Murim School Record - Chapter 5

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 5: The Witch (2)

Yi Mobaek nodded.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What I’m asking is where you learned to speak that way.”
A grin spread across his face.
Yi Mobaek laughed, teeth bared.
“I picked up a thing or two watching over the monks’ shoulders while they were training, sir.”
“Insolent brat!”
The shout exploded like thunder.
Yi Mobaek flinched, startled.
The cry carried Inner Energy, and his chest tightened painfully; his breath caught in his throat before he could help it.
“I apologize. If it’s forbidden to learn, then I won’t learn anymore. I promise.”
As if annoyed at such theatrics over a trivial matter, Yi Mobaek answered with cool indifference.
“I won’t do it again. That settles it.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
“That startled me. Whew.”
A twitch crossed Myeongong Seonsa’s face.
His eyes narrowed, following the tent where Yi Mobaek had disappeared.

‘He said he picked it up watching over the monks’ shoulders during their training.’

Sorim was not some common sect.
The martial arts taught there were not the kind one could steal by casual observation.
Even after twenty years at Sorim, he himself had never achieved a clear understanding of the Baekbo Divine Fist.
It was the most coveted technique among all disciples of Sorim, yet not a single person had ever fully grasped its essence.
“Elder brother!”
Someone called from the darkness.
Myeongong turned to find his disciple, Myeongsan Seonsa, standing before him.
“An urgent dispatch from the Murim Alliance. Orders to move to Gwidok Valley immediately.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“The situation must be grave indeed.”
“Prepare to move at once.”
Myeongong Seonsa strode across the forest.
The camp suddenly erupted into chaos.
Tents were struck, and the monks of the Hangma Yeonhwa-dae, roused from sleep, gathered their belongings and vanished without a trace in less than a quarter hour.

The commotion caught the people of the supply quarters as well.
They rose with sleep still in their eyes and began gathering their things.
“Huh, these monks don’t need sleep either, it seems.”
“Get moving, get moving.”
Dang Duchun urged the ayahs along as they packed.
In his hand was a note Myeongong Seonsa had left—a map to a place called Heukto Rock, near Gwidok Valley.
“Check the supplies!”
“Supplies checked!”
At Dang Duchun’s command, the ayahs echoed his words and reviewed the loads on the carts once more.
“Everything accounted for!”
“Everything accounted for!”
At the report that nothing was amiss, Dang Duchun issued his order.
“Move out!”
The cart laden with supplies began to roll forward.
The eyes of Sae Myeol and Sae Ryong, responsible for escorting the cart, gleamed in the dark.
Creak-creak!
The sound of the cart wheels echoed through the darkness as the party began to leave the forest.

The black rock shaped like a rabbit in the map—it had to be Heukto Rock.
The party had walked through the night and finally arrived at Heukto Rock on Cheongyo Mountain.
Day was already breaking.
They unpacked the provisions they’d brought in the cart and began preparing so that Hangma Yeonhwa-dae could eat whenever they returned.
“Where is Gwidok Valley?”
Yi Mobaek, who’d been gathering firewood with Seol Yeochul, grumbled and looked around uncertainly.
“They said it appears if you follow that ravine.”
Seol Yeochul pointed to a spot in the distance.
A valley with steep slopes on both sides came into view.
“Looks sinister!”
Yi Mobaek muttered.
“Mobaek!”
Seol Yeochul called to him.
Yi Mobaek, who’d been about to bring the axe down on a log, turned his head.
“I was honestly hurt.”
“Hurt?”
“My stomach really was aching,”
meaning he hadn’t been feigning illness to avoid the journey.
When Yi Mobaek heard that, he’d mocked him, suggesting he must have two necks to say such a thing, and that mockery had stung.
“Who am I, hyung? Except for Dang Duchun, the head steward, you know the person I respect most in the kitchen is you. I trust you. I’m a truthful person by nature. You’re second only to Dang in my heart, so what—”
“Ah, you fool, why do you look so serious? I was joking, just joking.”
Seol Yeochul smiled brightly.
“But Mobaek, you’ve been muttering the whole way here that this place is nasty and filthy. Why?”
“It’s nothing much.”
“Tell me!”
“Blast it, well, last night—”
He explained what had happened with Myeongong Seonsa.
“He said not to learn?”
“He didn’t say it outright like that. But the way he looked at me—it felt like he was sneering, thinking, ‘What does a punk like you expect to learn the signature martial arts of Sorim?'”
Thump.
Seol Yeochul sat down on a rock, wiping his brow.
“Any disciple of Sorim can learn any martial art.”
“But we’re not disciples, are we?”
“Why aren’t we disciples? Strictly speaking, we are disciples. The Buddha himself said: whoever follows me is my disciple.”
“But we don’t follow.”
“We serve the monks. Isn’t serving the same as following? Beyond that—if you keep training hard while pretending you’re not learning, how would he even know? You’re not asking him to teach you; you’re saying you’ll obtain it through your own effort, and he’s blocking that. It’s not befitting of Sorim to dampen an ayah’s thirst for learning like that.”
Yi Mobaek fell silent.
Seol Yeochul shouldered a loaded frame of wood and headed down.

The morning meal was all prepared.
But time had passed, and Hangma Yeonhwa-dae had not appeared.
“Has something happened?”
Yi Mobaek raised his voice slightly, as if to make sure Sae Myeol and Sae Ryong could hear.
The two monks’ expressions hardened.
“Head Steward Dang!”
Sae Myeol approached.
“Have the kitchen people eat first.”
“We are fine, sir.”
“No. We cannot wait forever, so eat now.”
Though their bellies growled, they could not speak of hunger—only watched Dang Duchun’s face.
“Very well. Then we shall eat first. Everyone, take your meal!”
At Dang Duchun’s command, the ayahs picked up their beolwoos
and began filling them with rice and side dishes, eating quickly.
According to the original agreement, Hangma Yeonhwa-dae was to have arrived at Heukto Rock by the Chen Hour, or at the latest before the Si Hour, and eaten together.
Since they would need to serve the guests their meal when they appeared, the ayahs pressed on with their food.
Some of the more experienced ayahs ate differently.
As if knowing trouble could erupt at any moment, they barely chewed.

“Ahhh!”
A scream pierced the air just as Yi Mobaek was shoveling rice into his mouth.
Thunk.
He froze.
All the ayahs working in the dining hall looked up from their meals.
They turned toward the sound—it came from the dark forest to the left of the entrance to Gwidok Valley.
“That was a scream, wasn’t it?”
Seol Yeochul swallowed hard.
“It was. I heard it too.”
The ayahs murmured nervously.
“Don’t worry yourselves. Keep eating. I’ll go check and be right back.”
Sae Ryong said he would take a look and told them to continue their meal.
But no one picked up their bowl.
It had been no ordinary cry—the kind a man makes in his death throes—and their faces showed it.
“Oh, what does it matter. Let’s eat!”
Yi Mobaek lifted his bowl and went back to shoveling.
Sae Ryong was about to dart toward the dark forest when a sultry woman’s voice rang out.
“There’s no need to go.”
A flash of white light, and a woman in white robes materialized before them.
She was beautiful.
Her slender frame and white martial vest made her luminous skin seem almost translucent.
Her full, crimson lips and ample chest strained against the white cloth as if threatening to burst free—deliberately provocative—but her eyes were a striking blue, like the depths of the sea.
Yet the white robes she wore were stained with blood in several places.
It spoke of a fierce battle recently fought.
“Amitabha Buddha! Who might you be, lady?”
Sae Ryong bowed with clasped fists and asked.
“So you’re monks of Sorim?”
The woman in white delivered the words roughly, then broke into a grin, showing her teeth as she watched the startled ayahs freeze mid-meal.
“How cute!”
“Might I ask your name?”
“So these are those who labor in the dining hall?”
“And you are?”
Sae Ryong asked again.
“I am Bikg-an Mihee.”
“Hmm!”
A heavy groan escaped Sae Ryong’s lips.
Sae Myeol, who had been standing off to the side, flew forward like lightning and took his place beside Sae Ryong.
“This humble monk is called Sae Myeol of Sorim. What brings you to this place, lady?”
“Wherever I stretch my legs becomes my home; wherever I rest becomes my destination. Have you yet to learn this?”
It meant she had come here on business.
“What business might that be?”
“Have you seen a wretch of a man? A bastard worth killing?”
Bikg-an Mihee extended her left palm toward Sae Myeol.
Whoosh!
A blue hand shot forth.
The Bigma Hand.
Bikg-an Mihee’s secret technique.
Sae Myeol responded instantly.
Rather than dodge Bikg-an Mihee’s advancing Bigma Hand, he met it with the Gwaneum Cheongang Hand of Sorim.
Thud!
Their palms collided with a dull, heavy sound.
Sae Myeol staggered backward.
“Hehehehe! What school do you belong to?”
“I serve the Hangma Yeonhwa-dae.”
“A wretch of the Hangma Yeonhwa-dae dares—”
Whish-whish-whish!
Enraged at having her blow blocked, Bikg-an Mihee unleashed three palms in quick succession.
Three Palms.
Her right hand remained still as she poured them all from her left—three waves of force arriving nearly simultaneously.
Blindingly fast.
The first strike should be fastest, the second slightly slower, and the third slowest—that was the natural order.
By any proper measure, they should appear in that sequence.
Yet watching only the speed, it was impossible to tell which was the first attack and which came last.
Sae Myeol met them unhesitatingly with his right palm.
Thud!
Boom-boom!
In a direct collision, Inner Energy nearly always decides the victor.
The sharpness of a technique, its inherent destructive power, its viciousness—all influenced the outcome, but the decisive factor was always Inner Energy.
“Ungh!”
Sae Myeol clenched his teeth.
A sickening sensation bloomed in his chest, nausea rising like bile.
“Hah hah! Well done, then.”
Bikg-an Mihee erupted in a laugh thick with killing intent, driving forward like a tempest.
Whoosh!
This strike differed from her previous attack—it blazed an unnatural blue.
Whether weapon or fist technique, power grew proportional to form: the more distinct and vivid the shape, the more devastating the force.
“Master, don’t meet it head-on!”
Sae Ryong, watching from the side, lunged forward.
With the gap in Inner Energy, a frontal block was suicide.
Yet a surge of hot fury welled up in him—the pride of Sorim itself.
Crack!
The sound of massive stone splitting echoed across the ground.
“Hngh!”
Though Sae Ryong threw his weight into it, his hasty entry meant his aid fell short of true effectiveness.
Sae Myeol staggered backward, his upper body shaking, and his face drained of color.
Internal injury.
His mouth was clamped shut with grim determination.
Qi and Blood surged and reversed within him; he was fighting to keep the blood from spilling from his lips.
Seeing this, Sae Ryong’s expression grew grave.
Not all who served in the Hangma Yeonhwa-dae possessed equal martial skill.
These two monks ranked somewhere in the middle, slightly below average.
“Woman. I won’t forgive this.”
Sae Ryong seized the initiative.

‘When facing a stronger opponent, there are two great strategies. One is escape—when victory is impossible, the Thirty-six Stratagems offer nothing clearer than that. The other is to strike first, to attack with reckless speed. If you commit your life to the assault, even the impossible fight can turn your way.’

So went the Military Strategy Theory of their master, the great abbot Myeongong Seonsa.
Boom!
Sae Ryong’s palms, blazing gold, flashed out like sheet lightning, slashing toward Bikg-an Mihee’s face.
“So—the Sorim Geumryong Hand. How quaint.”
Her hands were beautiful.
Unusually pale and refined, a woman’s hands.
Rather than a deadly strike, they seemed like a soft seduction drawing him close.
Hand against hand.
The slender woman’s jade-pale fingers seemed no match for the iron-hard thrust of the Geumryong Hand.
Snap!
The sound was almost crisp, almost clean.
It shattered.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————