Murim School Record - Chapter 14

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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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Episode 14: Facing Gaebang (2)

Gone was the careless swagger from moments before—the thoughtless gestures, the dismissive expression.
Whisk!
He hurled the club aside and drew the Staff.
The weapon’s balance was familiar in his grip.

Yi Moo-baek never took his eyes off So Ui-gae.
Even if he died and was reborn, he could not defeat this man.
His natural talent for combat meant nothing outside the ordinary world.
The Baek-bo Divine Fist and Bul-yeong Step he’d learned as a Shaolin Helper Monk were still only infant steps.
His opponent, by contrast, was a true Kangho Martial Artist.

‘Only one chance.’

The ways a weaker man can overcome a stronger one are extraordinarily few.
One could almost say they don’t exist.
Yet not quite—not entirely.
In this world of men, nothing is truly impossible.
Only this: victory demands a price proportional to the risk.

‘For the weak to win, they must choose wisely. When. Where. The moment to strike.’

Snap!
Slash!
He gripped the Staff and watched So Ui-gae advance, his eyes sharp and measuring.
His jaw clenched.
From the several schemes he’d prepared in his mind, he had chosen one as his gambit.
Strategy shapes victory or defeat—absolutely.
“Heh heh! I’ve always wanted to see the vaunted Shaolin martial arts. Go on—show me their famous techniques in all their glory.”
“Yes, you’re right. Shaolin arts are nothing special. I admit the reputation is overblown. And for a Helper Monk like me, it’s even more so.”
His jaw twitched.
He was clearly being baited.
“Come on!”
So Ui-gae kicked off the ground and flew forward.

‘Mad Dog Staff Strike.’

To beat a mad dog, there is no weapon like a staff.
Screech!
The Staff descended toward Yi Moo-baek in a stroke that would split him in two.
Whisk!
The Bul-yeong Step unfolded.
In the same motion, his left index finger flicked upward.
Seol Yeo-chul’s eyes had been fixed on that left index finger the whole time, watching, waiting. Now he cried out:

‘Moo-baek. Send that fist—the one that beat Byeok An-mi-hui to death.’

‘By…Byeok An-mi-hui…’

It struck like thunder.

‘Byeok An-mi-hui’
‘Byeok An-mi-hui’
‘Byeok An-mi-hui’

A whirlwind spiraled down, striking the gorge.
The rumor of the strongest storm now drifting through Kangho.
Flicker!
So Ui-gae’s falling Staff trembled for an instant, shaken by Seol Yeo-chul’s cry to kill Byeok An-mi-hui like she deserved to die.
Startled, his Internal Power scattered, and the force channeled into the Staff weakened with it.
Moreover, a First Exchange carries the meaning of reconnaissance.
It is to gauge the opponent with measured strength, without committing one’s full power.
Yi Moo-baek advanced straight on.
His mind had already settled on deciding the match in that First Exchange.
The longer it dragged, the worse for him.
When strength faltered, swift and decisive action was the answer to overturn defeat.
So Ui-gae’s eyes widened.
He’d never imagined his opponent would stake everything on that single exchange and rush forward.
And the name Byeok An-mi-hui carried enough weight to shake one’s Internal Power.
Crack!
Though he deployed the Bul-yeong Step, he couldn’t completely evade the rapidly descending Staff.
His left temple took the blow.
But Yi Moo-baek’s right fist struck So Ui-gae’s jaw with perfect accuracy.
Crack!
Blood streamed down one side of Yi Moo-baek’s head where the Staff had grazed him.
Stagger!
So Ui-gae reeled backward from the strike to his jaw.
Hiss!
He could not be given a moment to recover his balance.
Yi Moo-baek closed in with the Bul-yeong Step and drove his right fist once more into So Ui-gae’s jaw.
Crack!
There is one principle of fighting that holds true whether among ordinary people or Kangho Martial Artists.
Strike where you have struck.

Concentrated Repetitive Strike.

To strike here and there is to disperse the impact, halving its effect.
He had struck with every ounce of strength, pouring his very spirit into one more blow to the jaw.
Gag!
So Ui-gae made a choking sound and seemed to stumble, then collapsed forward like a felled log.
Thud!
“So Ui-gae! So Ui-gae!”
The Gaebang disciples rushed forward and laid the fallen So Ui-gae out flat.
He was unconscious.
Knocked cold.
“Any objections?”
Yi Moo-baek approached with blood streaming from his head and asked.
Flinch!
The Gaebang martial artists trembled at the presence of the bloodstained Yi Moo-baek standing before them.
“W-we have no objection whatsoever.”
Yi Moo-baek looked down at them, blood still dripping.
The Gaebang disciples felt as though they couldn’t even breathe—as if they were watching Death itself decide whom to take next.
“Let’s go.”
Step, step.
With Yi Moo-baek at the head, Dang Doo-chun and Seol Yeo-chul vanished over the ridge.
The remaining Gaebang martial artists watched beyond the ridge where the three had disappeared and murmured.

So that was the Helper Monk who beat Byeok An-mi-hui to death.

Had they known, this quarrel would never have arisen.

As the sun hung low, three men entered Tae-pyeong County in Anhui Province.
Dust clung thickly even to their hair, making it clear they had traveled a great distance, and they stopped a passerby on the road to ask.
“This is Tae-pyeong County, yes?”
“That’s right.”
The three men’s faces brightened at the confirmation.
They quickened their pace toward the bustling marketplace in the distance.
“Find the Sa-ryu Tavern.”
They’d agreed to meet there.
Yi Moo-baek began scanning the shop signs lining both sides of the marketplace.
A silk merchant’s sign, a leather shoe workshop, a blacksmith’s forge for farm tools and weapons—each storefront announced its trade.
A mending shop for torn and worn garments caught his eye, and when a pungent smell made him turn away, he spotted a dye house across the street.
Yi Moo-baek’s eyes widened.
Compared to Deung-bong County below Shaolin Temple, this street was far more magnificent and expansive.
“There!”
Seol Yeo-chul pointed to the right.
Dang Doo-chun and Yi Moo-baek turned their heads in unison.

Sa-ryu Tavern—

A wooden two-story building with that name hung prominently above its entrance.
“Excuse me, friend. In Tae-pyeong County, is there another Sa-ryu Tavern besides this one?” Dang Doo-chun asked a merchant who had stacked radishes high on a hand-cart, a sign reading “Ten-thousand Year Ginseng King” propped above them.

“There’s only one Sa-ryu Tavern in Tae-pyeong County.”
“Much obliged!”
With a bright smile, Dang Doo-chun bowed respectfully and headed toward the tavern.
“Moo-baek!”
Seol Yeo-chul grabbed Yi Moo-baek’s sleeve.
“That Ten-thousand Year Ginseng King—isn’t that the legendary treasure? The one that grants a Kangho Martial Artist sixty years’ worth of Internal Power?”
“That’s the Ten-thousand Year Ginseng King.”
“What? They sound almost the same.”
“You’ve heard the saying—a fool can be deceived by his own greed, haven’t you?”
“No.”
“To someone desperate for the Ten-thousand Year Ginseng King, those characters would look exactly like what they’re searching for.”
“They’d mistake it in an instant.”
“Exactly. Later, when the buyer complains it’s not the real thing and asks for a refund, the merchant just shrugs—he was clearly selling Ten-thousand Year Ginseng Root. What more could anyone expect?”
“Cunning bastard.”
“Keep your wits sharp.”
The two hurried after Dang Doo-chun.

Two waiters stood at the entrance to the Sa-ryu Tavern, soliciting customers from passersby.
The moment the three men approached, they rushed over like lightning and seized them by the sleeve.
“Welcome, welcome! We’re so grateful you’ve chosen our humble tavern. Please, come inside.”
The waiter tried to shepherd all three of them inside as if herding cattle.
“I understand—wait a moment,” Dang Doo-chun said, brushing off the waiter’s hand lightly and looking up at the tavern’s eaves.
Along one edge of the eaves was a palm-sized imprint of a crouching tiger.

The Demon-subduing Tiger-suppressing Palm—
one of Shaolin’s signature palm techniques.

‘The tiger mark imprinted on the eaves at the entrance. That’s unmistakably our signal.’

Dang Doo-chun spoke.
“Take us to the second floor.”
“Yes, of course.”
The waiter led all three men upstairs.
“This way!”
He brought them to a window seat.
“What may we serve you?”
“Three orders of dumplings.”
Both Yi Moo-baek and Seol Yeo-chul flinched in surprise.
For the past ten days, they had eaten nothing but dumplings.
They were cheap and filled the belly quickly.
But now the mere mention of dumplings made him feel nauseous.
“Dumplings again?”
Yi Moo-baek frowned.
“What are you doing? Didn’t I ask for three portions of dumplings?”
The serving boy looked deeply disappointed, then his face turned cold.
“Wait a moment!”
The boy muttered as he turned to leave, and Dang Doo-chun began to survey the other patrons inside.
It was split roughly in half.
Nearly half carried weapons—swords and other arms—while the rest appeared to be merchants.
His eyes caught on something.
Dang Doo-chun’s gaze fixed on one spot.
A man dressed in a grayish monk’s robe was eating, and he was consuming Mature Yellow Soybean Paste.
Mature Yellow Soybean Paste was a refined dish.
Ground black beans were mixed with flour and left to ferment.
Then the fermented beans and flour were thickly coated onto dried ginseng and steamed—a dish Dang Doo-chun himself knew how to make.
Because he knew quality when he tasted it, Dang Doo-chun’s mouth watered, and he walked toward the man in the grayish monk’s robe sitting in a corner.
“Forgive the intrusion, but might you be Woo-moo?”
The man’s eyes flicked upward.
He looked up at Dang Doo-chun, who stood before him.
“You are Dang Doo-chun?”
“I am a helper monk and assistant chef sent by order to the Murim League’s kitchens.”
“Go and wait.”
“Yes.”
Dang Doo-chun answered respectfully and turned to go.
“Let’s eat!”
“That was him?”
Dang Doo-chun nodded.
Yi Moo-baek and Seol Yeo-chul glanced toward the monk.
“Why is he like that?”
Seol Yeo-chul wrinkled his brow.
“I mean, when someone arrives from a distant place, you should acknowledge them, greet them warmly—not act like something’s bothering you. The old saying goes that a visitor’s arrival is a momentous thing, but I suppose we don’t look like much to him.”
Seol Yeo-chul grumbled.
Yi Moo-baek spoke up.
“I know that man.”
“How?”
Seol Yeo-chul and Dang Doo-chun looked at him.
“I ran into him once years ago while carrying firewood down from the mountain. His temperament is no joke.”
“Is it true he’s a disciple of the Abbot?”
Seol Yeo-chul asked.
“Isn’t he sworn-brother with Gong-san, who placed third at this Kangho Tournament?”
“Then what’s his relationship to the Abbot? Is he the first disciple? The second?”
“I heard he’s a Named Disciple.”
Dang Doo-chun, who had been eating dumplings without joining their conversation, opened his mouth.
“I heard they entered the temple on the same day, at the same hour. Woo-moo surpassed him in foundational skill, but his nature is somewhat rough and cruel.”
“I see. So he falls short of the standards befitting the Abbot of Shaolin, who takes compassion as his foundation?”
Seol Yeo-chul continued the thought.
“That’s the gist of it. When Gong-san was given the chance to participate in the martial tournament, Woo-moo volunteered for assignment to the Murim League.”
“No wonder!”
Seol Yeo-chul studied the monk who was eating.
“It’s like Avoiding Fox, Meeting Tiger—he looks the part too, and this is going to make life at the Murim League rather tedious.”
To avoid a fox and encounter a tiger instead.
He’d fled from Woo-san, only to now toil under Woo-moo, who was colder and more exacting still.
“Don’t worry about it. We just do our jobs.”
It was then that Woo-moo, having finished eating, stood and departed.
“Let’s go!”
He descended to the ground floor without looking back.
“What? We haven’t even eaten yet.”
Seol Yeo-chul and Yi Moo-baek hastily tore off a large piece of dumpling, bit into it, and stuffed the rest into their pockets.
Thump-thump-thump!
As they left the tavern, Woo-moo was already walking some distance ahead.
Tap-tap-tap-tap!
The three of them broke into a sprint, chasing after him.
Huff-huff-huff!
Unlike martial artists, Helper Monks who spent their days cooking, washing clothes, and gathering firewood found Woo-moo’s footwork to be the difference between horse and human.
The three of them ran after him as best they could.
“Why are you so late?”
Woo-moo stood waiting in the distance.
As they hurried to catch up with him, Woo-moo asked coldly,
“We set out on a sudden journey that was longer than expected.”
Dang Doo-chun answered.
“Did you injure yourself on the way?”
“I apologize.”
Dang Doo-chun said nothing about the altercation he’d had with the Gaebang disciples.

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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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