Murim Login - Chapter 172

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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 172
Jeok Cheon-gang’s face was alight with satisfaction as he suppressed a smirk.
‘Heh heh, let him taste the heat, this whelp.’
At the tip of his finger coalesced extreme yang energy that had reached its zenith.
Though his martial power was merely at the third tier, it was far beyond what a mere youth who appeared to be in his twenties could withstand.
‘This should knock some sense into him.’
I harbored no particular enjoyment in tormenting the young, but this one deserved a thorough lesson.
Ever since the beginning, he had been spouting incomprehensible nonsense about some “time dam” or whatever, making it unbearable to listen to.
‘Since I’ve controlled my strength, if all goes well, I can avoid causing internal injuries.’
If all goes well. Jeok Cheon-gang added that caveat silently to himself as he extended his hand.
The moment his gaunt, wrinkled finger touched the broad chest, a surge of extreme yang energy crashed down like a tidal wave, and Jin Tae-kyung gasped involuntarily.
“Ugh!”
“How does it feel? As if fire is burning inside you?”
Jeok Cheon-gang couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the youth’s face flushing crimson. Indeed, the old saying that a beating is the best medicine remained eternally true.
“Now then, enough of your nonsense. Tell me the truth—”
Screeeech! Whoosh!
Jeok Cheon-gang’s words were cut short. Two blades came streaking through the air like lightning, slashing at his waist and arm.
“Ah? Wait, we did it! Chung Poong, success!”
Unlike Hyuk Moo-jin, who wore a bewildered expression of joy, Chung Poong scratched the back of his head.
Before his eyes, he witnessed Jeok Cheon-gang’s form scattering like mist instead of spraying blood.
“Oh my, Return to Simplicity and Restore Truth combined with Form Displacement and Position Exchange… it seems we’ve gotten ourselves into quite the predicament.”
Jeok Cheon-gang, who had somehow settled onto a distant fence, chuckled heartily.
“Your eyes are quite discerning.”
“I’ve been seeing such techniques since childhood.”
“Seeing them since childhood?”
Jeok Cheon-gang grasped the meaning behind those words and was genuinely taken aback.
Return to Simplicity and Restore Truth, Form Displacement and Position Exchange—both were realms granted only to the supreme masters. That meant Chung Poong had been surrounded by experts of equal caliber.
“Who is your master?”
“My grandfather.”
“You’re a stubborn one. How would I know who your grandfather is?”
“My grandfather once said that a man born into this world who hides behind another’s name should have his manhood stripped away.”
“Ha ha ha ha! Wise words indeed!”
After bursting into laughter, Jeok Cheon-gang regarded Chung Poong intently.
“Can you bear the consequences of daring to draw your blade against me?”
Chung Poong’s expression grew troubled as he smacked his lips.
“Still, I didn’t use sword energy, so couldn’t you overlook it?”
“Would it have made a difference if you had?”
“Hmm. I don’t think it would have.”
Jeok Cheon-gang let out an amused chuckle. Regardless of whose school this interesting fellow belonged to, he was certainly entertaining.
“Then why did you step forward?”
Chung Poong pointed at Jin Tae-kyung, who stood motionless like a stone monument to a waiting wife.
Steam rose in wispy tendrils from his entire body, flushed crimson with heat.
“I owe that man a debt of gratitude. How could I stand idle while my Grandfather persecutes my benefactor?”
“It seems you owe him quite a debt. Enough to stake your life on it.”
Chung Poong’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Of course, no one in this place harbored any intention of killing him. Yet Jeok Cheon-gang deliberately hardened his expression and lowered his voice.
“Of course.”
“Oh no, that won’t do. There’s still so much I haven’t experienced.”
“This is the Martial World. Should I concern myself with such circumstances?”
Chung Poong, who had been pondering, finally spoke.
“No, I suppose not.”
Hyuk Moo-jin, listening to their exchange with mounting anxiety, suddenly erupted.
“Don’t just accept that, you fool!”
“Why not?”
“Because that old—I mean, because he’s going to kill us!”
“That’s not wrong, is it? And besides…”
Chung Poong added calmly.
“We won’t know if we’ll die or live until we try.”
“…Damn it. Fine, let’s do this. Either way, if we sit idle, we’ll just get beaten to death by the squad leader later anyway.”
Jeok Cheon-gang observed the two of them with his chin resting on his hand.
Interesting fellows indeed. One willing to stake his life for a debt owed, another grumbling yet stepping into a fight whose outcome seemed predetermined.
Some called it recklessness, others called it righteousness—but these youths possessed something that transcended mere words.
‘Such fellows always die young.’
It had been so forty years ago, and it would be no different now.
And so Jeok Cheon-gang found himself developing a measure of fondness for these young ones. They possessed at least the courage to stake their own lives for another—something increasingly rare.
Just as they did now.
“Well then, shall I teach you a lesson?”
Jeok Cheon-gang slowly rose to his feet. In that same instant, a presence as overwhelming as a mountain erupted from his compact frame, crushing the very air around them.
Chung Poong and Hyuk Moo-jin gripped their swords, while Jang Tae-bo’s face drained of all color as he collapsed to the ground.
“You sit this one out.”
With a mere flick of his hand, Jang Tae-bo’s body soared beyond the fence. It was as though an invisible hand had grasped and lifted him.
At the sight, Chung Poong gasped.
“Void Seizing Technique…”
He had lifted Jang Tae-bo—a man whose frame rivaled that of any laborer—with nothing but a gesture.
It was proof that the old man before them possessed martial prowess equal to, if not surpassing, his own grandfather.
Hyuk Moo-jin muttered in a daze.
“Damn, I’ve only read about that in novels.”
They were in a different realm entirely.
In this moment, everything surrounding Jeok Cheon-gang became both his weapon and his shield. The corners of his weathered mouth curved upward ever so slightly.
“Begin.”
The word was a signal. Chung Poong and Hyuk Moo-jin surged forward with every ounce of their strength.
Two masters who had tested themselves countless times in martial contests, their blades meshed with perfect precision as they unleashed their combined technique.
Screeeeeech!
Shiiing!
In the instant their sword edges drove toward his ribs and throat, Jeok Cheon-gang extended both hands.
Wrapped in white flames, his palms seized the blades.
“Will that suffice?”
Crrrack.
Hyuk Moo-jin’s eyes widened in horror. His cherished blade—forged from the incomparably rigid White Lotus Steel—bent and warped. Then it began to liquefy, dripping like molten metal.
“What is this!”
A strike delivered with every fiber of his being, yet it failed to draw even a scratch.
As he stared blankly at his half-melted blade, Jeok Cheon-gang’s voice reached his ears.
“Your courage was admirable. Rest now.”
In the next moment, Hyuk Moo-jin’s vision turned white. A palm strike to his chest sent him crashing to his knees, powerless.
Chung Poong cried out in alarm.
“Hyuk Moo-jin!”
“Do not worry. It should be only internal injuries. But as for that…”
Jeok Cheon-gang glanced at Chung Poong’s blade, still gripped in his other hand.
It neither bent nor melted, cloaked instead in a soft violet sword aura. Jeok Cheon-gang dredged up an old memory.
“Purple Frost Divine Art. Were you trained by the Huashan Sect?”
Rather than answer, Chung Poong unleashed a fist strike. The Tiger-Subduing Fist, a martial art of overwhelming ferocity, crashed against Jeok Cheon-gang’s chest.
With a dull thud, his white eyebrows curved like crescents.
“Well, well, look at this one.”
Despite receiving a blow that should have shattered his chest, his reaction was merely that.
Chung Poong felt as though he were facing his own grandfather, the Sword Saint Geom-seong Maejong-hak.
‘He is strong. Overwhelmingly so.’
Yet he could not surrender now.
Chung Poong exhaled deeply and shifted his stance. The Purple Frost Divine Art’s energy surged across his entire body with renewed ferocity.
“Yes, go ahead. Show me what you can do.”
Jeok Cheon-gang smiled and released his grip on the blade. Freed from its shackles, the sword unleashed the essence of the Plum Blossom Sword Technique.
Shiiiing!
The blade moved with fluid grace, painting plum blossoms in its wake. One became two, two became five, five became nine…
At last, twenty-four perfect plum blossoms materialized as rays of light, pouring down upon Jeok Cheon-gang.
Even Jeok Cheon-gang could not help but admire this moment with genuine appreciation.
‘The Huashan Sect has produced something extraordinary.’
And with that thought came the memory of one particular person.
A figure who was the very symbol of the Huashan Sect. No—a swordmaster revered by every blade master under heaven!
“What is your relation to Geom-seong Maejong-hak?”
At that word, the twenty-four plum blossoms wavered precariously.
And in the next instant, a sword aura that barely grazed past Jeok Cheon-gang devastated the surrounding area.
Crash!
Chung Poong coughed as he swallowed a handful of the billowing dust.
“Cough, cough. Do you know our Grandfather? Cough!”
Jeok Cheon-gang laughed heartily.
“I’ve seen him before. A very long time ago.”
It was nearly forty years in the past.
The Demon Cult’s hundred thousand disciples had swallowed half the realm, and as the tide of battle turned unfavorable, the Orthodox Martial Arts World began seeking out the eccentrics who had retreated into the Deep Mountain Valley.
It was during that time that Geom-seong Maejong-hak came to Jiuhua Mountain.
‘Please lend us your aid.’
Those were his first words.
Jeok Cheon-gang was startled by the visit of a master who could rival him for the first time in his life, but his answer was already decided.
‘I refuse.’
‘Even though the realm is in danger?’
‘Let us speak plainly. It is not the realm that is in danger, but your Orthodox Martial Arts World.’
Even if the master of the Martial World changed, the world would remain unchanged. There were villains in the Orthodox sects and virtuous ones in the Demon Cult alike.
And Jeok Cheon-gang would remain on Jiuhua Mountain forever.
Maejong-hak, who had been lost in thought for some time, suddenly slapped his forehead.
‘Ah, now that I think about it, you’re right.’
‘…Didn’t you come to persuade me?’
‘That’s one thing, this is another, is it not?’
‘If you’re going to talk nonsense, then leave.’
‘Then let us do this. We shall abide by the laws of the Martial World.’
‘The strong reign supreme?’
‘If I lose, I shall depart cleanly. Moreover, I shall never speak of your existence again. However….’
‘If you win, then I must aid the Orthodox Martial Arts World.’
‘Precisely. What say you?’
‘Draw your sword.’
They fought for seven days and nights.
It was a battle between the Huashan Sect, which had been rooted as a great tree of the Martial World for centuries, and the Yeolhwa Sect, which had been passed down according to the principle of single transmission and non-transmission to others—a blood duel between two martial gods.
And the result was a draw, with neither victor nor vanquished.
‘It is a pity. With such martial prowess, why do you bury yourself in such a mountain village?’
‘That is my affair. What concern is it of yours?’
‘Ah, now that I think about it, you’re right.’
‘…Listening to you is draining. What will you do now?’
‘To be honest, I wish to continue… but they have already crossed Gansu and Sichuan a fortnight ago. Regrettably, let us end it here for now.’
It was fortunate for Jeok Cheon-gang. Had the battle continued for just a few more days, he would have been the one to lose.
Maejong-hak was ten years younger than him, yet already an extraordinarily powerful master.
Without his formidable inner strength, he could not have endured.
‘They may soon come to this place, Anhui City. Be careful.’
‘There is nothing to be done. I need only guard Jiuhua Mountain, and that is enough.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘…Please, just go and leave it be.’
Geom-seong Maejong-hak departed thus, and the Demon Cult’s forces surged like a tidal wave across Anhui City. Then, a fortnight later, the Demon Cult disciples passing through Jiuhua Mountain committed a grave error.
‘Set it ablaze!’
Jiuhua Mountain burned, and Jeok Cheon-gang emerged into the world.
Not a single soul among the thousand Demon Cult disciples survived.
And from that day forward, people began to call him by another name.
“Then Grandfather, you…?”
The Fire King, Jeok Cheon-gang, smiled faintly instead of answering.

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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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