Psycho in Ancient World
Copyright© 2026 by K.W
Chapter 20. Fairness and Unfairness
Somewhere in the Central Plains.
It was an underground cavern steeped in a dark and lewd atmosphere.
At the center of the cavern stood a massive platform, draped with a red curtain. It was clear that someone was inside, yet no one could see them.
No one knew who it was, but even without seeing the face behind the curtain, one could tell that the one hidden there was the master of this place.
Around the platform, one hundred figures dressed in black were prostrated on the ground. All of them had their heads lowered, so their faces could not be seen.
Even so, it was obvious beyond doubt that they were masters. The formless pressure emitted by the black-clad figures spread through the entire underground cavern, threatening to suffocate it.
Just where was this place?
Who was the person behind the curtain?
Who in the world could command as many as a hundred such terrifying masters?
Could there be this many supreme experts at Shaolin, the peak of Murim? Or perhaps at Heavenly Demon Castle, said to be the strongest single organization in Murim?
No, even if one combined both of them, it would still be impossible. That was how extraordinary the internal energy of those gathered here was, and their numbers were overwhelming.
About the time they had been prostrating themselves for the span of one tea.
“How long until the orthodox–demonic showdown?”
At last, a voice flowed out from behind the curtain. It was a bizarre voice, impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, young or old.
“Two years remain.”
One of the prostrated figures answered.
“Two years ... Then it is time to begin the grand plan. Gwangun.”
The voice behind the curtain called the one who answered Gwangun.
“Yes. Please command me, Martial Founder.”
Gwangun addressed the one behind the curtain as Martial Founder.
“Begin the First Plan. Immediately.”
The First Plan. Having already mentioned the grand plan, this clearly referred to its very first step.
“Yes, Martial Founder. I will carry it out at once.”
With that reply, Gwangun vanished on the spot as if extinguished. It was a truly spine-chilling movement technique.
And then.
There were ninety-nine others here, all dressed the same as Gwangun. They still had not raised their heads.
Lastly.
There was the supreme one behind the curtain who commanded them all, Martial Founder.
Martial Founder.
The root of martial arts.
What an outrageously arrogant name.
Since Murim’s history began, there had been those who bore grand epithets such as Martial Emperor, Heavenly Demon, or Martial Supreme, but no one had ever dared to call themselves the “founder”.
Just how formidable could such a person be? One might wish it were nothing more than the delusion of a madman. But seeing the ninety-nine peerless masters bowing their heads here, it was clear that this was someone whose strength truly matched that arrogant name.
At this very moment, a secret organization unknown to anyone in Murim had begun to move in utmost secrecy.
What was their goal?
That was still unknown.
But there was something even they did not know.
That was...
The existence of Dong Bong-su, the greatest “bug” in this Murim—no, in New Murim Online.
A cauldron can stand when it has three legs, four legs, or even just one leg.
But the time when a cauldron stands the most firmly is...
When it has no legs at all.
A legless cauldron can never be toppled.
What Dong Bong-su needed was not legs, but a cauldron that would never fall.
If something creaked because its length did not match, cutting it off would suffice.
That was Dong Bong-su’s Tripod Balance.
Thud, shwaaak, thud, shwaaak.
Deep in the mountains of Bongyang, someone was digging with a shovel.
Someone? Who could possibly be here, wielding a shovel so skillfully? A carpenter? A potter? Or a burial worker?
None of those.
It was Dong Bong-su, out on a stroll. Beside him, as always, Yeoro fluttered softly, cheering him on with an indifferent gaze.
Thud, shwaaak, thud, shwaaak.
The steady sound of digging echoed through the mountains, as mechanical and emotionless as Dong Bong-su himself.
Even as he dug an unknown person’s grave, his mind was racing. How much did his thrust proficiency increase with each dig of the shovel? And how much did his throw proficiency increase each time he flung the dug-up soil aside?
His brain never rested for a moment.
Thud.
The shovel sank deep into the ground. Thrust proficiency increased by 0.031%.
Shwaaak.
The soil left the shovel and flew toward the artificially piled mound beside him, raising its height even more. Throw proficiency increased by 0.031%.
Thud, shwaaak, thud, shwaaak...
Dong Bong-su’s movements continued in the same posture for a long time.
Then, at some point, the seemingly endless digging finally stopped.
Dong Bong-su’s gaze turned toward the bottom of the deep pit. The culprit that made him stop digging grotesquely revealed its body above the soil.
White and hard, with not a trace of flesh to be seen even if one strained their eyes—it was a piece of bone.
It was a kind of “milestone,” indicating that the hole had reached a suitable depth to bury a corpse. Beside that milestone, hidden in the unseen soil, dozens of corpses were probably rotting away in the same manner—white and grotesque.
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