Chapter 18. Full Blood - Gyoryung
Cheon Gyu-in chuckled and deployed his Geumnasu and Bisu once more.
As the Bisu thrust toward his flank, Hougong swung his sleeve to deflect it.
At the same moment, he brushed past Cheon Gyu-in’s body, spinning around to seize his back.
Thud!
With a hand formed into a sword seal, Hougong tapped near Cheon Gyu-in’s spine before withdrawing.
Though the location was a pressure point, it wasn’t sealed—merely a warning to take the fight seriously.
“Hah!”
Startled, Cheon Gyu-in whirled around to adjust his stance.
His pupils trembled with shock; he’d never imagined his back would be exposed so easily.
Hougong’s hand had nearly reached the Daechuhyeol pressure point near his spine, leaving him utterly vulnerable.
Was the lack of internal energy why the point remained unsealed? Regardless, no symptoms manifested—a small mercy.
But Cheon Gyu-in was no fool.
Even if he could retreat, casually turning his back was impossible.
He hadn’t even grazed Hougong’s collar—a feat unthinkable without mastery of movement techniques.
Suddenly, the words of Yi Gongja Beom-yun resurfaced in Cheon Gyu-in’s mind:
“The Great Lord appears to be learning martial arts.”
Cheon Gyu-in had dismissed this as nonsense after witnessing the Great Lord’s clumsy stick swings.
But now…
‘Is this something only those who experience it firsthand can understand?’
The disparity in their skills defied comprehension.
Those earlier stumbles hadn’t been incompetence—they were precision. A cold sweat dripped down his neck.
“Great Lord, forcing you to commit suicide seems difficult. Let me instead be killed by you.”
“Good. You finally grasp my meaning. Forty-two moves remain. I’ll warm up properly now.”
Whoosh!
Cheon Gyu-in hurled the Bisu at Hougong’s forehead while unleashing a palm strike, his smile vanishing.
He deployed his signature Six Yang Palm (六陽掌), treating Hougong as a true rival.
The air filled with phantom palm shadows, strikes raining down like a storm.
This was the assault Hougong had awaited.
The onslaught’s ferocity forced Hougong to accelerate his footwork, occasionally freeing a hand from behind his back.
Twenty seconds later, Cheon Gyu-in’s face paled to sickly yellow.
He couldn’t comprehend it—he was fighting tooth and nail, yet Hougong moved as casually as someone on a stroll.
The same Hougong who’d recently struggled to perform basic splits now vanished repeatedly from the Six Yang Palm’s shadows.
A half-step back, a lean, a sudden pivot—each movement placed him impossibly out of reach.
Every motion was economical, evasion paths razor-short.
Astonishingly, their distance never exceeded half a zhang (1.5 meters).
Yet within that space, Cheon Gyu-in felt an abyss of despair—as if Hougong existed beyond his grasp.
As frustration mounted, the shift came.
“Now that fifty seconds have passed, let’s tumble.”
Hougong pressed forward with his right hand.
Swish!
He glided past Cheon Gyu-in’s side, tapping his waist with a sword-sealed hand.
By the time Cheon Gyu-in reacted with a palm strike, Hougong had already repositioned.
Next came a flurry of strikes—shoulder, biceps, and pressure points.
“What are you doing?!”
Cheon Gyu-in’s shout carried more bewilderment than rage.
Hougong’s fingers brushed Gyeonu and Hyeopbaek pressure points.
A spin brought him to Chuktaekhyeol near the elbow.
Then downward: below the navel, wrist, chest—each tap precise—before he slid back, hands clasped behind him.
Cheon Gyu-in stood frozen.
His face burned crimson with humiliation.
He’d failed to touch a single hair, while Hougong had struck seven pressure points with playful ease.
The message was clear: I could kill you whenever I choose.
“Great Lord… What is this?”
The skill gap was undeniable. Cheon Gyu-in acknowledged it—yet fury still simmered beneath his forced calm.
“You could’ve targeted my death point (死穴). Why strike seven random pressure points instead? Do you want something from me?”
“……”
“Are you asking me to switch allegiances?”
Hougong smirked.
“You’ve got talent for comedy. Me? Want you? Stop babbling and curl up already.”
“Curl up?!”
Cheon Gyu-in’s brows knotted in confusion.
‘Is this a test? Must I beg forgiveness by contorting myself?’
As he pondered—
Crack!
His neck jerked sideways, ear touching shoulder.
“Ghk!”
Cheon Gyu-in’s eyes bulged.
His body moved against his will—neck stiff, arms twisting with sickening pop-pop cracks.
He watched helplessly as wrists bent backward, joints dislocating.
Crunch. Snap.
Legs folded unnaturally, collapsing him to the floor.
His left arm snaked behind his back, shoulder dislocating with a wet snap.
Bones shattered as his body compacted, limbs thrashing autonomously.
“Ghh—Ghhaa—”
One side of his mouth twisted upward, gums exposed; the opposite cheekbone threatened to pierce through flesh.
He writhed, shrinking to two-thirds his size—a grotesque ball of broken angles.
Hougong tsked.
“Tsk. Should’ve tempered that arrogance. Know who you’re dealing with.”
“Sp… spare me… Ghhk… Great Lord…”
Hougong silenced him with a tap to the Ahhyul pressure point, reducing pleas to muffled bone cracks.
He then frowned toward the door.
Two approaching figures. Familiar ones.
“Yoon! Boo Mong! Here. Now.”
The duo arrived whistling, grins fading as they entered.
“Brother! How’d you know we—?”
“Great Brother! Were you waiting for—?”
They recoiled, staring at the twitching mass.
“Wh-what’s that?!”
“A monster?!”
“That’s Cheon Gyu-in.”
“The Guard Captain? How?!”
Yoon blinked incredulously while Boo Mong gasped:
“Wind stroke! The Captain had a wind stroke! We must get a physician!”
Hougong cut them off.
“Quiet. We’re moving. Carry him.”
He led them to the study, adjusting a reversed winter book on the shelf.
The room dissolved into a soundless snowy expanse.
After explaining, Hougong unsealed Cheon Gyu-in’s voice.
“Confess. Who’s behind this?”
Between bone cracks, Cheon Gyu-in rasped names:
Chief Officer Kwak.
Eight guards. Six defense officers. One scholar. Five accountants—all the Chief’s lackeys.
Yoon and Boo Mong erupted.
“That bastard Kwak!”
“How could they?!”
Hougong roared:
“Blame yourselves! What have you done while our house crumbled?!”
Boo Mong scratched his head.
“But Brother… We… We’ve been lost too…”
Hougong fell silent.
Memories surfaced—of these two following Fanhang loyally, their anguish mirroring his own.
