“Hey, you bastard, stop yelling. You’d think something huge happened. There are only thirty minutes left—can’t you even wait standing up for that long?”
“Yeah! I can’t wait, so what? Do you even know who I’m entering this competition for? And that’s your attitude?”
“What! Who the hell asked you to enter? You dragged someone who was peacefully gaming at home all the way here—so why the fuck are you throwing a tantrum, huh? Why the fuck?”
Was it a fight? When Dojin glanced behind him, he saw two spirits wearing Yuldo Island–style hanbok grabbing each other by the collars. One was a woman, the other a man, and they absolutely did not look like lovers. If anything, they looked like sworn enemies.
The one complaining about seats being full was the man; the one shouting about being dragged away from peaceful gaming was the woman. Only the male spirit had the contestant mark stamped on the back of his hand.
When their eyes met, the female spirit flinched in surprise and hurriedly waved her hands.
“It’s nothing. Please stay seated. Yes, yes. Sorry for the noise.”
The female spirit dragged the male spirit away. The two of them bickered and fought right up until the competition began. Unlike the people watching the spectacle, Dojin quickly lost interest in them.
The tournament was conducted in a bracket format. Dojin advanced rapidly, deciding matches within a single second. He was so fast that he often secured his next appearance first and then had to wait for his opponent to be decided.
“Wooooah!”
“That’s amazing, even though they’re so small!”
Cheers erupted from somewhere. Dojin, who had been idly waiting for his next opponent, turned his head in that direction. Someone wearing a white veil was stepping down from the stage. The opponent in that match was sprawled across the floor.
“Number 67 advances to the round of 32!”
“Wooooah!”
Despite having a frame even smaller than Immortal Iri’s, the strength was extraordinary.
Since he had time to spare, Dojin wandered around watching other matches. There were roughly four competitors who stood out.
The white-veiled contestant who had just won, a dokkaebi, the spirit who had been bickering with their group earlier, and a bearded Janghan.
Dojin possessed what could be called a ‘Jangsa’s instinct’—an instinct that let him instantly judge whether an opponent was stronger or weaker than himself. By his assessment, none of them were his match.
Master, the disciple who’ll become your future lover is about to gain a hundred years’ worth of virtue.
It was a real shame that Immortal Iri couldn’t see this firsthand. Dojin briefly considered asking James to record a video, but staff members were roaming around shouting that filming was prohibited, so he gave up.
The event progressed as smoothly as flowing water. In less than an hour, only five competitors remained in the arena: Number 180, the dokkaebi; number 175, the white veil; number 101, the male spirit; number 1, Janghan; and number 201, Kim Dojin.
The final match to determine the semifinalists—between the dokkaebi and the spirit—began.
The dokkaebi looked like an old man with a potbelly and deeply wrinkled skin, while the spirit was a rather handsome young man. To Dojin, who had grown up in modern Korea, it was an oddly uncomfortable sight.
“Hey, spirit. I’ve been watching you for a while—you’ve got some real strength. Why didn’t you enter a hundred years ago, and why now, when I’m competing?”
“Back then, I didn’t need virtue. Now, I do. Let’s stop chatting and start already.”
When the two clasped hands atop the table, the referee placed his own hand over theirs. There were ten referees in total, all wearing gat hats and plain black robes with no insignia. They wore the same attire as the one who had informed Dojin about the competition.
Tweet— The referee blew the whistle.
The dokkaebi and the spirit exerted their strength simultaneously. Their forearms, biceps, and triceps bulged. Arm wrestling usually ended in an instant, but this match dragged on for quite a while. Finally, the dokkaebi’s grip slipped on the handle, his strength gave out, and the back of his hand hit the cushion.
“Number 101 wins. Advancing to the semifinals!”
The spirit rolled his wrist as he stepped down, then looked toward his next opponent.
Straight at Dojin.
Sensing the gaze, Dojin met it head-on, and the silent tension between them made the crowd murmur. At that moment, the female spirit stepped between them.
“Hey, Ilho. I said fight with strength—why the hell are you fighting with your eyes?”
“No, fuck—he glared at me first!”
“You were the one who glared first, idiot.”
“Why are you only yelling at me?”
The spirit grumbled, sticking his lips out like a duck. The female spirit smiled apologetically at Dojin and gave a small bow, as if asking for his understanding.
His name is Ilho?
Dojin felt like he’d heard that name somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall it clearly.
The first semifinal match was between Janghan and the white-veiled contestant. However, Janghan was so massive compared to the veiled figure that interlocking their hands was impossible.
“Due to the size difference between the competitors, this match will not be arm wrestling. It will instead be a stone-lifting contest.”
At the referee’s gesture, a massive boulder appeared beside the arm-wrestling table. It was about two meters in diameter, and it seemed to have been magically treated to increase its weight.
The one wrapped head to toe in a white veil stepped forward first. Despite their slender frame, some incredible power surged forth. With a sharp exhalation, they lifted the boulder. They held it for five seconds before trembling overwhelmed them and they set it down.
Next was the bearded Janghan. With a colossal build easily exceeding two meters both in height and width, he let out a single grunt—hup—and hoisted the boulder effortlessly. He raised it high over his head with both hands and held it there for a full ten seconds before lowering it, without showing the slightest sign of strain.
Before the referee could announce the result, the white-veiled contestant extended a hand to Janghan.
“I lost.”
It was the first time they had spoken, and the voice was that of a young girl. Janghan clasped the small hand and shook it, then asked in a deep, heavy voice.
“Are you a member of the Nangja Army?”
“…Good work.”
The white-veiled girl turned away.
The surroundings buzzed with whispers.
“Nangja Army? Don’t tell me that’s the army of Narim Kingdom?”
“Come to think of it, they say the Nangja Army wears red in battle and white when not in combat.”
“No wonder she was so strong—if she’s from Narim Kingdom’s Nangja Army, it all makes sense!”
Narim Kingdom was a nation accessible only to women, ruled by a Grand General called Wolbaek, and located south of Jeju Island. The Nangja Army, Narim Kingdom’s military, had intervened in Korean peninsula history several times, but for the past two hundred years, they had remained quiet and withdrawn. Even a place more secretive than Yuldo Island couldn’t resist a hundred years’ worth of virtue, it seemed.
I have to tell Master that I saw someone from the Nangja Army.
If filming hadn’t been banned, he would’ve rushed over to ask if he could take a picture. It was truly a shame.
Now it was time for the second semifinal match.
Kim Dojin versus the spirit.
The spirit loosened his shoulders and wrists in front of the table, while Dojin stood there with his arms hanging loosely, looking like everything was a hassle.
“Are both competitors ready?”
“Yes, I’ve been ready for a while.”
“I’m ready too.”
“Then clasp hands.”
Dojin and the spirit each gripped the table handle with one hand and clasped each other’s hands with the other. At that moment, the spirit looked flustered, while Dojin remained utterly indifferent.
“Ilho! Fighting! Win, Ilho! Whoever wins is on our side!”
The spirit’s companions cheered loudly. But Ilho had already sensed his defeat.
When the referee blew the whistle, Dojin flexed his arm and immediately slammed his opponent’s hand down. The back of the spirit’s hand hit the cushion. The match ended in less than a second.
As the referee declared Dojin’s victory, a roar of cheers erupted.
“It ended in an instant. That’s incredible!”
“He’s been finishing everything in one second since earlier!”
The spirit’s group looked shocked for a moment, then quickly started shouting.
“It’s okay! It’s okay! You lost, but you fought well! Good job, Ilho!”
Embarrassed by the cheering, the spirit pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Hey. You—you’re not human, are you?”
The spirit asked as Dojin stepped down from the stage. Dojin curled the corner of his mouth upward.
“I’m a Jangsa.”
“Ah, fuck… How the hell are you supposed to beat a Jangsa? It shouldn’t have been me—Lord Woljik Chasa should’ve come instead.”
“…Woljik Chasa?”
“It’s nothing. Anyway, since you beat me, you’d better win the whole thing. Otherwise, I’ll look like a total idiot.”
Grumbling, the spirit headed down.
Woljik Chasa… Lee Deok-chun?
Blinking, Dojin scanned the spirit’s group. The fact that the spirit had mentioned Woljik Chasa felt deeply ominous. After all, the grim reapers under Woljik Chasa were all composed of spirits.
That man’s name was Ilho. If he really was a grim reaper—and if Ilho meant ‘Number One’…
The First Chasa of the Underworld had registered a King candidate……
And that female spirit, patting his shoulder and teasing him while telling him to cheer up—could it really be…?
‘How’s the First Chasa’s spirit doing? Training well? Give a little hint to the competitor.’
‘That spirit has no discipline, causes nothing but trouble, and is a complete delinquent. I’ve worked in the Underworld for a thousand years, and I’ve never seen such a shameless spirit.’
A delinquent. Shameless.
No way. That can’t be. There’s no way a coincidence like that exists.
Even as he thought that, the feeling of unease clung stubbornly to him.
“Let the final match begin!”
Dojin snapped back to attention at the referee’s voice.
For now, he needed to focus on this. He only had to win one more match to get a hundred years’ worth of virtue for free. Then he could finally perform the Gido Ceremony. Finally, he and Immortal Iri would formally become master and disciple.
His final opponent climbed onto the stage with heavy, thudding footsteps. A middle-aged man with a massive build and a thick beard stared at Dojin with an unreadable expression.
Dojin had a Jangsa’s instinct, and that instinct told him—
He’s weaker than me.
“Number 201, approach the table.”
“Yes.”
Dojin walked forward with wide, confident strides.
“Greet each other.”
“I’m number 201.”
“I’m number 1.”
The middle-aged man’s participant number was 1. That meant he had signed up the moment registration opened. He’d been confident—and rightly so, having bulldozed his way to the finals. It was unfortunate that his opponent was Dojin.
“Prepare.”
At the referee’s command, the two competitors took their stances and clasped hands.
The middle-aged man’s hand was rough and coarse, covered in scars. As Janghan tightened his fingers and tried to apply pressure, the referee intervened with a sharp “Hey now.” Dojin remained relaxed throughout.
Piiiii—
The whistle blew. Dojin flexed his arm and pushed forward.
“Ghh—!”
Even with his wrist bent nearly in half, Janghan endured through sheer bulk.
He’s pretty strong, I’ll give him that.
When Dojin flashed a crooked smile, the middle-aged man’s face twisted. Dojin decided to end the match and poured on real strength.
And then—
“Ugh…!”
The previously losing Janghan suddenly began exerting an overwhelming force. Startled, Dojin gripped the handle tightly with his free hand and tensed the muscles in both legs to brace himself. But Janghan’s wrist, which had been completely bent, returned to its original position—and now it was Dojin’s wrist that began to bend backward.
‘What the fuck…?’
