Northern Expeditionary Army — Barehanded Bout
The Diancang youth spread his fingers wide and straightened his hand.
He shaped it like a sword-hand, like Diancang's blade, and thrust in fast, driving deep.
Immediately after, a sharp-angled paired kick spiraled upward.
Swift. Crisp. And full of force.
Sowoon's body slipped back like water, then slid forward again, narrowing the distance.
He stepped inside the arc of the descending kick.
Lowering his body, he tapped the supporting leg from the opposite side.
Even a master falls when balance breaks.
As he toppled, the youth swung an arm toward Sowoon's face.
It was vicious.
Sowoon's body slid away like an eel.
His fingertips lightly poked the youth's ribs.
A breath burst out.
It had seemed like nothing more than a brush—
yet the youth flew back and rolled across the ground.
Fluid movement read the opponent's momentum before it formed.
"You rotten master… hff… this is against the rules.
You jumped into a kids' match."
Even fallen, his mouth did not stop.
Sowoon bared his teeth in a wide grin.
"I am a child."
The remaining five glanced at one another.
Before them stood a boy-master like an immovable mountain.
Their eyes debated who would step forward first.
The hesitation did not last long.
"All five of you at once.
A chance to face a master of the transcendent realm comes once in a lifetime.
Likely never again.
If you fight such a one elsewhere, you die.
So try here."
The word transcendent ignited Namsan's fighting spirit.
In the next instant, five attacks launched simultaneously.
Hands and feet overlapped from impossible angles.
Sowoon targeted what orthodox martial artists often neglected—the lower body.
They were accustomed to standing duels with weapons.
Irregular survival grappling unsettled them.
Each time their movements overlapped, they startled.
When small Sowoon slipped low, they retreated in haste.
He followed the retreating breath, tapping lightly—
Thud. Thud.
Evade. Draw in. Push. Strike.
His movements flowed without pause.
Their attempts to escape seemed slow—
like a painted scene.
He followed, striking and prodding as though it were a choreographed bout.
At last, only Moyong remained.
Sowoon smiled faintly.
"Miss, what was your name again?"
"I never told you."
"Ah, is that so?
Then it isn't that I forgot…
It is that Miss Moyong lacked courtesy in not telling me. Is that right?"
He provoked her deliberately.
Hot-tempered Moyong could not endure it.
She charged.
Sowoon shifted aside and lightly hooked her incoming leg.
He placed it at precisely the point where a catch meant a fall.
Even as she was hooked, Moyong used the entanglement to flip once in the direction of rotation.
Spinning fluidly to the opposite side, she fell forward and shot one hand toward Sowoon's chest.
Sowoon's body bent backward like grass pressed by wind.
As Moyong tried to regain stance, he crossed her legs and swept upward.
She pulled one leg back and struck down toward his knee with her palm.
Sowoon's body folded at a strange angle, dropping onto his back—
and struck her shoulder.
Their movements unfolded as though rehearsed.
Precise. Beautiful. Balanced like a painting.
Those who imagined a transcendent master would explode with force, with countless phantom hands filling the air, had to reconsider.
The fight before them was nothing like that.
"Scholar wins!"
"Waaah! White Dragon wins! We won!"
The cheers rose as though to pierce the sky.
Sowoon avoided the sharp glares coming from the Namsan side and smiled brightly, almost sheepishly.