Chapter 22

Chapter 22
## Chapter 22: Who the Hell Are You? (2)

“It appears we have another stray hog on our hands.”

Jang Gwal spoke with a look of genuine curiosity, comparing Cheol Woo’s immense physique and reckless momentum to the beast they had butchered earlier in the day.

Cheol Woo threw a punch characterized by raw, primitive strength.

Sensing that this strike was far from typical, Pung Yo Sang shoved his bear pipe forward to meet it.

The weapon slid past the trajectory of Cheol Woo’s knuckles, darting toward the side of the big man’s neck.

The bear pipe, which had been accelerating toward its target, suddenly hit a snag. As if striking a rubberized wall, it was violently repelled backward.

Pung Yo Sang’s expression turned stony. He had been certain that this specific thrust would end the fight instantly, never suspecting his opponent possessed a protective aura of such caliber.

If an defensive barrier could completely shrug off a strike backed by over a jia of internal force, it meant the man before him was a martial peer of equal standing.

“You aren’t just some random thug!”

Pung Yo Sang roared, no longer holding back as he ignited his internal reserves.

His physical frame looked tiny compared to the mountain that was Cheol Woo, but the radiant energy billowing around him was anything but small.

“Quite the entertaining old man.”

Judging Pung Yo Sang’s martial pressure to be on par with the various demonic cultists he had slaughtered in his past, Cheol Woo rotated his massive shoulders to work out the tension.

While Cheol Woo remained loose and open, almost begging for an attack, Pung Yo Sang found himself paralyzed by indecision, afraid to commit despite the numerous holes in his foe’s stance.

“Are you coming or am I?”

The mocking edge in Cheol Woo’s voice triggered an instinctive reflex in Pung Yo Sang.

The gap between them was roughly three jang. To warriors of their level, however, that distance was nonexistent.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Pung Yo Sang was already in Cheol Woo’s personal space, lead with his bear pipe.

It looked like a solitary lunge, but the tip of the pipe danced through a sequence targeting eight vital points.

Suddenly, a massive wall of resistance pushed back against the weapon.

Pung Yo Sang, who had committed nearly two jia of his total strength into this desperate gambit, felt the opposition give way all at once and felt a surge of internal triumph.

He caught sight of Cheol Woo’s fist coming in late, but he brushed it off as the desperate flailing of a dying man.

“Game over.”

The same conclusion was reached by Sima Geon and Jang Gwal as they observed the exchange from the sidelines.

The reality, however, bore no resemblance to their predictions.

“Gah!”

Jang Gwal let out a sharp cry as he leaped forward to catch Pung Yo Sang’s body as it was sent hurtling through the air.

The sheer momentum carried by Pung Yo Sang’s limp form forced Jang Gwal back several paces, an involuntary grunt of pain escaping his throat.

“What in the world…”

Jang Gwal looked down in horror at Pung Yo Sang, who was now coughing up thick gouts of blood.

“A… a monster… stay back…”

Clutching Jang Gwal’s forearm with trembling fingers, Pung Yo Sang lost consciousness before he could finish his desperate plea.

While Jang Gwal stood there, paralyzed by the sight of an elder falling so easily to a counterattack despite having the initiative, Cheol Woo—the one who had ended the fight in a single motion—wore a look of deep annoyance, clicking his tongue in frustration.

“Chief, have I lost my edge? Or was that old guy actually a threat?”

Cheol Woo asked the question earnestly, but the response he received was blunt.

“Your movements are definitely getting sloppy.”

“Damn it! I knew it. I’m getting soft. I guess hunting forest animals isn’t enough to keep the rust off.”

Both Neung Wi and the fallen Pung Yo Sang could only stare at Cheol Woo’s lament in stunned silence. Neung Sa Jong, who was inspecting the wounded man alongside Jang Gwal, was similarly shell-shocked.

The sequence had been clear to their eyes.

The bear pipe, which should have shredded Cheol Woo’s protective aura and skewered his heart, had been stopped by nothing more than his skin and had snapped like a dry twig.

Then came the return blow.

Despite Pung Yo Sang’s reflex to shield himself with his arm, the damage was catastrophic.

His left arm had turned to splinters upon contact with the fist, and the shattered bone had been driven into his chest, ruining his vital organs. He was breathing, but he was a dead man walking.

A high-ranking elder of the bandits, a man respected throughout the martial world, had been broken in a heartbeat. And the victor was complaining about his declining form—it was an insulting display.

“Who do you people think you are?!”

A wave of murderous intent rolled off Jang Gwal, fueled by pure fury.

“Can’t you hear? We already told you. Our names aren’t important. What matters is that the old man is a member of the Golden Fox Bandit Lair.”

Jang Gwal took a sharp, controlled breath.

He wanted to dismiss the words as the arrogance of a brat, but the display of power he had just seen made that impossible.

He would have to use every ounce of his soul. Anything less would lead him to the same fate as Pung Yo Sang.

“Hah!”

With a thunderous yell, Jang Gwal’s fist lunged toward Cheol Woo’s solar plexus.

Cheol Woo recognized that this strike carried genuine weight. He considered using Overlord Blood Victory Aura to soak the hit and Ink Gang Asura Qi to end it instantly, but he decided on a different path.

Cheol Woo shifted his weight to the left, his massive frame moving with the fluidity of a stream to bypass the incoming fist. At the same time, his own hand blurred forward.

Overlord Sixteen Fists.

A rapid-fire execution of the Overlord Blood Victory Aura, launching sixteen distinct strikes in a single breath.

When one counted the feints woven into the pattern, it was less a technique and more a localized hurricane.

Jang Gwal twisted his body in a panic as the counter rained down upon him.

He threw out desperate punches to intercept the storm closing in from every angle, but he could not possibly track every strike in such a short window.

Thump! Thump!

Two heavy impacts landed squarely on Jang Gwal’s torso.

“Gahhh!”

A pained shriek erupted from his lungs.

As Jang Gwal stumbled back, spitting blood, Cheol Woo’s focus had already shifted toward Neung Wi’s men who were rushing him.

Led by Yeom Heuk, the warriors charging Cheol Woo on Neung Wi’s command were visibly trembling with dread.

Even under strict orders, they had just watched two of their legendary elders get dismantled without putting up a fight—fear was the only logical response.

Yeom Heuk’s blade, moving with demonic speed, aimed for Cheol Woo’s throat, supported by a pincer movement from his subordinates.

Five different blades converged on Cheol Woo’s neck, chest, and lower abdomen.

However, the attackers didn’t feel the rush of victory.

They had certainly made contact with Cheol Woo’s skin.

But the sensation traveling back up their arms was completely wrong.

It didn’t feel like they were cutting through a man; it felt like they had slammed their steel into a mountain of granite.

“Pests.”

Cheol Woo swung his arm with a look of pure irritation.

“Get back!”

Yeom Heuk, the only one who thought he had landed a hit, felt the gathering storm of energy and screamed for his men to retreat.

The warning came too late. Cheol Woo’s arm swept through the air like a scythe.

There was no space to run and no time to react.

The bandits could only raise their weapons, relying on years of training to save them.

They realized instantly that it was for nothing.

Feeling as though he had been hit by a falling castle, Yeom Heuk was launched backward, flying past a terrified Neung Wi before colliding with a tree several yards away and dying instantly.

He wasn’t the only casualty.

Every single man who had dared to step toward Cheol Woo suffered the exact same fate.

In one sweeping motion, Cheol Woo had ended Yeom Heuk and ten others, and now he began to walk toward Jang Gwal again.

Roughly ten survivors remained in the vicinity, but Cheol Woo acted as if they weren’t there.

Frozen by the specter of death, the remaining bandits couldn’t even bring themselves to breathe.

Having gained a moment of life through the death of his men, Jang Gwal stared at the approaching Cheol Woo with eyes full of hate.

Seeing that expression, Cheol Woo gave a mocking grin.

“You’ve still got some fight left? I respect the stubbornness.”

“Be silent! I recognize your power. But don’t think I’m going to the grave alone.”

Jang Gwal didn’t wait for a response before charging one last time.

He unleashed the Great Force Collapsing Fist, the very art that had earned him the title of Mighty Overlord.

Executed with the desperation of a dying man, the strike seemed powerful enough to split the ground.

“You’re dreaming, old man.”

Cheol Woo gave a freezing smirk and met the attack with his own fist.

The collision between the Great Force Collapsing Fist and the Overlord Thirteen Fists created a deafening explosion of sound. A violent wind whipped through the clearing.

Unable to endure the feedback of the clash, Jang Gwal coughed up more blood and reeled backward.

Cheol Woo didn’t let up, following him with a relentless barrage of heavy strikes.

A blow to the ribs sent Jang Gwal spinning; a punch to the stomach folded him in half before the force sent him airborne.

Cheol Woo, moving his massive body with impossible agility, caught up to the flying elder in mid-air and drove his left foot downward.

With the sound of tearing flesh and breaking wood, Jang Gwal’s body was spiked into the ground toward Neung Wi.

Neung Wi scrambled backward in a panic; Jang Gwal’s broken, unrecognizable remains slammed into the dirt exactly where he had been standing.

“Fast one, aren’t you? Using your own elder’s body as an excuse to run away.”

Cheol Woo, who had hoped to use Jang Gwal’s body to take out Neung Wi, clicked his tongue and resumed his approach.

Neung Wi, retreating blindly, suddenly bumped into an obstruction and stopped.

He turned around slowly to find Neung Sa Jong pinned to a tree behind him. The man’s hands were still locked in a defensive prayer position, but his own sword was driven through them and his chest, leaving him dead on his feet.

While Cheol Woo had been busy clearing out Yeom Heuk and the others, Neung Sa Jong had attempted to intervene to save the elder.

He knew he couldn’t win alone, but he hoped that together they could survive. He just needed to hold on until the rest of the Golden Fox Bandit Lair arrived.

Even if No Geuk, the Bandit Chief, was a target for replacement, he was still a powerhouse. If they rallied together, they could win.

But as Neung Sa Jong had moved to help, a chill had raced down his spine.

A sword had come flying at him with blinding velocity.

His instincts had allowed him to catch the blade between his palms. But the power behind the throw was monstrous.

He was pushed back, channeling every bit of his qi to stop the blade’s momentum—but he failed.

Pinned against the trunk of a massive tree, Neung Sa Jong ran out of room. The sword tore through his hands, through his heart, and deep into the wood behind him.

Neung Wi’s eyes drifted to Sima Geon, who was standing a short distance away, looking bored with his hands behind his back.

He remembered that this man—the one who viewed these elite elders as nothing more than children—was the one who had told Cheol Woo he was getting weak.

Shaking with a terror he couldn’t suppress, Neung Wi watched as Cheol Woo finished off the remaining men and reached out to grab him by the back of the neck.

“This is the last one. What’s the verdict, boss?”

Cheol Woo looked toward Sima Geon for instructions.

Sima Geon began to walk away, looking entirely uninterested. He was clearly annoyed that these low-level nuisances had wasted his time.

Feeling the fingers tighten around his spine, Neung Wi struggled and managed a choked cry.

“I… I am the… son… of the chief.”

Cheol Woo paused, tilting his head as he loosened his grip slightly. Sima Geon stopped walking and looked back over his shoulder.

“What was that?”

Thinking he had found a sliver of hope, Neung Wi spoke as clearly as he could.

“The… master of the Golden Fox Bandit Lair… is my father.”

“That’s his claim, boss.”

Cheol Woo looked at Sima Geon, waiting for the final word.

Sima Geon stared at Neung Wi with eyes like ice, while the young man frantically tried to think of a way to negotiate.

“And why should I care?”

At Sima Geon’s dry question, Cheol Woo started to laugh.

“Fair enough.”

That was the end of it.

Neung Wi opened his mouth to scream for mercy, but Cheol Woo’s hand clamped shut. His neck snapped instantly, and his life was snuffed out.

Cheol Woo tossed the corpse aside like trash and jogged to catch up with Sima Geon, a grin on his face.

“You know, a little bit of excitement like this really hits the spot every now and then.”