist art.”

“That’s impressive. Will you teach me Vajra Shattering Fist too, by any chance?”

“Why… should I teach you that?”

“If you combine the two and only use the new style, Vajra Shattering Fist might feel lonely.”

Bakered blinked, unable to answer.

Feeling like his expression might twist any second, Yuri hurriedly added,

“If you don’t want to, never mind.”

Behind his back, Yuri wiggled his fingers desperately—a signal to Elena standing awkwardly behind him.

She had no idea what he was doing, but she couldn’t ignore those frantic fingers and approached.

“I think I’m too tired today and should rest a bit.”

Yuri immediately grabbed Elena’s arm like a support.

“R-right.”

Elena quickly went along, adjusting her expression while glancing at Yuri’s hand hooked around her arm.

“Understood.”

Though he had come a day early and seemed unlikely to back down easily, Bakered surprisingly nodded without insisting.

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll come here every day at noon for a month.”

“F-for a month?”

Yuri asked back in shock.

He’d expected maybe a week at most—yet a month? Yesterday at the auction Bakered had looked blatantly unwilling, but now his face was filled with motivation.

Originally, Bakered had indeed intended to teach *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* roughly and be done.

But Yuri’s talent, which he had accidentally witnessed, was outstanding. Now he genuinely wanted to teach him seriously.

Moreover, Bakered himself needed to learn the style. The biggest pitfall when learning a new martial art was becoming trapped in the perspective of your old one.

Teaching someone completely new like Yuri would let him focus purely on *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist*.

Using Yuri as practice to learn faster didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“Does that seem insufficient?”

“No, not at all. It’s just… I feel bad that you’d spend a whole month just for me.”

“No need to think that way. Even without you, I would have stayed in this city for a long time.”

“Do you have some appointment here?”

“An appointment…”

Bakered muttered bitterly with a faint smile.

“I don’t know if he would consider it an appointment, but I do.”

He hadn’t come to Lutran only because *Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist* had appeared on the market.

“Do you know who Full Moon Play is?”

“Yes… yes.”

“I’ve asked him for sparring several times because I wanted to experience his **Full Moon Crushing Strike**, but he never agreed. Then last year, I met him directly at a Jeongcheon Alliance event.”

“…”

“He found me extremely annoying, but when I kept asking earnestly, he finally accepted. He said he’d visit Lutran a year later, and if he hadn’t forgotten, he’d spar with me then.”

Yuri listened with his mouth slightly open.

“I don’t know exactly when he’ll come, but I plan to stay in this city until he does.”

With that, Bakered turned around.

“I’ll come tomorrow. Rest well today.”

“Yes…”

Yuri struggled to hold onto his fading consciousness.

—