Murim Login - Chapter 514

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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 514
Shaolin Temple—the towering peak and guiding star of the Martial World beneath heaven.
Whenever calamity descended upon the Central Plains, they stood foremost in battle. It had been so a thousand years ago, a hundred years ago, and likewise during the great conflict decades past.
The price was steep—they shed more blood than any other sect in the Martial World—yet not a single disciple of Shaolin harbored regret.
It was their rightful duty. They acted for a brighter future, for the greater good.
And that same conviction dwelt in the hearts of the monks now crossing the well-maintained road.
Whoooosh!
The yellow robes draped across the monks billowed in the fierce wind.
Though this spring day had dawned clear and windless, the monks’ swift movement technique was powerful enough to conjure wind from nothing as they advanced.
“West Gorge comes into view.”
Twenty monks from Shaolin Temple—the leading warrior monk’s words drew a nod from the middle-aged monk among them.
“Fortunate. We shall not arrive late.”
“Indeed. The appointed time is near the Hour of Monkey, leaving us nearly two hours yet.”
Though West Gorge was a vast county, these were warrior monks of considerable attainment. Two hours was more than sufficient to reach the ferry dock even at a leisurely pace.
The middle-aged monk, having calculated their arrival, swung the Zen staff in his hand.
Clang.
The warrior monks understood the signal and halted instantly.
To cease such rapid movement technique in a single moment spoke to profound mastery of martial arts.
Satisfied with their response, the middle-aged monk turned slowly around.
There stood a figure, a bamboo hat pulled deep over their head.
“We shall soon reach the main road. The common folk may grow uneasy, so perhaps we should reduce our pace from here.”
At the exceedingly respectful words of the middle-aged monk, lips pressed firmly beneath the bamboo hat parted slightly.
“Very well.”
A voice so hoarse with age that no one could guess their years—in that instant, sorrow and lamentation flickered across every face, including the middle-aged monk’s.
“Thank you for your permission. Mas… teacher.”
And with that title still unfamiliar to his tongue, the middle-aged monk and the warrior monks turned their bodies toward West Gorge and resumed their journey—when it happened.
—Kyaaaaaaah!
—Murder! Someone’s been killed! Someone’s dead!
Screams and cries echoing faintly from the distance.
Before the middle-aged monk, possessed of formidable martial power, could even inform his disciples, the figure in the bamboo hat spoke abruptly.
“It seems we must hasten our pace.”
“…!”
* * *
Whoooosh!
Twenty silhouettes cut through the wind, descending rapidly.
At the sight of the fluttering yellow robes and the stern faces drawing ever closer, a young martial artist of the Black Dragon Demon Gate furrowed his brow.
“Shaolin…”
An awkward adversary to encounter. Especially now, when one of his foolish subordinates had killed someone in the middle of the main road.
“Stupid bastard.”
Smack!
The towering figure of Geo Han, who had taken a blow to his shin, let out a groan of pain.
“Leader. It hurts. So much.”
“That’s precisely why I struck you. I warned you to be careful, yet you charge ahead without thinking. What is wrong with you?”
“That bastard deserved to die.”
“Sigh. There’s no reasoning with you. Very well. What’s done is done—there’s no use crying over spilled water.”
“We must recover what was lost. By any means necessary.”
At the sharp voice, Geo Han blinked his calf-like eyes.
“Leader. I understand. No, wait—”
“You needn’t speak. I already know.”
A young martial artist with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth turned around. Facing a stern-visaged middle-aged monk barely five paces away, he clasped his fists in salute.
“I pay my respects to the esteemed monks of Shaolin. I must confess, I never expected to meet Abbot Jung Ho so swiftly.”
The middle-aged monk Jung Ho’s thick brows twitched slightly.
“You know this humble monk? Yet we meet for the first time, it seems.”
“First meeting indeed, but your reputation precedes you.”
“This humble monk has no reputation to speak of. I am hardly worthy of the title ‘Abbot.'”
“Just as my father described—truly a humble man.”
“Your father?”
“He once told me of a certain exceptional monk at Shaolin—one with a fiery spirit, deep faith, and unwavering principles.”
The young martial artist’s gaze fell upon the Buddhist staff held in Jung Ho’s hand.
“He also mentioned that you wield a single staff with ghostly mastery—particularly one adorned with prayer beads hanging from it.”
“…Amitabha Buddha. Your eyes are keen indeed.”
“I’m grateful it was you. Had I been mistaken, I would have been quite embarrassed.”
Jung Ho, who had been studying the young martial artist with a penetrating gaze, suddenly spoke.
“How fortunate indeed. Yet as I listen, several details strike me as noteworthy.”
“I am listening.”
“Your robes unmistakably bear the colors of the Black Dragon Demon Gate in Gansu, and the aura and bearing you project are far from ordinary. You must surely be the sect leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate, whose name I have heard whispered in legend. Am I correct?”
The young martial artist smiled faintly and bowed his head.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Sa Ma-pyo, sect leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate.”
“I have heard much of the Black Dragon Blade’s reputation—that you are a divine talent in no way inferior to the Ten Dragons and Phoenixes.”
A subtle stir rippled through the monks standing behind Jung Ho.
The epithet “Black Dragon Blade” was indeed well-known, and Sa Ma-pyo, as sect leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate—a force ranked among the top three in the heterodox martial world—commanded considerable prestige.
Yet none of them perceived the faint sneer that crossed Sa Ma-pyo’s lips as he bowed his head.
And when he raised his head once more, his face was suffused with a broad smile.
“You are too kind, Abbot Jung Ho. I am but an obscure soldier, yet you elevate me so highly—I scarcely know where to place myself.”
“I say again: this humble monk is unworthy of the title ‘Abbot,’ and I harbor no intention of overestimating you either. I merely speak of established facts. However…”
Jung Ho continued, his gaze fixed upon the corpse sprawled in a pool of blood.
“The facts surrounding this unfortunate death remain unclear to me.”
Sa Ma-pyo stroked his bristling chin thoughtfully.
“It is, as they say, a long story.”
“There is no need for concern. There exists a swifter method.”
Clang.
At Jung Ho’s signal, a lean Buddhist monk stepped forward to examine the corpse.
Before joining Shaolin, he had accumulated extensive experience as a Bandit, and it did not take him long to identify the body’s true identity.
“It is Blood Cudgel Do Sang-ho.”
“Blood Cudgel Do Sang-ho? Are you certain?”
“Yes. Though the head is crushed, I am confident in my assessment.”
“Blood Cudgel. Blood Cudgel, I see…”
Jung Ho, who had been murmuring while caressing the prayer beads fastened to the mast, fixed his gaze upon Sa Ma-pyo.
“Did you know beforehand?”
“Know what, sir?”
“That Blood Cudgel had murdered five innocent merchants in Shaanxi Province two days ago and was fleeing.”
“I was not aware of such an incident.”
“It appears he felt secure, having committed the deed in a remote mountain area. His audacity in reaching Hanan suggests overconfidence.”
“…Ah, what a villain deserving of universal condemnation.”
Sa Ma-pyo deliberately furrowed his brow.
Yet this was not due to Blood Cudgel’s crimes, but rather to the remarkable intelligence network that had swiftly identified and relayed information about such a deliberate act committed by an experienced Bandit like Blood Cudgel in merely two days.
‘Is this the power of the Martial Alliance, or the hidden strength of Shaolin?’
Blood Cudgel Do Sang-ho was indeed a Bandit of considerable renown, but this stemmed from his cruel methods and his own boastful proclamations.
In the Martial World, where far more formidable masters abounded, such detailed knowledge of a figure like Blood Cudgel was evidence of a network as intricate as a spider’s web.
‘Not entirely welcome news… though given what has transpired, it is unavoidable.’
Sa Ma-pyo, muttering inwardly, spoke without revealing his thoughts.
“Fortunately.”
“Fortunately what?”
“The water I spilled turned out to be tainted. It seems someone acted before anyone could drink from it.”
Jung Ho’s gaze grew profoundly distant.
“You were not unaware of that fact.”
“Is it not well that the outcome proved favorable?”
“Process is as important as result. Committing murder on a main road where people pass is hardly a wise course of action, whatever the justification.”
“The situation was perilous. I had to eliminate the threat before it eliminated me. Of course, even that was not my intention.”
Sa Ma-pyo raised his hand, gesturing toward the eight-foot giant standing beside him.
“This one is the culprit.”
Geo Han blinked his bulbous eyes.
“Master. Human?”
“The facts must be stated plainly. Wipe the blood from that fearsome cudgel of yours and offer your excuses.”
“That. Right. Kill Blood Cudgel. Me.”
“I humbly beseech the Abbot’s magnanimity in understanding. This one possesses exceptional martial skill, but his intellect is somewhat…”
Jung Ho, who had been silently observing Sa Ma-pyo as he made a circular gesture at his temple, finally spoke.
“You—or rather, the Black Dragon Demon Gate—must provide a thorough explanation regarding this matter.”
“Of course. Since this arose from my failure to properly manage my subordinate, I shall comply fully.”
“You are aware, I trust, that the atmosphere has grown increasingly tense of late. The common people especially are gripped by anxiety.”
The Martial World in its current state resembled a powder keg on the verge of detonation.
Even an illiterate village elder who couldn’t read the Thousand Character Classic understood that the Martial Alliance was no mere social club for martial artists.
During the Great Sectarian War, it wasn’t only the martial artists of the Central Plains who were caught in the turmoil.
“If brazen murder were to occur on the Main Road in broad daylight during such times, it would inevitably draw unfavorable scrutiny.”
“I shall keep those words close to heart.”
“Though the man who died was Hyul Gon, who had committed crimes and fled, there may well be questions from above.”
“I am prepared to offer a full explanation.”
“You should also apologize to the common folk in the vicinity.”
“That too requires no concern. Should you wish it, I shall provide compensation.”
Jung Ho’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
Though he was but a martial monk, he had walked the path of the Buddha for countless years at Shaolin.
The occurrence of such an incident displeased him, and the attitude displayed by the rumored leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate left an equally bitter taste.
Yet what could be done? With outward compliance and a nodding head, there was nothing left but to depart.
“Then… this matter is settled.”
“Since fate has brought us together, would it not be pleasant to move to another location?”
“Amitabha Buddha. I must regretfully decline. I have a guest I am expecting.”
It was at the very moment Jung Ho turned to leave, his expression betraying no genuine reluctance.
“The sword.”
“Hmm?”
“It does not appear you are one who wields a blade.”
A voice hoarse as grinding metal spoke, emanating from someone whose bamboo hat was pulled low.
“This object bears no affinity with the benefactor. Return it to its rightful owner.”
“Ah, you speak of this?”
Sa Ma-pyo smiled faintly, gazing at the sword he held.
“It is mine.”
“This humble monk’s eyes perceive otherwise.”
“If I may ask, who are you, Reverend?”
“That bears no relevance to this matter.”
Just as the smile fading from Sa Ma-pyo’s lips grew dim, a cry echoed from the distance.
“The Taewon Jin Family! The Taewon Jin Family approaches!”

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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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