Murim Login - Chapter 259

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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 259
Dharma King Hung-do.
The abbot of Shaolin Temple, revered as the pillar of the Martial World, and one of the Ten Kings—he had breathed his last.
Here, in Hanan, before Shaolin’s gates where the Seonglae Tournament unfolded.
“This… this cannot be.”
“Master Hung-do!”
Sorrow and shock pressed down upon the arena, yet my gaze remained fixed upon a single figure.
I opened my mouth toward that rigid silhouette, frozen like a stone statue.
“Old Master… no, Master.”
Jeok Cheon-gang, who had been staring down at Hung-do’s corpse, turned his head.
“To Shaolin.”
His voice rumbled like boiling magma.
From every fiber of Fire King Red Sky River’s being flowed a blade-like pressure that stole my breath and pricked my skin.
Yet his eyes alone remained cold and settled.
Even now, he was suppressing the impulse to tear Jong Ri-chu apart with only a thread of reason holding him back.
What could possibly take precedence over avenging his most cherished friend?
“Is that Master Hung-do’s final wish?”
“Later. Time is of the essence now.”
The moment Jeok Cheon-gang finished speaking, the sound of dozens of footsteps approached rapidly from afar. Byuk Ryuk Do-wang, leading the charge, widened his eyes at the scene before him.
“Wh-Hung-do!”
“No time for shock. Listen carefully to what I say.”
Jeok Cheon-gang spoke with urgency.
“I will head to Shaolin by this route. You must inform everyone of this fact and rally them. Not a moment can be wasted.”
“Jong Ri-chu—are you planning to cast a net across heaven and earth to capture him?”
“The opposite.”
“What?”
“Man Ri-chu Haeng is tracking him now, but failure is certain. When people gather, come immediately to Shaolin.”
“Did you say Shaolin now?”
“Yes.”
Jeok Cheon-gang nodded with a grave expression.
“If Hung-do’s final words are true… then a storm of blood will soon descend upon Shaolin. It may have already begun.”
“…!”
That shocking declaration wrapped the arena in silence. Even Byuk Ryuk Do-wang’s mouth fell open—and I was no different.
‘At Shaolin Temple?’
What manner of place was Shaolin Temple? It stood in such an exalted position that the epithet “Thousand-Year Shaolin, pillar of the Martial World” was entirely fitting.
Some even said that the Martial World itself began with the arrival of Bodhidharma.
A sacred ground of Buddhist dharma and the supreme headquarters of martial arts. Even should Shaolin’s power wane, its deep-rooted history and the world’s reverence remained unshaken.
Yet a storm of blood was about to descend upon that very Shaolin.
“Wh-what do you mean? Hung-do’s final words? And who would dare strike at Shaolin…?”
“Silence!”
KWAAAAAAH!
Fire King Red Sky River’s shout snapped everyone’s wandering minds back to attention. Byuk Ryuk Do-wang, who had been rambling, finally closed his mouth.
“Dark Heaven. They’re making their move. If my prediction is correct, then Jong Ri-chu—that bastard I’ll tear to shreds—I’ll see him at Shaolin after all.”
“Dark Heaven…!”
Byuk Ryuk Do-wang and several other leaders widened their eyes. From their reaction, it was clear they had already heard some hint of this.
“Now do you understand why time is so critical?”
Fire King Red Sky River turned away from Byuk Ryuk Do-wang, his eyes sunken and grave as he swept his gaze across the assembly.
“All of you must act exactly as I have instructed. That is Dharma King Hung-do’s final will.”
There was truly no time to waste now. Fire King Red Sky River and I exchanged a glance, then simultaneously unleashed our divine movement techniques and departed.
WHIIIIIISH!
As I raced forward against the fierce wind, something cold touched my cheek.
The sky was perfectly clear without a single cloud, showing no sign of rain.
Yet surely tears would have gathered in the eyes of someone rushing forward with a lost friend and vengeance postponed.
No—this was rain. I decided to call it rain.
‘Damn it.’
I clenched my teeth, thinking of Jong Ri-chu.
I had a premonition that today would be a long day.
* * *
BEEEEP!
“Find the culprit!”
“He might be hiding somewhere nearby!”
“Everyone, please calm down. Nothing will happen!”
The Martial Alliance was as loud as a disturbed hornet’s nest.
Countless martial artists attending the Seonglae Tournament were searching the area with fierce determination to find Jong Ri-chu, while commoners moved about nervously under the control of the authorities.
‘It’s all for nothing.’
They still didn’t know that Jong Ri-chu had already fled far away, nor that Dharma King Hung-do was dead.
Part of me considered telling them, but I quickly erased the thought.
‘It would only compound the chaos.’
Besides, I had no time to seek out the leaders one by one to inform them. There was only a slight time difference—they would learn the truth soon enough anyway.
For now, I could only devote all my strength to following Fire King Red Sky River.
‘Fortunately, the distance to Shaolin Temple isn’t that far.’
At least that was a blessing. When we traveled from Songshan to the Martial Alliance headquarters by carriage after passing the preliminaries, it took about three hours. Now, with divine movement techniques, the time would be drastically shortened.
SWOOOOSH!
After rushing forward like a violent wind for a while, the crowded masses and densely packed buildings of the city faded away, revealing open fields.
As I crossed the vast plains, Fire King Red Sky River, who had been leading silently the entire time, suddenly spoke.
“Jong Ri-chu. Dark Heaven. Mu-myeong. Fire.”
Four words spoken in a locked voice.
To someone unfamiliar, it would be nothing but a random string of words, but I understood immediately.
It was the answer I had been waiting for all along.
“Are those Dharma King Hung-do’s final words?”
“That’s right. Even then, I had to squeeze out every last ounce of strength.”
“….”
“I was in a state where it wouldn’t have been strange if my breath had already stopped. I endured only to deliver that message to the Old Master.”
For a moment, Jeok Cheon-gang’s trembling voice settled into a calm tone.
“What are your thoughts on this?”
“It matches what you suspected, sir.”
“Suspicion is not certainty. Speak plainly, without reservation.”
“First, the initial two words seem to point to Jong Ri-chu being Dark Heaven, without need for further explanation.”
“And?”
“As for Mu-myeong and the Buddha Staff… honestly, I’m not entirely certain.”
“Do you remember Dharma King Hung-do’s disciple?”
“Ah, of course I do.”
The memory from a year ago remained vivid.
The young Buddhist monk I met at an inn in Hanan was none other than Dharma King Hung-do’s disciple. He had introduced himself as Mu-myeong.
So the Mu-myeong that Hung-do mentioned was that very person. Had he entrusted his disciple to Jeok Cheon-gang on his final journey?
“But what about the Buddha Staff? Are you referring to that staff-like object the monks carry around?”
Jeok Cheon-gang nodded.
“Correct. However, the Buddha Staff that Hung-do spoke of refers to the Jade Buddha Staff of Shaolin—a sacred treasure of the temple.”
“The Jade Buddha Staff?”
Suddenly, a scene from that day when Jeok Cheon-gang and Hung-do had reunited after so long, exchanging words with smiles, came to mind.
‘What can those fools do? Who was it that entrusted the abbot position to someone who said he wouldn’t take it?’
‘The Jade Buddha Staff. To entrust such a sacred treasure of thousand-year-old Shaolin to this lazy monk. They must all be blind.’
The staff that Hung-do had pulled from his robes that day was remarkably short, and its polished surface gleamed with a subtle jade-green light.
I had wondered what it was, but I was quite surprised when I heard it was a sacred treasure of Shaolin.
“But why would he leave the Jade Buddha Staff as his dying wish?”
“Not long before his death, Hung-do once told the Old Master that he had entrusted the Jade Buddha Staff to his disciple.”
Just as I was narrowing my brow slightly, Jeok Cheon-gang’s words continued.
“The Jade Buddha Staff is not only a sacred treasure of Shaolin, but also the symbol that the abbot always carries.”
“Ah!”
An exclamation escaped me unbidden. A single thread of thought had flashed through my mind in that instant.
The dying words that Hung-do had uttered with his last strength, the reason Jeok Cheon-gang had turned his steps toward Shaolin, even postponing his revenge against his most cherished friend.
“The Jade Buddha Staff!”
“Yes.”
Jeok Cheon-gang’s subdued voice continued.
“Dark Heaven’s true objective is not Hung-do’s death, but the theft of the Jade Buddha Staff.”
With this, everything became certain.
Jong Ri-chu—or rather, Dark Heaven—clearly desires the sacred treasure of Shaolin.
Hung-do had squeezed out his final strength to leave a dying message about it, so that the truth would be known.
Now that I knew the Jade Buddha Staff was not in his possession, even a three-year-old child could guess where Dark Heaven’s footsteps would lead.
‘A storm of blood is about to descend upon Shaolin.’
As I recalled what Fire King Red Sky River had said to Byuk Ryuk Do-wang, my mind grew cold as ice.
* * *
“Huff, huuuh.”
Tap-tap-tap-tap!
Ragged breathing, feet moving without pause.
It was an aged voice that halted the middle-aged man’s sprint along the Mountain Road.
“It seems the young friend has found himself in quite a hurry.”
The owner of that voice was an old man with a beard that stretched down to his chest.
Tall and imposing, with his hair neatly arranged, he resembled at first glance a retired scholar of great learning.
“The weather is fine—wouldn’t it be better to walk while taking in the scenery around you?”
The middle-aged man’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply.
A voice trembling with barely concealed tension spilled from between his lips.
“Who are you?”
“Just an old man out for a stroll. I heard the views of Songshan were so splendid, I thought I’d come see them while passing the time.”
“Passing the time?”
The middle-aged man clenched his teeth and shouted.
“Stop spouting nonsense! You must be one of those vile Demon Heads!”
“Hmm?”
The old man’s eyes widened before he let out a soft chuckle.
“The young friend has quite the fiery temperament. Though I must say, you’re far better than those I met before. All they did was spout lies.”
“Met before? Could it be…?”
“Woodcutters, herb gatherers—why are there so many of these ‘gatherers’ about? Ah, those couples pretending to pray for conception were at least tolerable. Even I nearly fell for their act.”
“…!”
“So I killed them all—martial artists and commoners alike. It seemed far more convenient that way.”
The middle-aged man’s body trembled as though struck by lightning.
There was no doubt. His comrades, scattered to deliver urgent messages, had already met their deaths.
And soon, he would share the same fate.
‘At least it won’t be a meaningless death,’ he thought.
Those on the ground had been caught in the net, but not those in the sky.
In that moment, watching the Messenger Hawk soar powerfully across the distant plains, he found a glimmer of solace.
Screeeee!
With a piercing cry, something dark descended upon the Messenger Hawk.
At first glance, it was three or four times larger. The battle between the two winged beasts in the air ended with a despair that was almost merciful in its swiftness.
Kiiee. As the Messenger Hawk plummeted with its final cry, blood dripped from between the clenched teeth of the middle-aged man.
“Dark Heaven…”
“Ah, so you know of us?”
“How could I not? You cursed old fiend!”
The old man stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Most of the beggars from the Beggar Clan don’t know us. Judging by your martial skill, you’re not some minor from the Haowen Sect… Ah yes, the Shadow Pavilion.”
The bearded old man’s lips curled upward.
“But the phrase ‘cursed by heaven and man’ is rather unpleasant to hear. What do you think?”
“How dare you commit such an act…!”
The middle-aged man’s bloodshot eyes widened as he began to shout, but the Old Master shook his head.
“No, not you.”
Then he raised a skeletal finger, pointing past the middle-aged man’s shoulder.
“I was asking him.”
“…!”
Crack!
The middle-aged man couldn’t turn his head. Heaven and earth inverted, his vision reeling.
The only sensation he felt at the end was singular.
‘Scorching heat.’
A whoosh. A dull thud.
The blackened corpse crumbled to ash.
Then someone’s foot came down, trampling the charred remains of the middle-aged man’s skull.
“Han-su. You bastard. What kind of foolish game is this? Playing around with these worthless dogs.”
The owner of that rough voice was a solidly built old man with an unusually red beard that had grown wild and unkempt.
At the arrival of this old friend he had walked beside for decades, Han-su—the scholarly old man—broke into a smile.
“I was planning to wrap this up soon anyway. How are things above?”
“Quite busy having their fun. Ah, the Jade Flame Pearl—that disciple of his has it.”
“Is that so? Then let’s go together, Yeom-ho.”
The two men, exchanging knowing smiles, began walking at a leisurely pace.
With each step, the screams echoing from Shaolin Temple drew closer.

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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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