Murim School Record - Chapter 46

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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 46: Into Dosan Geomrim (2)

Yi Mo Baek nodded slowly.
“That’s likely to be the case.”
He already knew it.
“And the justification stands.”
“What justification do you speak of, sir?”
“Do you truly think me a fool to the very end? Even if Mo Yong Cheon named you as Successor Patriarch, you must have known that those beneath you would never accept it.”
“To some extent, yes.”
“If I simply walk in claiming to be the next master, no one will recognize my authority. There is only one way.”
“What is that?”
“Blood.”
Dan Hu Jam spoke with utter clarity.
“There is nothing more certain than blood to set a house in order. Yet one cannot spill it without cause—but now, has not this very incident created the perfect justification? Daring to assassinate the Successor Patriarch itself.”
Yi Mo Baek smiled faintly.
Like the master of the Jeoksan Pyoguk, which divided Jungyeon equally with the Oho Pyoguk, he read the situation with precision.
He had nearly died, but somehow he had lived.
That meant fortune stood on his side.
No talent could overcome luck.
Since sufficient cause had been created to cleanse the Moyong Sega with blood, even the Murim Maeng could not intervene, however brutal the consequences.
Revenge in the Gangho is crueler than that of any beast.
It uproots not just people but every weed and root, all with an eye toward preventing yet another revenge to come.
And so revenge in the Gangho flows without mercy or tears.
“What sort of investment are you proposing to make in me?”
“Information.”
“You mean to deal in information?”
“Across the eighteen thousand li of Jungyeon, there is nowhere beyond the reach of the Jeoksan Pyoguk’s hand. It is impossible for anything—anyone plotting anything anywhere—to escape our eyes.”
Suddenly, the events at Mo Ok came to mind.
Cheong Mong Seonsa, who had departed with Jin Mong, sent a transmission of thought.

‘Have you nothing to say?’

Still, he seemed to be wanting something more.
Perhaps he felt wounded by it all.
Yi Mo Baek kept his silence.

‘I will not tell you that Sorim treated you well. But because he was harsh, is it not true that you ground your teeth and trained all the harder?’

He was subtly trying to emphasize Sorim’s favor.
There was cause enough to emphasize it.
He had given the Daehwan Dan, and he had gained the Baekbo Singeun—truly a transaction worthy of being called a great exchange.
Yet he had never begged for help.
The Daehwan Dan had been fed to him merely because Cheong Mong Seonsa coveted his talent, and the Baekbo Singeun had been obtained only by pestering and pleading with Myeong Gong Seonsa, the Master of the Hamma Yeonyeon Dae.
Even that had been largely because they believed that even if they taught the forms, he would never master them.
There had been scarcely any deeds born of genuine concern for him or sincere support or goodwill.

‘To properly command Heaven and Earth, one’s ear must be keen.’

At first, he had not understood what this meant.
And on the journey here, he had forgotten it.
But now, hearing from Dan Hu Jam about the information-gathering power of the Jeoksan Pyoguk, Cheong Mong Seonsa’s words suddenly made sense.
The “ear” Cheong Mong Seonsa spoke of must surely mean information-gathering ability.
Knowing an enemy’s movements was the greatest condition for waging a victorious fight.
Dan Hu Jam rose from his seat.
“The hour grows late, and I trust my meaning has been sufficiently conveyed.”
With a light smile, Dan Hu Jam turned his head and left the room.
Yi Mo Baek remained alone in the now-empty chamber, lost in thought for a long while.
Mo Yong Cheon was certainly doing so, and Dan Hu Jam, who had just arrived and left, was undoubtedly observing the state of affairs under heaven with equal clarity.
They were exceptional men, so they wouldn’t rely solely on their own judgment—they would have studied the signs of heaven and gathered gossip from the notable figures of Gangho.
And from the fact that they’d come here, one could easily infer what kind of conclusions they’d reached.

‘Fresh blood.’
That was what they must have said—that the realm would not fall into the hands of any existing figure.
If that were true, then naturally another question would follow.

‘Who is he?’
‘If I knew, would I be wasting time here? But one thing is certain—he’s a newcomer. That much I know for sure.’

Those with ambitions to rule all under heaven share a common trait.
They are invariably possessed of exceptional ability.
Whether it be martial prowess, or the art of strategy and tactics, or the reading of stars and celestial signs to divine fortune and misfortune.

‘How fortunate that the simple monks of Sorim are so blind. If even one of them had recognized your potential, the dark figure would never have let you live. It’s my good fortune alone that none of them perceived you as the heart of the coming storm.’

Cheong Mong Seonsa had spoken with obvious pride in being the only one to see it.
The fact that Cheong Mong Seonsa had sought him out so persistently and provoked him was itself a declaration of his effort and investment.
Yet Yi Mo Baek felt nothing of it, only annoyance, and vented his irritation without pause.
Whoosh!
He snuffed out the light.
Then lay down quietly in the darkness.

No one had anticipated it.
Early in the morning, Dan Hu Jam summoned him, and when he arrived, Dan Hu Jam produced an Unsong Jang and showed it to him.

‘Recipient: Moyong Sega’

Dan Hu Jam spoke as Yi Mo Baek examined the Unsong Jang.
“I thought it might not be a bad idea to swing by there on the way, so I’ll leave it to you.”
After reading the Unsong Jang, Yi Mo Baek smiled faintly.
“Is that so?”
“The details you can hear from the Chief Manager. See to it.”
Dan Hu Jam turned his back and walked away.
Yi Mo Baek looked at the Unsong Jang once more.
The cargo was Jeoksang Po.
Jeoksang Po—fabric woven from the red inner bark of mulberry trees.
It was heavier than hemp or cotton, but its defining quality was its toughness.
Its elasticity was exceptional.
When blades or swords struck it, the fabric would stretch and push back before tearing, providing reliable protection to the wearer.

‘Ten bolts of Jeoksang Po, then.’

It was naturally a costly commodity.
In fact, nearly every martial master worth mention wore garments made of Jeoksang Po.
Though expensive, the value was well worth the price.
“Safe travels.”
Seok Du Sang, who happened to be on duty, called out loudly toward the two carriages.
“We await your safe return, honored Pyosa.”
His concern came from the heart.
Yi Mo Baek had become the Pyotou and was setting out once more on a cargo escort mission.
There were ten escort guards in total for the cargo.
Suk Ji Un was among them.
Though he was wounded, he insisted on going, so after receiving the physician’s permission, they brought him along.
“This could prove interesting.”
Seok Du Sang murmured.
“What was that?”
Jin Bang, who stood watch alongside him, spoke up.
“No, forget it.”
“Director Wi, isn’t this going too far? There have been times—more than once or twice—when I would have gladly died without hesitation if you’d asked me to. And yet you hide so much from me.”
“It’s nothing, kid.”
“Exactly—so what is this nothing you’re talking about?”
He looked consumed with curiosity.
“The truth is, where do you think this Pyotou’s carriage is headed right now? Isn’t it to the Moyong Sega?”
“The Moyong Sega? And…?”
Jin Bang, ignorant of the full context and circumstances, could perceive nothing and sense nothing at all.
Seok Du Sang gave him a brief explanation.
“Oh, oh, oh…”
Jin Bang’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Then isn’t that the same as walking into a tiger’s den as prey?”
“Something like that. I’ll handle it well enough, but I’m still worried.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“How would you know that?”
“Who is this Pyotou? One look at him and you can see the kind of face that never makes the same mistake twice.”
“You’re telling me you can read faces?”
“I studied a bit when I was younger. Nothing deep, but I can see what’s there to see.”
Seok Du Sang latched onto the mention of face-reading.
He kept asking for just one reading, and as Jin Bang demurred that he was hardly an expert, the carriages receded into the distance.

A long rectangular table had been set up, and the high-ranking officials representing the Moyong Sega gathered around it.
The air was suffocating.
A single spark away from ignition.
The air in the chamber had grown so taut that even the gentlest prick would make it shatter.
The broad-shouldered man in black robes, his frame solid and imposing, was Yeo Dang Cheon, commander of the Yuseong Hyeol Ro Dae, the Moyong Sega’s elite assault unit.
Across from him sat a middle-aged man in black robes—small of stature, thin-lipped, with sunken eyes—who was Gam Pyeong Mu, patriarch of the Hyeongdang, the organization that maintained the Moyong Sega’s order.
At the far end of the table sat an elderly man in black, from whose body wisps of subdued heat rose—Jong Ri Gun, a retainer who had served and remained loyal to Mo Yong Cheon for the past twenty years, and one of the O Nae O Ki.
Beside him sat a young man with features as refined as jade.
Wi Ji Gwang, a disciple of Mo Yong Cheon.
All the warriors of the Moyong Sega had received instruction from Mo Yong Cheon and could thus be called his disciples, but Wi Ji Gwang held the distinction of being a Gimyeong Jeja—a personally acknowledged disciple.
Beyond these four sat formidable figures, each renowned in the Gangho as fearsome martial masters.
“Given how long we’ve deliberated and all the time we’ve had to think this through, I believe we can delay no longer. We must drive the stake through the earth here and now, once and for all.”
So spoke Jong Ri Gun.
“Why do you all calculate so much? When the mind churns endlessly, no conclusion emerges. I will ask again. All those who recognize Wi Ji Gwang here as the official next Patriarch of the Moyong Sega—raise your hands.”
Whoosh!
And with that, he was the first to raise his own.
The Moyong Dae Ui—
The grand council where the Moyong Sega’s critical matters were decided.
Whoosh!
Swoosh, swoosh!
One by one, hands began to rise.
At the Moyong Dae Ui, no conclusion could be reached without unanimous consent.
The full complement of attendees should have been eighteen.
Three were absent on duty, and if all fifteen present voted in favor, Wi Ji Gwang would gain the qualification to become the next Patriarch of the Moyong Sega.
Of course, one final hurdle remained.
It was receiving the Moyong Pae from Mo Yong Cheon himself—the seal of authority to rule the Moyong Sega.
In other words, without Mo Yong Cheon’s approval, it could not come to pass.
Yet the conclusion reached here carried a meaning of tremendous weight.
It meant that the entire family’s will had become one.
Such unity, no matter how formidable Mo Yong Cheon might be, could exert considerable pressure—and especially now, with his body weakened, the tide of consensus might compel him to grant his assent regardless.
This was precisely Wi Ji Gwang’s calculation.
To advance by wielding the unanimous opinion of his subordinates as a weapon.
“Twelve.”
Jong Ri Gun counted aloud the number of raised hands.
His voice carried an undertone—a deliberate pressure aimed at those who had not yet committed.
Three remained.
They were the same people who had made their opposition clear in yesterday’s council.
Jong Ri Gun approached each of them individually, promising that if they helped him once, Wi Ji Gwang would surely repay the favor.
The three men’s resistance stemmed from a single, simple reason.
It went against Mo Yong Cheon’s wishes.

‘This is rebellion.’

They were explicit about it.
Yet Jong Ri Gun did not yield easily either.

‘Look at Sacheon Dangmun, look at Jinju Eon Ga. Were they ever faithful to patrimonial succession? In the previous generation, power passed clearly to the patriarch, yet rebellions stirred from below — and when stronger patriarchs arose, didn’t their lineages endure unbroken right up to this day?’

It was true enough that flowing water followed its natural course.
But when water grew stagnant, to swim against the current was sometimes the only way to survive.
“Thirteen!”
At last, one of the three raised his hand.
A gasp of astonishment rippled through the chamber.
The sound swelled and spread.
All eyes converged on the two who still held back.
It was tremendous pressure.
Especially when the one who had resisted longest switched to support — the remaining two found themselves in an impossible position.
A sharp swoosh.
Another arm rose into the air.
“Fourteen!”
Clap, clap!
Someone even began to applaud.
Bang!
It was then that the door to the conference hall burst open with a crash.
Everyone gasped and turned, their faces draining of color.

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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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