Murim School Record - Chapter 47

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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 47: Culling the Worthless (1)

“W-Woo Gun!”
The man who stepped through the door was Woo Gun, one of the two survivors among the Muyeok Sa-gun.
Mo Yong Cheon’s shadow.
“What brings you here?”
Jong Ri Gun, the eldest among them and an Elder, rose to his feet as he spoke.
Thump-thump.
Woo Gun approached.
“I greet you, Elder.”
“I’m asking what business you have here.”
“I’ve come to deliver the Family Head’s words. He says he cannot accept any conclusion reached by the Moyong Council, whatever it may be.”
“Hmm!”
“Ahhh!”
Heavy groans rippled through the room from all directions.
“Young Master!”
Woo Gun spoke toward Wi Ji Gwang.
“He commands that you cease your reckless conduct. Out of regard for the long-standing bond with the Wi Ji Family, he is willing to overlook what has transpired thus far.”
Wi Ji Gwang’s face hardened.
The long-standing bond with the Wi Ji Family.
Wi Ji Gwang’s grandfather had served the Moyong Clan since his time.
Wi Ji Gwang’s grandfather, Wi Ji Gon, had followed Mo Yong Ha, Mo Yong Cheon’s father, with unwavering loyalty and left a legacy of great deeds.
After his grandfather’s death, his father Wi Ji Sang also devoted everything to Mo Yong Ha.
When Mo Yong Ha died, power passed to Mo Yong Cheon.
His father Wi Ji Sang had passed away ten years prior, and Mo Yong Cheon had honored his merit by granting him the title “Moyong’s First Commander.”
And so Wi Ji Gwang became Mo Yong Cheon’s personally appointed disciple.
If he continued the line, three generations would have served with unwavering devotion.
Now he yearned to shed the station of servant and become master.
As Mo Yong Cheon fell into grave peril, that possibility grew higher.
“I’ve delivered the message. I’ll take my leave now.”
Woo Gun turned to go.
Then Jong Ri Gun moved to block his path.
“Elder Jong!”
Jong Ri Gun smiled faintly.
“Forgive me.”
“It matters not if I die. But since I’ve come bearing the Family Head’s command, my life is no different from his.”
“Don’t speak such things. Your neck is your own, not his.”
“Step aside, Elder Jong.”
Wi Ji Gwang, who had been seated, rose and approached.
Drawing close, Wi Ji Gwang spoke.
“Three generations of loyalty—surely there’s nothing strange about the master of the Moyong Clan changing hands now, is there?”
“Nowhere in the annals of the Middle Kingdom has a servant ever become master.”
Twitch.
At the word “servant,” Wi Ji Gwang’s eyebrows rippled like waves.
It was the word he most despised.
The world was cruelly, bitterly unequal.
How could one’s fate be sealed the moment one drew breath?
Masters remained masters, and no matter how clever or diligent, servants were condemned to remain servants.

‘Don’t live as a servant like I did.’

These were the words his father had left behind when he died.
“I will prove it. That servants can become masters too.”
Whoosh!
Wi Ji Gwang extended his right hand.
A formidable force surged forth—one of the Geumgang Blood-Wall Techniques, the Geumgang Blood-Break, a family secret of the Moyong Clan.
Crack!
Woo Gun planted himself firmly and unleashed a palm strike to meet the oncoming force.
He answered with the same Geumgang Blood-Break.
Ugh!
But Woo Gun staggered backward a single step, a gasp escaping through clenched teeth.
His eyes widened.

‘Ambition and talent both run deep in that one.’

Mo Yong Cheon had always praised Wi Ji Gwang.
Though no blood bound them, he said the boy resembled him more than anyone.
“The martial skill of the Muyeok Sa-gun is justly renowned, and you live up to your reputation. I would be grateful for a proper exchange.”
Whoosh!
Wi Ji Gwang advanced swiftly and extended his palm strike.
His approach dazzled the eye; his palm force was swift and economical.
Snap!
Woo Gun did not evade.
Evasion would solve nothing here.
To survive this, he needed to press forward with aggression.
But the moment their palm forces were about to collide, Wi Ji Gwang’s palm shifted.
Blast!
Blast, blast, blast, blast!
Palm force erupted in succession.
Rather than ending with a single strike, he unleashed wave after wave of force against Woo Gun’s body.
A single hand could discharge multiple palm strikes in rapid sequence.
The greater the skill, the more strikes one could unleash.
But it required extraordinary speed and breath control, meaning full power could not be poured into each blow—they weakened progressively with each one.
Huh!
Woo Gun scrambled to parry the successive palms driving toward him.
Yet he was overwhelmed.
He could not match the speed, and the force behind each strike pushed him further back.
He had suspected Wi Ji Gwang was his superior, but the gulf between them far exceeded his expectations.
Crack!
Crack-crack!
Unable to keep pace, he took successive palm strikes square to his chest.
Gahhh!
He reeled backward, driven hard across the ground, and spat blood onto the floor.
Wi Ji Gwang was laughing.
Not a mark marred his face.

‘So this is how it stands…’

He was strong.
Far stronger than Woo Gun had imagined.
For a moment, comparing Wi Ji Gwang’s prowess to the formidable Moyong Clan, Woo Gun found himself thinking the man would make a worthy Family Head.
But a rebel leader who betrays his master to seize power will never cherish the traditions and honor of his house.
He would sweep everything into his own grasp and wield it for nothing but his ambition.
“They say the wise know how to yield at the right moment. Had you relinquished your seat gracefully, I would have honored you as Former Family Head and seated you upon a radiant throne.”
Whoooosh!
Wi Ji Gwang’s crimson palm came rushing forward.
That scarlet hand.
The Hyeol-geum-in.
The supreme technique among the Eighteen Geumgang Blood-Wall Techniques.
Too swift and terrible to evade.
Meeting it head-on was the only response.
Crack!
Aaahhh!
Woo Gun’s scream tore through the air as his body crashed through the wall and flew outward into the night.
Thud-crash!
Bricks scattered in all directions as the wall gave way, and the faces of those inside went deathly pale.
That technique they themselves had been training—the Hyeol-geum-in.
Yet no one else had reached the heights Wi Ji Gwang now displayed.
One need only look at Mo Yong Cheon to understand the destructive power of Hyeol-geum-in.
With that technique alone, he became master of the martial realm under heaven.
Strength in martial arts breeds fear, and fear draws forth obedience—the submission of serving a leader.
The silence grew heavier still.

As twilight descended, two carriages entered Geumreung.
The fluttering crimson banners with their bold mountain character marked them unmistakably as belonging to the Jeoksan Escort Agency.
“Shall we press on?”
Suk Ji Un, who drove the lead carriage, asked the question.
Yi Mo Baek, the bamboo-hat-wearing man who rode ahead on horseback, answered in turn.
“No. We’ll lodge in Geumreung tonight.”
The Moyong Clan residence lay some fifty leagues east of Geumreung.
They could have reached it before midnight if they continued, but having traveled a hundred leagues that day, Yi Mo Baek decided to rest.
“We’ll stay at the Geumha Guest House.”
He spoke with Internal Martial Power lending weight to his words.
Color rose in the escorts’ faces.
At first, they had found Yi Mo Baek rather intimidating.
Especially after hearing that he had faced grave peril during the previous escort run, yet survived—that news had made them wary.
Those who emerge dramatic from death tend to be rough-edged.
Having stood at the threshold of the underworld and returned, one cannot help but harden.
So they had been tense, but he proved unexpectedly gentle, even thoughtful.
“We welcome you all.”
As they reached the Geumha Guest House, two innkeepers rushed out to greet the party with loud voices.
“We shall see the horses and carriages safely to the stable, so please come down at your leisure.”
The party dismounted.
“Ah, my back!”
“There’s nothing quite like the joy of planting both feet on solid ground again. Ahhhhh.”
Though they were martial warriors, long hours in the saddle left the whole body aching.
The escorts who had dismounted stretched themselves, arms raised high.
As the twelve men of the Jeoksan Escort Agency filed in, the proprietor came rushing out.
Early evening’s brisk trade had passed; now customers were thinning. When this group arrived, his grin spread wide.
“Please, this way—our finest table.”
From here, the street below lay fully visible, and in the distance, ornate floating brothels drifted across the Jin Hoe Ha.
They had come to Jin Hoe Ha before.
That time, the cargo’s destination had been Mae Hyang Seowon, located north of Geumreung.
Fortunately, the attackers that day had left the cargo untouched.
But that meant something unmistakably clear.
Do you think we’re petty bandits chasing mere goods?
In other words, their actions made no secret of the fact that they had staged that commotion to kill Yi Mo Baek himself.
In the second ambush, they had been nearly wiped out.
He himself had been on the very brink of death.
Sheer luck had let him live.
On the surface he showed nothing, but his heart lay heavy.
Heh!
A quiet laugh escaped him.
He could not help the peculiar feeling that washed over him.
Though he had known it before, now as the escorts heard the story of that day’s Jin Hoe Ha incident again through Suk Ji Un’s account, tension flashed across their faces.
“Don’t dwell on it overmuch. Eat and drink your fill at ease. Surely the same thing won’t happen again.”
Yi Mo Baek moved to reassure the escorts.
The ordered dishes came pouring out.
The evening meal began, wine accompanying the food.
Yi Mo Baek ensured they ate their fill.
By the nature of their work, escorts did not drink beyond a certain measure.
They would not drink as though today’s escort run marked its final end, toasting recklessly.
The cargo might suffer some mishap in the dead of night, and even with the inn managing it, the escorts had to take turns standing night watch to guard it.
Wine cups emptied again and again; fresh dishes arrived one by one.
Yi Mo Baek led the way, drinking and eating, drawing out the warmth of the gathering.

Everyone had fallen asleep, and Suk Ji Un, the first to take the cargo watch, buckled on his sword and left the room.
Suk Ji Un headed toward the stable where the horses and cargo were kept.
The horses kicked and whinnied, acknowledging his presence.
“Escort Leader!”
Suk Ji Un started in surprise.
Yi Mo Baek, whom he’d thought was sleeping, was inspecting the cargo.
“You’re not resting?”
“Sleep won’t come. Am I on the first watch, then?”
“Hehe! We drew lots, and wouldn’t you know it—I drew the short straw!”
“There shouldn’t be any problems.”
Suk Ji Un spoke after checking even the second wagon’s cargo, watching as Yi Mo Baek cinched the canopy tight.
Thump-thump!
Yi Mo Baek brushed the dust from his palms.
“Ji Un.”
“Yes, Escort Leader!”
“You said you wanted to become the greatest swordsman under heaven?”
Suk Ji Un laughed, embarrassed.
“The greatest swordsman under heaven? That’s too much. What I really want is to be recognized as someone who doesn’t fall behind anyone when it comes to the blade. Something like that, I suppose.”
He trailed off bashfully.
“How did you acquire the Seven-Star Sword Technique?”
“Why are you asking again?”
Suk Ji Un smiled and spoke.
“I told you already. I saw something in an old bookshop in Jang An, covered in dust, that looked like it might be worth something, so I bought it.”
“How much silver did you pay?”
“Just two taels, they said. Even if it was a sword technique fit only for beating dogs and pigs, two taels of silver is practically nothing. So I snapped it up at once.”
As he spoke, Suk Ji Un’s eyes gleamed.
“Why do you ask?”
“Would just anyone commit their own sword technique to a manual for posterity?”
“They wouldn’t. As they say, some street ruffian with barely two coins to rub together wouldn’t waste money on brushes and paper just to publish some pointless thing.”
“Have you ever heard of Cheong Mong Seonsa from Shaolin?”
“The only Shaolin monk I know of is Cheong Ak Seonsa.”
At the mention of Cheong Ak Seonsa, Yi Mo Baek’s eyes lit up.
“No, no—don’t look at me like that. I don’t know him personally. I know his name because he’s the Shaolin Sect Leader.”
“He is his senior brother.”
“The senior brother of the Shaolin Sect Leader…wow.”
Suk Ji Un’s mouth fell open at the mere thought of it.
He had received treatment and could now converse.
As Yi Mo Baek showed rapid recovery from Jin Mong’s treatment, Cheong Mong Seonsa’s face grew steadily brighter.

‘The Seven-Star Sword Technique?’

Lying in his bed, Yi Mo Baek suddenly recalled Suk Ji Un and the Seven-Star Sword Technique he was practicing.
He’d watched him train a few times, and it seemed like an ordinary technique.

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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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