Red Sun (1)

Don’t Blame It On The Sunshine

Don’t Blame It On The Moonlight

Don’t Blame It On The Good Times

Blame It On The Boogie.

-William Shakespeare, <The Five of You>-

Before the 1st-generation Kung-Fuists, the Asian Kung-Fu Generation, crossed west to avoid Chibal Pass, back when each clan and noble families led great powers in the Midfield.

The Zuckerburg Family’s prized household formations were used for countless purposes, and their types were beyond count.

They said that even the direct-line Kung-Fuists of the Zuckerburg Family could not fully grasp how many formations were stored in the family archives, so it was not easy to guess how vast the number truly was.

That was the natural result.

In the martial world, where those with strong Kung-Fu prospered and the weak had to depend on their protection, it was difficult to survive as nothing but a desk-bound scholar.

The Zuckerburg Family had to keep seeking methods to protect their house from the hands of the underworld, and from vile hypocrites and ruffians hidden even within the Orthodox factions.

Because their household Kung-Fu were few and their power was weak, the choices left to the Zuckerburg Family were not many.

From just before leaving the Central Plains to just after arriving in Europe, as they passed through a time of turmoil, the Zuckerburg Family set aside chivalrous intent for a while and established a few principles.

First.

Do not become entangled in the martial world’s grudges and favors as much as possible.

Becoming someone’s benefactor does not always have only good sides.

To become a benefactor also means to become the enemy of those who oppose him.

The Zuckerburg Family built strength by moving in a way that made them neither anyone’s benefactor nor anyone’s enemy.

Second.

Do not create situations they cannot deal with.

Because the Zuckerburg Family’s strength was something that manifested only when preparations were sufficient, they always lived preparing for contingencies.

Because they knew well that when there was no way to respond, stirring up no action at all was the way to guarantee the family’s safety.

That’s right.

As written above, the truth you could glimpse through the Zuckerburg Family’s principles was not only that they were fearful, but one more thing as well.

The Zuckerburg heirs held absolute trust in their family’s formations.

Now it might be nothing more than a flattering epithet shouted only by the family themselves, but the fame of Zuckerburg the Genius still stood firm in their hearts.

Zuckerburg formations always accomplish their purpose.

No matter who the opponent was, once you stepped inside, it was not easy to break the formation’s efficacy.

It was precisely those diverse and powerful formations that were the secret that let them preserve their power in the forest of Murim, ruled by the law of the strong, where monsters full of desire roamed.

They were pitifully poor at the craft of injuring others first, but they were Kung-Fu Engineers unmatched at breaking the will of anyone who entered their domain.

So, among the Zuckerburg Family’s formations, the oldest of all.

If you were trapped in a formation specialized solely in binding the feet of those caught inside.

It meant that even the emperor of the Russian Empire, who boasted a fully ripened Transcendent Realm, could not easily escape it.

“We are certainly inside a formation, yet for some reason I cannot feel the aura of any medium at all.”

The Tsar, who had been searching for the way out for hours in order to escape the unidentified trap, frowned at his guards’ report.

Whether he found the Vermilion Phoenix’s egg in time or failed, the Tsar had no intention of taking any loss at all.

If everything flowed according to plan, he would borrow the Vermilion Phoenix’s power to create the ice-free port Saint Petersburg had long yearned for, and even if not, he could still deal London a catastrophic blow.

“…What if it was all a planned trap from the beginning?”

The Tsar, arms folded and eyes closed, finally spoke.

The more he thought about it, there were too many strange happenings.

All of a sudden, the fact of his visit to London was splashed across the newspapers, and terrorists who saw it immediately shattered the hotel windows and stormed in.

When the Butler Agency put him in a carriage, claiming they would protect him, he even thought them rather commendable, but they only circled the same place, babbling nonsense that the carriage was the safest.

When he found their attitude suspicious and jumped out of the carriage, it ended up like this.

“I moved rashly and gave them a pretext.”

The suspicious man he met earlier might have even anticipated that he would lose his temper and jump out of the carriage.

Even if he later sent an official letter of protest, the British would brazenly insist, ‘The Tsar brushed off the Butler Agency’s escort and ran out, then lost his way inside a formation, so we did nothing wrong.’

Even leaking the news of his London visit through the newspapers might have been the Butler Agency’s work.

“You’ve worked your heads, at least.”

For the British drunk on peace, it is not a bad scheme in its own way.

With the Vermilion Phoenix approaching London, they must be thinking that if they kept him trapped in the formation for long enough, they could at least die together with him.

No.

More precisely, their goal would be to display their intent to perish together.

If they were not fools, they would have been able to uncover at least some information about the Vermilion Phoenix.

They would understand his purpose as well.

After some time passed, it was obvious they would come into the formation and attempt negotiation in order to prevent London’s ruin.

“They’ll try to find a way to protect the city in exchange for returning the egg to me.”

When the Tsar spoke, one of the guards bowed deeply and said.

“I beg your pardon for saying so, but if we remain trapped like this until tomorrow, we cannot guarantee Your Majesty’s safety. Please show mercy to the British and accept their offer, I implore you.”
“…Hm.”

Counsel from a treasured martial artist.

Yet the Tsar’s expression was motionless, like the peak of a frozen mountain.

“Impossible. Even if I burn to death here in the Vermilion Phoenix’s wrath, I cannot allow myself to fall for their tricks.”

Alexander III cut off any room for compromise like a blade.

To have his life held hostage and bargain with the British was a humiliation he could not even imagine.

Of course, that did not mean he would meekly remain trapped in the formation and become ash together with London.

“It can’t be helped.”

He had been restraining himself from unleashing Kung-Fu because he didn’t wish to reveal his existence recklessly in a foreign land, but with the fact of his visit already exposed by the Homeless Clan, and the Vermilion Phoenix drawing nearer to London by the moment, there was no reason to hesitate.

“If I cannot find and destroy the mediums, then I must use another method.”

He still could not determine what kind of formation the Butler Agency had prepared.

The Tsar did not know whether the bizarre efficacy that made them keep circling the same place truly twisted space, or whether it distorted the perception of those trapped inside.

However, no matter its operating principle, if he could damage the formation and punch a hole in it, an escape route would appear as well.

“Isn’t it laughable? I have not even had my elixir field sealed, yet they delude themselves into thinking they have trapped me.”

A chilly smile formed on the Tsar’s face.
From the massive body wrapped in thick clothes, silvery Qi was surging.

“They will pay. The price of their complacency.”

Formations are a petty trick used by the weak to protect themselves.

Across all of history, an overwhelming strongman has never needed such miscellaneous tricks.

-Kwaang!!

The Tsar threw off his overcoat.

The coat’s monstrous weight, with thick metal protectors fixed all throughout the lining, cracked the stone floor.

“Keep your heads down.”

Following the Tsar’s order, Pavlov and the other three close guards dropped flat to the ground.

It looked as if they were bowing deeply to the Tsar.

However, it was not to pay respect to their emperor.

It was an action the guards chose in order to preserve their lives, having read the Tsar’s intent.

They knew exactly what Alexander III was about to do.

-Hwaak!!

Then he expelled a tremendous amount of Essence outside his body.

What formed were several masses of pure internal energy that resembled fog.

Emerald-colored energy, clearly perceptible even without activating eye techniques, drifted around the Tsar, and not only were its size and density astonishing, the chill it spread to the four directions was anything but ordinary.

It was a sight as if he had condensed Russia’s brutal winter into a single mass and brought it to London.

Pure power, with no technique worthy of calling it Kung-Fu, was running wild through London’s empty air.

“I’m tired of playing with the petty rats of this island nation. It is time to return.”

The Tsar’s eyes, calm as a lake, fixed on the void.

Normally, to break a formation, you must accurately grasp its structure.

Once trapped inside, the orthodox method is to locate the mediums that compose the formation, then open the exit by removing them in the correct order or moving them elsewhere.

In that process, it required caution and wisdom to discern decoy mediums placed by the engineering martial artist who set the formation, and to avoid traps.

However, the Tsar didn’t move.

He was a strong monarch who held absolute royal authority and ruled an empire.

Even if this was not his territory, his Kung-Fu possessed a fierce power that subdued everything that existed around him.

Incomparable power tramples everything.

Before it, things like technique and wisdom lose all meaning.

If he could not find and break the mediums, then he would destroy the formation itself.

The Tsar intended simply to unleash his bottomless internal energy in a single burst and twist the Butler Agency’s plan from the root.

“Hup—”

With his inhale, Alexander III’s eyes, which had been assessing the surroundings, dyed into a jade color.

A sign that Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi had risen up to beneath his upper elixir field, finishing preparations to unleash a decisive move.

The next moment, the fog of Qi surrounding the Tsar began spreading in all directions at once.

-Kwaaaah!!

Heritage Essence seeped into the moisture in the air and spread like an arrow through the entire space the formation had enclosed.

In the middle of supercooled fog that filled every place his sight could reach and could not reach, the Tsar threw a punch.

-Koogoong!

A thin crack formed in the scene reflected in his eyes.

As a result of Epiphany Ice Dive’s efficacy freezing the entire space, everything within his vision produced the illusion of being trapped inside a gigantic glacier.

And that transparent glacier was shattering along cracks that spread chaotically in all directions.

-Kwaang!
-Kwakwaang!!

All things broke into powder with thunderous noise.

Moisture in the air, infused with Consecrated Ice Spirit Qi, collided with the shockwave the Tsar released and froze at once, destroying everything that existed around him.

Buildings, flowerbeds, street trees, everything that entered the Tsar’s gaze began turning to powder as they underwent rapid freeze-drying and collapse.

“……”

A city district crumbled into powder.

Tiny ice fragments scattering in all directions reflected light in glittering flashes, without melting even under the unusually stinging sunlight.

“Pavlov.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the remains of objects and living things, reduced to crumbs without form, and fine ice grains still floated in the air, the Tsar, standing proudly alone, spoke again.

“Kill Irene Adler. And bring the Vermilion Phoenix’s egg to me.”

At last, the hunting order was given.
The army surgeon lifted his head and grinned, baring his fangs.

An expression hard to believe belonged to a man who had not shown a trace of emotion since arriving in London.

However, the Tsar knew.

Pavlov was a madman skilled not in protecting someone but in breaking them, and the most cruel Kung-Fuist among the emperor’s subordinates.

“…By your command.”

Ivan Pavlov, Alexander III’s fist and loyal hound, raised his head and stepped beyond the collapsed formation.

From his half-parted lips, saliva was flowing without stop.