Chapter 82
The pinnacle of martial arts was a level worthy of respect—or even reverence—from others.
Even in swordsmanship, only masters of the highest echelon were recognized as true warriors.
And so, I knew all too well what a supreme martial artist could do, how far their abilities could reach.
Based on that knowledge and estimating as objectively as possible, a fight against Surama Army was a near-certain defeat—a 99% loss.
Even aiming for a draw rather than victory with the remaining 1% wasn’t realistic. By the standards of my current martial skill, I simply could not face such a master.
Yes.
In terms of martial skill.
Yet, changing the situation required only a handful of divine power.
‘Of course, only a handful if measured by my own life.’
With a handful of divine power, even if Surama Army wielded the Soul-Devouring Demon Blade, I could block one of their attacks.
That thought led me to a consideration:
‘It feels a bit wasteful to just fight.’
Opportunities to face a supreme master wielding a weapon at the level of the Soul-Devouring Demon Blade were rare.
Depending on how I approached it, this could be turned into a highly valuable experience.
Just then, a memory came to mind, prompting me to draw the Destruction God Sword that hung at my waist. But I didn’t swing it.
“This is the only time, so don’t be too disappointed.”
I placed the Destruction God Sword back on the ground.
I decided to face Surama Army with bare fists instead of a blade.
‘I haven’t had time to train because of the small sword incident.’
Truly, nothing surpasses real combat for training. I couldn’t pass up such a perfect opportunity to rapidly improve my skills.
I already knew that, if judged strictly by my unarmed combat ability, I was far below Surama Army’s level.
So my goal wasn’t to defeat Surama Army.
Instead, I aimed to properly execute a technique similar to Gongjin’s Single Strike, if only once. That became the objective of this training.
“As a reward for waiting, I’ll let three attacks pass.”
Thus, I didn’t refuse Surama Army’s proposal. Facing a master like him was rare, and opportunities to freely use my fist techniques would be scarce.
‘Exactly as I remember Gongjin’s Single Strike.’
I launched the first strike.
Without flashy tricks, quietly, and without momentum, the strike extended in a calm, deliberate manner. Originally, it should have carried a weight as if moving a massive mountain.
But since I hadn’t fully mastered Gongjin’s technique, the “mountain” became a mere hill that struck Surama Army.
“The momentum is not bad, but the power is lacking.”
That was Surama Army’s assessment of the first strike.
The second strike didn’t change his evaluation much.
“You seem to be an ascending martial artist, but it feels as though you’re wearing clothes that don’t fit. Is this truly your best?”
While Surama Army had blocked the first strike properly, he lightly evaded the second with his hands behind his back—as if the same strike couldn’t work twice.
Then it was time to show him he was wrong.
‘It doesn’t necessarily have to be from Shaolin.’
Gongjin’s martial arts originated from Shaolin. His Single Strike contained the essence of Shaolin techniques, though I had simplified it.
Blindly copying Shaolin techniques would be difficult for me, rooted as I was in the Huashan Sect.
So I decided to take a different approach.
‘If I can reach the supreme level of fist techniques in any way…’
Then perhaps I could imitate Shaolin’s Single Strike.
Huashan Sect was known for its swordsmanship, but fist techniques existed as well. Though not peerless, the martial arts of Huashan carried weight.
Some Huashan disciples had reached the supreme level with their fists, though it took considerable time.
‘With Huashan fist techniques, I can break through the supreme level barrier. The only problem is that it would take a lot of time.’
Huashan martial arts valued both sword and fist, aiming for a steady path. Early growth might be slow, but the heights one could reach were greater.
I didn’t think Huashan was wrong—just not suited to me. So I decided to walk my own path.
‘I cannot start at the same point as Huashan disciples.’
I understood all Huashan techniques. What I lacked was only one thing: time.
I intended to accelerate that time.
‘If existing Huashan techniques won’t work…’
Then I’d create a technique that would.
‘As expected, my most confident Zaha Divine Technique.’
Zaha Divine Technique had two major branches: sword techniques and spear techniques. Together, they complemented each other, so no separate fist technique existed—until now.
‘Even if fist techniques don’t exist, using the body is not impossible.’
To use spear techniques efficiently, certain fist movements were essential.
Ultimately, the most important principle was continuity. Body movements must flow as one.
With the basic framework in place, and one more element added…
‘I still can’t push mountains like Gongjin.’
Huashan martial arts weren’t meant to do that.
If Shaolin techniques evoked the image of a massive mountain, Huashan martial arts emphasized sharp elegance like a knife-edged ridge.
Combining the two was simple. And so, the Zaha Fist Formation was born.
The next step was filling it with techniques.
The first technique was already chosen: Zaha Manli.
Like a purple sunset stretching across ten thousand miles, it advanced with unwavering, noble posture.
If Shaolin’s fists pushed the mountain away, Huashan’s fists made the mountain follow.
“So, you’ve been hiding your true power!”
The relaxed expression of Surama Army twisted into a grimace.
He hastily assumed a defensive stance with the Soul-Devouring Demon Blade. His eyes still didn’t anticipate being struck—it was understandable.
His blade bore the mark of a supreme master, while my fist emitted only raw power.
This remained so until the moment of impact.
BANG!
The anomaly occurred after the collision.
Instead of hearing my fist being cut, a resounding impact echoed.
“W-what?!”
Surama Army was shocked, but quickly sealed his mouth. It wasn’t over yet.
I had said it before: the mountain follows.
Here, the mountain meant the force of my fist.
By creating a technique and executing it once, I had taken the first step to the supreme level.
Creak.
After exactly three hundred seconds of combat, I settled the match with Surama Army.
Though the outcome was already determined, I deliberately fought for the full three hundred seconds.
I needed that time to fully master Zaha Manli.
The result was precious, but it came at a cost.
Coughing up blood wasn’t enough—my eyes and ears even bled.
Even with divine protection, the backlash from ascending so quickly to the supreme level was harsher than expected.
“They say normally, entering the supreme level transforms one completely, but I didn’t experience that.”
Indeed, my growth defied normal standards.
I wasn’t dissatisfied or worried.
“Being atypical doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong.”
Even so, my body was in rough shape, so I used divine power to stabilize myself and surveyed the surroundings.
While I had spent three hundred seconds fighting, the outside battle was reaching its final stages.
Inside the inn, the fight was over. Outside, the Surama Army had been decisively defeated.
By sheer overwhelming numbers, they exhausted Surama Army.
Eventually, the Talisman Master burned the last Surama soldier, ending all conflict.
The Talisman Master declared:
“I never thought we’d beat that old monster. We surrender.”
Though I was in rough shape, so was the opponent.
They had suffered near-total losses fighting Surama Army.
I accepted the surrender. Though much blood was already shed, I didn’t think they’d retaliate for today.
Of course, I wasn’t letting things go for free.
“Empty-handed?”
Having strained both time and body, they deserved a fair price.
I collected compensation from each individually under the guise of a settlement.
Yet, still…
“Not much, huh.”
Even combined, it wasn’t much.
Still, I must have spared about fifty people.
Then I noticed their true state: ragged clothes, faded from washing, hollow faces with sunken cheekbones.
‘Disappearing from the martial world must mean minimal activity outside.’
In this impoverished state, it made sense.
I gave up on material compensation.
Instead, I demanded something else:
“I’ve paid the money. Hand over anything of value.”
Like the feather-like item that had been watching me.
This time, I gained quite a haul: talismans and multi-colored pearls.
The talismans came from the Talisman Master; the pearls were from the dead Tyrant.
“Had this place been a waterfront, even Surama Army wouldn’t have managed the Tyrant.”
Perhaps it was due to the rarity of these spiritual items.
As I lamented the Tyrant’s death, light burst from its body.
Strangely, others showed no reaction, as if it were invisible.
Though I noticed the anomaly, I approached the Tyrant.
It still emitted light, but examining inside was easy enough.
Nothing unusual was found, except a small black stone the size of a thumb rolling on the ground.
I grabbed it absentmindedly.
The light from the Tyrant vanished into the stone.
At that moment, I realized:
‘So it wasn’t really dead.’
The Tyrant had avoided death by retreating into the black stone.
This was my chance to claim it.
“Forget the pearls. I’ll take this.”
I willingly gave up the multi-colored pearls.
I knew they were valuable, but that was all. Jewelry had limited use, and I wasn’t interested. Money was abundant.
“It’s just a stone anyway. I’ll give it to you—keep the pearls.”
Yes! Jackpot.
