Murim School Record - Chapter 16

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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 16: Layer Upon Layer of Mountains (2)

Still, he furrowed his brow as if attempting to formulate some answer.

‘The Nok-ok Buljang is a sacred object that denotes the Sect Master’s position, and the Dae-hwan Dan is a spiritual pill capable of reviving a dead Shaolin, so… well.’

That was all.
His failure to render a definitive judgment likely meant that when he’d weighed the two against each other, the scales hung perfectly balanced.
Judging by his body’s reaction, the Dae-hwan Dan seemed the likelier candidate—yet such a treasure was far too precious for him to stake his reputation on certainty.
Even if it were the Dae-hwan Dan, one thing remained incomprehensible.
How could the Dae-hwan Dan—designated for use only by Shaolin’s Sect Master—have been fed to a kitchen monk?
He’d never heard that Bodhidharma left any edict permitting its use for a kitchen monk.
But there was another problem.
Aside from the heat brought by the suspected Dae-hwan Dan, another heat was blazing up within his body.
Before the suspected pill had entered him, he hadn’t felt it so acutely.
Yet the moment the suspected Dae-hwan Dan arrived, a new force stirred as if it had been waiting all along.
Like a tiger lying dormant and invisible, then erupting in fierce resistance the moment something invaded its territory—that was the sensation.
Truth be told, he’d been holding back all this time, worried about disrupting his meridians, but every time his throat grew parched while felling trees, he’d slipped away to drink from the Stone Water of Rocky Mountain Spring.
It was no ordinary water.
Ever since he’d begun drinking it, he’d felt his body’s strength increase and noticed the speed of his woodcutting accelerate.
Two burning energies inside his body.
Thud!
He set down his axe and sprawled across the flat boulder.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and began humming.

‘Zhong-zhong, bi-ge-zhong, Shaolin pig-zhong’

It was barely a murmur—the smallest of sounds.
“Keep it down.”
Snap!
He stopped singing.
The voice had clearly told him to be quiet.
He tilted his ear toward the sound.
Nothing but birdsong reached him.

‘Wu-shan-zhong, pig-zhong’

This time he raised his voice slightly.
Perhaps he’d misheard.
“I told you to shut up—what’s wrong with you, you bastard? Don’t you understand when someone talks to you?”
No mistake about it.
Yi Mo-baek shot to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.
“Who’s there?”
“Could you just be quiet? I can’t concentrate because you won’t stop making noise.”
He looked around again.
No matter how carefully he searched, no human figure appeared.
Whoosh!
He rose fully upright and scanned the nearby forest.
There was no human presence.
“Where are you?”
“I said be quiet, you damn mutt—are you deaf?”
“Whoa!”
Yi Mo-baek jumped back in alarm.
The small boulder was speaking.
He looked again, and again. It was definitely a rock.
Moss clung to it, its surface was dull gray, and ants crawled across it—an ordinary mountain stone in every way.
If the boulder hadn’t blinked its eyes, he would never have noticed.
“I ask nothing of you. I’d be grateful if you simply kept quiet.”
“Yes! Yes!”
“They’re coming. Keep doing what you were doing with that tree. Hurry.”
Since the rock spoke with urgency, Yi Mo-baek picked up the axe and began chopping at a nearby tree.
Thunk!
Crack!
On the second swing, a whistling sound cut through the air and a figure flew backwards.
Thud!
Two of them in total.
They wore black robes, their garments torn and marked with wounds from what appeared to be a fierce battle somewhere, and they both looked to be well over seventy.
The eyes of the two old men fixed on Yi Mo-baek were sharp as augers.
“Who are you?”
“A woodcutter from Shaolin.”
“Shaolin?”
They swept their gaze over him, sharp and measuring.
“Have you seen an old man in a black robe chopping wood around here?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Wheee!
In that moment, a whistle carried on Inner Energy sounded from far away.
“That way!”
The old men vanished.
Wind. Nothing but wind.
The masters at the Peak Realm, whom he’d only heard spoken of in tales, proved themselves in that instant.
Gulp.
Yi Mo-baek swallowed hard.
He envied the Divine Movement Technique of those in black robes.
Glance.
After a quick look toward the rock in the forest, Yi Mo-baek asked quietly.
“Are you sure it’s still not safe to sing?”
“Ugh! Damn it!”
A groan escaped.
“What’s wrong, sir?”
Writhe.
The rock’s eyes opened wide.
“Move back a bit!”
Yi Mo-baek, curious, had crouched down closer.
As Yi Mo-baek retreated and settled back, the rock suddenly began to undulate like water.
Slither!
The swirling rock dissolved, and where it had been sat a gaunt old man.
“Ugh!”
Yi Mo-baek nearly retched.
The old man’s left hand clutched his lower abdomen, where half his intestines hung exposed.
“Is this your first time seeing a man’s insides?”
“Yes!”
“A woodcutter from Shaolin, you say?”
“That’s right.”
“So that’s why Shaolin’s power has fallen. Foolish disciples, and hiring a shrewd one like you as a woodcutter.”
Pause.
The term woodcutter clearly referred to Yi Mo-baek himself.
Beyond the belly wound, the old man bore countless injuries across his entire body, but compared to his own frame after the fight with Byeok-an Mi-hui that day — reflected in the bronze mirror afterward — he was nothing.
In comparison to this old man, Yi Mo-baek’s body was clean.
This old man had been carved up utterly.
“I could have killed him.”
The old man seemed deeply regretful.
“Whom are you speaking of, sir?”
“Moyong-cheon.”
“Moyong-cheon — do you mean the Lord of the Murim Alliance?”
He stammered, too shocked to speak smoothly.
“Is there another Moyong-cheon?”
Yi Mo-baek’s eyes widened considerably.
The old man studied Yi Mo-baek once more, then clenched his teeth.
“Who are you?”
If someone had attempted to kill Moyong-cheon, a man whom both allies and enemies called invincible under heaven, he must be a remarkable figure indeed.
“I am Bun-gwang Kwai-geom.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Yi Mo-baek blinked and asked again.
Hack!
The old man spat out a mouthful of blood.
“I never asked you to believe me. You asked, and I answered.”
“I… I believe you!”
At the words of belief, the old man’s eyes narrowed.
“Then those two old men just now — could they be part of the Mujig Sagunn?”
“How do you know of those old men?”
“Though I am merely a junior disciple, I know the famous figures of Kangho. I heard there were originally four of them, but where are the other two?”
“I killed them.”
Yi Mo-baek’s expression hardened.
Crack!
The Mujig Sagunn was the closest guard detail of Murim Alliance’s master, Moyong-cheon.
A wall.
Many enemies had targeted Moyong-cheon, but none had ever broken through the Mujig Sagunn’s wall, or so the tales went.
Yet this old man claimed to have pierced through that wall and wounded Moyong-cheon.
As if to prove it, one could see from the tattered remnants of the Mujig Sagunn’s robes that had passed moments before that a fierce battle had taken place, and the fact that two of the four members of the Mujig Sagunn, who moved as one body, were nowhere to be seen suggested they were dead.

‘Then this old man truly is Bun-gwang Kwai-geom.’

He looked more carefully.
But since he had never seen the man’s face before, he could not recognize him.

Bun-gwang Kwai-geom was an assassin.
Those he marked as targets invariably died.
It was as certain and sure as the sun rising when morning comes after night.
And so people had bestowed upon him the honor of being the greatest assassin under heaven.
The difference between an assassin and a martial master was just one thing.
The ability to kill even those stronger than oneself.
Unless one had reached the pinnacle realm, his blade would never fail to sever the target’s neck.
Kangho’s Guiding Star.
A star-like figure shining in the night sky for the younger generation pursuing the martial way in Kangho.
The black robes faded and twisted into ash-gray by sunlight and wind, worn leather boots so old that the toes showed through, and the aged Cheng-gang Sword hanging at his flank had become a blood-stirring trend among the younger generation.
Being so famous, countless fakes claiming to be Bun-gwang Kwai-geom had appeared and were operating.

Bun-gwang Kwai-geol
Bun-gwang Kwai-gang
Bun-gwang Kwai-gak
Bun-gwang Kwai-gyeon
Bun-gwang Kwai-gon

All of them were names that could easily be mistaken for Bun-gwang Kwai-geom if one weren’t paying sharp attention.
“Had I been half a breath faster, Moyong-cheon would be wandering the netherworld by now.”
“So Master Moyong-cheon was injured?”
….
Yi Mo-baek wavered in his belief.
Or more precisely, since he was speaking in front of the old man, he was feigning surprise, though he found the exaggeration somewhat excessive.

‘Moyong-cheon is in a place no one can reach.’

So the current Master of Shaolin, Cheng-ak Seonsa, had said.
“Junior disciple of Shaolin!”
“I am Yi Mo-baek.”
He gave his name.
“I never knew that a single mistake in a lifetime would bring death to my doorstep. How do I appear to you?”
“You seem to be in considerable pain.”
“Yes. In great pain. Soon I’ll be crossing into the underworld.”
Out of courtesy he’d said it seemed painful, but in truth his breath appeared ready to cease at any moment.
His breathing grew increasingly ragged.
“Turn around and sit with your back to me. I have no further need of it.”
Yi Mo-baek hesitated.
He understood what lay beneath those words.

‘There exists a technique called the Jeon-yi Dae-beop. It transmits one’s Inner Energy through the Myungmun Acupoint at the back to another person.’
‘Wasn’t it said that Inner Energy is more precious to a warrior than life itself? You’re saying he would pass his Inner Energy to someone else?’
‘Between master and disciple, or between father and son, such a thing can occur. Especially when death draws near—one may transfer it to the person one cherished most in life.’
‘At Shaolin, such things must happen often. A master might pass it to a disciple or someone to whom he owed a debt, as a gesture of gratitude.’
‘Nonsense. I’ve never seen a monk do such a thing. But mark this well: one can approach with malice hidden behind a benign smile. The Myungmun Acupoint—a single strike from a death-point strike and it’s finished.’

These were the words of Cheng-mong Seonsa, the abbot.
Then a scorching current traced down his neck and engulfed his head.
Wariness seized him.
Bun-gwang Kwai-geom, known as the finest assassin under heaven.
Watching Mujig Sagunn pursue with bloodshot eyes made it all but certain that the Murim Alliance’s leader, Moyong-cheon, had been attacked.
Of course, he planned to finish cutting wood and go down to confirm it.
The crucial thing was that confirmation could wait—the Jeon-yi Dae-beop was about to unfold now.
Crunch!
Yi Mo-baek collapsed and turned, sinking backward onto his haunches.
Kill someone because they look disagreeable, kill them for a glance, kill them on a beautiful day—the Kangho was a place beyond understanding.
“Are you afraid?”
“It would be a lie to say I’m not. I’m trembling greatly.”
“Heh, heh, heh—the boy’s got mettle.”
Thud!
Bun-gwang Kwai-geom pressed his palm against Yi Mo-baek’s Myungmun Acupoint.
“Here it comes. Keep your wits sharp.”
As the words ended, something heavy pushed into the Myungmun Acupoint.
But it was bitterly cold.
Bun-gwang Kwai-geom’s Inner Energy was beginning to enter.
The chill grew more intense with each passing moment.
Vast quantities surged in like a torrent.
Yi Mo-baek swiftly began circulating the Baekpal Banya Heart Method.
He had been training in the Baekpal Banya Heart Method since before entering Shaolin.
His father’s body had always been frail.
He was perpetually afflicted with colds, yet he never allowed himself to grow lazy.
On a day when the snow whirled in violent gusts, his father climbed the mountain coughing, and while cutting wood, lost consciousness.
Cheng-mong Seonsa found him and saved his life, and moved by pity for Yi Mo-baek’s father, taught him the Baekpal Banya Heart Method.
“Ugh!”
Bun-gwang Kwai-geom released a heavy groan as he continued infusing his vital essence.

‘What is this?’

A mental transmission pierced through.

‘There are two vastly powerful quantities of vital essence in your body, each of a different nature?’
‘To be honest, I’m not entirely certain.’

Even so, he explained his own theory.
When he mentioned the blue water he’d drunk from Rocky Mountain Spring and the medicine Cheng-mong Seonsa had given him—whether it was the Dae-hwan Dan or something else, he wasn’t sure—the vital essence flowing in suddenly trembled.
That tremor meant Bun-gwang Kwai-geom was astonished.

‘If your account is accurate, then it’s highly likely the Kong-cheng Stone Dew.’

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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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