Fist Demon of Mount Hua - Chapter 160

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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 159. When the rains of chaos fall, the dormant dragon stirs—3
Eum Yoo Gyeong opened her eyes. Before her stretched a back broad as a wilderness. And a familiar scent reached her—someone was carrying her while deploying Gyeong Gong.
The landscape blurred past at tremendous speed. Normally she should have felt crushing pressure and buffeting wind, yet somehow it felt strangely serene.
A faint smile curved Eum Yoo Gyeong’s lips.
“Yul… Cheon.”
“I’m late. I’m sorry.”
A voice deep and resonant, thick with gravity, reached her ears. The kind of voice that, once heard, commanded belief.
Eum Yoo Gyeong shook her head gently against the man’s back.
“No. How did you even get here?”
“My woman was in danger. Of course I came.”
“Yul Cheon.”
“We’ve bought some time. Let’s rest a moment.”
The man gradually slowed his pace, then came to a complete halt.
He set Eum Yoo Gyeong down on a rock by the riverbank. He looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties now.
His broad frame—easily seven feet tall—wore an incongruously open, honest face. Yet his eyes burned with fierce intensity, and his jaw was set with such firmness that it spoke of an iron will.
At his waist hung a massive blade, wrapped tightly in rough cloth.
Eum Yoo Gyeong’s gaze fell to his hands. The hands that had just cradled her hips were soaked with blood.
“Yul Cheon. Your hands—”
“The recoil’s a bitch to control. I’ll need a little more time to master it completely.”
The man laughed as though it were nothing. But Eum Yoo Gyeong could not.
The man’s name was Geom Yul Cheon.
Her lover, and the pillar of her spirit.
Without him, she could never have come this far—she would have remained the Sect Master’s puppet forever.
It was because of him that the Eum Yoo Gyeong of today existed at all.
Geom Yul Cheon ran his hand over Eum Yoo Gyeong’s head and spoke.
“There’s that look again. Anyone seeing it would think you’d suffered some terrible wound.”
“Are you all right?”
“Even if I’m not, I am.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“The answer that fits.”
At Geom Yul Cheon’s cheeky retort, Eum Yoo Gyeong broke into a quiet laugh.
Come to think of it, Geom Yul Cheon had always been like this.
He smiled through any circumstance, and despaired at nothing, no matter how dire. Though merely keeping himself alive was burden enough, he somehow became a beacon of hope for all those around him.
That’s why they called him this.
Bulgul.
The man who would never break.
And so countless souls trusted him and walked willingly into the jaws of death. And none of them ever regretted it.
In Eum Yoo Gyeong’s eyes as she gazed at Geom Yul Cheon shone both admiration and reverence. To receive such a look from a woman like Eum Yoo Gyeong was no easy thing.
“You went to find the Cheonil Bi Sa Rok?”
“That’s right!”
“Did you find it?”
“Yes! There’s definitely a clue inside that will lead us to the sacred object.”
“Well done.”
Geom Yul Cheon smiled.
It was the kind of smile that inspired trust in all who saw it.
Only a man who had overcome countless trials and brushed the edge of death while securing his place could wear such a smile.
That was when it happened.
Geom Yul Cheon’s eyes turned sharp.
“Looks like we’ve picked up a tail.”
“A tail?”
Eum Yoo Gyeong spun around quickly. In the distance, someone was rushing toward them, deploying Gyeong Gong.
Recognition flickered in Eum Yoo Gyeong’s eyes.
“Do you know him?”
“So Cheon. A dragon raised by Shaolin.”
“I see.”
Geom Yul Cheon nodded slowly.
In that time, So Cheon had drawn close enough to reach them. His Gyeong Gong was formidable indeed.
So Cheon performed the Shaolin sect’s distinctive salutation, pressing his palms together.
“Amitabha Buddha! This lowly monk is So Cheon of Shaolin.”
“I know.”
“What is the donor’s name?”
“Geom Yul Cheon.”
Geom Yul Cheon answered without hesitation, giving his true name. At this, So Cheon’s face shifted with surprise.
Geom Yul Cheon asked.
“What is it?”
“She took a book from Shaolin.”
“So you came looking for the book?”
So Cheon shook his head gently at that.
“No. The Cheonil Bi Sa Rok is a book I myself have read. It contained nothing of particular importance.”
“Then why?”
“Because of you, donor.”
“Me?”
Geom Yul Cheon pointed at himself with one finger.
“Yes. Your strength set my blood ablaze.”
“Ha!”
“I wish to test myself against you.”
“A presumptuous monk with spirit to spare. You’re bound to hurt yourself badly.”
“Before I am a monk, I am also a martial artist.”
So Cheon drew up his inner force. His grey robes swelled dramatically around him.
A formidable presence radiated outward, as though the very air had been swallowed into So Cheon’s shadow.
Geom Yul Cheon smiled.
“The Musang Daenungryeok?”
“Your discernment is not ordinary, donor. You are correct—it is the Musang Daenungryeok.”
The Musang Daenungryeok was one of Shaolin’s legends.
It was said that upon perfection, one could attain limitless inner force, and that the strength of a single person could pacify all under heaven.
Yet to this day, no one had ever mastered it beyond the eighth stage. For this reason it was called the incomplete martial art.
So Cheon had reached the eighth stage himself.
Like all the ancient patriarchs before him, he stood at a wall. But there was one difference—So Cheon was incomparably younger than any patriarch who had come before him.
No one in history had mastered the Musang Daenungryeok to the eighth stage at his age. Given only a few more years, he would surely break through the barrier, and achieve perfection in the not-distant future.
“The Musang Daenungryeok is worth testing myself against.”
Geom Yul Cheon smiled and rolled his neck side to side. Bone cracked against bone.
Whoosh!
So Cheon’s Musang Daenungryeok surged with greater force. Like a rolling snowball, the pressure bore down on Geom Yul Cheon’s shoulders. Yet he paid it no mind and walked toward So Cheon.
The sword at his waist hung loose and rattling.
Eum Yoo Gyeong watched intently.
The aura radiating from So Cheon was formidable, yet she felt no concern.
So Cheon was certainly strong—perhaps the finest of Gu Mu Yong.
But such worldly strength meant nothing to Geom Yul Cheon.
Geom Yul Cheon walked the border beyond humanity.
He was an existence that could not be defeated.
As long as the spirits of twenty-two souls who had willingly died laughing for his sake kept watch, he could never falter.
“Banya Zhang!”
So Cheon unleashed the Banya Zhang, Shaolin’s secret masterpiece.
Backed by the Musang Daenungryeok, the Banya Zhang wielded the force to shatter the heavens.
Geom Yul Cheon drew the rattling sword from its sheath.
“Break through the wall, monk—unless you wish to be swept away by the Era’s Torrent and vanish without a trace.”
Slash!
Geom Yul Cheon’s blade cut through the Banya Zhang and advanced toward So Cheon.
Eum Yoo Gyeong turned her head away.
She needed no eyes to know how this would end.
Bulgul, the indomitable martial artist Geom Yul Cheon.
A certain boy, who had chosen death to save him, had called him this:
Mado Yul Cheon.
That Geom Yul Cheon himself was the Demon Path incarnate.
‘So Cheon can never be his match. Among all under heaven today, if there is but one who might stand against him…’
Eum Yoo Gyeong’s thoughts turned to a certain man.
A limping man who, despite his infirmity, made all under heaven tremble with a single fist.
‘Gwon Ma.’
＊＊＊
Dam Ho looked up at the sky.
The sun was setting. The western sky burned in shades of crimson, and twilight crept slowly toward his position.
It was time to make camp for the night.
Dam Ho gathered branches and kindled a fire.
In other times, Bang Jin Bo would have done it. But with Bang Jin Bo gone, he had to manage alone.
Tonight’s meal was dried meat.
Once he would have eaten it without hesitation, but now the jerky seemed tough and tasteless. Still, Dam Ho made no complaint, chewing methodically in silence.
Neigh!
Beside him, Black Ghost grazed and swished his tail. The beast, too, seemed to miss Bang Jin Bo’s presence.
Dam Ho felt the absence keenly. Yet he harbored no regrets.
Bang Jin Bo would stand alone someday. That day had simply come sooner than expected. Hwang Gyeong Moon and Hwang Hye Ryeong would surely care for him well.
His only sorrow was that he had not yet created a martial art suited to Bang Jin Bo. But such arts could not be forged in a single night.
It required time—steady, patient effort. One day, when the moment came, he would fashion a technique worthy of the boy.
Dam Ho sat with these thoughts, watching the flames dance.
In the deep darkness, a single thread of firelight cast its pale glow upon the world. Something about it stirred him strangely.
‘No matter how thick the darkness grows, it cannot wholly swallow a small flame.’
Time flowed endlessly.
For hours, Dam Ho did not move, tending the fire.
By dawn, the flames had died, leaving only white smoke curling upward. Still he did not stir.
He rose only when the sun broke the eastern horizon.
A small piece of jerky between his teeth, he mounted Black Ghost.
“Let’s go.”
As if waiting for the command, Black Ghost surged forward with power.
Dam Ho surrendered to the beast’s rhythm. After half a day’s gallop, a great river appeared. He rode along its course.
After much travel, a dock came into view. A sizable vessel was moored there.
It was not as grand as the Yunma Dagang Vessel, but large enough that carrying Black Ghost would pose no difficulty.
The dock held a considerable crowd waiting to board. Most striking among them was an enormous carriage.
Drawn by four horses, the carriage was sealed tight, without even the simplest window.
A dozen or more martial artists stood guard around it. The waiting passengers cowered beneath their ominous presence.
Dam Ho dismounted and walked toward the dock. At once, the martial artists surrounding the carriage fixed him with alert, wary eyes.
He paid them no mind, purchasing a passage ticket. Though he stood apart, feigning indifference, their vigilant gaze never left him.
Then a sailor called out loudly.
“All aboard! We depart in a quarter hour.”
The passengers handed their tickets to the sailor and climbed aboard.
Once a number of them had boarded, the martial artists hauled the carriage up the gangway.
“Mind the cargo—nothing gets damaged.”
The leader of the group bellowed the order. His men acknowledged it and carefully hoisted the carriage onto the deck.
The last to board was Dam Ho. As he grasped Black Ghost’s bridle and stepped onto the deck, the vessel began to move.
Dam Ho found a place on deck with Black Ghost.
This was not a voyage upriver like those aboard the Yunma Dagang Vessel. This crossing aimed merely to ferry passengers across the river.
A quarter hour or so of patience, and they would reach the far shore. Then he would be rid of these sinister-looking martial artists. Perhaps sensing this, the other passengers soon grew more at ease.
Dam Ho gave the carriage little thought.
His mind held only one concern: how to reach Hua Shan in the shortest time possible.
‘Master.’
As Dam Ho’s thoughts turned to Hyun So, the vessel lurched violently. A tall wave had struck it.
Crack!
The deck tilted sharply, and the carriage—until then secure—began to slide. The martial artists threw themselves at its four corners, straining to hold it fast. But its weight was too great, and it skidded toward Dam Ho.
Only through desperate effort did the men manage to stop it before it moved further.
Dam Ho lifted his head. A crack had opened along one side of the carriage. Through the gap, he glimpsed a pair of large eyes.
Eyes filled with nothing but despair and anguish—then hidden again as the martial artists moved to shield them.

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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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