Murim Login - Chapter 610

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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 610
Fighting against armed terrorist organizations and rebel forces in the Middle East, I came to understand two fundamental truths.
First: human malice knows no bounds.
Second: this cruel, endless cycle continues to turn.
There are far too many wicked people in this world.
They were weeds, viruses that existed everywhere on Earth.
No matter how many times I pulled them out, they sprouted again somewhere else, infecting the world with their poison.
So in the end, there was no way to stop this exhausting cycle forever.
‘But one thing is certain.’
Even if I couldn’t stop this wheel forever, I could shatter it temporarily and halt its momentum.
In that sense, the Old Master sitting before me now was one of the largest cogs that kept this massive wheel turning.
“Listen here, young one in that peculiar mask.”
The Old Master spoke flatly, his wrinkled hand caressing a teacup that emanated a strange fragrance.
“Finding me was impressive, but the world doesn’t change so easily.”
Al-Diab Zawahiri, an old man with a long name like most Arabs, remained composed despite the deafening explosions outside and the unexpected intruder before him.
‘He’s surely just a powerless old man.’
Whether this remarkable composure came from living over a century and accumulating such gravitas, or from being the leader of Al-Qaeda, the colossal terrorist organization that divided the Middle East alongside Islamic State, I couldn’t say.
What mattered was that his words were wrong.
“It does change. Just as people change, the world will eventually change too.”
“Do you know how many Muslims have prostrated themselves before the great Allah?”
“I don’t. Except that one of them is standing right in front of me.”
“Twenty-five percent. Across the entire world, twenty-five percent. That’s over a billion people when you count heads.”
Al-Diab smiled faintly and continued.
“You’re fighting against over a billion Muslims right now. You’ve made the great Allah and His servants your enemies.”
I wasn’t the type to be shaken by the ramblings of a deranged old man. I laughed along with Al-Diab and replied.
“Not Muslims—terrorists like you.”
“I won’t deny that there are those among us who haven’t yet come to support our cause. A truly lamentable situation. But ultimately, we are brothers. Bound together in the name of Allah, we shall eventually gather under one banner.”
“So that’s why your ‘brothers’ split into Shia and Sunni and have been beating each other senseless for centuries?”
Al-Diab responded calmly to my rebuttal.
“Nothing strange about it. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters—even within a single household, conflict arises endlessly.”
“That’s because your family is a mess. Mine isn’t like that.”
“What can be done? It’s a conflict passed down from ancestors. Yet it’s merely a small discord born from trivial misunderstandings and differences of opinion—a process toward ultimate unity.”
Al-Diab doesn’t understand. Or rather, he refuses to comprehend even the slightest bit.
How much innocent people have suffered because of those trivial misunderstandings and conflicts, those hollow words of unity.
And how many more will suffer in the future.
‘A monster.’
This ancient old man before me was also a monster. A creature consumed by twisted convictions and stubborn obsession.
In the next moment, I noticed the bright smile spreading across his face and felt a chill run through me.
“How about it, young one lost in delusion? Why not abandon your foolish resistance and join me?”
“…!”
“Your eyes are wavering. Your heart is shaken. Do not suffer, trapped in countless afflictions. Come into the warm embrace of Allah.”
With an utterly serene voice, gnarled hands creased with age crept slowly toward me.
I exhaled softly, watching that figure with trembling, narrowed eyes.
“The old fool’s been alive too long—his mind’s completely gone. What nonsense is this?”
「…!」
Shock flashed across the Old Master’s eyes.
“If you’re caught playing tricks, blood must be spilled. Choose one: neck or wrist.”
The moment our gazes collided in the empty air.
Slash, bang!
Everything happened in an instant.
The Old Master’s thin wrist shot skyward, severed by my short blade wielded at blinding speed, while a specialized firearm hidden deep within his dark, voluminous sleeve discharged—the bullet piercing through somewhere beyond my shoulder.
In short: I dodged, and he did not.
「Krraaaagh!」
The old man certainly had a set of lungs.
A thunderous scream that seemed impossible from someone well over a hundred years old.
Al-Diab Zawahiri, clutching his cleanly severed wrist, collapsed onto the carpet.
And then… a group moved even faster than that.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
From the ceiling, the walls, beneath the carpet-covered floor.
Streaks of light and howling wind erupted from the hands of figures that materialized like ghosts.
Front, back, left, right. A terrifying barrage of attacks converging from all thirty-six directions. Yet I chose offense over evasion.
‘Inventory open. Equip Flame Dragon Armor.’
At the same moment.
Clang, ting-ting-ting!
Aura that tore through space collided with the reddish armor and dissipated, while blackened arrowheads bounced away uselessly.
Of course. Nothing could pierce the Flame Dragon Armor unless it was a concentrated manifestation of inner force—what some called an aura blade.
These men, reeking of the Assassins from the Murim itself, immediately grasped the reality of their situation, regardless of who had trained them or how extensively.
Shwaaaagh!
No command. No signal.
The turbaned figures moved like machines with programmed instructions.
They abandoned the upper body protected by the Flame Dragon Armor and targeted exposed areas, including the lower body.
But the Flame Dragon Armor was a divine weapon capable of shifting the tide of battle.
Should I face an opponent one level above me, I might achieve parity for a moment. If our skills were equal, I could claim overwhelming superiority.
What then against opponents far beneath my level?
Merely thirty men? Even if ten times that number rushed at me, it would not be I who fell—but them.
“Come on in, you crow bastards.”
With those words spilling from my lips, I drew the short blade in my hand downward.
Whoosh!
A single horizontal strike. Yet that alone was enough.
Boom!
The scorching heat that erupted in the wake of my blade melted magic and weapons alike, warping the very space around us.
As the coiled power within me stretched and awakened, the underground sanctuary trembled from its deepest foundations.
Rummmmmble!
It was not merely the earth and ceiling that shook.
Multiple pairs of eyes visible between the black turbans flickered with fear.
Whether it was because my companions caught in the blade’s trajectory died without even managing a final cry, or because they sensed the incomprehensible gap in power—I couldn’t say for certain.
‘Perhaps it was both.’
But one thing was certain: retreat was no longer an option.
“You’re not coming? Then I’ll come to you.”
The phrase “overwhelming numbers” had long since lost all meaning to me.
I had fought tens of opponents, sometimes hundreds, and on rare occasions thousands—and I had survived every encounter.
The battle unfolding here was merely a continuation of that endless struggle.
Shwik!
A blade suddenly erupts from the ground, grazing my chin.
A patient one, who had refused to reveal himself even as his companions appeared—but his attack failed, and the price of failure was death.
Crack!
The Forbidden Restraint Technique, deployed at lightning speed.
Before the body of the one who had demonstrated such a miraculous feat—his neck rotating several times over—could collapse, I extended my hand.
Shwish shwish shwik! Splurt splurt!
Five streaks of Finger Wind cut through the air, and some of the crow swarm that had been launching themselves off the ceiling and walls plummeted.
Those who rushed in after the companion whose neck had been pierced found themselves in no better circumstances.
Screeeech! Crunch!
A desperate strike fueled by will. Yet the gap between will and skill was vast and profound.
By my short blade, the corpse—severed in two along with the weapon—fell like a kite with its string cut.
Splurt! Boom!
I thrust my palm toward the blood spraying through the air.
The blood evaporates in the terrible heat, and beyond it, another figure launching toward me rebounds at even greater speed, slamming into the wall.
Kuuung!
The impact shakes the space itself.
But even if the world itself were to flip upside down, their attacks would not cease.
Shwik!
Neck, calf, hand.
Three piercing sounds ring out simultaneously, each aimed at different targets.
Instead of dodging, I stepped forward and swung the short blade I held in my hand.
Or rather, I launched it.
Screeeech! Thunk!
No one can survive with a blade infused with inner force piercing their heart.
The hilt slips from the hand of its master, who meets death in an instant.
I reached out toward the two blades that had already closed to within arm’s reach.
Snatch!
An aura is the epitome of razor-sharp, destructive qi, but severing hands reinforced with strong inner energy is an entirely different matter.
I poured all my strength into both hands gripping the blade.
Crack, snap!
「…!」
「…!」
Two swords broken in half and two pairs of eyes wide with shock.
I bid them farewell in an emotionless voice.
“Leave.”
「W-wait…!」
“Oh, take this with you too.”
Did they ever grant their victims even a moment to leave behind a final word?
Perhaps they did, but I certainly didn’t.
Thud!
「Kugh!」
A final cry, bubbling and desperate.
The light fades from the eyes of those who had their own blades driven into their chests.
With a dull thud, the two corpses collapsed like rotting logs, and I surveyed my surroundings.
No more enemies rushed forward, no lingering Void Piercing or Death remained.
Only one person stood before me, eyes trembling with fear.
「Satan. You are… Satan.」
“Perhaps. At least to creatures like you.”
Satan. A word I first heard from a church deacon in my childhood, now so familiar it feels like my own name.
I pulled the short blade from the corpse and approached Al-Diab Zawahiri, muttering to myself.
“It’s rather amusing. Demons themselves are calling me Satan.”
「D-demon! Do not approach me! Wicked Satan! Demon! In the name of God, I command you to retreat!」
“…I’ve heard this kind of thing plenty on Line 1 Subway. I’m suddenly getting homesick.”
Just as I was briefly wondering if Al-Diab Zawahiri had studied abroad in Korea, the iron door leading outside opened, and from the now-silent space beyond, the Skeleton King emerged, covered in dust and dirt.
“Wicked human. Is it finished?”
“Yeah, it’s done. How about you?”
“Finished a moment ago and preparing the materials now. There’s quite a lot of usable material, and I have no particular complaints, but… are you really sure about this?”
“About what?”
“Well. They’re human too. Since they’re of the same species, it might feel uncomfortable to use them for my Undead Legion….”
“They’re not my species. And this is the only way I can return to Korea with peace of mind.”
I answered curtly, then introduced the Skeleton King to Al-Diab Zawahiri, whose eyes had frozen wide open.
“Ah. This one’s the real demon.”
「…!」
Using barbarians to control barbarians.
Barbarians dealt with barbarians. Terrorists were best handled by what they used to be.
I jabbed the Skeleton King in the ribs and spoke.
“Go on. Do it.”
“…I don’t want to do this.”
“Come on. Don’t be like that. Just do it.”
The creature, wearing a displeased expression, thrust its thumb upward toward Al-Diab Zawahiri and spoke.
“Leave the dog-like terrorist to the Undead Legion to handle. Don’t worry about it!”
Ah, I couldn’t hold back at this.

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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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