Kim Ki-jun's confidence cracked. What once felt like a battle in his grasp was now slipping beyond control. Lee Seong-jun's movements were not those of an inexperienced returnee—they were sharp, precise, and suffused with killing intent that came only from endless battles.
Seong-jun had faced nameless thugs, sect masters who ruled the martial world, warriors hailed as peerless across continents, and even gods worshiped as high divinities. Each encounter had tempered him, carving into him the instincts of a predator. Against such a background, the Shadow Brothers' experience—measured in mere dozens of fights—was laughably thin.
Their blades lacked weight. Their attacks were shallow. Their intent to kill felt hollow.
They were not predators in Seong-jun's eyes. They were prey.
A faint light flared in Seong-jun's gaze. His body blurred, dissolving into motion as he unfurled a technique from his distant past—Gwiyeongbo.
Centered on his stance, energy spread outward in a circle, five meters in radius. Within this zone, every twitch of muscle, every shift of breath, every flicker of gaze was laid bare to his perception. To the untrained, it seemed mystical. But to a martial artist of his caliber, it was nothing more than the natural extension of honed senses given form. This was the domain called 制空 (Control of Space).
Inside it, escape was impossible.
Kim Ki-jun felt the truth press upon him. No matter where he struck, his intent was read. Each time he sought an opening, it closed before him, reversed with a counterattack sharper than his own. His body had yet to land a single meaningful blow.
In despair, the thought came unbidden: this was no B-rank hunter. This was a monster who could already be considered S-rank.
Panic surged, and instinct drove him toward his last lifeline—Shadow Movement. With his brother at a distance, he could flee through the shared ability that had saved them countless times. His body shifted, vanishing into the fold of darkness.
But even as he moved, a chill overtook him.
Lee Seong-jun was smiling.
He had already deciphered the skill, having endured it once. Its restrictions were obvious: limited range, a cooldown between uses. Against overwhelming strength, it was not an escape—it was a death sentence delayed.
Seong-jun's form flickered, his body igniting with blessings he had withheld until now. Agility surged, wind wrapped around him. In a heartbeat, he cut the distance between them, his speed tearing apart the calculations the Shadow Brothers had relied upon.
The chase was over.
Steel-like muscles coiled as Seong-jun gathered power into his frame. With the foundation of Diamond Steel Outer Qigong, he invoked the first form once more—Iron Mountain Tiger Strike.
Boom!
The earth trembled as Kim Ki-jun was struck, his body hurled back, blood erupting from his mouth. His legs shook as he clung desperately to life, but the outcome was decided. The first form shattered defenses. Now came the finishing blow.
Seong-jun's fist clenched tighter, veins bulging with condensed might. His body roared like a beast straining at its limits.
Then, with a flash of his eyes, he unleashed the second form.
Diamond-Strength Dragon Strike.
The ground exploded beneath him as his fist surged forward, carrying with it the phantom of a dragon. The beast's form tore through the air, its force obliterating everything in its path. Trees shattered, earth split, the very air shrieked under the impact.
When the dust settled, scorched ground stretched where a forest had once stood. And at the center of it lay the mangled corpse of Kim Ki-jun, unrecognizable, broken beyond repair.
Seong-jun did not flinch. Death was no stranger to him—it was a necessity, not a choice.
Only one brother remained.
Kim Ki-yeol had fled the moment he could, desperate to escape his brother's fate. Yet Seong-jun's steps were relentless. Martial arts were not only about killing; they also taught speed, the flow of wind and thunder. With the technique Wind and Thunder Step, his body became a storm.
In a blink, the gap closed.
The younger brother turned, eyes wide with horror, his dagger swinging wildly. But fear had stolen his form, leaving his strikes clumsy and powerless.
Seong-jun slipped past the blade and drove his fist forward.
Thud!
Kim Ki-yeol's body smashed into a tree, collapsing as foam frothed at his lips. Unconscious, he could offer no further resistance.
This time, Seong-jun spared him. Not from mercy, but from necessity. A corpse gave no answers. A captive could point toward the mastermind.
The forest returned to silence, save for the faint rustle of leaves. The battle against Earth's first true enemies was over. But the path ahead was only beginning.
With cold, unyielding eyes, Lee Seong-jun hefted the unconscious Kim Ki-yeol onto his shoulder and walked toward the exit of the gate.