Murim Login - Chapter 515

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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 515
The chaos erupting at Market Street clearly hadn’t spread to the Ferry Dock yet.
If it had, the cheers echoing through the air wouldn’t be sounding as they were now.
“The Taewon Jin Family! The Taewon Jin Family has arrived!”
“Waaaaah!”
Though considerable distance separated Main Road from the Ferry Dock, not a soul remaining here failed to hear the distant cheers reverberating through the air.
And Sa Ma-pyo, wielder of the Black Dragon Blade, was among them.
‘The Taewon Jin Family….’
Sa Ma-pyo’s gaze grew distant and profound.
The Taewon Jin Family. A rising power that had undergone explosive growth in scarcely two years.
Or perhaps the word “rising” was a misnomer—they possessed three centuries of deep-rooted history and orthodox legitimacy.
And it was the existence of a single person that had resurrected the illustrious clan from its gradual decline.
‘The Blazing Divine Dragon, Jin Tae-kyung.’
The young man who had been nothing but a green sprout was now sinking deep roots into the soil of the Martial World, growing into a towering tree.
The branches connected to him as one body were each thick and verdant.
The Fire King Jeok Cheon-gang, the Huashan Divine Dragon Chung Poong, the Sword Saint Mae Jong-hak who was Chung Poong’s own master, and the Huashan Sect boasting formidable strength ranked among the highest of the Nine Major Sects and One Alliance. Along with numerous renowned great sects with whom he had forged deep connections while wandering the rivers and lakes.
And… among them was even the Shaolin Temple, the great mountain and northern dipper of the Martial World.
“I was curious about who could be such an important guest that the Precept Hall Master of the Great Shaolin Temple would come out to greet them personally, but now I understand.”
“Amitabha. This humble monk is not such a leisured person.”
Jung Ho spoke with a rigid expression fixed upon Sa Ma-pyo.
“Furthermore, I am not so peaceful in temperament as to overlook one who raises baseless objections.”
“Ah.”
Sa Ma-pyo withdrew his hand from where it had rested upon the blade’s hilt, offering a faint smile.
“My apologies. It is merely an old habit.”
“I hope that is truly the case.”
“I am a man who understands propriety. Surely I would not harbor irreverent thoughts toward Shaolin.”
“Amitabha. It would be wise to refrain from actions that invite misunderstanding, Sa Ma Benefactor.”
“Indeed. However….”
The faint smile at the corners of his mouth grew sharp and defined once more. Sa Ma-pyo alternated his gaze between the enigmatic monk wearing the bamboo hat and Jung Ho as he continued.
“Seeing a great master of such deep faith speak with such severity suggests this must be someone you hold quite dear.”
As the title of Precept Hall Master alone suggested, Jung Ho’s position within Shaolin was far from insignificant.
His teacher was one of three disciples of the late Shaolin Abbot of the previous generation, the Dharma King Hongdao, who had already passed into nirvana.
Sa Ma-pyo surmised that Jung Ho’s open display of hostility—whether judged by rank or position, a senior figure within Shaolin—stemmed not from temperament but from the identity of this person before them.
“If my information is correct, I believe the great master has not yet accepted any disciples.”
“…Your ears are keen.”
“As you know, my eyes are equally sharp.”
Jung Ho’s brow furrowed.
“Amitabha. Let us cease this wordplay and look forward to another time. I must attend to a guest who arrived earlier than expected.”
“Ah, I see. Have you taken on a new disciple?”
“Now, Benefactor.”
Whoooosh.
The moment the Zen staff in Jung Ho’s hand released a low resonant hum, a figure who had been quietly observing the situation suddenly spoke.
“It is fine, Junior Brother.”
“…!”
“…!”
Beneath the deeply pulled bamboo hat, a rough voice like scraping metal flowed out, pressing down upon the surrounding air.
Jung Ho and the monks of Shaolin Temple trembled at the overwhelming martial force contained in that voice, while the eight-chi-tall Geo Han opened his bulging eyes wide.
But Sa Ma-pyo’s shock stemmed not merely from the aura emanating from the monk in the bamboo hat.
‘Junior Brother? He called him Junior Brother?’
The monk in the bamboo hat opened his mouth quietly toward him, who had momentarily frozen.
“Return the sword to its rightful owner. In Hanan, I will tolerate no discord.”
“…!”
“Should fate allow, we shall meet again.”
That was all.
As if carried away by the wind, the monk in the bamboo hat turned his form and vanished.
Toward Sa Ma-pyo, who watched in silence as the Shaolin monks followed in his footsteps, Geo Han opened his mouth in a halting voice.
“Sect Leader, who is that monk? I cannot defeat him.”
“….”
“No head of hair, yet such strength. Incredibly powerful.”
Sa Ma-pyo did not answer.
In that final moment, he recalled the subtle radiance of righteous light visible beneath the bamboo hat—those youthful eyes—and muttered.
“A young disciple of the Precept Hall Master.”
Though brief, the time had been sufficient to discern his age.
The face revealed beneath the bamboo hat was far too young, and moreover….
“Sect Leader?”
“Yes, I hear you. You fool.”
Awakening from his reverie, Sa Ma-pyo clicked his tongue softly. He tossed the sword toward the merchant cowering in the corner, then stretched luxuriously while gazing at the sky.
“Let us go. We should have a drink.”
“Giru! Giru!”
“Very well.”
The sky was clear, and heroes who had traversed the Martial World were gathering toward Hanan.
And far away, at the Ferry Dock, the endless cheers of the gathered crowds calling out the name of Taewon Jin Family continued unabated.
* * *
“I apologize for the trouble, Master.”
On the path toward the Ferry Dock, as Jung Ho hurried over and spoke, the monk in the bamboo hat shook his head.
“It is not the fault of Junior Brother Jung Ho.”
“No, it should have ended at my discretion. I never imagined that young patron would act so brazenly….”
Displeasure was plainly written across Jung Ho’s face.
He still harbored resentment toward Sa Ma-pyo’s conduct.
To strike down Hyul Gon in broad daylight, no less on the Main Road with countless eyes watching, and then attempt to provoke the elder of his sect—such audacity was intolerable.
“I’ve heard that the Black Dragon Demon Gate wields considerable influence in Gansu, but they seem far more audacious than I imagined.”
“Indeed.”
Though his voice emerged rough and coarse, the speaker’s demeanor remained remarkably composed.
The bamboo-hat-wearing monk continued as he walked.
“My experience is still limited, so there is much I have yet to learn. However, I have heard that the Demonic Heretical Way’s influence is not particularly strong.”
“That is true. But not all heterodox sects are the same.”
“So the Black Dragon Demon Gate is an exception to that rule.”
“Yes. The Black Dragon Demon Gate ranks among the top three heterodox sects in the Central Plains. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it the greatest focal point.”
“What do you mean by focal point, Master?”
“Symbolism, Junior Brother.”
“Symbolism….”
“The Black Dragon Demon Gate possesses the longest history among heterodox sects in the Martial World. Once, it was even one of the Twelve Branches of the Demon Cult.”
“Did they betray it?”
“Amitabha Buddha. Rather, I would say compromise suits it better.”
The Black Dragon Demon Gate’s compromise had succeeded.
The victory in that brutal and prolonged war ultimately fell to the Orthodox Sects, and the Black Dragon Demon Gate gathered the scattered heterodox martial artists of the Central Plains like grass roots, recovered from their losses, and grew stronger.
“Yet for the leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate to display such arrogance. This is to look down upon us Shaolin, who suffered tremendous losses in that bloody history….”
Jung Ho, about to continue with anger burning in his words, suddenly fell silent. As if reading his heart, the bamboo-hat-wearing monk walking beside him opened his mouth softly.
“It is fine. Do not concern yourself, Junior Brother Jung Ho.”
“…Master.”
“All of Shaolin have suffered great wounds. Some lost Senior Brothers and Masters who trained alongside them, others lost disciples. I am no exception.”
Step. Step.
His pace quickened gradually. From beneath the bamboo hat came a rough voice.
“I… was certainly overwhelmed by sorrow. But because he has departed on a distant path from which there is no return, that does not mean his will must also disappear.”
Jung Ho and the monks of Shaolin Temple bit their lips. How could they forget that day? How could they not understand the sorrow he felt?
Everyone remembered. Everyone knew.
“I will inherit his will, my Master’s will. With that single resolve, I endured my time in Repentance Cave.”
The skin barely visible beneath the bamboo hat was as rough as his voice, covered with countless scars.
For this nameless one, the past three months had been like hell.
Every day he repeated treatment and training, writhing in terrible pain, and those who heard the screams echoing through Repentance Cave could not help but shed tears.
Three months stained with affliction and suffering.
Yet he endured to the end. Bearing upon his shoulders the sorrow brought by his Master’s death and the rage toward those demons, he pressed forward without ceasing.
At the end of that journey, enlightenment arrived like a single ray of light.
“Junior Brother Jung Ho.”
“Speak, Master.”
“My Master often said such things. That all things begin with one person. If one is insufficient, then two. If that is still difficult, then three should step forward. Thus we raise up what has fallen and move forward.”
The Master who departed on that path of no return loved wine and meat.
He would lie upon a boulder and nap all day long, opening his eyes only after dusk had fallen.
And when he came to wake his disciple, he ended up falling asleep beside him, shaking the young man’s shoulder and pointing to the vast night sky spread out above.
‘Look, you are there as well.’
The disciple who had scrambled to his feet rubbed his eyes and asked in return.
‘Why do you call that star my disciple, Master?’
‘When I first brought you here, I followed that star.’
‘But… that star is far too small and faint.’
‘That is precisely why it is good.’
‘Master?’
‘The stars that burn with the brightest and most vivid light soon vanish. But your star will illuminate the heavens from that place for a very long time.’
The disciple had remembered those words his master spoke that day ever since.
Even after long years had passed, after the heavens themselves had twisted, and after a new star had risen from somewhere in the north.
Even on the day his master departed on a distant journey, on the day the grounds of Shaolin were drenched in blood.
The disciple remembered. He still lingered in that place, that moment.
‘Master. Where is my star now? Are you watching over this disciple from somewhere in the heavens as a star?’
His footsteps halted. Standing tall on the Hillside where the Ferry Dock could be seen at a glance, he suddenly looked up at the sky.
In the clear, azure heavens, no star was visible anywhere.
Even should darkness fall, he would not be able to recognize his own star. Nor would he find his master’s star.
Even with eyes wide open, all he could see were two vessels moored at the Ferry Dock and crowds of people descending in procession.
Even straining his ears, all he could hear was the cheers of the multitude gathered like clouds.
‘Master. Where are you?’
He closed his eyes tightly. Yet even as his vision darkened, no star appeared. Even with ears wide open, his master’s voice did not reach him.
In the end, today was no different. Just as he was about to open his eyes again, calmly accepting this reality.
Splash!
“P-people! Someone was running across the river and fell into the water!”
“What! That’s… the youngest!”
Screams from the crowd. Someone’s anguished cry. And then, a familiar yet harrowing voice that followed.
“Damn it, stop just shouting! A rope! Throw a rope!”
Light flickered before eyes that had been filled only with darkness. It was a new star rising from the north, a trace of his master.
‘You have come.’
A smile formed at the corners of the lips of Mu-myeong, the Buddhist monk in a straw hat.

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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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