The Wandering Storm

The rain fell in thin sheets, drumming against the pavement as neon lights flickered overhead. The alley smelled of damp concrete, cigarette smoke, and blood—though that last scent hadn't been there when Wei Liang entered.

Three men surrounded him now. Low-level thugs, the kind who preyed on the weak, mistaking numbers for strength. One held a crowbar, gripping it too tight. Another bounced on his feet, trying to look like a trained fighter. The last one, their leader, grinned with broken teeth, his knuckles already bruised from past fights.

"You lost, pretty boy?" the leader sneered. "This ain't your street."

Wei didn't answer. He simply rolled his shoulders, loosening his body. They don't know who they're dealing with.

The leader took his silence as fear and rushed in first, swinging a wild haymaker. Wei sidestepped effortlessly, feeling the punch whistle past his ear. Before the thug could reset, Wei struck—a rapid chain of three palm strikes. One to the ribs. One to the throat. One to the jaw.

The man collapsed, choking on his own breath.

The second attacker, the one with the crowbar, cursed and swung at Wei's skull. But Wei was already moving. He stepped inside the arc of the swing, catching the thug's wrist with his own hand and redirecting the momentum downward. A sharp twist, a shift of weight, and he executed a lightning-fast leg reap throw.

The man hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the crowbar loose. Wei followed through without hesitation, dropping his knee onto the thug's arm and driving an elbow into his shoulder joint. A sickening pop echoed through the alley.

Two down.

The last man, the one who had pretended to be a trained fighter, stood frozen. His bravado was gone, his bouncing footwork replaced with stiff legs and trembling hands.

Wei met his gaze. "Your move."

The thug turned and ran.

Wei sighed, rolling his wrist as he straightened up. Too slow. Too predictable.

These weren't the kind of fights he had come looking for. The underground rings of Korea were rumored to have monsters—fighters unlike any he had faced before. Among them, two names stood above the rest.

Gun Park and Suho Kim.

Gun Park was a nightmare given human form, a man with terrifying strength and a brutal fighting style. He didn't just defeat opponents; he crushed them, leaving no room for resistance. Some said he was the strongest in the country. Others whispered that he was more beast than man.

Then there was Suho Kim, a fighter with incredible natural talent and endurance. Unlike Gun, who overwhelmed his opponents with sheer power, Suho fought with an unshakable will, pushing through damage like it was nothing. He was the kind of man who could take a hit that would drop anyone else—and still keep coming.

Wei had come to South Korea for one reason.

To test himself against the strongest.