Baek Mu-hyeok had fought a great many people since the world ended.
He'd fought men with fire in their hands and women who could turn into steel. He'd fought a boy who moved so fast he left afterimages, and an old soldier who'd shot him eleven times before he fell. He had walked through every one of them, and he had learned something from every one of them, and none of them had ever made him stop and stare.
The man in the plain mask was standing three meters away with nothing in his hands.
There had been something on his arm a second ago. Mu-hyeok had felt it. His fist had hit it with everything he had, all those steps, all that war, and it hadn't broken. It had been like punching the side of a mountain. Now the man's arm was up in front of him, and Mu-hyeok could see straight through the space where the thing had been, and there was nothing there at all. There was only a forearm and a closed fist, held the way a man holds a shield.
