If you were to ask whether the righteous martial artists needed to preserve the dignity of a villain from the Sapa faction, nine times out of ten they would answer, "No."

But if you then asked whether a villain deserved to die by being hit with a pig's trotter, most would hesitate, saying, "That’s a bit too much, isn’t it? If you’re going to kill them, at least do it with a punch—it’s far less degrading than such a ridiculous weapon."

Why? Because being killed by a pig’s trotter is the most absurd, humiliating way to die.

Imagine—being killed not by a weapon, but by a pig’s trotter, and not just anyone, but the leader of a martial arts sect? How could his followers even hold a proper funeral, and how would they swear vengeance?

“We shall avenge the sect leader who was slain by a pig’s trotter!”

“We will cut down the vile enemy who swung that pig’s trotter!”

“Our swords will shatter the cursed pig’s trotter that took the life of our lord!”

Thus, Lee Wang-chul found himself facing a unique crisis, a calamity unlike any other warrior—or perhaps even humanity—had ever encountered. (Though such crises might have been common for primates.)

In such moments, some people collapse in despair, while others grit their teeth and push forward.

Lee Wang-chul was undoubtedly the latter. As the leader of a faction, he had no choice.

The moment his eyes caught the gleam of the smooth, polished bone of the pig's leg, his survival instincts exploded. The desperation to avoid dying from a pig’s trotter triggered a miracle.

Even with the floorboards cracking beneath him, making his footing unstable, Lee Wang-chul summoned every ounce of his strength to take one step— Yes, just one step.

In that moment, his entire body—muscles, tendons, bones, and joints—all came together for a single purpose. It was a harmonious, almost majestic, symphony of movement.

Too much strength can be worse than too little. The larger muscles coordinated with the smaller ones, pulling at bones and joints with such delicate precision that they yielded, making way for the finer, smaller muscles to hold his swaying body upright.

And so, with just one step—no rush, no drama—Lee Wang-chul retreated.

Whoosh! The round joint of the pig’s trotter missed his nose by a hair’s breadth, slicing through the air in front of him.

A simple backward step, but for Lee Wang-chul, it was a great leap.

In that moment, a monumental realization struck him.

True power doesn’t come from brute force alone. Both big and small forces must work in harmony, each part of the body functioning as one. Only then can one truly control their body and reach mastery.

The internal energy he had tried so hard to contain in his body? That was jing—the energy contained within a person.

The techniques he had practiced so many times that his body remembered them on its own? That was qi—the principles that governed the material world.

The knowledge he thought he had mastered through study and understanding? That was shen—the spiritual force that resided in the mind.

The boundaries of these three—energy, technique, and understanding—merged into one. Complete unity. Complete understanding. Oneness.

Lee Wang-chul had reached what martial artists referred to as the ultimate balance—the harmony of energy, technique, and understanding.

The state of perfect harmony, the Hwagyeong!

It was a dramatic moment—Lee Wang-chul had transcended himself and achieved perfect unity.

But just as the realization hit him, the pig’s trotter hit him too.

Bam!

His head split open with a single blow.

In that moment, the great Hwagyeong master’s brain finally escaped the prison of his body, soaring out into the world for the first time to enjoy its newfound freedom.

The enlightenment he had gained from the pig’s trotter was promptly knocked out of him by the same pig’s trotter. The moral of the story: what you begin, you must finish.

“Huh? What’s going on? Why is he just standing there?”

Cheong, bewildered, lowered her arm, still holding the pig’s trotter. The red droplets dripping from it were not blood.

She hadn’t expected him to dodge so gracefully, and yet here he was, standing frozen, his gaze distant, his eyes glazed over as if staring off into the void. He hadn’t even raised a guard, and one clean blow had cracked his skull wide open.

What’s going on? Well, whatever.

There was no point in wondering about a man whose brain had already left his body. So, instead of pondering why the sect leader had fallen into a dazed, catatonic state, Cheong simply raised her voice in triumph.

“I have vanquished the enemy commander!”

The Salwolmun warriors snapped back to reality.

“Lord Munju!”

The young warriors of the Hwaryong team also rallied.

“Let’s cut down the rest of these villains!”

But why do people shout so loudly after defeating the enemy leader?

Just as a person’s head determines life or death, in battle, the leader’s survival often determines victory or defeat.

With the leader’s head split open by a pig’s trotter, the young warriors of the Hwaryong team surged forward, their spirits soaring to the heavens. They were now true heroes, basking in the glory of their righteous act, intoxicated with the thrill of dispensing justice.

On the other hand, the sight of their sect leader’s head being split open by a pig’s trotter had already crushed the morale of the Salwolmun warriors.

Even the most seasoned warriors couldn’t shake off the horror of such a savage, humiliating technique.

Though Cheong had no deep malice or evil intent, it had simply been a matter of urgency. The pig’s trotter, with its long, hefty bone, had been perfect for swinging in a pinch.

If she had hesitated, they would have argued over Po-hee, and it would have inevitably escalated into bloodshed anyway. In martial arts, fights always started with words and ended with violence. Better to finish it quickly by taking out the leader right away. That way, Po-hee would be safe, and her fellow Hwaryong team members would suffer minimal casualties.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The Salwolmun warriors fled without even drawing their weapons. As they dashed down the stairs, some stumbled and fell, tumbling down with a crash, while others smashed through railings and plummeted, screaming, into the abyss below.

The more experienced Salwolmun officers, who had joined the banquet, demonstrated the refined skills of veteran cowards. They avoided entangling themselves in the narrow hallway and quickly bolted through the opposite door, leaping fearlessly from the balcony into the night.

The rectangular structure of Jinhaeru was, after all, built in the traditional style of Zhongyuan architecture. Though primitive and ancient in design, the sloping rooftops provided just enough foothold for a quick, strategic retreat to the ground.

The senior officers, despite fleeing like cowards, would later remember their escape as a noble sacrifice. In their minds, they had left behind their loyal subordinates to protect their lives, muttering, “Brothers, your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

The greatest victim in all this was not Lee Wang-chul, who had been struck down by a pig’s trotter, nor the senior Salwolmun officers who had lost their trusted subordinates. Nor was it the warriors who had tumbled down the stairs, their bones shattered but their lives spared.

After all, Lee Wang-chul had died having briefly tasted the great heights of Hwagyeong, transcending himself. In death, he was no longer a victim—just a corpse.

The officers, though humiliated, had survived the ferocious assault of the Cheonhwageom and her deadly pig’s trotter.

Even the warriors who had fallen down the stairs had, at least, survived with their lives.

But the unfortunate remnants of Salwolmun, who had been terrorizing innocent guests in the private rooms, were not so lucky.

The stairs were blocked, and they had no idea what was happening.

So when the righteous young warriors of the Hwaryong team burst through the doors, shouting, “Death to the Sapa scum!” they had no chance to flee before they were cut down where they stood.

The most frustrating part, for those dying Salwolmun thugs, was the cheers from the grateful inn guests.

“As expected of the righteous factions! We knew we could count on you!”

“Overwhelming gratitude! Thank you so much!”

“You’ve spared us from great humiliation! The righteous sects are the best, we love you!”

“Shao-lin, Wudang, the Murim Alliance—you’re the real heroes!”

For the dying Sapa thugs, their blood boiling in their final moments, it was maddening.

They’re no different from us! Just because they wear different clothes…

Meanwhile, the other Salwolmun thugs, who had been kicking and beating a woman while shouting like men of honor, met an even worse fate.

To be precise, their fate wasn’t just worse—it was far more pathetic. Another group of them were struck down by Cheong’s pig’s trotter, and soon joined the ranks of those who had died in disgrace.

“You gangsters, ganging up on a woman—how dare you! Always talking about being ‘real men’ and you pull this? Are you okay, miss?”

The woman, who had been curled up on the ground, holding her head, slowly turned to face Cheong. Her expression was blank, her eyes emotionless as she stared up at him