Murim School Record - Chapter 24

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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 24: Wan Mo (卍魔) 1

But there was no way to breach the heavily guarded Janggyeong Pavilion.

‘For now, I’ll keep watching.’

Whoosh!
Wumu hurled himself into motion.
A thread of Sound Transmission reached the resting Shaolin monks.

‘Meet me at Yongni Plain in one hour.’

Yongni Plain was a massive hill shaped like a dragon, located in Hunan Province.
After Wumu departed, the monks scattered—some collapsing into sleep where they stood, others sinking into Qi Circulation Meditation.

A single carriage crossed into Gansu Province.
Horse, driver, and carriage alike were caked in yellow dust from the long journey.
This bustling place was Dunhuang.
The Jade Gate Pass still lay another hundred li to the northwest.
The carriage wove through Dunhuang’s crowded streets and began to accelerate once it broke free.
They’d changed horses once before crossing Gansu, so there was no concern about the animals’ stamina.
Seol Yeochul sat at the reins while Imobaek occupied the cargo hold, perched among the monastery’s provisions.
Lotus Position.
He activated the 108 Prajna Heart Method, drawing the inner force throughout his entire body through a rapid Full Heavenly Circuit.
His eyes opened.
The carriage lurched violently—forward, backward, side to side.
Yet Imobaek’s Lotus Position remained unshaken, moving as one with the carriage.
Unity Within.
It was a state of martial mastery achieved by harmonizing oneself with a moving object.
Ordinary people resist the motion.
Their bodies grow uncomfortable; but if one unites with the space that contains one’s body and moves as that space moves, there is neither strain nor difficulty.
It was extraordinarily difficult to master.
Yet Imobaek moved in sync with the carriage, extending and retracting his fists in rhythmic cycles.
There was no training more reliable than real combat—actual fighting.
But since he had no opponent to fight, he either trained alone or asked his elder disciples to act as his sparring partners.
Fortunately, the swaying confines of the carriage at least provided a challenging training ground with real benefits.
The difference in precision and destructive power between a punch thrown from a stable stance and one thrown while the body’s center shifts was vast.
It approximated the effect of true combat.
Swish!
Swish!
The Hundred Step Divine Fist consisted of five forms in total.
Apart from Dharma Master, who had created it, not a single Shaolin disciple had ever ascended to the 8th Stage in this technique.
Over time, the Hundred Step Divine Fist fell into neglect among Shaolin’s disciples.
Even those blessed with extraordinary talent stalled at the 6th or 7th Stage.
And now it was a technique in name only—one the Shaolin had quietly abandoned.
Hssss!
Slow.
But tremendous force flowed through each fist.
One careless burst could splinter the vehicle, so he traced only the form, holding back.
Even without drawing on his inner force, an extraordinary aura emanated from his fists, causing the carriage itself to tremble.
“The Jade Gate Pass. Imobaek.”
Seol Yeochul called out from the driver’s seat.
Creak!
Imobaek opened the carriage window and peered out.
Far ahead, a colossal gate towered into view.
A structure of immense proportions, suffused with a bluish glow.
The Jade Gate Pass.
Beyond the Jade Gate Pass lay what they called Leaving the Fortress.
Everything outside the Jade Gate Pass was known as Beyond the Fortress.
From here, the Silk Road truly began, and one could venture onward to Tianzhu, the Western Regions, and Xizang.
The Jade Gate Pass stood alone in the heart of the desert.
The carriage passed through the gate and continued on for some distance.
Billowing clouds of sand engulfed the moving carriage.
The scorching sun here was fiercer than anything in Zhongyuan, and Seol Yeochul was drenched in sweat.
As the carriage drew farther from the Jade Gate Pass, it began gradually to slow.
In the midst of bleached desert on all sides, a verdant forest appeared.
The carriage slowed further, passed through the woods, traveled some way beyond, and stopped.
A vast lake.
The Green Oasis known as Yueya Spring stretched before them in considerable grandeur.
Thud-thud-thud!
Flutter!
Yet suddenly crows and eagles erupted from the forest on all sides, and desert foxes and wolves bolted in panic.
Seol Yeochul, who had brought the carriage to a halt, started in alarm.
“Good heavens.”
“What’s wrong?”
The carriage curtain opened and Imobaek climbed out.
“Ugh!”
A reek so foul it pierced the nostrils.
Retch!
He bent forward and vomited up half-digested dumplings.
“What is that stench?”
Imobaek straightened, tears streaming down his face, and went pale.
Corpses.
Nothing but corpses.
They had been attacked nearly a month ago.
In the open desert, the fierce sun would have prevented decay, but here in the forest around the oasis, it was different.
Beasts had torn away most of the flesh—some bodies were skulls alone—while maggots writhed and flies swarmed across others.
The stench of human filth that had greeted him while cleaning Cheongho Seonsa’s quarters was nothing compared to this.
Seol Yeochul had emptied his stomach entirely and was now retching blood.
Both men scrambled out of the forest.
At a distance, it was slightly more bearable.
Neigh!
Even the horse reared in distress, pawing at the air.
Looking about, they saw no other souls, and it seemed the two of them had arrived first—before any of the Martial Alliance’s fighters or the disciples sent by the various sects.
“Imobaek!”
Seol Yeochul called out.
Imobaek approached.
At the edge of the forest, lying in the sand, was a single corpse.
Unlike the bodies in the woods, this one had been desiccated by the harsh sun, the face looking as though it had been powdered white.
The clothing bore marks of repeated attack, torn away to expose the chest—and there was something about the bearing that suggested a Taoist adept.
Gleam!
Lifting aside the torn fabric, Imobaek spotted something glinting in the sunlight.
A round Jade Token, half-buried in the sand, emerged into view.
Whoosh!
He brushed away the sand and lifted the token.

“Deputy League Master”

Four characters inscribed upon the token.
“Could it be…?”
Imobaek examined the token once more and called out to Seol Yeochul.
“Come here a moment.”
“Do you know who this is?”
Seol Yeochul approached and asked.
Whoosh!
He held out the token.
Seol Yeochul crouched low, his eyes widening as he saw the Jade Token inscribed with Deputy League Master.
“The… the Deputy League Master?”
“Looks that way.”
The Deputy League Master would be Tae-eul Jinman, sect leader of the Huashan Sect.
“Then this man is the Huashan Sect leader?”
“Judging by this, yes.”
Whiiiish!
A sudden sandstorm swept across them.
Both men quickly turned their backs to the wind and bowed their heads.
Shwoooosh!
A violent gust of sand swept past, and the Desert settled into silence once more.
“What’s wrong?”
Seol Yeochul rubbed at his eyes.
“Sand got in them. God, this is annoying.”
He grumbled in exasperation, continuing to rub his eyes.
Twitch!
Imobaek’s brow furrowed.
The sand had concealed Tae-eul Jinman’s left hand, but the recent wind had washed away enough sand to expose it — and something gripped in his palm.
His fist was clenched around something.
Imobaek seized the edge of an object jutting slightly from the closed hand and pulled.
But it didn’t come free easily — the arm resisted as though anchored.
Imobaek began forcibly prying open Tae-eul Jinman’s rigid fingers.
They had already stiffened, and it took effort, but the fingers slowly opened. What Imobaek extracted was not a scrap of paper at all — it was a piece of cloth.
Rustle!
He unfolded the creased fabric several times.
Characters. Writing.

‘Wan Mo.’

Seol Yeochul cursed aloud.
“Damn, I thought I was going to die.”
He had finally extracted the sand lodged in his eyes and wiped them with his sleeve — the area around them was now red and inflamed.
“Wan Mo?”
He looked at the scrap of cloth as though questioning what it meant.

‘What is this?’

Imobaek’s brow creased in thought.
He knew no such term.
Moreover, the meaning contained in these two characters formed a combination that made no sense whatsoever.
The swastika character was itself a symbolic emblem of Buddhism.
It was a character honoring the Buddha’s virtue and compassion, while the demon character was used to signify evil.
It was a standard character for expressing devils and demons.
In short, two characters symbolizing good and evil had been written here.
Judging by the red ink, it appeared he had written this with his own blood in the moments before death.
“Look there!”
Seol Yeochul shouted.
Across the vast Desert, many figures were flying toward them.
They leaped and soared across dozens of zhang with each bound, employing the Ascending Lightness Skill, their chests marked with a dragon emblem.
In all the martial world, only the Murong Clan bore such a dragon mark upon their chests.
Behind them came men with a blue bamboo pattern on their garments.
They were Wudang Sect Daoists, bearing the sect’s sacred symbol, the Purple Bamboo Flute Seal.
One by one, representatives from the various sects began descending upon the scene, and Shaolin arrived fifth.
The Shaolin monks were drenched in sweat from head to toe.
Arriving first at a crisis was a point of subtle competition among the sects.
Wumu, knowing this well, had devoted himself entirely to speed, allowing only the bare minimum of rest, yet the fifth-place finish left him visibly crestfallen.
“M-Master!”
Imobaek quickly filled an Alms Bowl with cool water and offered it to him.
Splash!
Wumu hurled the Alms Bowl full of water aside without hesitation.
The Alms Bowl fell into the sand, and Imobaek quickly picked it up, checking whether it had cracked.
Fortunately, the Alms Bowl remained intact, though Wumu let out a visible snort of displeasure.
There were more than one or two monks older than Wumu.
But since he was one of the sect leader’s personally named disciples, no one dared to question or voice their grievances.
He was thoroughly angry.
The fifth time.
Fire seemed to be burning inside him.

The raptors and beasts that had been peacefully tearing at the corpses scattered far away, fleeing from the sudden crush of so many people.
Some perched on nearby branches or waited in the shade, hoping for another chance, but as the people showed no sign of leaving, they eventually abandoned the feast and vanished into the distance.
The investigation began in earnest, led by a coalition of fifteen martial schools.
They examined the wounds on the corpses, attempting to identify the martial techniques and the killer through the nature of the injuries.
Without deep knowledge of the various martial arts spread throughout Zhongyuan, it would be difficult to identify the perpetrator.
That is why each school selected members with comprehensive knowledge of martial lore to form the investigation team.
Eleven Shaolin monks had joined the expedition to Potala Palace at that time.
Finding the corpses of the Shaolin monks proved straightforward.
All the Shaolin monks accompanying the Deputy League Master belonged to the Arhat Hall.
They wore crimson robes, and the Precept Marks stamped on their foreheads and crowns made identification even easier.
“A sword.”
One corpse was moved into the shade, and several monks gathered around it.
The Prayer Beads made of jujube wood worn on the wrist identified the body’s owner as Youngdo.
Youngdo was a disciple of Cheongho Seonsa, the Arhat Hall Master, and had been Shaolin’s representative monk on the expedition to Potala Palace.
Daewun spoke while examining the thin line carved across the monk’s neck.
“For a sword wound, isn’t it uncommonly narrow?”
Another monk spoke.
“That’s true, but…”
A thorough investigation to determine the killer’s identity began in earnest, not only among Shaolin but across all the schools.
Though conducted in the shade, the atmosphere at the site was intense.

With the Green Oasis nearby, there were no difficulties with cooking or bathing.
Exhausted, everyone except the sentries fell asleep as soon as they finished their evening meal.
Pad-pad-pad!
The footsteps of the sentries patrolling the sand echoed overhead.
“Yeochul.”
Imobaek and Seol Yeochul lay on their backs in the sand.
The heat that had accumulated during the day still rose gently through their backs.
“Who do you think killed them? The culprit, I mean?”
“How would I know that? It’s bound to be someone at odds with the Martial Alliance.”
“Of course it would be. But how many enemies does the Martial Alliance have? There’s the Yellow River Transport Alliance, which isn’t exactly hostile but far from friendly either. There’s the Demonic Cult, supposedly waiting in the shadows for the right moment. Then the Heavenly Pattern Faction and the North Sea Ice Palace. It’s a veritable field of enemies!”

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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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