CH 20
Rumble!
Ji Dae-ho erupted with explosive force, unleashing a gale so fierce it cracked the ground around him like a spiderweb—all while he stood motionless. His martial arts were a divine technique, wielding the principle of weight with monstrous strength.
‘So this is the Lord of the Howling Dragon. To stand a chance, I’d need the Thunder God Technique, Hundred Thunder, and even the Martial Alliance elders’ secrets combined.’
But no matter how he calculated, the odds were bleak. The Seventh Prince’s low cultivation might blind him, but Ji Dae-ho was different—a cunning tiger who could gauge threats in an instant. Using the Thunder God Technique once could be dismissed as luck, but repeating it would expose him. Hiding his cards was the only option.
Crash!
‘I’ll die at this rate!’
Swish! Jang Yi-seo and Ji Dae-ho moved simultaneously—or rather, Jang stepped back as Ji Dae-ho lunged. But this was no ordinary strike. In a flash, Ji Dae-ho’s fist slammed into Jang’s guard.
Kak!
Even blocked, the impact felt like his organs were being twisted.
Swaaak!
Jang skidded back, carving twin furrows into the ground with his heels, blood streaking behind him.
“Hmm?” Ji Dae-ho tilted his head. “Was that earlier move just luck? Your internal energy’s pathetic.”
Thanks for the compliment, asshole.
“Hiding your strength? Unacceptable. Show me your true power!”
“This is insane.”
His opponent wouldn’t stop until he was broken. But revealing everything wasn’t an option—not for a spy. So...
Pat! This time, Jang charged forward.
‘I’ll fight until it works.’
“Bold! Come!” Ji Dae-ho roared, meeting him head-on.
Puh-puh-pak!
Their exchange blurred into a flurry of strikes—Jang’s speed and precision against Ji Dae-ho’s raw power. A cold, relentless duel where both hid growing shock.
‘How is he this strong without internal energy?!’
‘His movements… simple yet refined. Who trained him?!’
Pak!
Their attacks landed simultaneously—Ji Dae-ho’s fist to Jang’s chest, Jang’s kick to Ji Dae-ho’s ribs.
Keuk!
Jang crumpled, coughing blood. Ji Dae-ho stood unscathed, but his expression darkened.
“A waste,” he muttered.
The reason was clear: Jang’s flaw.
‘Flawless movements, but no mental cultivation.’
Ji Dae-ho was right. Jang had never learned proper mental techniques—a necessity for his role as the Dark Edge’s spy. His Nine Orifices Blocked Body, a constitution stifling his potential, made it unavoidable.
Even the Dark Edge had lamented: ‘If not for that cursed body, you’d have become a martial god.’
Martial god—an arrogant title, yet fitting from the mouths of the Alliance’s elders. Jang was a prodigy who absorbed their lifelong insights like water, yet forever chained by his limits.
“End this,” Ji Dae-ho growled, tiger-like eyes blazing as stormy energy erupted around him.
Jang swept sweat from his brow. Lord of the Howling Dragon… a true monster. Unconsciously, his teeth ground together.
‘I want to fight him properly… but not today.’
As a spy, not a warrior, he had to follow the script.
Jang glanced urgently at Mao, who pointed at himself, mouthing: Me?
Yes, you.
Kwaaaaang!
Ji Dae-ho charged. Jang lunged—not forward, but sideways toward a bewildered Mao.
“Seventh Prince, dodge—!”
Why me?!
No time to protest.
Ugh!
Jang grabbed Mao, spinning them both just as Ji Dae-ho’s fist closed in—
Whooosh!
The attack halted inches from their faces.
“Hah… haha!” Mao laughed weakly at the frozen fist. Jang smirked.
“Are you alright, Your Highness, the Seventh Prince?”
He positioned himself conspicuously behind Mao.
“Yeah. Except I almost died because of you.”
“I’m relieved you survived.”
Jang I-seo smirked. Ji Daeho’s eyes narrowed at the sight—a precise flicker of irritation. The lingering tension from their interrupted clash left him unsettled.
But he was a shrewd tiger.
He couldn’t possibly misunderstand the implications. The energy coursing through his body vanished like wind, his feet rooting like stone pillars.
Slowly, he turned his gaze to Mao and asked,
“Do you know this man?”
Mao glanced at Jang I-seo and nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Who is he?”
Who, indeed… Mao studied Jang I-seo again before answering flatly,
“My aide.”
“An… aide? This is the first I’ve heard of the Seventh Prince having one.”
“Congratulations. You’re the first in Cheonsan to know. The position was created moments ago.”
What nonsense was this? But Ji Daeho pressed no further. If true, an official notice would arrive soon enough.
More urgently—
“Your name?”
Ji Daeho’s focus now burned solely on Jang I-seo.
Even half-hearted, being forced back twice by someone so youthful? Unthinkable.
To grasp the absurdity: Ji Daeho hadn’t flinched when a dozen men struck his gut with ritual poles.
Yet here he stood, astonished.
“A pleasure. I’m Jang I-seo, the aide.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You look younger. Sect?”
“Self-taught, here and there.”
“Specializing in martial arts?”
“No.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“What are you doing now?”
“…Ji Daeho.”
What’s wrong with this man? Jang I-seo frowned. Ji Daeho stared like a cat fixated on new prey.
‘This feels troublesome. A misunderstanding, surely.’
Unease prickled his spine, but now wasn’t the time. The fight had dragged on too long.
Jang I-seo gestured to the fallen assassins.
“Slaughterhouse assassins. They dared infiltrate the Seventh Palace to harm you.”
“You mean yourself,” Mao muttered under his breath. Jang I-seo’s subtle nod conceded the point.
“Hmm…”
Finally releasing Jang I-seo from his scrutiny, Ji Daeho turned to the corpses. One caught his eye—a skull cleaved like a halved moon.
“Mak-gwi of the braided assassins. Your work?”
The answer was obvious. Jang I-seo replied calmly,
“Yes.”
Hiding it would only invite suspicion. The butchered scene already spoke volumes.
As expected, Ji Daeho examined Mak-gwi’s mouth and grimaced.
“Poisoned.”
Precisely. How else could a subpar fighter defeat a master?
(The truth, of course, lay in the Thunderbolt Technique.)
“Someone like me must fight dirty. And I detest chatterboxes.”
“No excuses needed. Unorthodox methods are commonplace here.”
“Right.”
Jang I-seo bit his tongue—his orthodox roots had slipped out. Fortunately, Ji Daeho lost interest, concluding his inspection.
“The situation is clear. We’ll transport them to headquarters for further examination… Any objections?”
Ji Daeho eyed Mao, aware this “Slaughterhouse” affair reeked of Maishin’s family strife.
Mao turned away sourly.
Jang I-seo stepped forward, beaming.
“None whatsoever. Investigate thoroughly—hold every responsible party accountable.”
“You…”
“This was an attempt on the Sect Leader’s adopted son within a sanctuary. Past leniency ends today. Not while I serve.”
“I’ll try, but don’t expect miracles.”
Ji Daeho shook his head. Similar incidents had been swept aside before.
Of course—Maishin was Elder Mailseong’s heir.
Straining relations between the Oryong Party and Elder Council made escalation perilous.
Jang I-seo’s gaze turned icy.
“Evidence. Culprits. The Slaughterhouse’s name blazoned here. Is this truly difficult? I expected better from the Horong Party.”
“What did you say?!”
“Mark this: if you dismiss this, I’ll formally challenge the Horong Party.”
Ji Daeho’s lips twisted into a feral grin. But the boy was the Seventh Prince’s aide—a third-rank noble.
“This exceeds my authority.”
“Then I’ll petition the Left or Right Minister.”
“You—!”
“Or perhaps the Sect Leader?”
“Ha.”
This brat… Ji Daeho massaged his throbbing temples. That cunning smile confirmed the threat wasn’t idle.
“What do you want?”
True to his clever tiger nature, Jang I-seo’s face lit up at the question.
#Only Two For Now (3)
