Murim Login - Chapter 662

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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 662
It must have been about ten years ago. Back when I was devouring martial arts novels with fervent enthusiasm, I found myself entertaining a particular thought from time to time.
Actually, quite frequently.
‘What would I do if I were the protagonist of this novel?’
Looking back now, I feel a bit embarrassed about it, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s practically a standard feature that comes with anyone who’s read a decent amount of web novels.
For instance, whenever some foolish protagonist had access to a system window yet failed to raise their intelligence stat, or whenever a female character appeared only for the protagonist to make a fool of himself, I’d indulge in such fantasies.
If it were me, I’d start with—such imaginings.
But once I actually became a martial artist, I learned the harsh truth: imagination is one thing, reality quite another.
All those masterpieces of martial arts fiction I’d consumed were merely elegantly arranged characters on a page, and the protagonists I’d found so impressive simply didn’t exist in this world.
‘Old Master Noya.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I’m curious about something regarding the Heavenly Demon. Is his surname perhaps Mo?’
‘…What nonsense is this all of a sudden? Just recently you were spouting off about the Wudang Demon Sword and the Huashan Gale Sword—names I’d never even heard of before.’
At first, I was disappointed that I hadn’t encountered any novel protagonists in this world, but it wasn’t truly disheartening. The martial artists of this realm were impressive enough in their own right.
However, if there was one thing that thoroughly shattered my fantasies, it was this….
“Back then, we were leading the Southern Army together with the Zhongnan Sect.”
Yes, those three characters that had just flowed from Baek Sang’s lips.
‘The Zhongnan Sect.’
One of the Nine Major Sects and One Alliance, a pillar of the Orthodox Martial Arts World. Having maintained its lineage for centuries, it divided Shaanxi Province with its eternal rival, the Huashan Sect—a prestigious great faction.
Though now I should say it ‘had divided.’
The Sword Saint, who had remained hidden for so long, had become the Martial World’s Alliance Leader, and the disciple he’d taken in his twilight years had achieved tremendous renown. Consequently, the influence of the Huashan Sect, the sect of these two men’s masters, had become incomparably greater than before.
The Zhongnan Sect, on the other hand?
‘Two of their three supreme masters are currently bedridden and groaning.’
The Angry Sword Immortal was crushed by Jeok Cheon-gang, and the Tae-eul Mujeong Sword was destroyed by me.
Hyuk So-pyung, the Zhongnan Dragon of the later generation and roughly my contemporary, was decent enough, but the overall image of the Zhongnan Sect up to now hadn’t been particularly favorable.
In fact, among the Orthodox Sects at least, it was the worst.
‘With leadership in such a state, they can’t even dream of ruling the world.’
At this point, calling them the Zhongnan Sect or the Zhongnan Disaster would be equally appropriate.
Well, the current sect leader, Feng Yun Sword Lord, might be different, but based on what I’d seen and heard in the Martial World so far, my personal assessment of the Zhongnan Sect didn’t seem to differ much from public opinion.
‘But the fact that the Zhongnan Sect is being mentioned at this particular moment….’
I had a feeling. A strong feeling.
Just as I unconsciously furrowed my brow, Baek Sang’s voice continued.
“The Zhongnan Sect’s sect leader of that era, Musang Jinsa, was a righteous and wise man. He remained composed in any situation and was fair regardless of one’s background. That’s why both I and the Palace Master agreed to have him become the commander-in-chief of the Southern Army.”
“Musang Jinsa, you say….”
“Yes. He was the master of Feng Yun Sword Lord, the current Zhongnan Sect leader.”
It was an epithet I’d heard a few times through Jeok Cheon-gang.
Of course, when Jeok Cheon-gang referred to the Zhongnan Sect, he typically used the phrase ‘those shameless bastards,’ but he’d evaluated Musang Jinsa alone as ‘soft-hearted yet admirable.’
“The problem arose after we entered Gansu territory. Scattered remnants of soldiers who had been retreating in disarray converged on Great Snow Mountain. Their numbers reached as many as two thousand.”
“…How did two thousand scattered remnants suddenly appear in the vicinity?”
“Do you think the phrase ‘hundred thousand demon followers’ existed for no reason? Though they’d lost the Heavenly Demon as their rallying point, their numbers were far from negligible.”
“So. Was there a battle at Great Snow Mountain?”
Baek Sang nodded slowly.
“It was a battle we had every reason to win. The Western Army we belonged to had Musang Jinsa, an absolute master, and the Palace Master, who had just begun earning the title Beast King Miao Wang, and we were not inferior in troop numbers or quality. In fact, we held a significant advantage.”
“The way you speak of it suggests the Western Army was quite substantial?”
“Four thousand strong in total. The enemy had no absolute masters of their own, so there was no reason for us to avoid the battle.”
“Mm.”
Two absolute masters the enemy lacked. Moreover, twice as many troops. Meanwhile, the enemy we faced were already exhausted by fatigue and despair—remnants of a defeated force.
By any measure, the outcome was already decided.
But if the battle had truly been so simple, Baek Sang would not have lost his only son.
“There was a trap?”
At my abrupt question, Baek Sang answered in a voice as parched as sand.
“Yes. What awaited us as we divided into three columns and advanced on Great Snow Mountain was not a defeated rabble, but the Demon Cult’s elite strike force.”
“…!”
“Everything descended into chaos. Arrows rained down like a deluge from above the gorge, and boulders weighing hundreds and thousands of pounds crushed down, blocking the narrow path.”
“….”
“Only then did I realize it was a trap, but by then everything was lost. Fighting desperately against the enemy, I suddenly looked up and found that the person who should always have been at my side was gone.”
He did not speak the name, but I grasped it instinctively.
The person Baek Sang spoke of was not the Beast King Miao Wang.
‘Baek Hui.’
Baek Sang’s one and only child, the heir to whom he would pass everything.
To set an example as a great clan leader, he had brought his young son to the battlefield with him, though surely he cherished his son’s life more than his own.
Yet on that blood-soaked field, his son—now grown into a fine warrior—vanished without a trace in that final battle.
“For the first time, I felt fear. Hui was my everything. No—he was more than that.”
Baek Sang’s voice that followed was hollow.
“But for the sake of Hui’s warriors, I had to regain my composure. I immediately requested reinforcements from the Zhongnan Sect and other Orthodox martial artists who had entered nearby, and together with the Palace Master, we stood against them.”
The unexpected ambush. The battle was fierce, yet the Beast King Miao Wang, Baek Sang, and the Southern Wilderness warriors did not retreat.
They fought with unprecedented ferocity, and at last, leaving countless sacrifices in their wake, they achieved victory.
“Only after the battle in the gorge ended did I learn that the boy had pursued some of the enemy down a side path with dozens of warriors. And I was relieved.”
I, who had been listening in silence, asked.
“Why?”
“Because the path that side passage led to was surely our territory. I believed those who had received my request for aid would have rescued the boy.”
“….”
I fell silent. It is not anger or sorrow that destroys a person, but faith.
And when that faith is betrayed, a person finally succumbs to despair. Just as Baek Sang has now.
“What do you think became of him?”
I did not answer, and perhaps Baek Sang did not expect one either. After a moment of silence, he continued slowly.
“The boy… left not even a corpse behind. Only the mangled bodies of warriors scattered throughout, slain by an enemy of unknown identity. It was only later that I learned the beast was the Great Snow Ghost, the Demon Master who ruled Great Snow Mountain.”
“…!”
“Reinforcements? There were none. The messenger I sent to request aid was killed by the enemy while heading toward our other forces, and I fell into such grief and despair that I could do nothing. And only later did I learn the truth.”
In that moment, Baek Sang’s entire body trembled.
And I could see it—an emotion overlaying those eyes that had always remained so coldly composed.
“The Messenger wasn’t killed by an enemy. It was killed by our own.”
It was rage. It was hatred.
“They didn’t fail to support us. They chose not to.”
It was also the quiet, anguished cry of a man whose trust had been betrayed.
“If they had come, we could have lived. But they didn’t come. They killed the Messenger to silence my desperate plea and chose instead to pursue the retreating enemy. Do you know why?”
What pools eventually overflows. Yet despite decades of draining it away, Baek Sang’s heart continued to fill with hatred and betrayal, and now it erupted once more.
Just as it did in this moment.
“Because we were nothing but savages from beyond the frontier!”
“…!”
“Because we weren’t Han Chinese like them, could never become Han Chinese, and they couldn’t sacrifice themselves for such barbarians!”
Crash! Boom!
A powerful, violent surge of qi energy tore through the air.
The floor and walls of solid stone crumbled to dust, and the tangible force that poured from his fists grazed my face.
Splurt!
A sharp, stinging pain. I felt warm blood trickling down my forehead.
But I didn’t move. I simply watched.
Until the murderous gleam in Baek Sang’s eyes turned toward me.
“The Central Plains, the Han Chinese—they betrayed us. We gladly extended our hands when they needed us most, yet they abandoned us after we fought for ten years with our lives on the line!”
The hatred from decades past was directed entirely at me.
I finally parted my tightly sealed lips.
“Why didn’t you tell Musang Jinsa? He would have made everything clear.”
“Musang Jinsa?”
Baek Sang laughed aloud. His laughter, which I was seeing for the first time, was hollow and so empty it couldn’t even be called laughter.
“Yes, that would have been the case. If he had lived.”
“What do you mean….”
“He fought with internal injuries and was ultimately killed by the Great Snow Ghost. The enraged Zhongnan Sect killed the Messenger we sent to silence the support request, then pursued them. The dozens of large and small sects assigned to the Western Army alongside us did no differently.”
“What?”
“You don’t believe it? Neither did I. Only one person—the Palace Master alone—sought to expose the truth behind all of this. But every facade and flaw was buried with the end of the Orthodox-Demon War.”
“…!”
“And while everyone except us drowned in victory and peace, the Messenger’s corpse that had been preserved also disappeared. The last evidence bearing the traces of Zhongnan Sect’s martial arts was erased.”
These insane bastards.
I swallowed my bitter curse.
I was suffocating. If what Baek Sang said was true… no one, not even I, could condemn his rage.
‘They fought with their lives on the line, and what came back was betrayal.’
The most damning fact in all of this was that my instinct told me this past, this event without even evidence remaining, was likely true.
‘Damn it.’
Shortly after arriving in the Martial World, I was included within the boundaries of being Han Chinese, so I knew well.
How the people of the Central Plains looked upon them.
And just how shallow human emotion and greed could be.
Baek Sang had fought the enemy for victory even as his son vanished, but those he trusted were not truly his allies.
The Zhongnan Sect, enraged by Musang Jinsa’s death, pursued the enemy while ignoring the Southern Beast Palace’s pleas, and the other sects under the Western Army’s command were blinded by fear of casualties and hunger for merit.
And the consequence of everything they had done now stood before my eyes.
“You said it yourself before. That this land, the Southern Wilderness, was rotten.”
Drip, drip. Splash.
From the ceiling, split open by the aftermath of what had just transpired, foul-smelling water cascaded down.
Beyond it, Baek Sang’s eyes gleamed with cold light.
“That day, you showed me. What I must do.”

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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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