Failed Possession Chapter-53

## Ch-53.

—

It is a quality most martial artists should possess, but assassins, in particular, must have especially sharp eyes.

The weapon an assassin fundamentally handles is a hidden weapon.
Even a dagger openly held and swung could technically be counted as one type of hidden weapon, but aside from daggers, the varieties of hidden weapons are endless.

Some are thinner than a strand of hair, some light enough to be carried by the wind, some as small as grains of sand.
For an assassin not to see the very weapons they use is unacceptable—so naturally, their eyes must be keen.

The Tang Clan built their lineage upon hidden weapons and poison and reign over the assassin world.

No matter how much she hated it, Haryeong was born into the Tang Clan.
Though various circumstances had kept her from being exposed to the outside world, among the Tang Clan’s direct descendants, her talent for martial arts alone was considered unrivaled.

And yet even Haryeong couldn’t properly see Yuri’s movement just now.

He had clearly been beside her, yet suddenly he was far ahead—and before she could even be startled by that movement, he had already crushed the leg of the swaggering thug.

Ten people.

Haryeong slowly blinked and looked around.

Each broken leg was different, but the method used to break them was identical.

From that swift kick, all she had seen was the faint reddish afterimage the leg left as it moved.

*So they call him Thundercloud, huh.*

That nickname came from the harmony between **Rantian Flowing Cloud Fist** and **Purple Lightning Flash Art**.
The former inherently contained speed, flow, and change.
And on top of that was added the peak lightning art.

Because the extreme-speed fist path resembled clouds containing lightning, he was called Thundercloud.

But just now, Yuri hadn’t even thrown a punch.

What he used was only footwork and kicks.

Not even a trace of lightning qi was visible.

*I did see his footwork back in Lagos, but still…*

Back then, even if the opponent had merely been goblins that could be beaten to death with a club, Haryeong had glimpsed the shadow of **Full-Moon Play** in Yuri’s footwork.

Now, that shadow wasn’t there.

“[What about your kicking techniques?]”

“[I made them.]”

So it was like that after all.

Haryeong let out a hollow laugh with an expressionless face and nodded.

That man hadn’t merely raised his rank over the last two years.

Hunting wanted criminals, acting as the underworld’s fixer and a mercenary, repeating real combat—

as a result, he had fully matured his fist arts and even created the martial arts he personally needed.

Realizing that, Haryeong understood how much she had underestimated Yuri yesterday.

Estor Orsia, the Sword dragon—
the heaven-sent genius the Orsia family boasted of, who shocked the world by reaching fifth rank at twenty-one.

From childhood he had learned the Orsia family’s divine arts and received direct sword instruction from the Sword Emperor.
The finest elite education in the world.

Not only that—she had heard he drank the Ascad family’s elixir, said to be the greatest of artificial miracle medicines, during his growth period, along with countless other spirit medicines.

But what about that man?

If Yuri truly had no connection to the Demonic Cult.
If he wasn’t the Heavenly Demon’s hidden disciple.
If he really possessed someone at twenty and only then first entered martial arts—

Then in just three years he had reached the extreme limits of fifth rank, mastered multiple martial arts simultaneously, and even created the techniques he required himself.

That talent far surpassed the category of a mere possessor.

Even the Sword dragon would pale if compared to that man’s raw talent.

The screams drifting around the entrance of the dump died down one by one.

“You’re pretty fiery.”

Clap, clap.

Applause sounded from behind him, but Yuri ignored it.

He finished off the thugs sprawled in different places one by one, then dragged the corpses and tossed them deeper into the dump.

He rubbed the ground with the tip of his foot and raised his head.

A wide clearing.
Trash piled like mountains.
Among them were quite a few corpses.

Stripped naked, eyes gouged out, hair ripped away—
they looked like mannequins.

“The fuck is this?”

Six men burst out of a shack behind the heaps of trash and bodies.

The ten Yuri had crippled earlier were mere third-rank nobodies.
These new ones all looked at least fourth rank.

“An attack?”

A fierce-looking bald man glared this way.

Yuri didn’t answer, merely tapping the ground lightly with his toe.

“Want help?”

Haryeong asked.

Yuri shook his head.

“Good. My stomach isn’t feeling great anyway.”

“Why?”

“Guess yesterday’s food didn’t sit well. If I’d known, I would’ve broken their legs too.”

It was exaggerated.
Though the food had been tampered with, it meant nothing to someone from the Tang Clan.

“What the hell are you bastards doing!”

The bald man roared.

A massive broadsword pointed at Yuri.
Four others held similar blades.
The last one didn’t hold a weapon—he quietly stepped back and pulled out a short wand.

White blade-qi flickered along the bald man’s sword.
The others also drew out blade-qi, though weaker.

Five fourth-rank swordsmen.

And the mage?

Unlike martial artists whose ranks were obvious, a mage’s rank could only be known once magic manifested.

Normally.

*Fourth rank.*

Because of a possessor’s understanding and affinity with mana, Yuri could grasp the fundamental spell structure just by focusing.

That sense had sharpened with higher rank.

Now he could see the mage’s soul power and the flow of mana being drawn to him.

*Wind attribute.*

Wind magic was intuitive and easy to handle—the most common type.

Three spell structures collapsed and merged into one.

He’d hoped for at least one fifth-rank.

A bit disappointing.

“I asked what the hell you’re doing!”

The bald man shouted.

At that very moment—

Fwaaaash!

The mage’s spell erupted from behind the swordsmen.

A towering wave of wind crashed toward them.

At the same time, Yuri’s foot moved.

His leg rose to his waist and kicked empty air.

A sharp slicing sound.

That motion itself replaced the spell.

Internal energy surged from his dantian through his meridians into his leg, and soul power resonated with it.

Magic fused with martial arts.

Fwaaaash!

The swirling current around his leg pierced through the wind wave.

He hadn’t kicked empty air.

His foot struck the spell’s core exactly, collapsing it.

“Kh—!”

The shattered magic backflowed mana.

The mage spat blood and staggered back.

He gave the swordsmen no time to react.

Tap. Tap. Boom!

His foot pushed off the ground.

In an instant, Yuri stood before them.

The bald man swung hurriedly.

A crimson aura-wrapped leg blocked the blade.

KWAJIK!

The blade-qi shattered from a single collision.

“?!”

Aura!

For a split second, countless options flashed through the bald man’s mind.

But before he could choose—

The leg twisted unnaturally, like water, and the sole struck his chest.

—BOOM!

No scream came out.

Only blood.

By the time he rolled across the ground, his subordinates were already too late.

Several seconds.

They formed up and attacked together.

Blade-qi flashed from all directions.

A decent formation.

No need to dodge.

Once past fourth rank, fighters became troublesome. Even before mastering defensive aura, their battle-energy could withstand same-rank sword qi.

From that point, the whole body became a weapon.

At fifth rank—

the whole body became a lethal instrument.

“Wow.”

Haryeong clapped.

This time she focused and didn’t lose track of the movement.

A body swaying like seaweed with each step.

And especially—

the trajectory of the kicks.

Like tentacles or whips.

As if the legs had dozens of joints, bending impossibly.

Not just martial arts.

Magic was mixed into the movement itself.

Meaning—

over two years, he’d learned not just martial arts, but magic too.

*Not using his fists… because they’re not even worth using? Or to polish this kicking art further?*

She had been about to throw hidden weapons out of boredom—

but the fight ended too fast.

She quietly hid the weapons back in her hand.

“Guh…”

When the bald man with the sunken chest opened his eyes, the only one alive among his subordinates was the pale mage.

“Your name’s Makcheol, right?”

Yuri sat on a large box like a chair and stared at him.

“You looked like the boss, so I kept you alive. I’ve got a few things to ask. If you run your mouth stupidly, you’re losing teeth.”

“You crazy bas—do you even know where you’re caus—”

Crunch!

Yuri stomped his toes.

“Gaaaaah…!”

Agony enough to make every hair stand on end.

Makcheol trembled violently.

“You said teeth…!”

The moment he spat that out—

Smack!

A huge hand slapped his face.

Teeth shattered, flying out mixed with blood.

“I broke your toes so you could still talk even if your teeth were gone. But with that attitude, I can’t hold back.”

“W-what… what do you want to ask…?”

Makcheol stammered through sticky blood, desperately circulating his internal energy.

If he saw even the slightest opening—

he intended to strike back.

**Thud!**

Yuri’s toe stabbed into his dantian like a spear.

With that single strike, the internal energy in his dantian scattered.
Makcheol’s eyes rolled back as bloody foam gathered at his lips.

“I’ll admit you’ve gotten good at fighting, but you’ve got no talent for torture.”

Haryeong, who had been watching from behind, stepped forward.

“Torture isn’t about hurting someone as much as possible. Haven’t you heard of carrot and stick?”

“Then do it yourself if you’re confident.”

“That’s why I stepped in. What do you want to ask him? The whereabouts of cultists? They don’t look sloppy enough to spill just because you ask directly.”

“Someone fifth rank. No subordinates. Travels alone.”

Yuri answered.

“A mage’s fine too, but preferably a martial artist.”

“W-why are you suddenly speaking casually?”

“I’m not talking to you, noona. I’m talking to Makcheol.”

At the reply, Haryeong blinked.

“Suddenly ‘noona’?”

“Calling you by name feels weird. I’ll just call you noona here.”

Now that she thought about it, it made sense.
Yuri had completely changed his face with disguise arts, and Haryeong covered her mouth with a mask. Calling each other by name would be stranger.

“Then what should I call you, little brother?”

“ Crimson Leg.”

Why Crimson Leg? The thought didn’t last long.

“Because your kicks are red?”

“….”

“The fact that it came out immediately means you planned it beforehand. Our Crimson-Leg little brother, your naming sense is terrible.”

Clicking her tongue, Haryeong stood before Makcheol.

“So, Mr. Crimson Leg. You’d prefer a martial artist? What weapon?”

“Doesn’t matter, but preferably a fighter.”

“You say it doesn’t matter, yet you’re pretty picky.”

Makcheol could only roll his eyes around, then glanced to the side.
The useless mage who hadn’t even managed to cast properly had turned pale and was gasping for breath.

“If you heard everything, then answer.”

The reason they’d spared two was to compare their answers.
Haryeong looked back and forth between Makcheol and the mage and whispered.

“Well…”

“Wait.”

Just as the mage hurried to speak, Haryeong cut him off.

She pulled a small pouch from inside her sleeve and took out two pills.

“What’s that?”

“A truth serum.”

This time Yuri blinked.

“Why are you only bringing it out now?”

“I got curious how you torture people, that’s all.”

“What happened to carrot and stick?”

“I don’t have carrot and stick. I’m an assassin with truth serum.”

She replied expressionlessly and shoved a pill into the mage’s mouth, gripping his jaw.

“W-wait, I won’t lie even without—”

Makcheol shouted in panic, but Haryeong ignored him and tossed one into his mouth as well.

“Oh, and—”

While the drug was circulating, Yuri spoke.

“Younger is better.”

“Ah.”

Only then did Haryeong understand why Yuri had come all this way looking for a fifth-rank martial artist or mage.

No subordinates.
Travels alone.
Fifth rank.
Young.

Yuri was searching for a possessor.

*

*

 

Residents of Zone 4 called this place **Evil Hamlet**.

Those who had committed crimes or had circumstances that made it impossible to live outside.
Those unlucky enough to be born in the lower zones and drift all the way here.

“What are you thinking about?”

A voice flowed out from the pitch darkness.

Bi-yeon, sitting on the windowsill, scratched the mask covering her face with her nail and answered.

“This place resembles Shin-jeong.”

Shin-jeong.

The city ruled by the Heavenly Demon Cult.
To the world, it was called the Demon’s Den more often than Shin-jeong.

“The laws preaching survival of the fittest and might makes right. And the savage beasts wearing human skin walking around in broad daylight. To my eyes, this Evil Hamlet looks like it wants to become Shin-jeong.”

Bi-yeon laughed with a cracked, hoarse voice.

It had already been a week since she arrived here.

Outsiders called it lawless, but that wasn’t quite true. Tens of thousands lived here. There was an economy. There was currency. Without minimal rules, a city couldn’t function.

It was just that all of it was trivial before power.

Since the laws were made by villains to begin with, anyone with strength could toy with them.

To Bi-yeon, it all looked ridiculous.

Those who couldn’t live outside, those who hated the outside, gathered here—yet now they imitated it.

Especially when they bragged that strength was law, it made her nauseous.

“I don’t understand why this place continues to exist. Why does the Sword Emperor leave this city alone?”

“Even just the outer Panteleon Zones have hundreds of thousands of residents,”

said the man kneeling in the shadows.

“With the Sword Emperor’s blade, he could easily behead them all. But then the world would condemn him, wouldn’t it?”

“True.”

“Forcing them out would also draw criticism, and he can’t take them all in either. So he leaves it alone.”

“In the end, it just rots like filth.”

“It’s been fifty years since Lanalsa became a rift. Now even this rotting cesspool has laws. Perhaps the Sword Emperor hopes they’ll rebel against Panteleon and riot.”

Then the Orsia family, leaders of Panteleon, would express regret and draw their swords, and the Selvis Magic Tower would assist.

“Waiting for sufficient justification… Now I understand my master’s evaluation of the Sword Emperor.”

“What did your master say?”

“He said the Sword Emperor is a coward who mistakes himself for being cautious and thorough.”

Bi-yeon looked outside again.

She hadn’t come to this unpleasant city for sightseeing.

She came because of a harsh order from her master.

**Withered Old Crone.**

The old monster who disappeared ten years ago now ruled Evil Hamlet.
Her mission was to kill her.

‘A sixth-rank mage…’

The crone was a mage who defected from Rudella Tower.
She didn’t know why they wanted her killed now after ten years, but an order was an order.

If she failed—

‘Return alive at least,’ her master had said.

He seemed to hope she would learn something from failure.

But could she?

If the crone had broken into seventh rank during those ten years, even escape wasn’t guaranteed.

Of course, she hadn’t come alone—

but the Sword Shadow hiding in the darkness wouldn’t help in the battle.

Scratch.

While scratching her mask, Bi-yeon frowned at the street.

A ragged child was being kicked by a rough-looking man.

She heard the reason.
Apparently this alley belonged to the man’s gang, and the kid had pickpocketed without permission.

“Shall we save him?”

“Isn’t trampling the weak the law of Evil Hamlet? It’s not for an outsider like me to interfere.”

Even now, the child curled up, getting mashed by passing kicks.

“Tch.”

Bi-yeon clicked her tongue and closed her eyes.

She had no intention of stepping in.

In this world, weakness itself was a crime. Seven years ago, struggling in the flames, she’d learned that truth.

Thud, thud…

The sounds continued.

They annoyed her.

She had wanted peaceful rest, yet the kicking and muffled screams disturbed it.

In Evil Hamlet, the law was simple: the strong ruled.

She was used to that logic.

The child was trampled because he was weaker.

She was stronger than that man.

So she could trample him for no reason.

No—there was a reason.

Daring to disturb her with noise was enough.

Thinking that, Bi-yeon opened her eyes.

**Thud!**

A loud sound rang out.

It wasn’t the child being kicked.

“Gaaah!”

The passerby who had been stomping the child was now clutching a broken leg, screaming.

—