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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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Wang Ki-neung offered a heartfelt prayer of thanks to the Black Dragon God.
He had been on the verge of ruin, having lost everything, but now, Ryu Kang-chul, the cause of all his troubles, was not only alive but had walked right into his hands. It felt like a blessing from his great ancestor.
“I understand why you’re happy, but… aren’t you forgetting something?”
Of course, there were those who couldn’t share his joy.
“Don’t worry about the escort. This time, I’ll personally escort you, ensuring no one lays a finger on you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Ryu Kang-chul shook his head slightly.
He pointed his bloody knife at Wang Ki-neung, whose excitement seemed to border on delirium.
“I may be a son of a bitch, but I’m a wolf who came here to kill you.”
“I’m not some dog you can easily capture, I’m a predator who will tear your throat out with this knife. So start being afraid.”
Ryu Kang-chul’s words dripped with killing intent.
“Oh, of course, I haven’t forgotten that.”
But Wang Ki-neung remained unfazed by the chilling warning.
He simply grinned.
“I just didn’t bother worrying about something unnecessary.”
“Aren’t you a bit too confident?”
“There’s no reason not to be.”
“Is that so?”
Wang Ki-neung’s smile was full of confidence, as if looking at a puppy barking fiercely, pretending to be a wolf.
Ryu Kang-chul scoffed and gripped his knife in a reverse grip, his voice turning cold.
“Then I’ll have to give you a reason.”
At that moment, Ryu Kang-chul vanished from Wang Ki-neung’s sight.
A flash of steel appeared, aimed at his throat.
It was a perfect ambush, swift and silent like a mosquito’s proboscis, yet sharp and deadly like a guillotine.
Crack!
“…?!”
Wang Ki-neung spun around, his five fingers, like a dragon’s claws, clamping down on the knife’s blade.
Ryu Kang-chul’s eyes widened in surprise as his knife, a high-level item capable of cutting through rock, was stopped by a bare hand.
He instinctively twisted the blade, trying to sever the fingers, but the result was futile.
Screech! Crack!
“…What are your fingers made of? They’re harder than a knife infused with Level 90 Blade Hawk feathers.”
“Discipline and hard work, mostly.”
Wang Ki-neung’s fingers crushed the knife like a hydraulic press crushing scrap metal.
He didn’t bother explaining the greatness of the Seventy-Two Martial Skills or the secrets of the Ten Perfect Dragon Claw Style to the bewildered Ryu Kang-chul.
He simply lunged, his hands a blur of motion, as Ryu Kang-chul drew a backup knife.
Whoosh!
“Gah…!”
Ryu Kang-chul dodged the fingers aimed at his throat, but a hand, its nails sharpened to razor-sharp points, swiped past, grazing his neck.
Before he could staunch the bleeding, a hand reached for his eyes, forcing him to block with his knife. It was a mistake.
Wang Ki-neung seized the knife and, like a snake, his fingers slithered up, snapping Ryu Kang-chul’s wrist.
Crack!
And that was just the beginning.
Wang Ki-neung relentlessly attacked, raking his legs, deflecting knives with his fingers, striking at eyes, nose, mouth, even groin.
“Urk?!”
It wasn’t just strong fingers and sharp nails, it was a relentless onslaught.
His hands were iron hammers, his arms were living whips, his fingers were bone-crushing hooks, and his nails were razor blades.
It was the pinnacle of martial arts, achieved through rigorous training and pushing the body to its limits.
This was why Wang Ki-neung could fight unarmed, and why Ryu Kang-chul was forced into a desperate defense.
Two knives were no match for the twenty-four weapons concealed in Wang Ki-neung’s hands.
‘His martial arts are one thing, but his strength… no, his speed too, it’s all faster than mine!’
But Wang Ki-neung’s terror wasn’t just his physical prowess.
His strength, speed, his perfectly honed hands and fingers, his transcendent technique, his relentless focus on vital points, his cunning in exploiting every opportunity for even the smallest injury, his patience in accumulating damage rather than rushing for a quick victory… Ryu Kang-chul was outmatched in skill and mentality.
He stood no chance.
Crack!
“Ugh!”
Before fifty exchanges had passed, Wang Ki-neung shattered Ryu Kang-chul’s wrists and knees.
He stepped on his chest and grinned.
“Do you still think I should care whether you’re a dog or a wolf?”
Ryu Kang-chul couldn’t even muster anger at the mocking words. Coughing up blood, he asked incredulously,
“…What kind of drugs are you on to be this strong?”
“I told you before, don’t underestimate me just because I use honorifics.”
Wang Ki-neung replied calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, looking at Ryu Kang-chul, who seemed unable to believe he was being toyed with by someone who wasn’t even a player, unlike his previous struggle against Wei-ling.
“It’s only natural that I’m strong. I’m a master-level expert of the Seven Dragons Association.”
“So what?”
“The fact that you don’t even know what that means is why walking in here was a foolish mistake.”
Scoffing as if looking at an imbecile, Wang Ki-neung continued cheerfully,
“Being from Bukgan, you should at least know what the term ‘master’ means.”
“Isn’t it a respected teacher or the head of a sect?”
“Then what does it mean to be a master-level expert of the Seven Dragons Association?”
“……”
Ryu Kang-chul, who had maintained his composure even with broken limbs, finally fell silent.
He only knew the basics about the Seven Dragons Association, he wasn’t interested in their doctrines or history. But that was enough for him to understand the implication of Wang Ki-neung’s words.
“Do you understand now? In our Seven Dragons Association, the only ones who can be called masters are the seven founders of the Seventy-Two Martial Skills.”
“Then a master-level expert is…”
“Exactly as you imagine.”
It was common knowledge for anyone even slightly familiar with the Seven Dragons Association.
Scoffing at Ryu Kang-chul, a player who attacked their affiliates yet lacked such basic knowledge, Wang Ki-neung said coldly,
“It means a warrior who has reached the same level as the great founders in at least one of the Seventy-Two Martial Skills.”
The Seven Dragons.
Absolute beings who devoured even gods, ending the Silver Age and ruling the Bronze Age.
Though now just legends, their legacy was immense. There might be exaggerations.
The difference in eras had to be considered. But even so, the Seven Dragons were terrifying figures.
Even the first Sword Master, the Sword Emperor, was said to have perished in battle against them.
“You should have come back after reaching at least Level 90. Then you might have been a match for me.”
Wang Ki-neung declared that to face him, someone who had reached the same level as the Seven Dragons, albeit in a limited way, one needed to be at least a Grand Duke-level player.
He smirked at Ryu Kang-chul, who had foolishly walked into a death trap due to his arrogance.
“Look forward to it. I’ll show you what true pain is.”
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“What are their chances of winning?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm, well…”
After a moment of contemplation, Limon answered Li Chingwei’s unexpected question.
“I can’t say for sure, but based on that knife-wielding bastard, it’s about fifty-fifty at best.”
“Even against an affiliate with a master-level expert like Head Wang?”
“Yes.”
Limon nodded and continued in a low voice,
“Your Seven Dragons Association experts are undoubtedly strong. Psionics and the Seventy-Two Martial Skills are incredibly powerful.”
Pyrokinesis (fire manipulation).
Psychokinesis (telekinesis).
Teleportation (spatial manipulation).
Precognition (future sight).
Telepathy (mind reading).
Clock Up (time manipulation).
Healing (biological manipulation).
The seven psionic abilities inherited by the descendants of the Seven Dragons.
They were truly remarkable powers, but also too much for humans to handle.
Not everyone born with psionics was strong, and if their mind and body couldn’t handle it, it could lead to self-destruction.
The greatness of the Seventy-Two Martial Skills lay in their ability to cultivate psionics through training, controlling its flow to enhance physical abilities and grant combat powers unrelated to their innate abilities.
That was why, before the Iron Age, psionics was considered the most powerful mystique.
“Especially master-level experts. In terms of pure force, they’re superior to most Grand Duke-level players.”
In that sense, master-level experts were superhuman, each having mastered one of the Seventy-Two Martial Skills to its limits, standing at the pinnacle of the Seven Dragons Association.
“And yet, you think it’s only fifty-fifty?”
“Yes.”
But Limon was certain. Against Ryu Kang-chul, even Black Dragon Construction, with Wang Ki-neung, had less than a 50% chance of defending themselves.
“Because those culprits… they’re all players.”
“…You mean their skills are the problem.”
“Yes. There are many player skills that defy logic.”
Psionics and the Seventy-Two Martial Skills. Skills that made the impossible possible. He wasn’t interested in debating which was superior.
The important point was that it wasn’t unusual for a high-ranking member of the Liberation Brigade to possess a unique skill. A power granted to only one person. An ability akin to a miracle.
A Unique Skill.
“Of course, even the most powerful Unique Skill has its limits, so it can be countered with a calm and calculated response…”
Limon paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, then continued indifferently,
“But if you underestimate them and rely solely on your own strength without knowing their abilities, even a master-level expert can die.”
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“I’m a bit confused.”
Wang Ki-neung couldn’t understand.
Why was his mouth so dry? How did he end up in this predicament?
How was Ryu Kang-chul, who had been groaning with broken limbs just moments ago, now standing before him, perfectly fine, with a grin on his face?
And most importantly…
“Who was it that said they would show me true pain, Master?”
…how was he surrounded by eight Ryu Kang-chuls, knives sticking out of his back and sides?
Wang Ki-neung gritted his teeth.
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