**Ch-32**
—
Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique. Blazing Burst Fist. Purple Lightning Flash Art. Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist. Storm-wind Steps.
‘And the Pure and True Heart Method.’
Unlike in the game, in this world there is no limit to the number of skills, martial arts, or magic one can learn. That said, it isn’t as though one can learn them recklessly, either.
Choice and focus. A common phrase—but for Yuri right now, it was an important and necessary one.
‘Focus my inner cultivation on the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique.’
That was only natural. A blaze that roared and flared— a demonic art that might even devour and burn its own user to ash. Even taking such dangers into account, the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique was a divine art.
In the game, Seronis, skills and items were categorized by rank.
Common, Rare, Unique, Epic.
Dedicated skills or items dropped by Named enemies above level 80 bore the Epic label. Roughly mapping that over, level 80 and above could be considered the Seventh Tier—so the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique was, without room for dispute, an Epic skill. By the same logic, the Blazing Burst Fist he had inherited from Lorellia could also be considered an Epic skill.
‘The Pure and True Heart Method… even if I’m generous, maybe Rare?’
Compared to the Pure and True Heart Method, which had no notable strengths beyond stability, it was better to focus on the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique, whose peak potential was far higher even if it carried the risk of qi deviation.
‘Still, it doesn’t seem like a penalty skill.’
Penalty skills existed separately from Common, Rare, Unique, and Epic.
Barehanded Combat, the penalty skill that sealed Yuri—Lee Su-hyeok’s Padlip-Immune One—equipment window and forced him to fight in nothing but underwear, was one such skill.
Barehanded Combat carried the enormous penalty of being unable to equip any gear, but if that could be covered, its raw performance surpassed even Epic skills. All penalty skills were like that: even with fatal drawbacks, their pure performance was exceptional.
When the Hall of Fame first opened, anyone and everyone could snag first place—but once things began to truly stabilize, no ordinary build could even dream of reaching the top.
From that point on, incorporating a penalty skill into one’s build became the trend, and how one covered that penalty determined the build’s superiority.
‘Penalty skills…’
Among martial arts, the most representative example was the Child-Vow Art.
As the name implied, it could only be learned by those who were chaste. Once learned, one had to remain so for life, and quitting midway was impossible.
A horrifying restriction—but in return, it guaranteed progress at a speed unmatched by any other divine art.
Still, no one knew what the future might hold. Yuri had never intended to learn something like the Child-Vow Art in the first place, so he had long since let go of any lingering desire for penalty skills.
‘Unless I really end up needing one later.’
They weren’t exactly the same as the game’s penalty skills, but in this world too there were many ways to amplify one’s power by forbidding or giving up something. The most prominent example was the Order’s holy knights, who gained strength by swearing oaths to the god they served.
If he were impoverished and desperate, he might have had to look into something like that—but fortunately, Yuri was well provided for, and had no need to turn his eyes in that direction.
‘At least, not yet.’
Since the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique didn’t exist in the game, he could only guess its rank—but the Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist, he remembered clearly.
‘Unique.’
As for Storm-wind Steps—was it Unique as well? Or was it bundled together with the Cloud-Drifting Sky Fist and treated as a single Unique?
‘The Purple Lightning Flash Art… that one’s tricky.’
If Heaven-Thunder Orca had consulted it, it couldn’t possibly be low-ranked.
‘Probably not Epic. So, Unique?’
Two Epic skills, two Unique skills, one Rare…
To be carrying two Epic skills in what could still be called the low-level phase! And on top of that, two Unique skills you could practically call a hearty staple meal? Even in the game, things rarely went this smoothly.
‘The problem is that this isn’t a game.’
Swallowing a rising sigh, Yuri looked down at the two secret manuals.
Storm-wind Steps and the Purple Lightning Flash Art. He had read them both through. Fully understanding and deploying them right away was beyond him, but he grasped what kind of martial arts they were.
For now, the familiar one was Storm-wind Steps. In the process of practicing the Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist, Yuri had already been using the necessary footwork—and it aligned with the same principles as Storm-wind Steps.
His Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist was already well on track, so learning the corresponding movement art, Storm-wind Steps, shouldn’t be difficult.
The Purple Lightning Flash Art—was unfamiliar. Alien. It required the ability to convert the internal energy already accumulated in one’s dantian into lightning-aspected power, and to wield it efficiently and destructively.
It should have been difficult… yet strangely, it didn’t feel that way.
Inner cultivation methods and qi arts like the Purple Lightning Flash Art demanded a high level of mana affinity and comprehension.
The sensation he’d felt while reading the shared grimoire of Arsen Lucionel, the Extreme Point.
The feeling of incantations being forcibly carved into his mind.
‘If my tier were high enough, I could deploy it—but not yet.’
He decided to postpone serious study of the Purple Lightning Flash Art until after reaching the Fourth Tier. For now, he would focus on the Evil-Quelling Heavenly Principle Technique, the Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist, Storm-wind Steps—and external body training.
“…”
Something was strange.
It felt like something he’d been trying not to be conscious of was now demanding his attention.
‘Why am I so good at this?’
At first, he’d thought it was thanks to the training he received from Lorellia. Lorellia the Calamity Star, one of the rational aspects of the Martial Zenith.
Strictly speaking, she had been Yuri—Lee Su-hyeok’s—first master. Before becoming Yuri, Lee Su-hyeok had learned how to throw punches and how to fight from Lorellia.
The instincts accumulated through that learning hadn’t vanished even after possessing Yuri. He believed it was thanks to that that he’d been able to kill the Oh brothers, and to evade or block Namgung Jin’s attacks.
But was that really all?
Orca had told Yuri that he had talent in martial arts. That even if not in mana, he was innately gifted in using his body.
Bakered had been impressed when he saw Yuri deploy the Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist on his own.
Even Full-Moon Play had acknowledged Yuri’s martial talent.
—That didn’t make sense.
Yuri possessed the memories from before the possession.
The ‘real’ Yuri—an Aldor orphan who’d lived as a pickpocket before becoming the youngest member of the Black Snake Gang—wasn’t someone you could call talented in martial arts.
He’d fought often since childhood, and he wasn’t bad at it—but never to the point of being called ‘talented.’ The fights Yuri had been good at were scrappy brawls between people of similar level, driven more by grit and viciousness than by refined technique.
After joining the Black Snake Gang, he’d learned how to use a dagger from an older member named Jangsam, but it was so-so. Neither particularly good nor bad. Threaten, stab, slash. In the world the real Yuri had belonged to, that was more than enough.
What about the current Yuri? The master of the Dercia Mage Tower, a Sixth-Tier martial fighter, even the True Realm of the Martial Zenith—all acknowledged his talent in martial arts. And Yuri himself knew that there was no exaggeration in those evaluations.
When he watched Bakered and Full-Moon Play spar.
And when he immersed himself in the Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist, feeling the martial art disassemble and recombine in his mind.
This was anything but ordinary. The current Yuri possessed a talent the real Yuri had never had. Lee Su-hyeok’s talent? Ridiculous. Lee Su-hyeok, who’d only ever sat in front of a computer pounding away at a keyboard, had never possessed such a gift.
‘Why did I gain something like this?’
It was different even from the talent typical of possessed ones. Still, there was no doubt that this talent had arisen because of the possession. There was no other explanation.
What made Lee Su-hyeok different from other possessed ones?
‘Clear time?’
The Hall of Fame recorded rankings based on how quickly the hidden boss was cleared.
The record set by Lee Su-hyeok’s Padlip-Immune One was so overwhelming that, by this world’s reckoning, no possessed one would surpass it for decades—perhaps even for an entire lifetime.
Could it be that faster clear times granted additional privileges?
The soul of a possessed one—an existence from another world—held special power in and of itself.
When possessing another’s body, a possessed one awakened mana affinity and comprehension within the domain of blessings.
That awakening wouldn’t be a gift from the God of Chaos.
Then perhaps the additional talent was granted by the Goddess of Order? He entertained the thought, but there was no way to know the answer. The Goddess of Order had fallen into a deep slumber as the price for expending her divine power, and the Order’s church was in seclusion in some unknown sanctuary.
They weren’t beings one could meet just because one wished to. Yuri stroked the neck shrouded in the Veil of Deception.
‘Too many secrets.’
Mine included.
Letting out a deep sigh, Yuri sat down in the lotus position.
A lack of talent could be a problem—but having talent rarely was. Especially in this world, where the logic of power reigned: the weak died, the strong survived.
Fortunately, the talent Yuri now possessed wasn’t even the standard talent of a possessed one.
Perhaps someday his status as a possessed one might be exposed—so for that day’s sake as well, he needed to steadily grow stronger.
‘I am the fire that carries out heaven’s punishment, the asura that destroys evil, the apostle who sets the laws of heaven aright.’
‘My hands bear the sacred flame, and my feet trample demons.’
—Fwoosh.
As his consciousness sank deeper, he heard the sound of flames igniting.
*
*
Bakered visited the estate four days later.
“It’s true…”
Yuri let out an admiring breath when he saw Bakered’s body, unwrapped by even a single bandage.
“When your tier rises as a martial fighter, do internal injuries heal easily too?”
“Depends on the injury.”
“What about minor ailments? If you sleep outdoors without covering yourself, do you avoid catching colds?”
“I don’t catch them easily—but even I use a sleeping bag when camping out.”
“And weird things—like grass or mushrooms… or meat you’re not sure is spoiled—if you eat those, you don’t get stomach trouble?”
“What exactly do you think a martial fighter is?”
“I was just curious.”
“Are you planning to leave?”
The question came out of the blue.
“Yes.”
It wasn’t something worth lying about, so Yuri nodded. Bakered stared at his face for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the estate behind him.
“A fine house.”
Bakered spoke.
“You won’t lack for comfort in daily life… and if any inconvenience arises, or if you need anything, Golden Marigold would grant it as you wish.”
“…”
“Is there really a reason you must leave?”
“I can’t keep freeloading forever.”
“Are you ashamed before Golden Marigold?”
“That’s not the reason.”
“A wandering life has few advantages.”
Hoisting the bag on his shoulder slightly, Bakered chuckled.
“But you must have your circumstances. I won’t pry.”
“It’s nothing grand. Not even much of a secret.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t think I can grow stronger if I stay only in this estate.”
At Yuri’s answer, Bakered let out a low laugh.
“That’s true enough. Though it’s a bit late to say this, I misjudged you from the start.”
“How did you see me at first, to say something like that?”
“I thought you were Golden Marigold’s kept man.”
“It’s an understandable misunderstanding, but that’s not our relationship.”
“I know.”
For nearly a month, Bakered had come to the estate almost every day to guide Yuri. He could count on one hand the times he’d actually run into Golden Marigold, the estate’s owner—but that was enough to realize the two weren’t in that kind of relationship.
“If you leave the estate, where do you plan to go?”
“I haven’t decided yet. For now, I’m thinking of going wherever my feet take me.”
“The world beyond the city can’t exactly be called peaceful. There are many dangers.”
“I know.”
Bakered looked at Yuri’s face again. There was no hesitation to be seen. It was something he had already decided in his heart.
*Shall I ask him to come with me?*
Was that something he could even say?
The deliberation did not last long.
Bakered had already drawn a ‘line’ with Yuri.
Revenge. That karma belonged to Bakered alone, the sole surviving member of the Laspion family. The reason he had ultimately not taken Yuri in as a disciple was because he did not wish to share the burden of that revenge.
“Don’t die.”
Bakered smiled gently and extended his hand to Yuri.
“Yes.”
Yuri smiled in the same way and clasped Bakered’s hand.
It was a strange feeling.
Watching Bakered’s back as he left, that thought crossed his mind.
In the end, Yuri did not become a disciple, and Bakered did not become a master. Yet over the course of that one month, Bakered had done the things a master should do, like a master. And Yuri, like a disciple, had followed his teachings as a disciple should.
*Will we be able to meet again?*
Bakered had spoken of ‘revenge.’
But he had not spoken of the reason for that revenge.
It wasn’t that Yuri had never thought of following him.
He simply couldn’t say it. The ‘secret’ of being a possessor was something he couldn’t tell even Bakered, and Yuri knew his own weakness. Setting secrets aside, even if he followed Bakered on the pretext of a one-month connection, he would only become a hindrance.
An illegitimate child of the Laspion family. A wandering warrior who had spent twenty years drifting in order to avenge a family that had never once acknowledged him. What emotions he carried as he pursued that revenge was impossible to know—but one thing was certain.
*I must not get in the way.*
As he watched Bakered’s back recede into the distance, Yuri thought of FS. As far as Yuri knew, among the community, FS was the one who used the Laspion swordsmanship skill the ‘best.’
*Could FS be the one who wiped out the Laspion family?*
From what he had gathered, there were three perpetrators involved in the Laspion massacre. Perhaps FS was one of them… but he couldn’t be sure.
Because FS wasn’t that kind of person?
‘…’
He wasn’t normal in a different sense than Chuk Shin-do, but thinking about it, everyone except Yuri—Lee Su-hyeok included—was abnormal in one way or another.
Was FS not the type to kill people? Yuri himself had killed two people less than ten minutes after possessing this body.
This world was that kind of place.
*To begin with, the Laspion swordsmanship wasn’t a skill only FS knew.*
It was a popular skill—there were over ten people who had reached first place using it in their build. The massacre had occurred twenty years ago, and reaching a level where one could carry it out would have taken time… so the culprit was likely a possessor who had crossed over in the early days.
FS had achieved first place in the Hall of Fame after Chuk Shin-do.
*Not right at the very beginning, but…*
He didn’t know. Yuri let out a deep sigh. At some point, Bakered’s back was no longer visible.
“Someday.”
On a personal level, Yuri hoped that Bakered would succeed in his revenge.
And he hoped that the target of that revenge was not FS.
That everything would just end well.
If he were to meet Bakered again someday, he hoped they could drink together and talk about old times, just as Bakered had said.
If—if Bakered were to fail in his revenge.
“Let’s meet again alive.”
And if that couldn’t happen—
*Would I end up wanting revenge too?*
Yuri swallowed a bitter feeling.
He probably would.
*
*
Bakered, who had been heading toward the city gate on foot rather than taking a carriage, suddenly stopped. He furrowed his brow slightly, then tilted his head and looked around.
A sharp, awl-like presence pricked at Bakered’s senses.
“…?”
At the blatant summons, Bakered turned around with a mixed expression of surprise and confusion. Between buildings. Deep within an alley.
“This doesn’t seem like a place that suits you.”
Full-Moon Play was leaning against the wall.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you favor bright, splendid places?”
“I can’t deny that. But at times, I also enjoy sinking into darkness. Like a dark knight.”
Bakered wondered if there was some hidden meaning in those words, but he couldn’t grasp their true intent.
“I don’t understand what you mean. Why did you call me here?”
“Bakered Laspion.”
At the name spoken so suddenly, Bakered’s face stiffened.
“You’re leaving today?”
“How do you know that name…?”
The moment he stammered the words out, Bakered’s face grew rigid.
“I see. Full-Moon Play—you are… a possessor.”
A possessor. A being from another world that dwelled within the body of a resident of this one. How they had come to this world had already been uncovered decades ago.
“I existed in that ‘game’ too?”
“Yes.”
“As Bakered Laspion?”
“No. Even in that damned game, your name was Bakered.”
“…”
“But there as well, you were an illegitimate child of the Laspion family.”
Crunch. Bakered bit down on his lower lip and glared at Full-Moon Play.
“Why tell me that now?”
“Because I thought there was no need to tell you.”
“No need? You decided that, arbitrarily?”
“To be honest, Fist Wolf, I had forgotten that your name was Bakered.”
Full-Moon Play said this with a face utterly devoid of levity.
“What… did you say?”
“That nickname—Fist Wolf. A Sixth-Tier martial fighter. You weren’t someone whose name I had reason to remember. We’d never been particularly entangled, nor had you left a strong impression.”
Was he serious? If so, it was an extraordinary insult. Yet Bakered did not flare up; instead, he clenched his fist tightly.
“But now I know who you are. You left a strong impression—and I think you’re a man too valuable to die.”
“What is it you’re trying to say?”
“Have you seen the path to the Seventh Tier?”
At that question, Bakered’s cheek twitched. The sparring match from a few days ago. The sensations he’d felt then were still alive, still breathing within him.
It was an experience he must never forget—and Full-Moon Play had been a benefactor who showed him the path.
“I… have.”
“How was it?”
“Far. Very… very far.”
“If you’ve seen it, you can reach it.”
Full-Moon Play’s face remained serious. Though he was famous for making jokes even with a serious expression, Bakered felt not the slightest trace of mockery from him now.
“Until you reach the Seventh Tier, set aside your revenge.”
“What… did you say?”
“The perpetrators of the Laspion massacre are not a group you can handle.”
Bakered’s eyes flew wide open.
“A group? You mean they’re organized?”
“I have no intention of telling you any more.”
“Why?”
“Because once you know, you’ll dig deeper—and you’ll die.”
“I’m not foolish enough to seek revenge without the strength to back it.”
“I’ll say it again.”
Full-Moon Play’s eyes narrowed. —Whooo…! The pressure he had not revealed before crushed down upon Bakered’s entire body.
“If you want revenge, reach at least the Seventh Tier.”
“They… they’re possessors, aren’t they?”
“I believe I said I wouldn’t tell you.”
“No matter what…!”
“Come find me after you reach the Seventh Tier.”
“…!”
“Then I’ll give you your answer.”
The crushing pressure vanished in an instant. Bakered swallowed his breath, steadying his body as it nearly staggered.
Full-Moon Play said nothing further, merely staring at Bakered. If he chose to remain silent, there was no way to force him to speak. After glaring at him for a moment, Bakered let out a short sigh.
“Thank you.”
He had lived twenty years for revenge without grasping a single clue. Feeling genuine gratitude, Bakered bowed deeply.
“That you won’t tell me the whole truth… is hard to accept, and it angers me—but I will accept it.”
“A wise choice.”
“It was a realm I wanted to reach someday anyway—but now I have an even stronger reason to reach it.”
With a bitter smile, Bakered lifted his head.
“The Seventh Tier. I will reach it, without fail. And after that, Full-Moon Play, I will seek you out.”
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Only then did Full-Moon Play smile gently.
“By the way, are you leaving alone? What about that disciple-like kid?”
“I decided not to take him.”
“So he’s still not your disciple?”
“My karma is too heavy to take on a disciple. If you’re interested, how about taking him in yourself?”
“Me? Hahaha!”
Full-Moon Play laughed loudly.
“It’s quite a tempting offer—but I’m not in a position to take a disciple either.”
“Is that so?”
“Well…”
With a crooked grin, Full-Moon Play looked up at the sky.
“I do plan to take one someday, though.”
