Murim School Record - Chapter 39

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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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Chapter 39: What Must Come Will Come (1)

There was nothing to be wary of, nothing to despise in him.
Yet even Sa Gong-san had embraced him in his heart as though they were friends of decades.
He must have heard something from Man Bi-ong while they were outside.

The sun was setting.
But Im Mo-baek had not yet appeared.
They had excused themselves early from the dinner arranged by the Clan Master Yang Chil-gok and were waiting.
“Honestly.”
Bo Hae-man let out a hollow laugh.
“We’ve got a long way to go, and here we are.”
That was when Sok Ji-un returned, having gone to meet with someone from the Yang Clan to assess the situation.
“Well, Ji-un? What did they say?”
Sok Ji-un slumped down heavily.
“They don’t know when it’ll end either.”
“What are they doing right now?”
“Drinking, apparently. The Hwang Ha-su-ro Alliance Leader has joined them.”
“Sa Gong-san?”
Jong Bae looked startled.
“Really?”
“I asked gently about the mood, and they said the spring flowers are blooming fragrant.”
Flowers blooming fragrant meant the atmosphere at the table had become extraordinarily warm.
“Hmm.”
Jong Bae exhaled a heavy sigh.

‘He’s definitely different.’

The more he saw of him, the more different he seemed. The more he experienced him, the more different still.
There was something beyond mere survival instinct at work here.
The master of the Yang Clan.
The Alliance Leader of the Hwang Ha-su-ro Alliance.
These were giants.
Peerless masters who would not dare call the sky high.

‘He is surely a flame. Only, he has not yet let his light burn outward.’

The group left the Yang Clan mansion after midnight.
Remarkably, Yang U-bi and Sa Gong-san had escorted them all the way to the front gate.
The guards of the Yang Clan stationed at the gate were struck dumb.
Yang U-bi, whom they revered and served as heaven itself, had walked a mere escort officer from an escort agency out beyond the threshold.
More striking still was Sa Gong-san, the Alliance Leader of the Hwang Ha-su-ro Alliance.

‘Take care, elder brother.’

It was utterly unbelievable.
Elder brother.
In the span of mere hours, he had become the elder brother of Sa Gong-san.

In that hour, a single candle burned in the darkness, its flame dancing.
A man.
A man dressed in black, who appeared to be in his late thirties, sat in lotus position and gazed at the burning candle.
The man’s name was Wi Ji-gwang, and his age was precisely thirty-eight.
His title was Great Commander.
He belonged to no particular organization or agency.
He had earned such a position precisely because he was Mo Ryong-cheon’s disciple.
Yet he was no mere idler.
While Mo Ryong-cheon was away conducting business for the Martial Alliance, Wi Ji-gwang had seized absolute control of the clan’s affairs.
More than that—he kept watch over any who dared challenge the authority of Mo Ryong-cheon and the Moryong Clan, and he struck them down without mercy.
With Mo Ryong-cheon as Alliance Leader, his authority had only grown more unassailable.
Yet here he sat from early evening, cross-legged in meditation, lost in thought.

‘Designated Successor.’

A single word spilled from between his lips, flowing without pause.
He had spoken it well over a hundred times by now.
Taken in by Mo Ryong-cheon, he had lived his life in unwavering loyalty.
Though no formal proclamation of him as a distinguished disciple had ever been made publicly, none within the household hesitated to name him as the next Clan Master.

He arrived at the Mun Gong Seo-won with three subordinates in tow.
Dismounting from his horse, Wi Ji-gwang entered the pavilion where Mo Ryong-cheon lodged.
Moments later, they sat face to face.
As Alliance Leader, Mo Ryong-cheon spent nearly all his time at the headquarters, rarely returning to the clan compound.
Had he a family, blood ties might have drawn him home more often, but since his wife’s death, Mo Ryong-cheon was utterly alone.

“How have you been managing of late?” Mo Ryong-cheon asked.
“I am doing my utmost in the duties I must fulfill. And how is your health, sir?” Wi Ji-gwang replied.
“Does it concern you?”
“There are so many rumors circulating through the martial world that I cannot help but worry.”
“Worry has never solved anything in this world. I called you here because I have something to tell you.”
“Please, speak freely.”
“Yesterday I selected my successor—the one who will lead the Moryong Clan into the future.”

Wi Ji-gwang’s breath caught.
He swallowed hard.
His eyes, suddenly bright, fixed upon Mo Ryong-cheon’s face.

“Though not immediately, the Designated Successor will soon visit the main compound. Receive him with full ceremony and respect, as you would receive me.”
“You mean… the Designated Successor who will succeed you as Clan Master?”
“Of course.”

There had never been a shock quite like this.
Even a bolt from a clear sky could not compare.
His vision darkened, and for a long while he could not gather his thoughts.

‘So this is what it feels like to cook rice only to have it fed to the dogs.’

Wi Ji-gwang’s expression hardened and softened by turns, locked in an rictus of barely contained emotion.
“Your Excellency, O Mok of your household requests entry.”
A deep voice resonated from beyond the door.
“Let him through.”
The door slid open with a sharp rasp.
The curtain swayed as a man stepped into the room.
He was dressed entirely in black from head to toe.
A black martial robe, a deep-pulled black cloth hat, and a single sword at his side.
This was O Mok, one of Wi Ji-gwang’s most trusted subordinates.
He was not a man of Jung-won.
He had come to Jung-won following a merchant caravan, then settled as a warrior from the Eastern Ying Martial World.
The sword art he practiced was therefore not of Jung-won.

‘The Itto-ryu.’

The Eastern Ying sword arts emphasize speed over variation.
While the Eastern Ying Martial World possessed many sword schools, the Musang-ryu, centered around Tae-pan, was known alongside this art as the fastest blade.
A brawl broke out in Hang-ju’s Hwa Hong-ro, where the pleasure houses crowded together, and he found himself facing the local gangs.
No one could withstand his blade.
But against the sheer numbers, the steel grew dull.
Before he could collapse from his wounds, Mo Ryong-cheon—returning to Seo Cheon Mok-san where the Martial Alliance stood after completing his task—spotted him and pulled him to safety.
“I’ve uncovered the identity of the Designated Successor.”
“Is that so?”
Lightning flickered in Wi Ji-gwang’s eyes.
“Well? Who is it?”
“A man named Im Mo-baek, working as an Escort Leader at the Jeok-san Escort Agency.”
“An Escort Leader?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me more. In detail.”
Wi Ji-gwang’s eyes began to burn with fierce intensity.

After finishing breakfast, Im Mo-baek walked toward the quarters of the Blood Response Unit’s commander.
When he arrived, four other Escort Leaders were already there.
Many of the Escort Leaders he’d known from the previous incident had died, but Wi Cheong-cheon nodded in recognition and smiled.
In that earlier massacre, he’d suffered wounds so severe that his entrails nearly spilled out, yet he’d survived—and Im Mo-baek was one of those who had rescued him from the desert.
Because Wi Cheong-cheon was his savior, Im Mo-baek’s manner and heart toward him were different from the rest.
“Is everyone here?”
Jeok Gun-u, the commander of the Blood Response Unit, emerged from the inner chamber.
With Im Mo-baek, there were five Escort Leaders gathered in total.
The Blood Response Unit commanded fifteen Escort Leaders.
A considerable number of them were newly recruited for this assignment.
The remaining ten were currently transporting cargo across the land.
In Jeok Gun-u’s hand were several envelopes—surely Transport Documents for the cargo shipments.
“Today’s cargo is mostly concentrated in nearby regions.”
Even “nearby” meant at least three hundred li.
That was how vast Jung-won truly was.
Jeok Gun-u specified the regions while looking at the Transport Documents.
Though he sometimes assigned delivery areas, if someone volunteered to take a difficult or distant route, he gave them priority.
There were always those willing to go if the road was merely long.
But even when the distance was short, no one was eager to venture into remote, mountainous terrain.
The risk of accident in such places was too high.
So sometimes they drew lots to decide, and recently, hazard allowances had been added based on distance and difficulty.
It was compensation for the danger and hardship endured.
Yet because the allowances weren’t substantial, they hadn’t seen much effect yet.
The distances varied between fifty and seventy li, but all five destinations were cities with accessible routes—no particularly dangerous escorts.
Im Mo-baek accepted the envelope containing a Transport Document.
He reached in, withdrew the document to verify it once more, then tucked it back inside.
“As I always say, safety comes first. Return safely, and we’ll share a drink.”
A faint smile crossed the Escort Leaders’ faces.
Im Mo-baek left Jeok Gun-u’s quarters with his fellow Escort Leaders.

A single carriage.
About a dozen armed escorts.
Nothing was different from any other day.
Im Mo-baek rode at the very front, while Sok Ji-un sat on the driver’s bench.
Escort Officers on horseback flanked the carriage on both sides.
“Pay attention.”
Na Sul-man lowered his voice, speaking to Bo Hae-man, who rode beside him.
“Do you notice the difference?”
Bo Hae-man’s gaze fixed on Im Mo-baek.
As always, Im Mo-baek sat upon his horse, his hands constantly moving.
Sometimes extending, sometimes mimicking grasping motions.
At times he traced an invisible circle, then pressed it inward with force.
It was the martial practice on horseback that repeated itself with every escort run.
Of course, the Escort Officers understood that his hand movements were far from simple.
“Feel it.”
Bo Hae-man fixed his gaze on Im Mo-baek and continued.
“Feel it deeply. How should I put it… yes, I’d say the term Astounding Progress fits perfectly.”
Astounding Progress.
A phrase used to describe someone whose knowledge or talent has grown astonishingly.
No matter what anyone said, Bo Hae-man was a first-rate master.
Following Im Mo-baek around, I came to recognize those restless hand movements as the Hundred Steps Divine Fist, which represents Shaolin itself.
A mysterious martial art that no one has perfected since Bodhidharma.
Everyone knows there are martial arts bearing the name Hundred Steps Divine Fist.
But if you ask whether anyone can deploy it, or what level they’ve achieved, they all hesitate and fall silent.
It exists, yet no disciple has ever reached its pinnacle, so it’s also called the Hundred Steps Fruitless Fist.
A fist that accomplishes nothing no matter how far it advances.
Not knowing that martial art doesn’t mean one cannot read the level of mastery.
All Rivers Return to One—the principle that the flow of all living things ultimately converges into a single stream.
Martial arts are the prime example.
So once you reach a certain level, you develop an eye for seeing such things.
Im Mo-baek’s fists, as Na Sul-man observed them, changed day by day, and now they were worlds apart from when first seen.
“Even the Abbot of Shaolin would not be able to keep pace with him when it comes to the Hundred Steps Divine Fist.”
“I see it the same way.”
Na Sul-man nodded.
Once an escort leaves, it’s either five days or a month at the shortest.
Seo-yeok or Cheon-chuk—one journey there and back can span a change of years.
“And another thing. Now I finally understand my doubts.”
Na Sul-man narrowed his eyes.
“Why he doesn’t return to the Moryong Clan.”
Then Na Sul-man and Bo Hae-man turned to face each other as if by agreement.
“It’s because he knows he’s still not ready to enter Yong Dam Ho-hyeol. Being named Designated Successor by Mo Ryong-cheon doesn’t guarantee his life—not when he’s suffered wounds that can’t be undone. Would the men below even listen to what a crippled Mo Ryong-cheon says?”
Na Sul-man twisted his lips.
“They’ll pretend to respect him on the surface, but underneath they’ll be scheming to have this Escort Leader killed, mark my words.”
“Of course they would. I wouldn’t hold back if I were in their shoes either. Here’s a feast all laid out, and some unexpected fool comes and sits down to eat from it—how could you stomach that? Heh-heh-heh.”
Both men laughed softly.
“Is that so? You see it that way?”
Jong Bae, who had been silent until then, interjected.
The two men walked alongside Jong Bae, who was slightly ahead.
“Part of it, yes. The reason this Escort Leader couldn’t enter the Moryong Clan immediately is partly due to insufficient martial strength, that much is true. But it’s only a part—far from the whole reason.”
“Then what?”
Both men turned to look at Jong Bae at the same time.
“Even a thief must be careful sneaking into another man’s house. How much more so with the Moryong Clan, where tigers lie sleeping and dragons hide? Even with Mo Ryong-cheon healthy, they wouldn’t sit idle—but with a master who’s little better than a scarecrow? They’ll hardly let this Escort Leader be. They’ll demand to know—what’s this upstart, whom no one’s heard of or seen before, doing entering here?—and without a moment’s hesitation, they’ll draw their swords the moment he crosses the threshold.”

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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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