Genius of unique lineage Chapter 176


Chapter 175: Is Anger the Disease that Kills?

“Leave it for now. If we handle it clumsily, the Phoenix Team will take action,” said a newly joined executive member. Park Jung-sik was tempted to ignore those words. He wanted to kill Yu Gwang-ik, even if it meant crafting a meticulous plan to do so. He didn’t need any elaborate tactics or tricks. What he wanted was a confrontation. If he could just face him head-on, that would be enough.

Wasn’t it said that immortals are captured by magic, and shape-shifters are caught by psychic powers? It was a ridiculous saying. The concept of ability compatibility was irrelevant to Park Jung-sik. Whether they were immortals, shape-shifters, psychically gifted species, or wizards, it was all the same to him. They were all humans in the end.

Immortals who don’t die even when beheaded? Just cut off the head and limbs and toss them into a grinder. If they try to regenerate, just repeat the process. To end an immortal, one must kill the mind, not the body. Killing a mad immortal was easy. There had never been one who kept their sanity while being ground up in a grinder.

Park Jung-sik was confident he could kill an opponent, if not beat them. He slid the knuckles onto his left hand. As he gripped it firmly and applied pressure, a dependable sense of compression squeezed his fist. This knuckle was called the Spell Breaker, a spell gear capable of nullifying any protective spells. It was rechargeable, so it could only be used three times a day, but three times would be enough.

In his right hand, he held a knife – a blade with a damascus pattern etched onto it, made from a new material from the Other Side. This one was called the Life-Taker. It was a dagger laced with poison, a mix only he knew. Once it made a scratch, the fight was over.

The Spell Breaker and Life-Taker, plus his psychic power—these were what Park Jung-sik believed in. He had solid justifications to present to his superiors. It wasn’t him who had summoned them; his adversaries had come of their own accord. They had also caused a considerable disturbance to the business. Park Jung-sik watched Yu Gwang-ik and thought, ‘Just kill this bastard.’

He had given up on his brethren and subordinates. He would just kill Yu Gwang-ik and escape. If he was the only one to survive, business was not a problem. He could always make a comeback.

With a ting, he flicked the knuckle against the blade and spoke, “Kid, what brings you to a place like this?”

Yu Gwang-ik licked his lips and responded, “An Incheon dockside warehouse.”


“That’s where you asked where you were,” Yu Gwang-ik retorted. An extremely annoying guy. Park Jung-sik would kill him. A clear and simple conclusion.

Park Jung-sik activated his psychic power—acceleration. In the blink of an eye, in the briefest of moments, he could be inside his opponent’s guard. Wielding weapons different from others and striking faster than anyone, that was Park Jung-sik’s specialty.

* * *

The opponent’s form left a trailing afterimage, drawing a long line in Park Jung-sik’s sight. It was over in an instant. A psychically talented species with acceleration, with a knuckle and knife in hand.

As he took in everything at a glance, he saw the opponent extend their fist. The sight prompted a bad premonition, tickling the back of his head. He reached out his right hand. Woong. A galaxy of stars unfolded in mid-air. The Galaxy Glove, a gift from A’L, activated. The opponent’s fist struck the Galaxy Field. Boom. A single punch, and then the guy immediately retreated. The retreat was as swift as his approach—in fact, swifter.

Among all the special species he had encountered, this one was the fastest. “You engraved a Galaxy Field in the glove? You crazy bastard,” muttered the opponent. “Should that surprise you?” I retorted.

“You trust in that gear? Fine, let’s see how long it lasts,” the adversary said, ignoring the basics of conversation. He didn’t reply to the question, only said what he wanted. No, maybe he was just absorbed in his own power.

Grinding his teeth, he charged forward again. This was a different realm of speed.)++;

There was no time for others to interfere. The opponent rushed in, and this time, I stretched out my left hand. Boom. The Milky Way barrier wavered and disappeared under the pressure. That was the effect of the knuckle. As soon as I saw it, I was certain. It was a type of gear designed to erode the protective power of spell gear in an instant.

The gloves on my hands were reduced to nothing more than sturdy fabric in a moment. It wasn’t that all my magic had been depleted; rather, like a clogged toilet, the protective magic held by the gloves failed to activate properly. The enemy had charged in, assuming he would retreat. I could tell just by looking at how his center of gravity shifted. He relied on the superiority of his speed as an out-boxer.

However, this wasn’t a ring, and the fight wasn’t confined to just fists. The weapon in hand could instantly determine victory or defeat. He believed in that. But it’s meaningless if he can’t hit the target. How does one gain the upper hand in speed? There were two abilities involved. One, motor skills: the ability to voluntarily control my body. Two, reflexes: the nerves connecting the brain to the muscles.

The blood flowing through my body doesn’t just enhance my strength. With training, tremendous developments in motor skills and reflexes were possible. Added to that, if one had sharp dynamic visual acuity to catch an opponent, one could indeed snatch back the upper hand in speed.

I focused. The blurred shadow of the man leaving afterimages on my vision came into view. It was like the clarity of a video improving. The choppy, blurred image became clear. His footsteps were silent and light.

The rapidly charging opponent punched out with the knuckle again. In response, I grabbed my coat lapel and yanked it forward. Clang. The Hexagon Field also broke. In the moment the invisible barrier shattered, the opponent’s right hand moved. In the flash of an eye, it was already too close. The blade aimed for my ribs.

The intent contained in his blade was clear. A scratch was enough. A simple cut was good enough. A graze would do. It seemed naive—an attack that was blatantly straightforward without any tricks. The command initiated in the brain was transmitted to my muscles. Thoughts merged with instinct and reason to move my body.

I struck the opponent’s right wrist with my left hand, which doubles as a water line. Speed, timing, trajectory, movement—all calculations were complete. Therefore, it was easy. Slash. Speed is proportional to strength. If there is overwhelming power, one can move just as swiftly.

My hand blade pierced through the opponent’s right wrist. It shattered the muscles, sliced the flesh, and cut through bone. The wrist was severed as if exploded, and the enemy reflexively jabbed with his left fist. This time, I swung my right hand blade from bottom to top, drawing a semicircle. The same thing happened again—wrist severing.

The opponent’s ability activation stopped. “Gurgle,” he groaned—not quite a scream, not quite a moan. Blood gushed from both wrist stumps. The shock left by my hand blade twisted his elbows too. He fell to his knees. He lay there on the ground, I made eye contact. His eyes revealed shock and surprise. “Aaaargh!” He screamed in delayed pain.

Standing in front of him, I sincerely asked, “Have you never met anyone faster than you?” That must be the reason he charged in like that. There were no tricks, no laws to swinging a knife or throwing a punch. Maybe he had learned somewhere how to use a knife, how to fight with fists, but he wasn’t the type to make an effort.

With his acceleration ability and two pieces of gear, he easily killed his opponents. Therefore, it was too simple. If I left him, he might die from excessive blood loss. I felt no inclination to offer first aid.

“Huh? Brother?” One with an exceptionally large head—perhaps a special species capable of disrupting the sense of distance—spoke up. “Innom! For the brother! You have to save the brother!” He was a friend with a sense of loyalty, not hiding his rage. None had yet to kneel or surrender.

I picked up the knife the enemy boss had dropped and swung it in the air a few times. I could feel it was well-made. Both its heft and cutting edge were remarkable. “Big Head!” called out a guy with a pomade-parted hairdo. Red eyes were visible in Big Head. His body started to stain red—”Flame Explosion?” Not quite. It felt different from a type that spews flames, my sixth sense told me.

I rotated the knife in my hand to hold it backward. If he came closer, I would strike. My intent quickly manifested as an intangible force, killing intent. I was ready to overpower his spirit and slash at a moment’s notice. But then—

Bang. The rushing man suddenly hurled himself sideways. With a loud explosion. Charging shoulder-first into the warehouse wall, he broke through it. Beyond the shattered barrier, I saw the retreating figure of Big Head.

“Explosive power user. Shall I chase him?” The shy assassin behind me asked. “Let him go.” I replied, with no more concern about it. That sudden escape was a power in itself—truly unexpected.

“Yaaah, you son of a… You’re running off alone?” The pomade-haired man mumbled. I wagged my index finger at him side to side. “That’s not it.” “What?” “Shush,” I said, bringing my finger close to my nose. Everyone stayed silent amidst the suddenness of my action.

Boom! A pleasant noise echoed. “Fifty snipers are aiming at us from outside. You won’t get far by just leaving,” I said with a smile. “Fifty?” “All trained agents. You don’t know where I’m from?” I was an alumnus of the Immortal Special Forces.

The pomade-haired man’s jaw shook. “Let’s get back to the conversation…” Before he could finish, he knelt and raised his hands. “That bastard’s the real evil one. He ordered everything.” That was quick. Bad-mouthing his boss and kneeling.

Whether the one who fled or the one who stayed, it’s all the same in the end. “…Stuck between leaving or staying, truly caught between a rock and a hard place. You really cleared them all out yourself,” the physical bully, a transformation species called Sojin, muttered.

All intent to fight vanished from the eyes of the remaining ones. “Two left,” I said. Tap tap tap tap! All of them knelt on the cement floor. Must have hurt their knees.

“Is there really a special force outside?” Sojin asked from behind. “Yes, there is.” “But not fifty?” “Is that what you’re worried about?” I countered, and she shut up. If she couldn’t figure out that the number fifty wasn’t the point, then she didn’t deserve the title of leader of the Third Order.

She knew. It was effective to instill the idea that if you leave, you die. Look, none of them even thought of running away. Imagine if they all scattered and ran. It would be more trouble to catch all of them. And in fact, I had only called one person. To be precise, one person from a group called Prometheus, filled with a grudge so deep it could frost the month of June, someone willing to create such an effect.

“Should I finish off the rest except those three?” Wonbi suggested. For someone called shy, her words were pretty deadly. “Keke,” the boss who lost both hands laughed strangely on the ground. “Eugh.” Was it agony or laughter? I wish he’d just pick one.

“Are you okay?” I asked. The wounds were fatal enough to kill him from shock. “You have no idea what kind of place Prometheus is,” he said, crawling on the ground with bloodshot eyes. “Uh?” “That’s why you can act like this. Killing just one of us and ruining one business, do you really think that will be a blow to us?”

“Wow. Brave,” I admired. Daring to be defiant in this situation. “There will be a blow, boss. There has to be,” said the pomade-haired man behind me, seemingly determined to make a good impression on me. Hearing that, the veins in the boss’s forehead bulged. “You, you bastard, cough.” He was so angry he coughed while talking.

“Need a back pat?” I offered comfort so he could continue with his words. “Crazy fucking bastard.” The usual insults had no impact on me. “Yeah, sure.” Being sworn at by the defeated is a compliment, after all. In a game, saying something looks dickish is an insult if our team says it, but a compliment if the opponents say it—national rule.

“Kill him. But then, everyone you know, anyone you’ve talked to, will become our target. You will regret this for a lifetime. You will die a wretched death.” “What if I save your life and send you back?” I bent over to look into his eyes. Covered in blood, his face was pale, but his eyes were red. The blood-redded eyes seemed as if they would soon spill tears of blood.

“…What?” Was the suggestion too out of the blue? “You don’t want such vengeance, right? Or is it too late? With today’s technology, it’s no big deal to reattach both arms. I’ll even return your weapons,” I said, subtly waving the knife and knuckles, trying to cajole him.

Looking him in the eye with earnestness, I thought, this is real. Not a bluff. Not a joke. And as he saw my intent… “…This crazy son of a bitch.” He blurted out. Ah, he caught on to my teasing. I stuck out my tongue slyly and flicked my forehead lightly. “Sorry, acting is not my strong suit.”

He shook all over. Blood flowed more than before. Shivering fit. “I’ve already crossed the river with Princess Maker,” I said, digging my ears and straightening my back. “What? We are Prometheus. Do you even know who we are, cough.” “Ah, my bad. Slip of the tongue.” That was the end of it. The man, having lost too much blood, had the light fade from his eyes and slumped dead.

Shivering before dying, it seemed like he died from anger. Is anger the disease that kills? I lifted my head and looked around. A fearful drug manufacturing and distribution group came into view. “The one who confesses about the places where drugs are made, the selling routes, and all the money earned so far, first come, first served.”

“Me! I was right below the boss,” the pomade-haired man raised his hand. Nodding, I turned back and said, “Could you please hold off the police for five minutes?”

“I ended up using forty members of the transformation species as a screen,” Sojin commented. “The directness is fun, isn’t it?” I joked. “Yes, it’s fun,” she said, turning to leave. “Everyone, block the entrance. You and you, cover that hole. Don’t let the police in, tell them it’s an event by the Dangun Group and don’t open up. Hold them off for ten minutes. Execute.”

Such charisma. I only asked for five minutes, but she offered to hold them off for ten—great service. With Sojin’s command, the transformation species crowd moved into action. I could feel the burning stares. As I watched, eighty pairs of eyes from the forty members turned to look at me.

Their gaze brought to mind a blazing campfire. Why all the intensity in their eyes? “Eyes,” Sojin called out, and that was enough. Forty transformation species members looked away. Weeoo, weeoo. Soon the siren’s sound wailed, and the police began to bustle in.

I approached the pomade-haired man, and…


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