The middle-aged man in the floral robe instinctively drew his sword. It was the treasured sword of Master Lee Cheong, which he had purchased earlier.
Clang!
With a crisp sound, the sword snapped in half.
The broken blade was caught between Pungma’s index and middle fingers.
Witnessing such immense strength, Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong swallowed dryly. A renowned sword capable of slicing through steel like tofu had been broken by mere fingers. That was a level far beyond their comprehension.
“…Hup.”
The man in the floral robe gulped.
If his opponent hadn’t been Pungma, he might have raised his voice, accusing the seller of peddling a fake. But now, he had no such luxury.
Pungma, as if putting on a show, slowly clenched his right fist in front of the man’s face.
When his fist closed completely, an astonishing phenomenon occurred—the air around it trembled, producing a distinct wind sound.
Whoooosh—
Hyeol bong and Won Ryeong’s faces turned pale in an instant. It was only then that they truly realized their opponent was Pungma.
Before they could react, Pungma’s fist was already in motion.
Crunch!
With a single strike, the floral-robed man’s chest was crushed. His body flew like a kite with its string severed, slammed into the wall, and bounced off lifelessly, still clutching the broken sword.
“Continue.”
As if nothing had happened, Pungma crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
Hyeol bong and Won Ryeong exchanged glances, their eyes filled with unspoken agreement—if it came to it, they would join forces. But since their opponent was Pungma, such a thought provided little comfort.
Yeo Ga-hwi smiled as he looked at the three remaining people.
“As I mentioned earlier, the starting price is fifty thousand nyang.”
At that moment, Hyeol bong, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
“How can we be sure that it’s genuine?”
As if expecting the question, Yeo Ga-hwi unhesitatingly pulled a document from his sleeve and unfolded it.
“You must have heard of Tong Eui Mun.”
A well-known intelligence organization in the martial world—Tong Eui Mun.
“We selected a few names from this register at random and had them verified. And this here is Tong Eui Mun’s guarantee that the list is genuine.”
In the intelligence world, a guarantee from Tong Eui Mun was synonymous with truth.
Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong let out low sighs.
Both of them had come on a mission to verify the authenticity of this information—one from the Justice Alliance, the other from the Dark Alliance. Just as Jinpae had brought the Black Wind Squad, they had warriors waiting nearby, poised to act. But with Pungma here, their backup was meaningless.
A register of high-ranking officials in the Demonic Sect.
When they first received the information, they hadn’t been sure whether to believe it. Yet, despite their doubts, they had been sent because if the information proved true, it would shake the martial world to its core.
For the Justice Alliance, allowing such intelligence to fall into the hands of the Dark Alliance was unacceptable. The opposite was true for the Dark Alliance. Even if this didn’t immediately lead to war, it was a piece of information with enormous political implications.
This time, Won Ryeong stepped forward.
“There is something I am curious about. If one of us purchases it, the other two could return and leak the information. That would reduce its value, wouldn’t it?”
The answer came not from Yeo Ga-hwi but from Pungma, who still had his eyes closed.
“The only person leaving this room alive will be the one who buys the item.”
Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong’s faces darkened. In an instant, the auction had turned into a forced sale.
Hyeol bong spoke firmly.
“This is too important a decision for me to make alone.”
Yeo Ga-hwi wagged his finger.
“I know you’ve been given full authority for this matter.”
Their expressions stiffened further.
He was right. Both of them had been granted discretionary funds by their respective factions in case the information proved to be genuine.
A heavy silence fell. And once again, it was Yeo Ga-hwi who broke it.
“Well, well. All this hesitation is slowing things down. Let’s be frank, then.”
His voice carried a commanding tone.
“In this room, we have representatives from the Justice Alliance, the Dark Alliance, and the Divine Cult (Demonic Cult).”
He had accurately identified them all.
Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong turned to look at Yuwol. They had already guessed each other’s identities, but they hadn’t expected that a member of the Demonic Sect would be here as well.
Yuwol calmly admitted his identity.
“This belongs to my sect, so I will reclaim it.”
Yeo Ga-hwi smiled with satisfaction.
“Well, as long as you have the money…”
He was confident because he had Pungma on his side. Riding the same boat as a martial artist whose strength rivaled the Six Demon Lords—why worry about storms?
Yuwol took something from his sleeve.
Swish.
A small envelope flew through the air and landed in Yeo Ga-hwi’s hands.
Yeo Ga-hwi opened it and was visibly shocked.
Inside were ten crisp promissory notes, each worth ten thousand nyang.
“…Surely not?”
Yeo Ga-hwi looked at Yuwol, dumbfounded.
“I will purchase it immediately for one hundred thousand nyang.”
Yeo Ga-hwi had never expected this.
With trembling hands, he carefully inspected the promissory notes.
“…Hmm.”
A faint groan escaped him.
They were all authentic. Yeo Ga-hwi nodded toward Pungma.
Pungma burst into hearty laughter and stood up.
“Haha! What a bold fellow.”
Since the item’s owner had been decided, he didn’t hesitate.
Whoooosh—
Violent winds howled from his fists.
Pungma was about to strike down both Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong.
Realizing the imminent danger, they drew on every ounce of their internal energy to defend themselves. But before they could react—
Swoosh!
A powerful force erupted from Pungma’s fists.
Kwaaang!
A thunderous explosion shook the sealed room.
Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong instinctively exhaled a long breath.
The explosion they heard should have been the last sound of their lives.
But it wasn’t.
Yuwol had blocked the attack with both arms outstretched.
Despite the extraordinary feat, his voice remained calm.
“They must not be killed.”
“For what reason?”
Pungma’s voice was a mix of irritation and amusement.
Yuwol slowly lowered his arms.
“Because the Seven-Year Pact has not yet ended.”
The Seven-Year Pact.
Five years ago, after an endless cycle of bloodshed, the righteous and the demonic factions had agreed to a seven-year truce. Two years remained.
“If you kill them, this deal is off.”
At Yuwol’s firm declaration, Pungma’s face contorted with rage.
“You dare set conditions for me?”
The wind howled even more violently as his anger surged. But then, he sneered.
“Then I’ll set my own condition.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll spare them, but in exchange—I’ll kill you.”
Yuwol smirked, his eyes cold.
Pungma grinned.
“I’ll kill you and then renegotiate with them.”
He planned to kill Yuwol, pocket the hundred thousand nyang, and sell the register again.
Yeo Ga-hwi hesitated, sensing the danger in the air.
“Senior…”
Before he could stop him, the doorman urgently grabbed his arm and shook his head.
Yeo Ga-hwi simply wanted to close the deal. Holding one hundred thousand nyang in his hands made his heart race. His cut alone was twenty thousand nyang.
But the situation was spiraling in the opposite direction.
Yuwol’s next words, spoken in an icy tone, sealed their fate.
“This is the martial world of Pungma? How pitiful.”
Pungma’s eye twitched, his pride wounded.
In the next instant, dozens of wind blades rained down on Yuwol.
Slash!
Blood spurted from Yuwol’s shoulder.
Psh! Psh! Psh!
As more blood droplets scattered, a flicker of surprise crossed Pungma’s face.
His attacks had barely left shallow cuts.
Yet Yuwol hadn’t even tried to dodge.
For the first time, Pungma felt intrigued.
With a flick of his fingers, Yuwol’s bamboo hat flew off, revealing his face—cold eyes beneath a deep, sword-scarred brow.
The raging winds suddenly died down.
Pungma turned to Won Ryeong and Hyeol bong.
“Get out.”
The two of them moved toward the stairs without hesitation. They had once been forcibly taken aboard the ferry crossing the underworld. Fortunately, due to a fight between the next passenger and the ferryman, they had been able to postpone their departure to the next boat.
Standing behind Yuwol, they couldn’t see his face. And as they left, they never once glanced in his direction.
A young demon who possessed the energy to stand against Pungma.
Naturally, curiosity arose, but that was synonymous with being an extremely dangerous individual. There was no reason to board the boat they had just struggled to disembark from.
Now, as if trapped in a hellish chamber where only survival mattered, four people remained. But this wasn’t a game where the last person standing was the victor. This was a game where those who remained to the end were bound to die.
Pungma spoke in a low voice.
“So it was you.”
Who could forget, having once seen Yuwol’s deep scars and icy gaze? Pungma remembered him exactly.
“The brat from the Black Wind Corps!”
His demeanor shifted slightly. The murderous aura lessened.
Had it been five years ago? That was the year Yuwol was appointed as the Grandmaster and the year Pungma retired.
A few days before his retirement ceremony, Pungma had attended his final event within the sect—Yuwol’s appointment as the Black Wind Corps’ Grandmaster. Yuwol was already a well-known figure within the sect.
The youngest Grandmaster in the history of the Black Wind Corps. Not position to position, but a direct promotion from squad leader to Grandmaster. The unprecedented decision had drawn the attention of all the demons.
That day, Yuwol’s inaugural speech was remarkably brief.
“If you can… don’t die.”
As Yuwol stepped down from the podium, Pungma shook his head.
Such childish bravado, he had thought. An act soaked in superficial theatrics.
But the response from the Black Wind Corps was unexpected.
“Waaaaah—!”
Their cheers echoed through Grand Heaven Mountain. They had taken that single sentence to heart. Pungma understood demons better than anyone. And he knew how difficult it was to truly inspire warriors as proud as the Black Wind Corps. But that day, their cheers were genuine.
Pungma, who had been silently watching Yuwol, finally spoke.
“Why don’t you ask?”
“Ask what?”
“Why I’m doing this. Why I abandoned the place I dedicated my life to.”
Yuwol replied coldly.
“I’m not curious.”
Pungma’s face stiffened. His pride was clearly wounded.
“You insolent wretch! Mind your tone.”
Yuwol’s voice remained ice-cold.
“You have already been stripped of the right to be called a senior.”
Veins bulged on Pungma’s forehead.
This time, Yuwol asked,
“And why don’t you ask?”
“Ask what?”
“How I intend to deal with a traitor like you.”
“What?”
At that moment, Yuwol smiled.
His smile only ever meant two things. A small smirk in moments of genuine joy, and a smile when he had decided to kill.
This was undoubtedly the latter.
Pungma sighed lightly and shook his head.
“I’ll let you live, so just go. Return and deliver this message—Pungma of the past is already dead.”
Yuwol, instead of answering, reached behind his back and drew the Narak Blade.
He slowly unwrapped the cloth wrapped around it.
“If the Pungma of the past is dead… then the man before me is nothing.”
Sensing the situation taking a dangerous turn, Ye Ga-hwi cautiously intervened.
“Let’s all calm down for a moment…”
Yuwol’s gaze turned chillingly sharp as he spoke to him.
“To think you’d dare pull such a stunt, relying on a mere old man. Do you truly take our sect so lightly?”
For Pungma, this was a provocation he could no longer tolerate. Dark energy exploded from his body.
“I’ll kill you!”
At the peak of his unleashed demonic energy—
Yuwol, who had been facing Ye Ga-hwi, suddenly spun like a flash of light toward Pungma.
Flash.
What Pungma saw was a streak of blinding light.
And the source of that light was the Narak Blade in Yuwol’s hand.
Crack!
Like a thunderbolt splitting the heavens, a chilling sound of something being carved apart echoed in the air.
Pungma, wide-eyed, muttered blankly.
“What was that… just now?”
Yuwol gave no reply.
Instead, it was Pungma himself who sank to the ground.
Thud.
Feeling the coldness of the floor against his back, Pungma finally realized—
It wasn’t Yuwol who had sunk into the ground.
It was he who had collapsed backward.
“…Huh?”
Pungma abruptly shot back to his feet, acting as if nothing had happened.
At that moment, Ye Ga-hwi, watching him, let out a horrified scream.
“Senior!”
Pungma, looking puzzled, followed Ye Ga-hwi’s gaze—his finger was pointing at his chest.
Lowering his eyes, Pungma finally saw it.
His chest was soaked in blood.
He unfastened his now-blood-drenched robe.
Etched deep into his chest was a sword wound, shaped like a lightning strike.
“The Thunderclap Strike of the Nine Calamities Demon Blade? That’s the Sect Leader’s technique… How do you know this…?”
Before he could finish, a heavy groan escaped his lips.
Pain, white-hot and numbing, surged from his chest.
And then—
With a sickening sound, blood erupted from the lightning-shaped wound like a waterfall.
“Aaaargh!”
But the one who screamed was not Pungma.
It was Ye Ga-hwi, horrified by the frightening sight.
Drip. Drip.
The fountain of blood slowed to a trickle.
Pungma, his face now deathly pale, spoke with great difficulty.
“You… must know… why I betrayed the sect. If you knew… then…”
For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Yuwol’s gaze.
Pungma’s final words hinted at a hidden story he could not bring himself to reveal.
Thud!
Leaving behind an unfinished truth, Pungma fell backward.
He would never rise again.
The wind would never again howl through his clenched fists.
Ye Ga-hwi’s heart pounded wildly.
Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined someone could kill Pungma with a single strike.
“Huh? Huh?” The man who always had something to say could now only mutter the same words over and over.
Meanwhile, the gatekeeper standing beside him reacted differently.
Without hesitation, his body leaped up the stairs toward the door on the second floor.
Ye Ga-hwi, dazed, watched the white streak of light fly past and muttered weakly.
“…Blade Control Technique.”
