Fist Demon of Mount Hua - Chapter 37

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 37. The Wind That Passes Is Not Always Warm—Part 3
A thick, visceral killing intent flickered across Gyeongcheongsaeng’s eyes.
“Insolent!”
In all his years traversing the Jianghu, he had never encountered a man who spoke with such arrogance as Dam Ho. Everyone who laid eyes on him scrambled to bow their heads, desperate to win his favor by any means.
Yet Dam Ho was methodically crushing Gyeongcheongsaeng’s pride beneath his heel.
“How dare a cripple like you…….”
It was in that very moment Gyeongcheongsaeng’s voice dripped with murderous intent.
Bang!
A deafening thunderclap erupted without warning.
In its wake, one of his men—transformed into a bloody heap—flew backward past Gyeongcheongsaeng.
After tumbling more than a dozen paces across the ground, the limp form that came to rest was a junior disciple Gyeongcheongsaeng had held in high regard.
Though the man had worked in shadowed undertakings, his martial skill was exceptional, and his temperament sound—qualities that had earned him a place in Gyeongcheongsaeng’s careful eye.
The face that once brimmed with vigor now bore no light. Eyes that had once gleamed had long since lost their focus.
His lifeless features were frozen in bewilderment. Even as death took him, he had not understood why he had to die.
“What?”
Bang!
The moment confusion crossed Gyeongcheongsaeng’s face, another blast tore through the air.
“Aagh!”
A scream followed in its wake. Another life snuffed out in an instant.
Death fell like rain.
“What?”
Before Gyeongcheongsaeng’s eyes, his subordinates hurtled backward like artillery shells. Where they had stood, Dam Ho and his fist took their place.
His hand was less a fist than a blunt spike, a wedge of flesh and bone. With each extension of his arm, his victims scattered their blood as they perished.
The technique that shatters fortress walls.
Coupled with the Baseonggchui spreading outward in unison.
It was a terrifyingly simple rhythm—two movements repeated endlessly. Yet not a single one of Gyeongcheongsaeng’s men could withstand even one technique from Dam Ho.
Crack!
Block with a forearm and bones shattered. Block with a leg and the femur splintered into fragments.
Bang!
“Kyaaaargh!”
A Martial Master with his sternum crushed inward flew backward, his scream a wail of agony.
Dam Ho was calamity itself.
Unstoppable. Unblockable.
To the Martial Masters gathered here, he was the reaper.
“Aaaaaagh!”
The men leapt to and fro like grasshoppers, desperately trying to evade Dam Ho. But wherever they moved, death pursued them as if by fate.
Crack!
With a single strike of the Baseonggchui, three Martial Masters became shattered meat, sent flying.
“Stop!”
Unable to bear it any longer, Gyeongcheongsaeng drew his blade with lightning speed and hurled himself at Dam Ho.
Tssss!
A shimmer rose from his sword, and a crisp blade-aura coalesced.
Chuhomsamnra.
The name of the technique he had unleashed.
It was a technique as swift and devastating as its name suggested. Gyeongcheongsaeng believed that even if this single strike could not kill Dam Ho, it would at least halt the slaughter.
‘His left leg is the weakness.’
Dam Ho was terrifyingly powerful. But even he had a flaw—that damaged left leg.
His blade-aura was aimed directly at Dam Ho’s left leg.
Like a swallow skimming the water’s surface, Gyeongcheongsaeng’s body crouched low, his form pressing close to the earth as he closed in on Dam Ho.
Whoosh!
The blade swept in as low as his bent waist. Sharp and insidious as a viper laden with venom.
‘Got him.’
A glint of triumph flashed in Gyeongcheongsaeng’s eyes. The blade was an instant away from severing Dam Ho’s ankle. He was certain Dam Ho could not evade it.
Then Dam Ho’s left leg rose slightly. As Gyeongcheongsaeng’s blade whisked uselessly beneath his feet, Dam Ho brought his foot down with crushing force.
Thud!
“Nngh!”
A groan of agony escaped Gyeongcheongsaeng’s lips. His eyes widened in disbelief.
His blade lay trapped beneath Dam Ho’s foot. The impact had split the guard-hand’s skin; blood dripped steadily.
Gyeongcheongsaeng tried to channel his Internal Power to wrench his blade free from beneath Dam Ho’s foot. But it would not budge—as immovable as a boulder weighing ten thousand pounds.
‘Impossible…….’
The moment Gyeongcheongsaeng lifted his head, overwhelmed by the terrifying pressure flowing through his sword, Dam Ho’s knee suddenly filled his entire field of vision.
Bang!
“Ugh!”
The unexpected, catastrophic impact snapped Gyeongcheongsaeng’s head backward. His nose was crushed as though struck by a sledgehammer.
“Hiss!”
With a cry of pain, Gyeongcheongsaeng dropped his sword and attempted to defend himself with bare hands.
Bang!
In that instant, Dam Ho’s knee struck his face again.
Crack!
Gyeongcheongsaeng felt his facial bones shatter completely, hearing them give way like breaking pottery.
No scream escaped. Dam Ho’s knee struck once more.
Splash!
Blood sprayed in all directions, flecks of pale, tofu-like matter mixed within it.
Gyeongcheongsaeng’s body was collapsing.
His men held their breath. Disbelief flickered across their faces.
Three knee strikes—and Gyeongcheongsaeng’s life was gone. His face, sprawled across the ground, was so thoroughly crushed that it was no longer recognizable as human.
Gyeongcheongsaeng was not the sort of man who should have died so easily.
He had been counted among the ten greatest masters at Seocheonsan Lodge. The number of Jianghu experts who had died by his hand exceeded a hundred and twenty.
Such a master lost his life without ever deploying a single martial technique. Something horrifying—something they had never imagined possible—had unfolded before their eyes.
Dam Ho’s cold gaze turned toward them.
His eyes held no exultation at besting Gyeongcheongsaeng, no victor’s pride at commanding the situation.
His pupils rippled with savage hunger—nothing but the will to kill.
Through his clenched teeth came a harsh, murky voice.
“After all, you never proved it.”
“Hhh!”
“Why you deserved to live.”
The moment Dam Ho’s voice rang out, the terror of the survivors reached its peak.
“A demon!”
“Run!”
The survivors scattered in all directions. Yet not a single one of them escaped that place.
Caw! Caw!
Countless crows circled the sky, crying out. But not one descended to the ground.
A land drenched in death—and standing alone was a single man.
That man, covered entirely in blood, was Dam Ho.
Until their dying moments, they refused to reveal who stood behind them. Dam Ho, for his part, was neither curious nor inclined to ask.
They cursed him.
That he would never be forgiven.
That heaven would strike him down.
It meant nothing to him. This had not been a fight he had chosen. It was a fight they had brought to him. And Dam Ho did not shy away from any fight.
Dam Ho gazed upon the carnage he had wrought. He felt no guilt. Instead, he felt fear.
Fear of himself—of how calmly he could create such devastation.
It felt as though he had become something other than human.
Then something gleaming entered Dam Ho’s field of vision. It lay near the mangled remains of Gyeongcheongsaeng.
The object Dam Ho picked up was the Myoansuk—the one he had once given to Jo Su Gwang, the master of the Eunryeon Trading Company.
This rare treasure, precious beyond measure, had circled and returned to him once more.
Dam Ho found himself wondering whether this stone might be a demon that carried death in its wake. Everyone who had possessed the Myoansuk before him was dead.
The stone in his palm glowed with an eerie light.
Dam Ho stared at the Myoansuk for a moment, then slipped it into his sleeve.
＊＊＊
Seocheonsan Lodge nestled beneath Boggeokdabong, at the eastern terminus of the Tianshan Mountain Range.
Seocheonsan Lodge had established itself beneath Boggeokdabong five years prior. At first it had seemed like nothing more than a lodge in name, but across those five years it had grown rapidly, and now it carried unmistakably the aura of a major martial sect.
Seocheonsan Lodge guarded its secrets as closely as its high walls. Who its master was, the extent of its power, the purpose behind its founding—all of it remained veiled.
It was three years ago, during the uprising of the Blood Sand Wind, that Seocheonsan Lodge became established in people’s minds as a true sect.
The Blood Sand Wind was a bandit gang that had terrorized the desert. Its scale far exceeded that of the Blood Wolf Brigade.
They attacked merchants crossing the desert, plundered their goods, and committed massacres, filling the region with dread.
Hundreds of people died, and tens of thousands of gold were extorted.
Several prominent sects of Xinjiang, unable to bear it any longer, united to suppress them—only to be annihilated themselves. Emboldened, the Blood Sand Wind roamed the desert and plains as if they were their own backyard.
As a result, merchants ceased their journeys, and no one dared attempt trade with the Western Regions.
It was then that the martial masters of Seocheonsan Lodge took action. They deployed their full strength and swept the blood-soaked Blood Sand Wind from the desert.
Having suppressed the Blood Sand Wind, Seocheonsan Lodge rose in a single stroke to become an emerging power in the martial world of Xinjiang. Its influence grew day by day, and in time it came to command a position among the three greatest forces in Xinjiang.
All of it had been accomplished in merely five years. What took the great sects of the Central Plains generations to achieve, they had done in five.
Seocheonsan Lodge had done nothing in particular, yet people came seeking them endlessly. Some came to ask favors, others to lodge complaints. And still others came to establish connections.
The doors of Seocheonsan Lodge stood perpetually open for such visitors.
“What brings you here?”
The gatekeepers inquired of each visitor’s purpose.
Though mere gatekeepers by title, the aura emanating from their bodies was far from ordinary. Confronted with such formidable presence as to warrant the exclamation “Seocheonsan Lodge,” the visitors could not hide their unease.
Among the long queue awaiting entry stood an old man dressed entirely in black and a striking beauty—Heuk No and Sim Ok.
The two waited in the middle of the line for their turn. Their bearing seemed no different from anyone else’s, so the gatekeepers paid them little mind.
Sim Ok surveyed Seocheonsan Lodge with a sharp gaze. Yet gleaning anything from the appearance of the lodge, ringed as it was by those high walls, was nearly impossible.
Walls some twenty feet high encircled the entire manor. It looked less like an estate than a fortress.
Sim Ok let out an exclamation.
“Impressive. I wish we had such splendid walls. They look far better.”
“High walls signify much to protect, miss. We have little worthy of such protection.”
“That’s precisely the problem. You’re as good as beggars.”
Sim Ok laughed scornfully.
“All of it reflects the Lodge Master’s frugality and discipline——”
“Which boils down to being beggars, doesn’t it?”
“Sigh.”
Heuk No exhaled heavily.
Before long, it came their turn. The gatekeeper asked.
“What brings you here?”
“We’ve come to see the Lodge Master.”
“The Lodge Master?”
The gatekeeper’s eyes brightened. Sim Ok caught the shift at once.
‘As I thought!’
In that fleeting instant, the light in his gaze was not something any mere gatekeeper could possess.
The gatekeeper spoke again.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Without an appointment, I cannot grant an audience.”
“Is that so? Then please convey this: a guest from the Hyeolrinsalmak has arrived.”
“Did you say Hyeolrinsalmak?”
The gatekeeper’s complexion changed entirely.
“That’s right. I am Sim Ok, Vice Master of the Hyeolrinsalmak.”
A smile played at the corners of Sim Ok’s mouth.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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