Murim Login - Chapter 745

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Chapter 745
Desert nights are bitterly cold.
Where the scorching sunlight and heat shimmer once danced, only subzero temperatures and an unnaturally enormous moon remained.
A temperature swing of nearly sixty degrees.
Yet the footsteps of someone ascending the crescent-shaped sand dune could not be halted even by such bitter cold.
Swish.
Despite climbing a steep incline, the gait moved as though gliding effortlessly.
The hem of a thin silk robe brushed against the sand grains before coming to rest in one spot.
“This is the place.”
The moment that emotionless voice resonated through the air, empty space itself rippled.
Whoosh.
With a subtle sound, a dozen silhouettes descended upon the sand dune.
All of them, their faces concealed behind black masks and turbans, knelt respectfully on one knee and whispered.
“Inshallah. We behold the great Prophet, returned once more to this land.”
Standing alone before them, The Prophet’s robe swayed gently.
“Inshallah. I have long wondered when you would reveal yourselves.”
At The Prophet’s words, which implied complete knowledge from the beginning, a dozen pairs of eyes above the masks wavered.
“Prophet…”
“I know. That you stand with me. So you must have followed despite defying my orders.”
“If you demand payment for our disobedience, we shall gladly offer our lives. But we, the Hashashin, shall never abandon your side under any circumstance.”
The Hashashin. Or assassins.
This ancient assassination order, which had lost its stronghold to enemies around the thirteenth century and continued as merely a religious sect, was reborn at the turning point of the great upheaval—and they never bent their will.
“The heretics of the West are cunning and possess great power. Should the Prophet fall under their gaze…”
“Al-Nizar. Most loyal, yet foolish and anxious one.”
“…!”
“Look upon me.”
The leader of the Hashashin, trembling slightly, carefully raised his head.
His great Prophet stood before him, silhouetted against the starlit night sky, gazing down at him.
Between robes of an unnaturally deep darkness, eyes gleamed with mysterious radiance.
“Do you still not understand?”
The Prophet extended both arms toward the heavens.
Whooooom.
A tremendous force swelled, pushing the robe’s hem outward. The wind ceased. The air trembled.
The Hashashin, breath caught in their throats, watched as their eyes followed The Prophet’s hands, and in that very moment—
Swooooosh.
They could see it. A transparent barrier descending from the sky, curving in a perfect circle across hundreds of meters of radius.
And it was both a protective shield that no science nor even magic could penetrate, and a veil that concealed their forms from the eyes of enemies.
“As long as I protect you, they shall not discover even our shadow.”
“…!”
“…!”
Even the Hashashin, who had endured the most extreme training, could not conceal their turbulent emotions in this moment.
First, because their Prophet possessed such an astounding ability. And again, because he had referred to them—mere servants—as “us.”
“Inshallah…!”
“Prophet!”
Cries filled with awe and joy echoed across the silent Desert. Yet the miracles the Prophet would reveal today were far from over.
Whoosh,
As the sleeves of his flowing, luxuriant robes fluttered, the crescent-shaped sand dune upon which they stood trembled.
No—it split open.
Crack!
It was a truly wondrous sight.
In the distant past, when Moses parted the Red Sea to lead the Hebrews, a new Prophet appearing across more than a thousand years now divided a vast portion of the Sea of Sand in half.
And what lay hidden within those countless grains of sand gleamed in the moonlight, as if it were a gift bestowed by the divine.
“By the heavens….”
“Prophet. What in the world are those things?”
Yet the Prophet, rather than answering the Hashashin’s question, silently extended his hand.
Clang. Clang. Clang!
Locks burst open with explosive force, driven by an invisible power.
At last, the leader of the Hashashin, who confirmed the contents within dozens of iron chests, widened his eyes.
“This, this is….”
A brilliant light that darkness itself could not conceal.
Countless gold and silver ingots he had never seen before. And beyond that, the radiance scattered by various enchanted weapons dazzled his pupils.
Yet what shocked him most was something else entirely.
“Mana Stones…!”
The cry that escaped like a moan was truth itself.
Mana Stones.
And they were unmistakably high-grade to supreme-grade Mana Stones, numbering in the hundreds. Moreover, among them were some that were particularly large and emanated an immense aura.
Whoooosh.
An overwhelming power that even he—who had reached the rank of S-Rank Hunter before becoming the leader of the Hashashin—could not easily approach.
“Hah.”
In that instant, as the Hashashin leader unwittingly held his breath, the Prophet’s distinctive, toneless voice reached his ears.
“S-Rank Mana Stones. Retaining their original power intact.”
“Y-yes, Prophet.”
“Step back. It is a power you cannot bear.”
With a quiet warning, the unrefined S-Rank Mana Stones rose into the air.
Moving like living creatures, they were drawn into the Prophet’s robes—a total of ten of them.
The Hashashin leader’s gaze trembled as he beheld this sight.
‘How does the Prophet possibly….’
He already knew that the Prophet possessed abilities far beyond common understanding.
Yet from the Cataclysm until now, only about a hundred S-Rank Monsters have officially appeared in human history.
Very rarely, a small number of A-Rank Monsters possessed S-Rank Mana Stones, but that was truly exceptional, and even in the Middle East region where countless Gates exist, the emergence of S-Rank Mana Stones has occurred only once or twice.
And yet, gathered in this very place are no fewer than ten S-rank Mana Stones.
Each one retaining its original magical power intact.
‘An astronomical quantity. Utterly beyond belief.’
Though I placed infinite trust in The Prophet, this time I could not help but question.
The moment I turned my head—before I could meet those eyes gleaming softly through the robes.
“I ask you this: who do you believe stands before you now?”
“…!”
Before that gaze which seemed to pierce through all things, the leader of the Hashashin felt the shock of lightning strike him, and he fell to his knees.
How dare someone like me harbor doubt about The Prophet’s work.
It was something that could never be, and should never be.
“Great Prophet, I beseech you—forgive this sinful servant!”
The air froze in an instant. The Hashashin fingered their weapons, waiting for The Prophet to speak.
Should he issue a command, they stood ready without hesitation to eliminate their own leader.
For he was the oracle who conveyed God’s word, the Prophet who guided them all.
Since the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the Islamic world had spent over a thousand years in conflict and strife, and the sands of the desert had been stained with blood.
As the ages passed, a select few amassed tremendous wealth and power, yet in the great cities built upon oil, what took precedence was not the word of Allah, but the capitalism of apostates.
Now was the time to gather the descendants of Allah—those who had once turned blades upon one another—under a single root, and to save the brethren oppressed even in the Western world.
In the great name of God.
In the name of The Prophet who had come to them in God’s stead, decades ago.
And as an invisible blade slowly cut through the silence, the lips of one figure, sealed shut until now, parted.
“Al-Nizar.”
A voice in which neither age nor even gender could be discerned.
At that call, the leader of the Hashashin held his breath. His entire body was already drenched in cold sweat.
“Prophet.”
“Hear my final counsel. You, the not-yet-mature son of God, and therefore all the more dear to my heart.”
“…!”
“Inshallah. All of this is the fruit of the long patience and providence God has granted me, so you must never doubt. Do you understand?”
“I shall remember. I shall remember this always.”
Patter.
A liquid mixture of cold sweat and tears dampened the sand.
The Prophet gazed with compassion upon the trembling leader of the Hashashin and continued.
“The time has come again. Tell your brothers who have been preparing.”
All eyes snapped wide open at those words.
Nearly ten days had now passed since that day they called ‘Allah’s Judgment’.
All who followed The Prophet waited with bated breath for the next day of reckoning to arrive.
“Prophet, do you mean…?”
“God wills it. Strike down the apostates who gnaw at our core and the heretics of the West with God’s hammer.”
Eyes visible above the veils gleamed with fanaticism and ecstasy.
The Prophet gazed up at the sky scattered with stars and smiled faintly.
“Not much time remains. Until the very end.”
Someone desires calamity, another strives to prevent it, and yet another seeks something beyond that.
Even in this very moment, they each rushed toward their own purposes.
* * *
Sugihara Kyoiku was a laborer who had long worked in the cargo industry.
A lifelong native of Tokyo, and simultaneously a seasoned dockworker who had devoted himself to maritime commerce since his youth.
There were those who occasionally looked down upon him for his manual labor, but it hardly bothered him.
Not everyone in this world could become a Hunter, lawyer, or doctor, and he too was an indispensable part of this society.
Yet lately, his spirits had been rather low.
No—they could not have been otherwise.
‘Damn it. Those cursed monsters.’
Just ten days prior, a Monster Wave had struck Tokyo, claiming many lives and leaving countless wounded.
The Tokyo Tower, which he had once taken pride in as a native of the city, had collapsed in ruins, and the chicken restaurant he had patronized for thirty years had vanished in the aftermath.
‘I never liked that the owner was Korean, but still—their chicken was exceptional.’
The fact that he could no longer enjoy Korean-style fried chicken and beer after work saddened Kyoiku, yet regardless, he reported to work again today.
“Kyoiku. You’ve arrived?”
“Yeah.”
He exchanged brief greetings with his fellow laborers before being immediately dispatched to the site. The Tokyo Bay where he worked was already crowded with cargo ships.
“Where should I start?”
“We’ve already begun. Come with us.”
Sugihara Kyoiku loaded cargo onto vessels while conversing with his colleagues about this and that.
News that Tokyo’s mana distribution had been surging lately, reports that the current Prime Minister—a scion of a prominent political family—had spouted more nonsense.
And talk of a tsunami, among other things.
“A tsunami?”
“Yes. They say it’s slowly approaching Tokyo. Supposedly it’s enormous.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t worry. The government said it would subside soon.”
“Well, I suppose so.”
He felt some concern, but only to that extent.
A tsunami, after all, would ultimately not reach Tokyo proper.
Especially since Tokyo Bay was literally a bay formation with land surrounding the water, and a thorough magical defense system had been constructed.
‘Once today’s work is done, I should search for a new Korean chicken restaurant.’
Kyoiku straightened his back with such idle thoughts—and in that same instant, he froze like stone.
“Huh?”
What was that?
The first thought that crossed his mind. And the very next moment, a piece of news he had heard moments before echoed through his consciousness.
‘Tsunami.’
His gaze, mouth hanging open in a daze, turned toward the sea beyond the harbor.
A colossal wave—one he had never witnessed before—towered high enough to blot out the sun itself, rushing toward him.
Goooooooong.
Accompanied by an incomprehensible cry that froze the blood merely to hear it.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————