Murim Login - Chapter 517

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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 517
“I hope you have been well, Benefactor.”
I nearly failed to recognize him. The Mu-myeong standing before me now bore little resemblance to the man I had met a year ago. His face, his manner of speech, the very aura surrounding him—everything had transformed into something unfamiliar and strange.
And the reason for his change was likely….
‘Three months ago. What happened that day.’
What could I possibly say? My mouth felt bitter. I had opened my lips just after Jung Ho and Hyuk Moo-jin had left the room with the others.
“I cannot claim to have fared so well myself. There have been far more matters to attend to than I anticipated.”
Mu-myeong smiled faintly.
“So it would seem. In truth, I only heard tales of you two days past.”
The series of events that had unfolded over the past three months would have been impossible for anyone in the Martial World to ignore. Yet if Mu-myeong, who held an important position even within Shaolin, had only learned of it two days ago, there was but one conclusion I could draw.
“You underwent closed-door cultivation.”
“Amitabha Buddha. I was dwelling in the Repentance Cave.”
“The Repentance Cave, you say….”
“Your suspicion is correct. It was of my own volition, so please do not concern yourself.”
Shame and remorse—the Repentance Cave was a place where the guilty were confined.
What had brought him such shame, and what did he feel compelled to atone for? Perhaps it was regret at failing to prevent his master’s passing into Nirvana. Mu-myeong had chosen to become a sinner, unable to protect even the Jade Buddha Staff—the sacred treasure of Shaolin that his master had entrusted to him before departing. He had spent three months in that place.
“In that darkness where I could not see even an inch ahead, such thoughts consumed me.”
Mu-myeong traced his calloused fingers across his cheek. A considerable portion of his scarred face had taken on a deep, bluish-black discoloration.
Three months ago, it was the mark left behind by the icy, sinister energy of the enemy he had desperately fought to stop. A scar that would never fade.
“Had I been but slightly stronger, I could have protected my master. I could have properly fulfill his final wishes. Such thoughts haunt me.”
Yet regret always comes too late. The venerable monk, respected by all, had entered Nirvana unexpectedly. Someone had lost a dear friend. And another had entered the Repentance Cave, consumed by guilt at failing to honor even his master’s final words.
‘It would have been no different for anyone else.’
I am no exception. I dare not even contemplate what I would have felt had I been unable to heal Jeok Cheon-gang and been forced to let him slip away. Perhaps I would have regressed to those days when I was an F-rank Hunter named Jin Tae-kyung, trapped in cycles of deep regret and despair.
But suffering transforms people. For better or worse. And in Mu-myeong’s case, it was for the better. His heart may have been wounded, but in terms of martial prowess, there was no question.
“This is merely my personal observation, but it seems you did more than merely contemplate in the Repentance Cave.”
“Amitabha Buddha. All of this is but the grace of Buddha and Shaolin.”
With palms pressed together toward the sunlit window, Mu-myeong gazed at me with serene eyes. There was a purity of power in that gaze. The body that had once been composed of solid, rippling muscle had now withered like an ancient tree. Yet the subtle, pervasive aura emanating from his entire being was incomparable to what it had been before.
‘This man has broken through the barrier.’
The supreme realm that every martial artist dreams of—Mu-myeong had undoubtedly stepped into that domain.
Mu-myeong gave a slight nod, reading the admiration in my eyes.
“To heal a body in critical condition and advance to such heights required more than enlightenment alone. The Great Restoration Elixir was one such necessity.”
“I see.”
Shaolin’s Great Restoration Elixir was among the most potent medicinal treasures under heaven, deserving of the highest regard.
‘Yes, with the Great Restoration Elixir, it would certainly have been possible.’
Beyond the elixir’s efficacy, Mu-myeong was a disciple personally brought and cultivated with great care by Dharma King Hung-do, who could read the celestial currents. A natural genius of tremendous martial talent, though not quite on the level of Chung Poong. He was surely a worthy vessel for such an elixir.
To have reached the pinnacle of martial arts in his early thirties was to prove both his master’s discernment and his own innate talent.
“My congratulations. I have heard that the Great Restoration Elixir is an exceedingly rare treasure even within Shaolin.”
“Indeed, I earnestly refused it. Yet the New Abbot insisted without asking questions and bestowed it upon me. It seems my master had given him some indication of this years prior. Perhaps…he foresaw that things would unfold in this manner.”
A faint smile graced Mu-myeong’s lips. For a moment, he gazed into the void as if remembering his master, then continued.
“Ah, the New Abbot also wishes to meet with you, Benefactor Jin.”
“The New Abbot, you say…?”
I had never heard anything about who would succeed Dharma King Hung-do as the next abbot. According to Gung Ki-bang, it would be one of the Dharma King’s direct disciples, but with such spectacular events unfolding one after another, I hadn’t had the chance to pay attention to such matters.
“The two of you have likely never met face to face. He would be my senior in monastic rank, and he only assumed the position of abbot less than a month ago, so it is understandable that you would not know of him, Donor Jin.”
“Ah, I see.”
“The New Abbot mentioned that last time, circumstances were so chaotic that he could not even bid you farewell before you departed, and he expressed his regret.”
“There is no need for him to apologize. I was equally overwhelmed during that time.”
The Shaolin Blood Massacre that occurred during the Seongnae Tournament was an unprecedented event, yet I had to leave Hanan for Sichuan within merely a day or two. To save Jeok Cheon-gang, who had fallen into critical condition, I needed to find the Divine Physician as quickly as possible.
“Amitabha. I was genuinely delighted to hear belatedly that Donor Jeok had made a full recovery. My master, watching over me from somewhere, must have also felt relieved to see your friend restored to health.”
“Ah, now that you mention it, my…. No, you must have already met my master.”
“We were conversing until you awakened. I nearly failed to recognize him at first.”
“He has changed somewhat, yes…. Quite a bit, actually.”
“Indeed. He has changed as much as I have.”
“…Yes.”
What was I supposed to say to that?
Mu-myeong bowed respectfully toward me, hesitating at his own unexpected self-deprecating joke.
“Amitabha. That was a jest.”
“Ah, yes. I see.”
“It seems it was not amusing. I shall refrain.”
A plea for him to do exactly that rose to the tip of my tongue.
Such jokes are only funny when someone who has endured great hardship delivers them, but when Mu-myeong says such things, the atmosphere becomes solemn in an instant. Yet I lacked the courage to nod in agreement.
“…No. It was amusing.”
“Amitabha. Then I shall continue.”
“….”
“That was the extent of the jest.”
I was half tempted to just smash his head in with a wooden fish.
Unable to help myself, I laughed as I looked at Mu-myeong. Still, seeing him attempt such clumsy jokes suggested he had endured far better than I had imagined.
Even if I could not offer comfort beside him, I could certainly tolerate these precarious temple jokes.
Now then….
“Where are we? This does not appear to be Shaolin Temple.”
Judging by the sun visible through the window, I seemed to have slept for a full day, but I could not determine exactly where I was. As I looked around once more, Mu-myeong explained.
“It is an inn near Songshan. It was rented under the name of the Martial Alliance, so please rest and remain here comfortably.”
“The Martial Alliance.”
The term had felt distant to me, but hearing it directly from Mu-myeong’s lips in Hanan gave it a different weight. Rising from the bed, I approached the window to admire the view outside.
The towering peak of Songshan, piercing the sky in the distance, caught my eye first. Beyond that, buildings clustered densely along the mountainside came into view, along with people of all descriptions.
Martial artists bearing narrow swords, martial artists carrying large broadswords across their backs without scabbards, martial artists wielding spears and paired hooks….
“….”
No, there is variety, but something feels off. It is unsettling.
Observing the martial artists everywhere my eyes fell, Mu-myeong let out a soft chuckle.
“Amitabha. These are donors who have gathered from all corners of the realm upon hearing the news.”
“Even at a glance, there seem to be more than during the Seongnae Tournament.”
“If the Seonglae Tournament was a festival for the younger generation, then the founding of the Martial Alliance concerns everyone. Not only those belonging to the Orthodox and Heterodox sects, but also numerous eccentric masters and reclusive talents have emerged from their retreats.”
It made sense—with such weight and significance, naturally more people would gather. If the Seonglae Tournament was a fireworks festival on the Han River, the founding of the Martial Alliance was an atomic bomb. Perhaps for that reason, unlike during the Seonglae Tournament, almost no commoners were visible.
‘They must feel it too. What’s happening here right now.’
As I murmured inwardly, a group of martial artists crossing the main road suddenly caught my eye. Their aura was far too refined to be ordinary practitioners—they were unmistakably members of a major sect.
‘Their attire is strange too. Who are they?’
There was no need to ask Mu-myeong. The furs they wore, unsuited to the warm spring day, and the leather armor draped over them—so different from ordinary martial artists—drew whispers from all around.
“Could they be….”
“That’s right. The Murong Family.”
“Remarkable. From Liaoning to Hanan is well over a thousand li, yet they arrived with such speed.”
“No wonder they say the blood of the horsemen flows through them. What fortune—to witness members of the Murong Family in one’s lifetime.”
I too am seeing the Murong Family for the first time. Though Shanxi Province, where the Taewon Jin Family is located, lies on the frontier, Liaoning is far beyond Hebei to the northeast—a place one cannot visit as casually as a neighboring village.
Because it was so distant, members of the Murong Family rarely ventured into the Central Plains, or so I had heard.
‘So those are the Murong Family.’
As one of the strongest among the Five Great Families, their reputation had been hammered into my ears countless times. I had heard that unlike other sects, they even commanded cavalry units… and indeed, every last one of them was pure muscle and horsemanship.
‘The Nine Major Sects and One Alliance, the Five Great Families at the forefront of the Orthodox Martial World. It seems the Heterodox sects have also joined in, and on top of that, unaffiliated martial artists as well….’
People often call the United States a melting pot of races. To my eyes, Hanan right now was exactly that. Of course, the races were the same or similar, but still—all manner of martial artists one rarely saw were assembled here.
‘Four more days.’
In four days, countless martial artists would gather beneath a single banner. United under the name of the Martial Alliance, they would take up arms and face Dark Heaven.
As I gazed at those visible beyond the window and entertained such thoughts.
Boom!
From somewhere, a tremendous roar erupted.

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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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