Murim Login - Chapter 231

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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 231
“Amitabha Buddha, might I trouble you to let me pass through?”
A young monk in a tattered robe appeared alongside that timid voice.
Clutching an enormous prayer bead in one hand, he bowed repeatedly while squeezing his way between the Black Path swordsmen.
“Then I shall excuse myself. Amitabha Buddha, Amitabha Buddha….”
“Uh, hold on.”
“Uh, uh?”
The swordsmen were bewildered by the monk’s sudden and fearless appearance.
Several of them snapped to attention and tried to block his path, only to find themselves pushed back helplessly.
“W-what is this?”
“Gasp. What kind of strength….”
Whoosh, thud!
No matter who charged at him, it made no difference. None could stand in his way.
I noticed that beneath the monk’s worn and loose robes lay tremendous musculature.
Powerful forearms and bulging veins. At first glance, he appeared to have an ordinary build, but those were muscles honed through real combat—compressed and efficient.
‘Wow, look at those muscles. Insane.’
At that level, he should be wearing under-armor instead of a robe.
While I marveled alone, the monk who had passed through dozens of Black Path swordsmen wiped the sweat from his brow.
Tension was evident across his face.
“Phew….”
Geo Han was not one to simply watch. His face flushed crimson and his eyebrows twitched continuously.
I waved my hand at him as he alternated his gaze between me and the monk, deliberating.
“Hey, take your time. I’ll wait.”
“…I appreciate that.”
Grrrr.
Baring his teeth at me, he blocked the monk’s path.
“Who are you?”
“This humble monk….”
“Never mind.”
A sharp gaze swept up and down the monk’s figure.
“You’re a Buddhist monk?”
“Of course.”
“But you don’t have the Dharma Seal marked on your forehead?”
A bead of sweat rolled down the monk’s brow.
“My training has been too brief for that.”
“Training, is it. What’s your Dharma name?”
“I have not yet received one.”
“No Dharma Seal, no Dharma name—quite the monk you are….”
Geo Han chuckled darkly and turned to his subordinates with a question.
“Looking at just the shell, he’s practically one of us, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s right!”
“He looks capable. I think he’d make a fine addition to our ranks.”
“Isn’t that so?”
Geo Han chuckled heartily, but his expression suddenly hardened as he fixed a piercing gaze on the monk.
“Where did you come from?”
“…I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I know everything, you bastard. Where did you come from? The Poison Dragon Sect? Or the Black Blood Clan?”
“The Poison Dragon Sect and Black Blood Clan? This humble monk hails from Shaolin.”
“What? Shaolin? The Shaolin Temple on Songshan?”
“Yes.”
Shaolin Temple, no less. This situation was becoming quite intriguing.
Even Jeok Cheon-gang, who had been paying no attention until now, turned his head to observe the unfolding spectacle.
“Hey, did he say Shaolin Temple?”
“Silence. I’m deciding how to deal with this insolent wretch.”
“….”
That didn’t sound like good news.
My expression probably resembled the monk’s at this very moment.
He stared at Geo Han, whose face had darkened before erupting into raucous laughter.
“Kahahaha! Shaolin Temple? Did you say Shaolin Temple?”
“M-Master. Why are you laughing?”
“Master, my ass! Who do you think you are, you mangy dog bone crawled out from who knows where, baring your fangs!”
Crash!
The solid wall shattered under Geo Han’s fist.
Unlike his subordinates—mere second or third-rate rabble—he possessed considerable martial prowess, enough to command respect as a supreme master wherever he went.
Even if he’d only barely entered that realm.
“You bastard… Do you think the Dongtian Faction is a joke? Do I look that stupid to you?”
“Master, you seem agitated. Please calm yourself. Center your mind.”
“Calm down my ass!”
Crash!
The remaining debris collapsed in a heap.
The Innkeeper watching from behind must have felt his own heart crumble as well.
“No precept marks on your forehead, no dharma name, and you look like some fine specimen of the Black Path, yet you claim to be a monk? Why don’t you just say the Shaolin Abbot is your master!”
“Gasp—how did you know that, Master?”
At the young monk’s wide-eyed reaction, Geo Han’s patience finally snapped.
“You little bastard…!”
Whoosh!
A spiked iron mace streaked toward the monk, bristling with sharp steel thorns. The trajectory was smooth and precise—the handiwork of a seasoned master of considerable skill.
The monk gasped and hastily raised the prayer beads in his hand.
At this critical juncture, screams erupted from the crowd gathered outside the inn.
“Kyaaaah!”
“Danger!”
But the calamity they feared never came to pass.
Clang!
A sharp metallic ring echoed as something scattered down like rain.
Those small, pointed objects were, remarkably, steel spikes protruding from the iron mace.
“…What?”
Just as Geo Han stared at his own iron mace with a bewildered expression, the young monk cried out in a trembling voice.
“The donor struck first!”
“Wait, hold on!”
But the situation had already spiraled in an unexpected direction.
Whoosh!
An absurdly massive prayer bead rosary coiled around the monk’s entire arm.
Between each finger, the beads gleamed with a strangely familiar luster.
No, wait. Could those possibly be…?
‘Ten-Thousand Year Cold Iron?’
In that flash of revelation, a terrifying sound tore through the air.
Crack! Snap!
A single punch that shattered the iron mace drove straight into Geo Han’s ribs.
“Ugh!”
Unable to bear the agony, blood streamed from his gaping mouth.
“Wait, please!”
Geo Han’s desperate cry fell on deaf ears—a futile plea.
The young monk, his face already drained of all color, squeezed his eyes shut and shrieked.
“Amitabha Buddha!”
Thud!
“Namo!”
Crack!
“Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva!”
Crunch!
“Amitabha Buddha, Amitabha Buddha, Amitabha Buddhaaaa!”
Pound, pound, pound!
Strike, crush, strike again at the same spot.
With each luminous bead that rose and fell, blood sprayed forth.
Watching that spectacle unfold, I let out a groan.
“Holy hell…”
That was the strongest expression I could muster.
From his first appearance, I’d anticipated the monk would prevail, but I never imagined he’d be this much of a madman.
“That… that is…”
Jeok Cheon-gang, who had suddenly risen to his feet, stood with his mouth agape.
“The Arhat Fist!”
“A Luohan from Shaolin Temple? One of the 108 Luhans?”
“Yes, that’s right. The martial arts are unmistakably Shaolin’s.”
“…That?”
I turned my head again.
The young monk, whose eyes were now rolled back halfway, was delivering a final finishing blow to the collapsed Geo Han.
“Gate gate paragate paragateSUM!!”
Thud-thud-thud!
A scene drenched in brutal violence and blood. I wiped the blood from my cheek and barely managed to open my mouth.
“…Excuse me, Noya.”
“Speak.”
“Is that really Shaolin martial arts?”
“…Technically, yes.”
“But why doesn’t it feel like Buddha’s compassion or anything like that at all?”
A moment later, a brief answer tumbled from Jeok Cheon-gang’s lips.
“At least he didn’t kill him.”
“….”
At this point, it would’ve been better to just kill him.
But I had to swallow those words rising in my throat.
Clatter, clatter.
With each step, the prayer beads rattled, his robes soaked with blood, his eyes darting about nervously as he approached me.
“Um, excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“If I may be so bold, might I ask the name of this benefactor?”
“Why, why do you ask?”
My voice trembled without my intention.
The young murderer—no, the monk—drew closer with timid steps.
“Could you perhaps be of the Jin Family…?”
“I’m sorry. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“No. This fellow is Jin Tae-kyung.”
At Jeok Cheon-gang’s interjection, I immediately changed my words.
“That’s right. I was just joking around. I hope I didn’t offend you?”
“Amitabha Buddha, how could that be?”
Fortunately, I hadn’t displeased him.
Unlike me, who glanced nervously at the prayer beads, his lips bore a smile radiant with joy.
If not for the droplets of blood beneath his chin, I might have thought it was the smile of Buddha himself.
“But why were you looking for me?”
“This humble monk was ordered to bring the master of Morning Star.”
Master of what?
Before I could ask again, Jeok Cheon-gang suddenly spoke up.
“Do you know of Hongdao?”
“Yes. He is my master.”
“…Hmph, a mysterious monk indeed. Still able to see a thousand leagues from a seated position, I see.”
“Then the benefactor must be Fire King Red Sky River, the great hero.”
“Did your master tell you that as well?”
Jeok Cheon-gang chuckled softly at the sight of the young monk lowering his head in silence.
“No need for lengthy words then. Guide us to Hongdao.”
“Yes.”
As the Yama King wearing a monk’s guise took the lead, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
I seized the moment of commotion and asked Jeok Cheon-gang in a low voice.
“Old man, who is Hongdao?”
“The Abbot of Shaolin.”
That alone was astonishing, but Jeok Cheon-gang’s words didn’t end there.
“In the Martial World, he is called the Dharma King.”
“…!”
* * *
Mu-myeong.
That was the dharma name of the young monk who had introduced himself as a disciple of Dharma King Hongdao.
Or rather, it couldn’t truly be called a dharma name at all.
The meaning itself was that he had no name whatsoever.
“Even in old age, still the same. To give a disciple such a dharma name as that.”
Mu-myeong laughed shyly as Jeok Cheon-gang clicked his tongue.
“My master bestowed it upon me, so it is my name and dharma name.”
“From what I observe, you don’t seem to be a formally accepted disciple. Do you harbor no regrets about that?”
“Is it not all the will of Heaven?”
Mu-myeong pointed to the sky and smiled brightly, causing Jeok Cheon-gang to shake his head in disbelief.
“Your master certainly chose peculiarly.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jeok Cheon-gang’s voice continued.
“An unusual fellow indeed.”
“Hehe, Amitabha Buddha. Thank you.”
“….”
“….”
Don’t laugh. That wasn’t a compliment. And don’t say Amitabha Buddha either.
Even now, whenever I close my eyes, the image of Mu-myeong drenched in blood appears vividly before me.
His smiling face was like a living Buddha, yet the moment he threaded prayer beads between his fingers, he transformed a ten-meter radius into a living hell—a truly bizarre creature.
‘This bastard is the most terrifying.’
From what I gathered during half a day of traveling together, his introverted nature meant that once his eyes went wild, he became uncontrollable.
Jeok Cheon-gang tilted his head a few times before nodding vaguely, but my assessment differed.
I even knew his precise diagnosis.
‘Anger management disorder.’
At this point, he’s essentially a walking time bomb.
That was also why I had been trying to move behind Mu-myeong as much as possible since earlier.
A peak-level master suffering from anger management disorder could very well strangle my neck with an old iron rosary.
‘Strangled by a rosary… absolutely not acceptable.’
Fortunately, the journey from Luoyang to Songshan did not take long.
Not only were they geographically adjacent, but the roads were well-maintained due to the many pilgrims visiting Shaolin Temple.
As I reached the foot of Songshan, wooden structures began to appear in the distance.
“Have we arrived?”
Jeok Cheon-gang shook his head at my question.
“Not yet. We must climb to the middle of Shaoshi Peak. Visitors without specific purpose are only permitted to stay at the reception hall.”
“You seem quite knowledgeable. Have you visited often?”
“I’ve heard much about it.”
“I see.”
Well, considering the Shaolin abbot is his friend, that much was only natural.
Jeok Cheon-gang dismounted and began climbing Shaoshi Peak, when he suddenly spoke.
“Your lazy habits remain unchanged. Still sleeping five hours a day?”
In the next moment, an answer came unexpectedly from a flat boulder far above.
It was a presence that only a master of Jeok Cheon-gang’s caliber could sense.
“Mm. Five hours, you say. There were times like that.”
The voice resembled the tolling of an ancient temple bell—soft yet resonant, with profound depth.
“The position of Shaolin abbot is a weighty responsibility. I cannot sleep as I once did.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed. A sense of duty that a fortunate fellow like the Yeolhwa Sect Master could never comprehend.”
Jeok Cheon-gang and Hongdao conversed with ease, as if greeting an old friend they had seen yesterday.
“So then, how many hours do you sleep?”
“Well, that is to say…”
A soft whisper.
A black silhouette slowly descended from the flat boulder dozens of meters above.
The Dharma King Hongdao, descending with utmost slowness, treading upon the void itself, laughed like a child.
“Only four hours.”
“Laziness incarnate.”
A smile also bloomed at the corners of Fire King Jeok Cheon-gang’s lips.

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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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