Murim School Record - Chapter 48

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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 48: Culling the Worthless (2)

No matter how exquisite a sword technique, its power depends entirely on how deeply the practitioner grasps it and how thoroughly they master it.
Yet the longing to learn a formidable technique burned the same in every warrior’s heart.
Since Cheong Mong Seonsa was known to be well-versed in the Martial World, I thought to ask him about it.

‘How do you know the Chilseong Sword Technique?’
Cheong Mong Seonsa wore an expression of genuine surprise.

‘I don’t know how many sword techniques bear the name Chilseong in the Jianghu, but of all of them, I know of only one man.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Chilseong Wu Technique.’

At this unfamiliar name, Yi Mo-baek narrowed his eyes, studying him intently.

‘Chilseong Wu Technique was a man who perfected his sword through dance. His activities in the Jianghu spanned barely ten years. He emerged first and earned considerable renown within five years, then vanished. After twenty years had passed, he emerged again—and from that point forward, he danced with his blade. When his swordplay unfurled, nothing remained standing.’
‘And what became of him after that?’
‘He disappeared again, and there has been no word of him to this day. More than a hundred years have passed, so he is surely dead.’

The next day, Yi Mo-baek recalled Suk Ji-yun’s practice movements and demonstrated several of them.

‘That is the Chilseong Wu Technique.’

Cheong Mong Seonsa answered clearly, then asked how he had come to know that sword.
“Wait… does that mean my sword technique is the Chilseong Wu Technique?”
“In my understanding, when dance reaches completion, it blooms as beautifully as a flower.”
“The more I awakened to mysteries and rose in realm, the more my blade seemed to trace circles and grow soft—now I understand why.”
As if grasping the reason at last, Suk Ji-yun nodded, and a smile bloomed at the corners of his mouth.
When he had first bought the Chilseong Wu Technique Manual for two silver taels, he had honestly thought it dear for his means.
Moreover, what if it was fraudulent?
There were no shortage of booksellers who, driven by mercenary instinct, deliberately coated old paper with dust before displaying it.
Dust piled high made anything look like some hidden secret to any onlooker.
“Go and practice diligently.”
“Thank you, Master. Now that I know what the Chilseong Wu Technique truly is, I feel driven to train even harder.”
“That is simply the nature of the human heart.”
Yi Mo-baek raised his hand in dismissal and vanished into the inn.

A vast estate pressed down upon the land.
It was the Moyong Clan Estate.
Known as one of the four traditional great families—the Dang Sect of Sichuan, the Eon Clan of Zhenzhou, the Peng Clan of Hebei—
their history was shorter.
Yet measured by the present, they surpassed them all.
This supremacy was achieved when the man named Moyong Cheon appeared, providing the finishing touch.
None of the previous masters of the four great families had ever ascended to the rank of Alliance Lord.
Moyong Clan Estate was the first common martial family—not one of the Nine Sects and One Gang—to produce an Alliance Lord.
Naturally, the pride of the Moyong Clan’s warriors ran deep.
They never felt diminished when encountering disciples of Shaolin or Wudang.
Being from the family of an Alliance Lord granted them tremendous prestige and solid power.
Yet as the old saying goes, flowers do not bloom forever.
The Moyong Clan Estate now faced its gravest crisis since its founding.
The atmosphere within the clan had grown ominous over the question of who would inherit the position of family head.
Internal strife is the greatest cause of a prestigious family’s ruin.
When factions form and men align with their own, alliances shifting like clouds, strength crumbles and the path to self-destruction unfolds.
“Halt the approaching carriage.”
A man with broad shoulders, garbed in black, barked out the command.
A large saber hung at his side, and his whiskers were so thick they conjured an image of a mountain brigand.
Whoosh!
Yi Mo-baek raised his hand, and the carriage following him came to a halt.
A man in black robes approached with unshakeable confidence.
“Jeoksanpyoguk?”
“That’s correct.”
Snap!
With that, Yi Mo-baek withdrew the transport document from his robe and handed it over.
The man in black extracted the document from the envelope, unfolded it, and scanned it swiftly.
He studied it once more with deliberate care, then refolded it and tucked it back into the envelope.
Turning away, he unfastened the tightly bound canvas covering and inspected the cargo.
Snap, snap!
He pulled the canvas taut again and secured it, then spoke.
“You may pass. Follow the road ahead, and you’ll find signs pointing to Byeongsudang. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”
The man in black handed the envelope containing the transport document back to Yi Mo-baek.
“Thank you for your trouble.”
Yi Mo-baek accepted the envelope and tucked it into his robe, then pulled the horse’s reins.
The party resumed their journey and passed through the main gate of the Moyong Clan Estate.

Byeongsudang was where all the provisions—food, bedding, and clothing—for the Moyong Clan Estate were managed and distributed.
Seo U-don, the hall master who held authority over all incoming and outgoing shipments to Byeongsudang, watched as the approaching Jeoksanpyoguk carriage drew near.
He had been notified from the main gate that the Jeoksanpyoguk carriage had passed through and had already stationed his unloading crew in readiness.
As the carriage came within a suitable distance, Seo U-don raised his hand to halt it.
The party stopped.
Thud!
Yi Mo-baek dismounted and clasped his fist in salute to Seo U-don.
“I come from Jeoksanpyoguk.
He immediately handed over the cargo transport document.
Seo U-don examined the transport document and unfastened the canvas wrapping.
He opened the canvas fully for unloading, revealing bolts of Jeoksang fabric stacked neatly within.
Rip!
He cut the rope binding the fabric with a blade, then seized one bolt and pulled it down.
Seo U-don began to examine the fabric.
After inspecting it for some time, he stretched it out long and held it up to the sunlight.

Meanwhile, Yi Mo-baek watched the scene and swallowed hard.
It was tension.
A counterfeit could never be genuine.
No matter how perfect, a fake could never surpass the real thing.
In truth, the Jeoksang fabric now loaded on the carriage was counterfeit.
When it left Jeoksanpyoguk, it had been genuine goods, but along the way, it had been switched with fake fabric.
Though slightly heavier, it was a cloth favored by Jianghu warriors, which meant there were plenty of counterfeit Jeoksang fabrics circulating.
The recipient of the cargo was none other than the Moyong Clan Estate itself.
From Yi Mo-baek’s position—one who needed to seize control of the Moyong Clan Estate’s power—the Jeoksang fabric on the carriage could never be an ally.
It was obvious that it would be distributed to the warriors loyal to Wei Ji-gwang.
As someone who had to drag Wei Ji-gwang from his seat of power, Yi Mo-baek could not allow this cargo to reach its destination.
Slide!
He pulled out another bolt from underneath and examined it once more.
The face of Suk Ji-yun, who had accompanied him during the switch, was clouded with tension.
Gulp.
His throat was parched, and sweat pooled in his palms.
The Moyong Clan Estate.
If something went wrong here, there was no escape alive.
The unsuspecting transport workers grumbled among themselves.
“What’s he doing? Does he think we’ve pocketed something from the cargo?”
“This is infuriating. What does he take Jeoksanpyoguk for?”
The workers voiced their complaints, and Seo U-don’s inspection was indeed offensive enough to justify their irritation.
Yet Seo U-don had no choice but to be meticulous.
This shipment of Jeoksang fabric was not ordinary goods—it was war materiel prepared by the highest echelons of the Moyong Clan Estate.
Of course, he had to verify its authenticity and quality.
“Unload it.”
Seo U-don’s order fell.
At that, the men who had been waiting began taking the Jeoksang Fabric down from the two carts.
Watching the bolts being moved toward the cavernous warehouse in the distance, Yi Mo-baek let out a breath of relief.
“While the unloading proceeds, might I offer you gentlemen some tea?”
Yi Mo-baek smiled warmly.
“My throat’s been parched, and I’m grateful for the courtesy.”
“Ha! Come this way, then.”
Seo U-don led the way.
Yi Mo-baek and the couriers all disappeared into the inner hall of Byeongsudang, following behind Seo U-don.

Seo U-don was a straightforward man.
The tea he served was Iljuseol Tea.
It was grown in the steep hillsides around Iljuryeong in the Hangzhou Mountains of Zhejiang Province.
Seo U-don cared nothing for the formalities of tea ceremony.
When these couriers drank awkwardly, he smiled and drank aloud, slurping.
Whether one drank it like wine or made slurping sounds while drinking—whatever was comfortable was the true way of tea, he said.
His philosophy was that obsessing over ceremony made tea uncomfortable, and Yi Mo-baek nodded in agreement.
He was refreshingly candid, laying bare his thoughts without artifice.
“Is something the matter?”
When Yi Mo-baek set down his cup and rose, Seo U-don asked.
Yi Mo-baek laughed awkwardly.
“I need to visit the privy.”
“Ha! I suspected as much—you’ve drunk quite a lot. Go ahead.”
Rather than drunk, he had simply poured the tea so he could leave.
Yi Mo-baek stood and walked out through the small anteroom.

The man in black had neat features.
Yet his complexion was strangely pallid, as if decaying.
At first glance, one might suspect he suffered from White Disease, though his ghastly complexion was more than enough to strike fear into any stranger who beheld it.

‘Yeo Dang-cheon, Commander of the Sungseong Hyeolro Division.’

The Sungseong Hyeolro Division was the strike force that proved the Moyong Clan’s power.
Strong units breed strong rebellions.
Many commanders of the Hyeolro Division had fallen to blades wielded by their own men.
Being commander did not mean holding power indefinitely.
At any moment, one could slay the commander and seize his authority if victorious.
That made the position all the more brutal.
To deliberately encourage competition, internal conflicts within the Hyeolro Division were often overlooked and ignored by those above.
Strength grew through killing and being killed.

‘Is it not enough to prevail?’

This was Moyong Cheon’s strategy for managing his subordinates.
His conviction that slaying a leader and taking his seat was never rebellion had made the commander’s chair a place of restless unease.
There were commanders who lost their lives to a subordinate’s ambush mere days after taking the seat.
Though the timing varied, that position was never one of longevity.
Yet Yeo Dang-cheon had occupied the commander’s chair for two years without a tremor.
His long tenure held a single secret.

‘Strike first to seize control.’

Take the initiative and you subjugate your opponent.
The slightest hint that someone meant to harm him, any suspicious sign, and he spared no thought for consequence.
Whether over a meal or at a wine table, he showed no mercy to place or circumstance—he simply cut down his subordinates’ throats.
Later, even if it were revealed that the victim had harbored no interest in the commander’s seat whatsoever, he received the consequences with perfect equanimity.

‘It troubled me, all of it.’

He had become not a leader, but a warden and executioner rolled into one.
To hold a position in the Martial World meant one thing: kill to keep it.
Who would need to die today?
To defend the Division, Yeo Dang-cheon sat with his brow furrowed, turning the question over in his mind.
A seismic shift was coming soon enough.
A new master would be welcomed in.
When power changed hands, the public sentiment wavered, and creatures of ambition—circling, waiting—would surface.
It was inevitable that such things would occur within the Sungseong Hyeolro Division as well.
Blood would have to spill.
Even without cause, he would have to fabricate a pretext and kill someone.
Only then would his position grow more secure.
Thump-thump.
Footsteps sounded suddenly.
Since no one had summoned anyone, Yeo Dang-cheon lifted his head and looked toward the entrance.
Only a handful of people could enter his chambers without permission.
If they were subordinates, the protocol was to report first from outside before entering.
They could not enter without announcement.
Creak.
The door opened.
Yeo Dang-cheon’s eyes narrowed.
A man stepped inside, glancing about like a drunk inn guest who couldn’t find his own room.
The man surveyed the chamber as though sightseeing, then took several more steps toward him.
He stopped short.
Yeo Dang-cheon’s eyes gleamed.
The man’s appearance was grotesque.
His face was crisscrossed with countless spider-web scars, and above his right eyebrow sat a thick, bun-sized scar like a finishing touch on a masterpiece—raised and dark.
It looked like the work of a severe burn.
His features, aside from the scarring, were handsome enough, but the ravaged face twisted that beauty into something repulsive.
No matter how hard he searched his memory, this was no face among his subordinates.
Boom.
Boom-boom.

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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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