Heavenly Demon Divine Saint - Chapter 111

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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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Chapter 111
The first floor of the Janggyeong Pavilion was a treasury of fortuitous encounters that set Warrior’s heart ablaze with possibility.
“Hahahaha!”
Cheon So-hyun burst into laughter, his gaze sweeping across the interior of the Janggyeong Pavilion.
An expansive space that seemed to stretch endlessly, with weapons hung along every wall and display stands crowded with armaments in every direction.
While Shaolin’s martial arts shone brightest in bare-handed combat, the temple preserved countless disciplines—staff techniques, spear methods, and various other weapons—so the abundance of arms was hardly surprising.
“…!”
Then Cheon So-hyun’s footsteps suddenly halted. His gaze fixed upon a name carved into one of the display stands.
[Monastic Cassock of the Sangrok]
A sacred aura emanated from the humble monk’s robe.
“Ah, so it was here all along.”
Legend held that Bodhidharma himself had worn this cassock when founding Shaolin. Thanks to the dharmic power infused within it, the garment maintained its perfect form—yet it was so precious that no one dared to wear it.
Cheon So-hyun carefully lifted the Monastic Cassock of the Sangrok. Perhaps the robe recognized the robes of its predecessor, for the dharmic power in his dantian resonated with a deep hum.
‘Ah, it responds.’
Merely holding it, he felt the flow of dharmic power become smoother. He was certain that keeping it nearby would provide immense aid to his cultivation.
“I’ll take this first.”
Of course, it was not meant for him to wear. This cassock would truly shine only when worn by one who represented Shaolin.
-Please stop being so miserly and buy yourself some new clothes. You’re counted among the wealthiest in the realm—why do you always dress so shabbily?
-Nonsense. I already possess everything I need. Whether cassock or robes, what I inherited from my predecessors is complete. How could I desire more?
The world praised such detachment, but the Abbot Senior Brother who stood beside him was a miser second to none.
‘He should consider those around him too.’
And so these precious treasures merely accumulated dust on display.
Since the Abbot had never once used the Janggyeong Pavilion for personal purposes, he would never have thought to try on the Monastic Cassock of the Sangrok.
Cheon So-hyun smiled faintly.
“It would be a shame to let such treasures gather only dust. Please use them.”
Thus I completed my first selection.
After surveying the first floor once more, I made my way to the next level.
In truth, what I desired most was kept on that floor.
Secret manuals.
As I climbed the stairs, the scent of aged paper and ink pricked my nostrils.
“Excellent!”
I had never realized how welcoming the smell of books could be.
Dozens of massive bookshelves stood in dense rows—a magnificent sight.
Within them lay the foundation techniques of Shaolin’s martial arts, from basic cultivation methods to palm arts, staff techniques, finger arts, and leg techniques, as well as ancient secret arts known to be practiced throughout Jianghu.
All martial arts under heaven originate from Shaolin.
The saying proved true as a forest of profound techniques spread before my eyes.
As I walked between the shelves, scanning the titles of the secret manuals, I saw transcendent martial arts that would cause any warrior in Jianghu to collapse on the spot—every other volume contained such treasures.
‘Truly, there are so many.’
Learning all these martial arts was naturally impossible. Time constraints existed, and certain techniques conflicted with others, so I could only choose carefully, considering multiple factors.
This naturally sparked my curiosity—there were still so many disciplines I had yet to experience.
‘So it really is….’
My lips curved into a slight smile. I intended to examine the supreme techniques that represented Shaolin first.
Moments later, I furrowed my brow sharply before one of the library shelves.
“Huh? What is this…?”
[Seventy-Three Techniques]
What nonsense was this? Seventy-three techniques?
The supreme techniques representing Shaolin were definitely the Seventy-Two Techniques. That was how it was known publicly, and in my previous life, I had understood it the same way.
I began to examine the shelves as if entranced.
Familiar names appeared before my eyes.
Prajna Great Power, Formless Great Power, Sinew Metamorphosis Scripture, Washing Marrow Sutra, Arahan Divine Fist, White Step Divine Fist….
Divine martial techniques so profound that one could spend a lifetime without perfecting even a single one. It was no exaggeration to say that Shaolin’s prestige stemmed directly from these secret manuals.
Among these, I had mastered twelve.
Among the martial arts I had not learned and thus remained unfamiliar with, there existed a secret manual that struck like cold water splashed on the face, jolting the mind awake.
“…What?!”
[Hye Gwang Divine Fist]
The seventy-third secret manual shelved there, a text that seemed to bear my name, and I reached for it without thinking.
At that moment.
“It has been quite some time since we’ve had a visitor.”
“…!”
At the voice that came without any warning, I quickly turned my head.
There stood an Elder Monk with a benevolent smile.
“I apologize for startling you with my sudden appearance.”
“No… not at all, Venerable One.”
The curator of the archive—the Keeper of the Janggyeong Pavilion.
A predecessor of Hyeja’s Group, he had guarded the Janggyeong Pavilion since before Abbot Senior Brother ascended to the position of Abbot.
I calmed my startled heart and bowed respectfully. The Keeper gazed at the secret manual and spoke softly.
“The Abbot informed me that an honored guest would be arriving. Upon hearing that you were a successor of Divine Fist, I hastened out barefoot. I hope I have not intruded unnecessarily?”
“No, not at all.”
Since he resided in the Janggyeong Pavilion and managed the circulation of texts, encountering him was hardly unusual.
“Did you perhaps author the Hye Gwang Divine Fist, Keeper?”
The Keeper of the Janggyeong Pavilion had traditionally been a scholarly monk rather than a martial monk.
The Keeper was the head of these scholarly monks who devoted themselves to ascetic practice, researching and compiling Buddhist Dharma and martial learning to transmit them to future generations.
Keeper Beop Gang smiled with serene simplicity. His gaze was deep and gentle.
“Not I alone. My disciples and several scholarly monks gathered to compile it. The primary purpose of the Main Temple’s decision to seal the gates was to suppress the overflowing power of Divine Fist, but it was also an opportunity to organize its profound insights and take time to transmit them completely to future generations.”
“I see.”
Beop Gang’s hand gently brushed the cover of the Hye Gwang Divine Fist.
“Hye Gwang was not one to leave his martial techniques in written form. Thus, we had no choice but to record his deeds, spirit, and the teachings he ordinarily imparted by searching our memories. After those influenced by him gathered and exchanged insights multiple times, what we compiled as a unified work is this Hye Gwang Divine Fist.”
“….”
“Since this text remains in progress, it contains many shortcomings. Would the benefactor care to examine it?”
“I doubt my examination would be of much help.”
“That is not the case. Even the smallest insights from us could prove invaluable to you. Please, do examine it.”
Cheon So-hyun accepted the secret manual from Beop Gang with an awkward expression.
As he turned the pages, he found them densely filled with techniques and principles he had never taught—a testament to how fiercely the Janggyeong Pavilion’s keeper and the scholar monks had studied each movement.
“Lucid yet enigmatic, is it not?”
Beop Gang continued with gentle eyes.
“Such was his nature. Unwavering stability—immovable. His sole aim was the Demon-Slaying Sect’s righteous path. A power to shatter evil. It was worthy of being a technique, akin to the authority of the Wisdom King who guards the Buddhist Dharma. If any imperfections remain, they stem from our inadequacy, not from the Divine Fist.”
Cheon So-hyun nodded slowly.
‘Lucid yet enigmatic…’
Indeed, in his past life, he had despised complexity. Only the crushing of enemies—that was the essence of the martial perception he had honed throughout his life. Yet as one gazed toward greater heights and climbed toward them, martial arts naturally became more intricate.
The problem was that over-interpreted sections and insufficiently explained formulas were chaotically intermingled.
Cheon So-hyun pondered briefly before speaking.
“Forgive my presumption, but it seems there are parts that differ from what I learned.”
“Oh? Which parts specifically do you mean? Please speak candidly. Anything could serve as the foundation for our techniques.”
“This passage here.”
Cheon So-hyun pointed to a section of the manual.
“The application of energy should not disperse power but condense it into a single point. Following the recorded method would halve the force, collapse the stance, and only increase inner energy consumption.”
“…I see.”
Beop Gang marveled at Cheon So-hyun’s observation.
“The sensory realm was recorded as seen from a distance, so there must be discrepancies with actual application. Being ‘in process’ means precisely that. If you have further insights, please write them in the margins. We shall discuss them with the scholar monks and implement them actively.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Cheon So-hyun took the brush Beop Gang offered with a peculiar feeling. The thought of recording martial arts that would endure for generations exhilarated him, then weighed him down with responsibility, alternating between the two.
Yet his brush hand never hesitated.
He wrote out the incorrect parts, the over-interpreted sections, and those written contrary to the original intent, carefully reconsidering each.
‘Though I wonder if I should reveal even such details.’
He recorded even the most subtle applications of inner energy in meticulous detail. The passages deemed enigmatic became crystalline under his brush.
He harbored no illusions that the technique’s essence would be perfectly transmitted.
Interpretation was ultimately the responsibility of those who remained. He merely hoped that future generations would not stray onto false paths but advance toward greater heights.
Additionally, he wrote which techniques the Divine Fist of the Realm had mastered and in what manner he had cultivated his inner power, concluding with the essence of enlightenment.
Change is the principle of all things. Even to cling to technique and dream of immutability is greed. Let it flow as it will.
Beop Gang gazed at him with astonished eyes.
“A profound statement. Did Hye Gwang teach you this directly?”
“Yes… that is so. It was the final teaching I received from him.”
“I came with joy in my heart, and this has proven a truly wise choice. Thank you, Benefactor Cheon.”
Beop Gang bowed, and Cheon So-hyun returned the gesture.
“There will be much to discuss, I imagine. I shall withdraw now, so please feel free to browse at your leisure. Simply tell me which texts you wish to take when you leave.”
“Understood, Venerable One.”
Beop Gang departed as if entranced. There had been something unsettling about him, but now it seemed he was simply so devoted to martial arts that his earnestness felt unfamiliar. After all, this was his first encounter with him within the Janggyeong Pavilion.
Cheon So-hyun resumed scanning the shelves, moving swiftly. He planned to examine as many martial arts as possible and select the ones that appealed to him most.
Wandering without direction, he examined not only the White Path but also countermeasures against the techniques of the Black Path and the Demonic Path.
‘Is this the last section?’
My footsteps led me to the library shelves where the biographies of predecessors were kept.
Cheon So-hyun scanned the titles, finding many incomprehensible subjects, so I simply began reading whatever came to hand. The pages were filled with such trivial musings that I wondered if they were confessions too embarrassing to share with others.
After reading several volumes, something suddenly caught my eye. The book I had just opened proved far more intriguing than expected.
I wonder if there exists anyone in the Realm who could match me.
If I were to express such sentiments to my Master, I would surely receive a thorough scolding, but I genuinely believe this to be true.
After numerous encounters with warriors, I have come to recognize this as reality.
‘This fellow has lost his mind.’
The book contained anecdotes of a Martial Monk who trained at a Buddhist Temple and traveled throughout the Realm.
The author’s characterization of these encounters as “conflicts” had clear justification.
Though I set out with high expectations, I encountered no worthy adversaries—only hollow victories repeated endlessly. Without even a proper match, let alone a true rival, I wandered for a long time.
I broke the Sword Master’s blade.
I wondered if I had severed the budding talent of a promising martial artist, yet I harbored no regret.
He refused to accept defeat and demanded five additional matches.
And the truth that ignited my delusion came to light only afterward.
The opponent was one of the Three Greatest Sword Masters of the Realm?
Absurd.
If you gathered three sword-wielding fools from a village and lined them up, would that make them the Three Greatest Sword Masters of the Realm?
How hollow.
The Temple endlessly drove us to our limits, pointed out our shortcomings, and urged us to advance. Yet beyond the compound walls, those without will, without foundation, without any insight whatsoever were called supreme and wielded their influence.
How foolish could this be?
For what purpose did the Martial Monks train so brutally? Against what enemy?
The more I traveled the Realm, the deeper the emptiness became, rather than any sense of achievement.
Even the training I once pursued with joy has become tedious.
I should have left before growing stronger.
No—I should never have ventured outside at all.
The biography ended with the author, after a devastating defeat, seriously contemplating the martial way.
And at the very bottom of the final page, I saw written words.
[Biography of Arahan]
Cheon So-hyun blinked in confusion.
“What…?”
Arahan was known as the genius who had created and established the foundations of most of the Seventy-Two Techniques.
He was a Martial Monk who left a profound mark not only on Shaolin’s history but on the entire Buddhist Order. Yet I could not determine whether this was merely a namesake or the actual Arahan himself.
Cheon So-hyun read once more the section about the formidable opponent who had blocked his path.
Defeat.
In that instant, I understood why all the warriors I had faced until now wore such expressions, why they had displayed such attitudes.
They could not accept it. Even in that moment of collapse, losing consciousness, they would not have entertained the notion of defeat.
A demon—or perhaps I should call them a demon—who seemed to ignite infernal flames, yet emanated an aura as cold as the ice and snow of the Northern Sea… Yes, “demon” would be the appropriate term.
Could there exist another such demon beneath the heavens?

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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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