Murim Login - Chapter 260

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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 260
“Chung Poong. Chung Poong, wake up.”
Slap, slap!
“Ugh…”
Chung Poong’s eyes opened with a groan.
Someone was striking his cheeks with considerable force. It was my first time being slapped, which was curious, but the sensation felt oddly peculiar.
‘Ah, so this is why people dislike being slapped.’
Chung Poong opened his mouth with a small realization.
“Hey.”
Slap, slap!
“I’m awake.”
Slap, slap!
“I’m awake now…”
Slap!
Only after landing one more blow did the hand finally stop.
A young man with a familiar face opened his mouth with a rigid expression.
“You’re awake. Do you remember who I am?”
“It’s been a long time. Master Hyuk Moo-jin.”
Hyuk Moo-jin exhaled a sigh.
“You do remember.”
“Of course. I never expected to meet like this, though.”
In my mind, Hyuk Moo-jin was remembered as a good person.
But when a good person I hadn’t seen in a year was slapping my cheeks, even I couldn’t help but feel wounded.
“If I offended you, I apologize. I suddenly remembered losing money.”
“Pardon?”
“No, the situation was so urgent that I was discourteous.”
“I see.”
That was understandable enough.
Chung Poong nodded and looked around. Shouts were raining down everywhere, and people were running about frantically.
“Is there a festival?”
“…A festival?”
“There isn’t?”
“There isn’t.”
Hyuk Moo-jin answered firmly and explained the general situation.
Dharma King Hung-do had been found dead, and the culprit was…
“Jong Ri-chu, you say?”
“Yes. The Ascending Sword Jong Ri-chu. That’s the one. His exact identity remains unknown, but the prevailing opinion is that he’s an assassin sent by the Demon Cult.”
“The Demon Cult…”
A name I’d heard countless times through my grandfather, the Sword Saint. A place where vicious fiends and evil murderers once drenched the entire realm in blood.
So Jong Ri-chu was an assassin from that very Demon Cult. Without realizing it, I shook my head.
“That’s not it.”
“Then what…?”
Hyuk Moo-jin continued, his face painted with bewilderment.
“You experienced it firsthand and don’t remember? The shock must have been so severe that your memory failed you. You nearly died at that man’s hands.”
No. Chung Poong remembered everything with perfect clarity.
The helplessness felt against an opponent against whom nothing availed, the terror, and even that final moment when he first contemplated the word death itself.
‘I was terrified. Truly.’
Merely thinking of it sent the fine hairs on his body standing on end and made his palms slick with sweat.
Yet why did the image of Jong Ri-chu’s face—smiling broadly as he spoke of becoming friends—keep flickering before his eyes?
Chung Poong’s lips, which had been pressed firmly shut, finally parted.
“He’s my friend.”
“…What?”
“That man is my friend. That can’t be wrong.”
“So-hyup!”
Hyuk Moo-jin started in alarm and hastily glanced around to gauge the attention of those nearby.
Only after confirming that no one was paying them any mind did he lower his voice to a whisper.
“Have you lost your mind? Jong Ri-chu is as good as a public enemy of the Martial World. To call such a man your friend…?”
He was an assassin who had murdered the Abbot of Shaolin Temple and fled. Merely being known to have connections with Jong Ri-chu could result in capital punishment.
Even if the Sword Saint had raised him as his own blood, he would still face the scorn of the world.
“Never speak of this again. Do you understand?”
“But…”
Chung Poong, who had been about to say something, closed his mouth at the intensity in Hyuk Moo-jin’s gaze.
“That man is a demon head. I don’t know what cunning schemes he employed to win So-hyup’s favor, but it was all surely a deception to assassinate Dharma King Hung-do.”
“Are you certain? Has anyone actually seen him kill?”
“All the circumstances are conclusive. Pursuit squads to capture him and thousands of martial heroes gathered to aid Shaolin have already made their preparations to depart.”
“Shaolin…”
“Shaolin has fallen into danger due to the Demon Cult’s vicious schemes. The Enemy Cooperator and the Chief have already departed ahead of us.”
Chung Poong closed his eyes tightly.
In the darkness, the faces of Jin Tae-kyung and Jong Ri-chu passed before his mind’s eye in succession. His deliberation was not long.
“I’m going ahead.”
“What?”
As Hyuk Moo-jin uttered his bewildered response, Chung Poong’s silhouette had already stretched far into the distance.
The direction his feet carried him pointed toward Songshan.
* * *
Songshan was counted among the Five Sacred Mountains and possessed scenery both beautiful and serene.
Yet that place, which should have been verdant and fair, was now drenched in blood and screams.
“Aaaahhhhh!”
“Kill them all without exception.”
Slash! Whoooosh!
With each flash of sword light, blood fountained forth from countless points across the mountain.
In the peaceful midday of the Baekjung Festival, hundreds of Masked Figures suddenly appeared, their vacant eyes continuing their massacre without hesitation.
“Protect the pilgrims! Do not retreat under any circumstances!”
The Shaolin warrior monks bearing the Covenant Mark on their foreheads stood against them, but the situation did not improve.
Facing off against Masked Figures who were all exceptional masters was already overwhelming, let alone having to protect young novice monks and countless pilgrims who had not yet mastered martial arts.
“What… what is this!”
“Ahhhhh!”
No one had anticipated such a calamity. In the heart of the Central Plains, who would dare breach the grounds of Shaolin Temple, the North Star of the Martial World itself?
It was at that moment when the monks were being pushed back in a relentless tide by the cruel and vicious blades of the Masked Figures.
“You wretches, do you know where you are!”
With a thunderous shout, an elderly monk of five feet and broad shoulders appeared.
From the eyes of the old master gazing upon the Masked Figures drenching Shaolin’s grounds in blood, a chilling spark ignited.
“Demon Lords! So it was those Cheon Mountain demon beasts!”
From the old master’s hands erupted a palm force that swept across the entire front.
Kwaaaaa!
The Masked Figures who had belatedly sensed the old master’s presence and charged forward were swept away by the palm force and perished.
An overwhelming sight—over a dozen masters crumbling in a single instant.
And yet…
“The Heavenly Lord has commanded. The enemies shall be slain.”
“Follow the Heavenly Will. Kill them all.”
The hundreds of Masked Figures did not stop.
There was no hesitation, no wavering in them. They merely muttered as if possessed by spirits, swinging their blades.
Scritch, scritch, scritch!
At this sight, the old master’s complexion hardened like stone.
‘Such viciousness…’
Even with limbs severed and entrails spilling forth, they did not flinch an eyebrow.
Witnessing the Masked Figures commit slaughter without feeling pain or fear, only to collapse like puppets with severed strings, sent a chill through his very core.
‘These are not human beings. They are malevolent spirits incarnate.’
If even this old master, who had endured the Great Righteous-Demonic War with his entire being, felt such dread, what of the others?
While the experienced middle-aged warrior monks fought valiantly, the young ones witnessing such horrors for the first time trembled with fear.
Yet they did not retreat, driven by the sense of duty that comes with being a disciple of the Buddha facing malevolent spirits.
‘I never thought such a day would come.’
The old master lamented inwardly.
In the recent Great Righteous-Demonic War, it was Shaolin that stood foremost and shed the most blood.
It was a noble sacrifice that saved the Martial World, yet it cost many lives and much martial prowess. And the sacrifices of those days had returned as today’s tragedy.
‘Of all times, when the Abbot is away!’
There was no choice. He alone was capable of defending Shaolin now.
The old master, Heung-cheon, gritted his teeth and unleashed the Lion’s Roar.
“This is Shaolin!”
Though overshadowed by his senior brother Dharma King Hung-do’s name, he too had reached the pinnacle of transcendent mastery.
Unknown to the outside world, through relentless dedication to martial arts, his power had already surpassed that of Dharma King Hung-do.
“All of you, come at me!”
Boom!
In that instant, a surge of formidable Buddhist martial force swept across all directions.
“Ah. The Hundred Paces Divine Fist?”
“To think I’d encounter that cursed technique again.”
Two voices pierced through the air.
Two figures slowly entered the temple grounds within Heung-cheon’s field of vision. As they appeared, the Masked Figures simultaneously lowered their swords and retreated in perfect unison.
“So it was you?”
To Heung-cheon’s spiteful words, an old man with a crimson beard responded while picking his nose.
“That’s right. We are indeed here.”
“The treacherous demon lords of Cheon Mountain.”
“Demon lords of Cheon Mountain, you say? Well, half right, half wrong, but let’s let it slide.”
Heung-cheon faltered.
“You’re not… from the Demon Cult?”
“What does that matter? All you need to know is that we’re here to crack open that thick skull of yours and pull it clean off.”
The old man, bearing the appearance of a great scholar, responded with a serene smile.
“Yeom-ho, are you planning to handle this?”
“Of course. Having seen the Hundred Paces Divine Fist, how could I simply walk away?”
“This fellow, you need to control your temper.”
“I’ll think about it later. Right now, I’d rather kill that damned monk than worry about my own disposition.”
Heung-cheon stared at the two old men in turn, his eyes wide open.
The name Yeom-ho. And from these two old men with starkly contrasting auras, an overwhelming presence emanated.
“Could you possibly be…”
Yeom-ho nodded with a wild laugh.
“So you’ve only just realized—you’re still young. All the monks of the ‘Fan’ generation are long dead, so are you the youngest disciple of the Dharma King?”
“…!”
“Your reaction tells me I’m right. Han-su, what was the name of that old monk you killed last?”
“Fan-gong.”
Upon hearing the dharma name of his master who had fallen during the Great Confrontation, Heung-cheon’s fists trembled violently.
‘There’s no doubt. It’s them.’
How could I not recognize the names Yeom-ho and Han-su?
The aliases of the fiends who had slaughtered countless disciples of Shaolin.
“The Yin-Yang Twin Demons.”
It was a tale from the distant past.
The two demon lords who once ruled the tropical jungles of the Southern Wilderness and the great snowy mountains of the Northern Region came to the Central Plains and dyed the world in blood. The righteous sects’ Heaven and Earth Net spread to pursue them was torn asunder by the Demon Cult’s invasion.
The two demon lords, miraculously surviving, entered the service of the Demon Cult and unleashed tremendous infamy during the Great Confrontation.
“The Yin-Yang Twin Demons… it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name spoken by another’s lips.”
“Those were glorious days. There were few times as enjoyable as those.”
Yeom-ho, who had been reminiscing about those terrible times with a pleased smile, shook his head.
“No, actually. Even now is good.”
“Well, of course. I couldn’t even reach Hanan back in those days.”
“That cursed Mu-shin was the reason.”
“But now Mu-shin is gone.”
“The Ten Kings, the Three Stars—hardly any of them remain.”
Han-su watched Yeom-ho’s eyes gleam with amusement, then suddenly clasped his hands together toward Heung-cheon.
“Ah, now that I think about it, I had momentarily forgotten. Allow me to express my sincere regrets.”
Heung-cheon, who had been frozen by the appearance of the two old demons, felt a chill and asked back.
“Regrets? What do you mean by that?”
“On the way up, we heard that someone had died. Dharma King Hung-do—your elder brother, to be precise.”
“…!”
A shock like the world spinning away crashed down upon him.
His elder brother at the Martial Alliance dead? That was impossible.
“Nonsense!”
Han-su let out a soft chuckle, watching the agitated Heung-cheon.
“Whether that’s true or not is for you to judge. And….”
Yeom-ho’s scorching voice continued.
“All you Central Plains dogs, including you, will die here. That is our judgment.”
Swish.
As if sensing the leader’s momentum, the Masked Figures stepped forward with vacant eyes.
Killing intent bloomed from hundreds of blades, filling Shaolin Temple.
Heung-cheon’s eyelids trembled as he beheld the sight.
‘Elder brother… is it true?’
But soon the trembling subsided, and light returned to his eyes.
The old monk who had devoted eighty years to martial arts clenched his fists.
“I never thought I’d face the Yin-Yang Twin Demons simultaneously. Come then, you cursed old demons.”
“Ahahaha! This one has quite the mouth for a monk. I like that youthful vigor.”
Yeom-ho burst into hearty laughter and stepped forward.
“Pity, but you’ll do for me alone. Han-su, you have more pressing matters elsewhere.”
“Very pressing matters indeed.”
Han-su smiled faintly and continued.
“So if you’d be so kind as to step aside? We have business at Face Wall Cave.”
Face Wall Cave.
At that word from Han-su’s lips, Heung-cheon’s heart seemed to plummet.
Mu-myeong was there. His elder brother’s only disciple. And….
‘The Jade Immortal Scripture.’
Finally grasping the enemies’ true purpose, Heung-cheon unleashed a lion’s roar.
“Stop them by any means necessary!”
“Stop us? That won’t be enough.”
The Yin-Yang Twin Demons shook their hands with sinister smiles.
As if returning to that time fifty years ago, terrible killing intent surged from their entire beings.
“Kill them all.”
Screeeeeech!

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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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