Abolition of the Wicked - Chapter 20

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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#Episode 20

Do Pyeong-su watched Geom U-bin with growing concern.
Ever since they’d turned back the Bloodwind Saja on their way to Dongshi Doga, something had shifted in the boy’s approach to martial training.
Before that, he’d been diligent enough—or so Do Pyeong-su had thought.
Apart from the hours spent delivering drinks and handling his living quarters, the boy had devoted nearly all his time to martial practice. But the Geom U-bin who’d declared his resolve to grow stronger had become someone else entirely.
First and foremost, his attitude toward martial arts had grown far more grave.
Before, he’d taken breaks when it seemed natural, and there’d been moments of joy in the training—a looseness that Do Pyeong-su encouraged.
Now there was no joy left in his practice.
He wielded his blade without rest until each technique Do Pyeong-su taught him reached absolute perfection.
When his breathing grew ragged and his breath came in gasps, it was Do Pyeong-su himself who had to step in and stop him. More than once, he’d had to forcibly halt the boy’s training because Geom U-bin refused to accept rest.
A boy this brilliant, with such exceptional martial potential, training with such discipline—his progress truly embodied the saying “rapid advancement.” His speed of improvement was breathtaking.
Yet the proverb “excess brings harm” exists for a reason.
Geom U-bin’s internal power was rising at a pace that no ordinary martial artist could even imagine.
That alone was placing considerable strain on his body, leaving Jang Man-dok struggling to manage the fallout. And if his martial training also exceeded its limits, something was bound to go wrong.
When Do Pyeong-su had warned him of this, Geom U-bin’s only response had been, “I can control it.”
It was true, of course, that one knew one’s own body best.
But Geom U-bin had turned nine only after the new year began. Trusting the boy alone with such matters felt far too precarious.
“I need to think of something.”
The Bloodwind Saja gathered while Geom U-bin lay sleeping, exhausted from training.
“Think of what? The only thing we can do is watch over him carefully and make sure nothing happens to him.”
Yeon Geum-hong bristled at Seo Seok-san’s words.
“What if he coughs up blood and collapses? What then?”
“He’s not that foolish. Isn’t he the one who made us all capture those wicked criminals? What couldn’t he accomplish with us at his side?”
They’d begun competing to capture wanted criminals, and eventually even Seo Seok-san had joined in. Now, because Geom U-bin was so absorbed in his training, they could no longer praise his good deeds or buy him gifts.
Yet none of them had stopped hunting criminals.
If three of them brought in bounties while one stood idle, that one might fall out of favor.
They all knew Geom U-bin wasn’t petty enough for that—but some small anxiety drove each of them to participate without exception.
“That’s not the same thing. He’s already reached the level of the White Shadow Needle technique.”
“What? That’s what I only managed three years after beginning my studies in the Hidden Projectile Technique. And our master praised me for advancing that quickly.”
“True. Some of it is his high internal power, but he’s advancing six times faster than me. The problem is he doesn’t know when to stop. You all know—understanding requires time to digest what you’ve learned. If you keep racing forward, all the martial arts you’ve mastered will tangle together, and you could fall into the Demon Possession Technique. And he’s not just studying one discipline.”
Yeon Geum-hong’s Hidden Projectile Technique and Movement Technique, her Divine Technique, Do Pyeong-su’s sword art, Seo Seok-san’s Eumgong, Jang Man-dok’s poison and fist techniques, the Iron Blood Technique—Geom U-bin was training in eight different martial disciplines simultaneously.
No matter how gifted, every human being has limits.
“He needs to rest. Is there some way to make that happen?”
Three pairs of eyes drifted toward Jang Man-dok.
―Me?
His expression was readable to anyone.
“Do you have any medicine that could make him lose consciousness and rest deeply for about ten days?”
Jang Man-dok shook his head firmly.
“Such a medicine exists, but the side effects are severe. And if you tried something like that, he’d definitely hate you for it.”
“Losing his favor matters less than his health!”
“Why are you angry at me? I’m just saying what would happen.”
Seo Seok-san spoke up.
“Perhaps we need to trust him a bit more.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust him.”
“Our concern is natural, but he is who he is. He may be studying with us, but he is still our senior master. Age doesn’t matter. And honestly, he’s far stronger and wiser than we realize. Just as parents often know their children least, perhaps we’re about to make that same mistake.”
Never before had any of them felt affection for someone in this way.
Their master was someone to revere; each other, they were like family; and there was no need to worry.
In that sense, Geom U-bin was the first bundle of genuine affection they’d ever carried in their lives.
Perhaps it was concern for such a being that clouded their vision when he pushed himself.
“Let’s trust him. And instead of discouraging him, let’s find ways to support him more actively.”
“How can we help any more than this?”
“What if we take turns, one person each day, and use the Chugung-gwahyeol technique on him?”
At Seo Seok-san’s suggestion, Do Pyeong-su’s fingers snapped.
“Oh! That’s a good idea.”
Chugung-gwahyeol, which awakened an opponent’s meridians and pressure points, often became poison rather than medicine if performed carelessly. Moreover, the technique demanded considerable expenditure of the practitioner’s internal force.
A Peak Master skilled enough to deploy it effortlessly sacrificing themselves—that is the Chugung-gwahyeol.
Naturally, deploying the Chugung-gwahyeol against the Hyeolpung Saja posed no difficulty, and self-sacrifice for Geom U-bin could even be accepted with gladness.
“I’ll go first.”
At Seo Seok-san’s words, Jang Man-dok raised his arm to stop him.
“He says he wants to go first. Apparently today he’s entered the next stage after the Iron Blood Technique—the Danhae-kyeong—and needs to do it that way.”
Do Pyeong-su, who relayed this, as well as Yeon Geum-hong and Seo Seok-san, all started in shock.
“The Danhae-kyeong? He’s already reached that? Do you have any chance against him, senior?”
All of the Hyeolpung Saja had once attempted to master the Iron Blood Technique.
So they knew well how grueling the process was. The Danhae-kyeong stage brought suffering that was unbearable even after seven years of martial training.
Seo Seok-san, who abandoned the Iron Blood Technique first, had given up at the final gate of the Danhae-kyeong. Do Pyeong-su fell away next, and Yeon Geum-hong endured three months longer before surrendering.
Only Jang Man-dok had passed through a decade of what felt like death’s threshold and achieved mastery of the Iron Blood Technique.
Yet at Geom U-bin’s current pace, he seemed poised to compress the ten-year thorny path that Jang Man-dok had walked into merely four years.
“Senior is holding up well, I hear.”
“Ah! How much pain he must be enduring.”
Yeon Geum-hong’s heart clenched so tightly that tears threatened to spill.
They had gathered to find a way to slow Geom U-bin’s cultivation pace, but ultimately concluded on offering aid instead.
Still, Yeon Geum-hong made a resolve: if she sensed Geom U-bin was truly in danger, she would stop him.
And so Geom U-bin, who had filled the Hyeolpung Saja’s hearts with worry, drove himself to his limit every single day.
The Hyeolpung Saja were the first family Geom U-bin had ever known.
He could never burden such a family. Rather than make them commit sins, it would be better to stain his own hands with blood.
Fortunately, neither the need for the Hyeolpung Saja to act nor any misfortune of Geom U-bin harming someone had come to pass.
Dong Chang-min, too, had offered no fresh news since entering closed training.
“Let me try the Cheon Young Il Seom once more.”
Yeon Geum-hong spoke with a thin sigh.
“Be careful with your Internal Power. It must flow without interruption, continuously. If your Internal Power application falters, you could fall into the Demon Possession Technique.”
“I will be careful.”
Yeon Geum-hong took her position five paces in front of Geom U-bin.
As she grasped a handful of paper scraps from her pouch, Geom U-bin spoke.
“You be careful too. You could get hurt.”
“Oh! If I could wound you, senior, I’d want nothing more in this world.”
As she spoke, Yeon Geum-hong scattered the paper scraps into the air.
Thirty rectangular pieces of paper, each the length of an index finger and tightly stacked, unfurled in a white cascade.
In that instant, Geom U-bin’s arm moved.
The motion was clean, and the hidden projectiles released from his hand were swift.
An ordinary master would not even see the projectiles before holes opened in his body and death came. But the terror of the Cheon Young Il Seom lay not in spreading projectiles.
The hidden projectiles that pierce paper scraps can be confirmed by sight.
Yet there is one—a projectile far faster than the others, without sound-breaking force and difficult to perceive—hidden among them.
That projectile, mingled with the others, is hard to detect.
While thirty projectiles flew toward the paper scraps, that single lethal one had nearly brushed Yeon Geum-hong’s shoulder.
Yeon Geum-hong snatched the projectile with her left hand.
The force embedded in it was far heavier than she had anticipated.
It was only because she possessed such skill that she caught it so easily; it was by no means an attack that could be simply blocked. Moreover, the projectiles that had pierced the thirty sheets of paper contained scarcely any waste.
Whether facing one opponent or many, Geom U-bin would have little difficulty.
“Senior, that was extraordinary!”
Ordinarily, when a master teaches a disciple, criticism dominates; but the Hyeolpung Saja were different.
When something was truly done well, they said so. Even when they spotted shortcomings, they insisted it was well done regardless.
The hope was that this praise might slow Geom U-bin’s runaway pace, but he never fell for it.
“No. My speed must be faster. Thirty projectiles aimed for the center of the paper, and seven missed the mark. My training is insufficient.”
“Senior, this pace is already excessively swift. You may take pride in yourself.”

“I still have far to go.”
Do Pyeong-su spoke with firm conviction.
“I stake my life on it—you are displaying the fastest progression in all of Murim history.”
Whether true or false, Geom U-bin could never prove otherwise, so Do Pyeong-su simply laid the words out.
“Speed is meaningless. I must grow stronger.”
Do Pyeong-su asked in earnest.
“How much stronger do you wish to become? Surely you don’t already hope to surpass your elders?”
“To become stronger than my elders, even twenty years of training at this pace would not suffice.”
“Hmm…… you may well draw close to them.”
Considering Geom U-bin’s rate of development, after twenty years he might well stand beside the Hyeolpung Saja and contend for supremacy beneath the heavens.
“At the very least, here in Hangju, you should be the strongest once we exclude the masters.”
I wanted to tell her, ‘You’re already strong enough by that measure now!’ But I couldn’t make such easy promises.
Hangju wasn’t a particularly large city, yet quite a few masters lurked in its shadows. Consider Dongshi Doga alone—wasn’t that proof enough? In Murim, strength didn’t mean the size of one’s sect or the depth of one’s coffers.
No matter how time passed or the currents of the world shifted, the foundation of Murim could only ever be raw martial power. It was a place where those without formidable gongfu could never command true respect.
“Master Do. Apart from the masters, am I the strongest in Hangju?”
Nearly two years of frenzied training had made Geom U-bin remarkably strong, but he was only ten years old—far too young to ask such questions with such weight behind them.
“I cannot say with certainty yet.”
“That’s why I can’t stop, isn’t it?”

***

Even as Geom U-bin devoted himself utterly to martial training, he couldn’t abandon the wine trade.
After delivering wine to the Moonlit Pavilion and heading home, the fruit vendor Jang came scurrying up and pressed a basket of apples into Geom U-bin’s hands.
“I was about to go myself when Little Wine Merchant here showed up. Would you take these to Binghua for me? I’m sorry they’re so modest.”
The Hyeolpung Saja was no longer the Hyeolpung Saja in Hangju.
Instead, she had earned a far more impressive epithet—Bloodwind of Hangju—at least in Geom U-bin’s estimation.
In her eagerness to win his favor, she had begun hunting down fugitives with bounties on their heads, until the city had run out of criminals notorious enough to carry a price. The villains had all but vanished from Hangju.
Naturally, the intervals between Geom U-bin’s praise and gifts grew longer, and the Hyeolpung Saja—who chafed at the dearth of his approval—would throw off her shoes and spring into action whenever she found something worthy of his commendation.
“Just the other day, Binghua went into the mountains and found my boy when he’d lost his way. With how cold it’s been lately, another few hours and he’d have frozen solid for sure.”
Binghua was Yeon Geum-hong’s epithet.
“I’m sorry the reward is so small, but I have so little to give…….”
“The gesture is what matters. You gave the best thing you have. Where could there be a greater gift than that? She’ll be grateful for it too.”
“Kind of you to say so.”
As Geom U-bin walked home, the fruit basket from Jang was far from his only gift.
Ha, who ran a restaurant, had wrapped up dumplings for him, and Wang, the silk merchant, had pressed five pairs of silk socks into his arms.
Every fifth day when Geom U-bin returned home, his arms were always laden with an armful of gifts.
Though his hands grew heavy, his heart grew light.
For whatever the reason, the sins the Hyeolpung Saja had committed over the years were gradually, little by little, being erased.
‘This is the best I can give to them.’

Yet at that very moment, small dark clouds were gathering on the horizon—clouds that Geom U-bin had no inkling of.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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