Murim School Record - Chapter 32

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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 32: A Desperate Struggle (3)

Yi Mo-baek, mounted at the head of the column, did not falter in the slightest at the sudden onslaught.
He thrust his fist forward directly into the oncoming blade.
Crack!
The sword driving toward him bent sharply under the surge of powerful Fist Qi erupting from Yi Mo-baek’s knuckles.
This happened because Sword Qi could not penetrate Fist Qi.
A gasp!
The man who had lunged through the clouds of yellow dust reeled backward, swallowing a cry as the fierce Counter-Strike Fist Force drove him back.
A whistling sound!
Yi Mo-baek’s body launched upward and shot toward the retreating attacker.
His eyes narrowed as he sensed movement behind him.
But since no attack had landed, he chose to ignore it for now.
A sharp crack!
The man’s eyes widened.
His body was suspended in midair, being driven backward relentlessly.
No matter how frantically he moved his legs, without something solid to push against or plant himself on, his body would not obey.
In such a state, he could not evade Yi Mo-baek’s fist descending upon him like a hawk.
Caught as he was in the recoil of the powerful Counter-Strike Fist Force, active defense or counterattack was impossible.
He slashed with his sword with all his remaining strength, but it was feeble.
A snap!
A tap!
His blade shattered under the punch.
The fist plunged through and struck his face dead-on.
A terrible crack!
He was hit.
His nose bone took the full force.
The man flew backward and crashed hard into a massive boulder, his skull rupturing as the back of his head struck first.
A sickening crunch!
His body remained intact enough, but the man with his shattered skull fell limp to the ground and lay still.
A rustling sound!
Yi Mo-baek’s body shifted one step to the side as he faced the boulder.
A blade singing through air!
A sword whistled past his ear, grazing it.
A spin!
He evaded the blade, pivoted, and thrust out his left fist.
A heavy impact!
The ambusher had clearly believed his attack would succeed.
He had poured all his strength into the sword and charged recklessly, leaving no way to dodge Yi Mo-baek’s punch as he turned and struck.
A dull, sickening sound!
His left fist drove straight into the attacker’s solar plexus.
A strangled cry!
Blood sprayed from the man’s mouth as the sword fell from his grasp.
A clatter!
Yi Mo-baek’s right hand snatched the falling blade from the air and used it to slash across the man’s face.
A sharp whistle!
The blade carved the man’s face cleanly in half.
A wet, terrible sound!
His face split precisely in two as the man crumpled to the ground.
Gasping, choking sounds!
He was not yet dead.
His breath heaved several more times before he fell silent, his eyes still open and staring.
A sharp ring!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sound of weapons clashing echoed around him.
Yi Mo-baek turned his body to face the new direction.
Eight against four.
Eight men in black, whom he’d never seen before, were attacking Suk Ji-un and the other four.
It was a stalemate.
Counting the corpse in his own hands, that made ten altogether.

‘Ten men.’

He tilted his head.
By the standards of Jianghu lore he knew, the numbers didn’t add up.
In Jianghu, most fights involving fewer rather than greater numbers—those with twenty or fewer—followed a pattern: one-on-one or two-on-one.
If there were five targets, ten would strike; if there were ten, twenty would come.
It wasn’t a written rule, but that’s how things usually unfolded.
Of course, the leader always stood outside such calculations.
By that logic, eleven men should have come, but one was nowhere to be seen.
Whiiirrrr!
A tremendous dust wind swept across the road.
Yi Mo-baek’s body was hurled through it toward Suk Ji-un, who stood at the far end of the mountain pass.
Getting Suk Ji-un out of danger came first.
Though pressed by two men, there was no sign of fear in him, no cringing.
For sixteen years old, Suk Ji-un’s martial skill was considerable.
Not so high as to call him a true master, yet by his own account, he’d wandered Jianghu since age eleven.
At that age, Yi Mo-baek had been at home with his father.
But Suk Ji-un had been fighting to survive, tasting the bitter and the sweet of the world’s storms.
Because of that, his instincts were sharp and he knew how to fight.
When he judged an opponent beyond him, he’d drop his guard at once to preserve his life and slip out of danger.

‘At a glance, I can tell if someone’s a half-step or a full step above me.’

It was a remarkable thing to say.
When one became a true master, they developed an eye for reading an opponent’s level of martial skill with precision.
Yet Suk Ji-un was no such master, and the fact that he could see through an opponent’s ability meant he’d survived countless perils.
Thud!
The combined assault of the two sword-wielders was vicious.
Suk Ji-un was already drenched in blood, but no whimper escaped his lips.
Yi Mo-baek understood why.
Everyone was locked in a dead heat.
With no one able to spare him aid, crying out or screaming would only break his focus—fatal against his foes.
It would endanger his companions as well, so he clenched his teeth and bore the pain in silence.
Crack!
A dull sound rang out, and the skull of one of Suk Ji-un’s attackers caved in.
Yi Mo-baek had approached without a sound and brought his weapon down on the back of the man’s head—the one fixed on Suk Ji-un—splitting it open like a melon.
Instant death.
“Escort Leader!”
Suk Ji-un’s face lit up with relief.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“Not enough to kill me.”
“Confident?”
“Very much so.”
In truth, even one-on-one with these men would have taxed him greatly.
But that he’d held out for twenty seconds owed everything to years of Jianghu experience and the cunning tricks earned through countless large and small fights.
Having lasted twenty seconds against two men—even wounded, even if he couldn’t win outright—he had no doubt he wouldn’t die.
Experience had taught him that martial skill truly flourished only when brushing close to death repeatedly.
“Understood.”
Yi Mo-baek left it at that and turned his attention to the other three.
Still deadlocked.
A fight tilting toward neither side.
He’d been told that Hyung Do-chan, now dead, had possessed the lowest level of martial skill among them.
Trudge, trudge!
Cutting through the wind, he climbed toward the Mountain Peak, now not far above.
As he reached the summit along the steep path, a man stood waiting.
The man appeared to be in his early forties, and upon spotting Yi Mo-baek emerging through the wind, he flinched.
A man bearing the name Il Gwang.
He narrowed his eyes, watching Yi Mo-baek close the distance with an intensity that pierced straight through him.
“A greeting to you.”
Yi Mo-baek offered a slight smile and bowed politely.
“I see your subordinates are all waiting to return with their heads collected?”
Il Gwang’s face twisted in obvious bewilderment, his brow furrowing.
This was not it.
He had considered several scenarios.
But never one like this.
Wherever he went, whoever his opponent, he had always executed his tasks flawlessly.
Yet what had made him most confident was the carriage with Yi Mo-baek as its Escort Leader.
According to the intelligence provided, not only was his tenure as Escort Leader the shortest on record, but the carriage he traveled with was a Copper-Class Carriage.
All Escort Agency transport carriages were divided into three grades: Gold, Silver, and Copper.
Gold carriages carried the most valuable cargo, Silver the next tier, and Copper handled the most common freight.
Ten men had launched the attack.
Two per target.
He had judged it more than sufficient.
Yet Yi Mo-baek’s appearance meant the two subordinates assigned to him were dead.
“Hah.”
Il Gwang drew in a long breath.
“Attacking an Escort Agency carriage means there’s cargo worth stealing aboard. What is it you want? I’ll be honest—I transport goods myself, but I don’t always know what’s loaded inside?”
It was indeed unusual for an Escort Leader responsible for transporting goods to claim ignorance of their nature.
Yet Il Gwang showed no surprise, nor even the slightest expression of indignation.
That told Yi Mo-baek the man already knew exactly what was in the carriage.
“Ha! It seems I’ve misjudged my opponent.”
Il Gwang forced a laugh.
But it was a panic that could not be concealed.
“In the Jianghu, misjudging a person is said to be the path to hastening one’s own death.”
“Is that so?”
Il Gwang did not finish his thought.
Yi Mo-baek’s words were true.
To speak rightly in this moment meant he possessed the power to kill—and that terrified him.
Crack!
Bang-bang-bang!
A fierce cacophony echoed up from below on the wind.
Il Gwang clenched his teeth.
The fact that they still fought, despite his ambush, meant only one thing: he was losing ground.
Glance.
He looked up at the sun, now past its zenith, falling swiftly toward the western horizon.

‘The sun burns redder than usual today.’

Whoosh!
Il Gwang flew forward in a straight line.
Behind him, his blade descended toward Yi Mo-baek’s face.
Huh!
Yi Mo-baek staggered backward with a start.
He had anticipated the ambush, yet the blade was terrifyingly fast—his heart lurched at its speed.
Faster than anything he had seen before.
Hiss!
Yi Mo-baek slid back, and the falling man in black’s blade suddenly changed course.
From his experience in combat, sudden shifts in attack—whether with weapons or bare-handed—were not easy to execute.
The difference lay in one’s Qi Circulation.
An arrow shot straight cannot simply veer left or right mid-flight.
To change direction, one must notch a new arrow, aim at the desired target, and shoot again.
Wielding Qi was much the same.
The way of Qi used for linear attacks differed from that of curved movements.
Master the techniques beyond all these stages, and one could truly stride across the realm unopposed.
As Il Gwang fell, his blade halted mid-descent the moment Yi Mo-baek retreated, then thrust forward in one fluid motion.
At such close range, dodging the incoming blade was impossible.
Moreover, the unexpected shift from his downward slash to a piercing thrust narrowed Yi Mo-baek’s options even further.
Yi Mo-baek extended his fist toward the incoming blade.
Hiss!
Il Gwang smiled.
It was as if he were saying: You’re finished now.
Crack!
The sound of crushing and splintering erupted.
Stagger!
Il Gwang was driven back by the powerful Counter-Strike Fist Force, unable to plant his feet properly.
His eyes widened.
Yi Mo-baek had judged it too late to evade, so he had thrust his fist forward.
In other words, the situation was profoundly disadvantageous.
Yet there was no choice—he had to throw his punch.
His blade, driven by such force, met Yi Mo-baek’s fist head-on without warning, so naturally Yi Mo-baek should have sustained grave injury.
Yet instead, it was Il Gwang who was pushed back, and the vital energy churning within his body rippled violently.
Whoosh!
Il Gwang launched another offensive.
Unbelievable.
Surely he appeared unscathed on the surface, but he must have suffered catastrophic internal injury.
A feint.
How many times had he done this in the Jianghu?
On the surface, there seems to be no real damage—but inside, everything is shattered.
The Jianghu is a world where what is hidden matters far more than what is seen.

Seomjeon Gyeyeom.

The fastest technique among all his sword forms.
A man with internal injuries cannot control his Qi Circulation as he wishes, so he must inevitably move slower.
Thus it was best to finish him with a swift strike, certain and final.
Yi Mo-baek showed no attempt to dodge; instead, he extended his fist toward the blade coming for his throat.
Swish!
He thrust his right fist forward.
A simple extension toward the incoming blade.
The angle and shape of the extension were clean and economical—as if he were merely stretching out his hand.
With no preparatory movement, just a straight thrust of the fist, it moved with remarkable speed.
Boom!
Il Gwang’s blade flew off to the side.
That it deflected sideways upon collision meant insufficient force behind it.
Il Gwang’s upper body twisted to the right along with his sword.
It was impossible to believe.
Internal Strength of an extraordinary, unthinkable magnitude.
Thud!
Yi Mo-baek extended his left fist and struck Il Gwang’s face squarely.
Stagger!
Approaching the reeling Il Gwang, he drove punch after punch relentlessly forward.
Thud!
Boom-boom-boom-thud!
In an instant he drove lefts and rights into the face, and Il Gwang’s visage became a mask of blood.
His nose, eye sockets, and lips were utterly shattered, torn flesh hanging loose and mangled.
Retch!

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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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