Murim School Record - Chapter 55

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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 55: Tiger’s Mouth (2)

Whoosh!
Yes, sir!

The guards resting inside bowed in unison as O Pan entered, their voices carrying out beyond the threshold.
A moment later, the door slammed shut with a bang, and O Pan burst forth from the Guard Hall, his body dissolving into the shadows.

It took ten days to reach Jinling.
The city bore no resemblance to Duong in the far north of Gansu Province — where early frost and late spring fought each other, and a full winter could freeze even the trees to death.
Not only was the weather mild, but the brilliance of the streets was beyond description.
Colorful signboards, crowds that filled every avenue, merchants hawking their wares from all directions — the senses reeled under the assault.
“Say… look there.”
A man whispered, and all eyes turned.
Two women in white garments, billowing like spring breezes, walked side by side down the street.
Gulp.
Gulp-gulp-gulp!
The men swallowed hard.
“Compared to these, the women of Duong aren’t even worth calling women.”
The honor guard, seeing the bustling markets of Jinling for the first time, lost all sense of composure.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
That was when it came — the thundering of hoofbeats that shook the earth itself.
Everyone turned their gaze forward.
An enormous party of mounted warriors approached, raising clouds of dust in their wake.
Though the street was crowded with people, the procession did not slow.
“The Mo Yong Family!”
“Cursed villains!”
People shrieked and hurled themselves out of the way.
“Halt!”
From within the billowing dust came a powerful voice that cracked like thunder.
Swoosh!
The dust settled, and figures began to emerge from the haze.
A man appeared at the head of some thirty mounted warriors.
The black-clad middle-aged man, appearing to be in his mid-forties, was Jong O Bang, newly appointed as the leader of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop following the assassination of his predecessor by Yi Mo Baek.
“I am Jong O Bang, leader of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop of the Mo Yong Family. Might your approaching excellencies be the retinue of the esteemed Tan Hwang from the Northern Martial World?”
San Sang Sul, who had by then moved to the front of the carriage, spoke.
“You have perceived correctly. The great Tan Hwang rides in that carriage.”
“From this moment, we of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop shall attend to Tan Hwang. All of you, take up your escort positions at once.”
Yes, sir!
With a ringing shout, some thirty men formed a cordon around the carriage.
In an instant, the carriage was enveloped so completely by the warriors of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop that not even a breath of wind could penetrate it.
As a result, the Tan Hwang’s escorts from Duong found themselves pushed back despite their intentions.
“Forward!”
At the command, the carriage rolled into motion.
San Sang Sul drove his horse alongside Jong O Bang at the head of the column.
“Please bear with us a moment longer. Once we reach the main estate, we shall see to easing the elder’s fatigue.”
Heh-heh!
San Sang Sul laughed lightly.
He tried to straighten his shoulders, but his body would not obey.
Against his will, he felt himself shrinking inward.
A warrior’s bearing is proportionate to the skill he possesses.
The strong carry themselves with natural authority, while the weak hunch inward without thinking.
This was that moment.
The overwhelming aura radiating from the warriors of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop seemed to bind his entire body.
“Though we ride, let me introduce myself. I am Jong O Bang, leader of the Yuseong Blood Rooftop, as I mentioned before.”
He already knew.
Following the recent assassination of the previous leader, the Mo Yong Family’s highest assault unit, the Yuseong Blood Rooftop, had fallen under new command.
“This old man is San Sang Sul, who serves Tan Hwang at his side.”
“How old are you this year?”
“I’ve merely grown old for nothing. Seventy-five years, if you will.”
“My apologies. Not a single wrinkle marks your face—I’d have guessed you hadn’t yet reached your fifties.”
From inside the carriage, Yi Mo Baek let out a sharp, mirthless laugh.

‘Not a wrinkle to be seen,’ he thought.

All he could see was wrinkles.
So many they bordered on grotesque.
There was no crueler thing than asking an old man why he looked so aged.
He’d meant to let it pass, but the sheer abundance of wrinkles compelled him to speak.

‘Isn’t that rather a lot of wrinkles?’

San Sang Sul smiled with a bitter expression.
As though he’d known such a question was coming.

‘It’s a sickness.’

He called it a disease.
A condition Yi Mo Baek had never heard named before.
It had haunted Tan Hwang throughout his life.
As a result, he was sometimes forced to participate in dangerous poison bullet manufacturing experiments.
Poison bullet work was perilous whether the attempt succeeded or failed, but when it did fail, the smoke that rose was called the Fiery Flesh Vapor—and that fume alone could scar a man.
Inhaling it frequently over long years caused accumulation in the body, producing these wrinkles.
One subordinate, not yet forty, had grown so wrinkled that he took his own life rather than face such disfigurement.
San Sang Sul himself counted himself fortunate by comparison.
Because so many wrinkles appeared, most of the subordinates engaged in poison bullet manufacturing found themselves shunned by women and unable to marry.
Thus, to tell Tan Hwang’s men they looked younger than expected was not flattery—it was an insult.

‘An old man sensitive about wrinkles, and I’ve managed to wound his pride.’

San Sang Sul wasn’t angry, but it was clear his regard for Jong O Bang had taken an immediate blow.
Whoosh!
Yi Mo Baek extended his right hand.
Throughout the journey, his training in the Baek Bo Sin Gwon had not ceased.

‘A man who knows many things has nothing to fear. The true threat is the man who has mastered one thing utterly.’

These were words Cheong Mong Seonsa spoke often.
He’d said that one mastered skill could divide the world in two.
Among the masters renowned enough to shake the martial world, none wielded two weapons as their primary arms.
The Baek Bo Sin Gwon.
The deeper one delved, the more one’s spine went cold.
With each successive layer unveiled, the killing intent grew stronger—impossibly, unnaturally stronger.
No one at Shaolin had ever spoken of this.
That meant either they hadn’t learned it, or they’d stopped at mere surface understanding.
The Baek Bo Sin Gwon was that difficult, that enigmatic.
Slash!
Swish-swish-swish!
Hand movements that channeled not a shred of internal energy, yet still warped the air inside the carriage.

In the Great Hall sat the senior officers of the Mo Yong Family.
All of them held their breath, their eyes fixed on the tightly sealed doors.
Their gazes burned with curiosity and anticipation.
Tan Hwang, Bi Ryeong—
They wondered greatly what role she would play.
The door swung open, and a woman in black leather armor stepped inside.
The woman with long hair cascading to her waist, her complexion pale as if dusted with white powder, was Bi Ryeong, known as Wi Ji Gwang’s shadow.
“The Family Head approaches.”
Everyone who had been sitting rose to their feet.
All eyes turned toward the entrance, and the sound of footsteps drew steadily closer.
Soon Wi Ji Gwang entered, his shoulder aligned with Yi Mo Baek, who was disguised as Tan Hwang.
“We honor the Family Head.”
Everyone bowed in unison, their voices ringing out in salute.
At that moment, Yi Mo Baek’s lips twisted slightly as he stood beside them.

‘Family Head.’

There was one irrefutable way to prove the title of Family Head.
It was the sacred relic known as the Mo Yong Seal.
Without the Mo Yong Seal of absolute authority, no one could ever claim to be the Family Head of the Mo Yong Family.
The two men took their seats at the prepared table of honor.
“As you all know, today our headquarters has been graced by a guest more precious than heaven itself—someone who has become a legend in the history of the Murim Alliance, yet has never fallen into their hands, instead walking steadily and unswervingly along his own path.”
Yi Mo Baek smiled faintly.
His face burned with warmth.
“The supreme master of poison and fire bullets—Tan Hwang.”
Clap, clap, clap!
Everyone applauded with vigor.
Since their clapping was infused with internal energy, the sound within the sealed hall was like that of a hidden blade itself.
Yi Mo Baek rose from his seat amidst the reverberating echo of that invisible strike.
“That is enough. I thank you all for your warm welcome.”
Yi Mo Baek’s smile never faltered.
“I am Tan Hwang.”
A roar erupted from the crowd.
This time it was not just applause, but shouts of jubilation.
“It is said that a man’s vengeance is never too late, even after ten years—but for me, it has already been thirty years.”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes blazed with fire.
“In this time of bitter resolve and silent preparation, the Family Head has extended me an invitation. I shall help the Family Head settle a debt of thirty years past. From this day forward, I am a man of the Mo Yong Family.”

‘Tan Hwang!’
‘Tan Hwang!’
Some twenty senior officers of the Mo Yong Family gathered in the Great Hall, crying out his name.
Tan Hwang!
Long live Tan Hwang!
As the fervent heat seemed ready to explode, a smile bloomed across Wi Ji Gwang’s face.
He was satisfied.
His heart thundered; his blood began to boil slowly within him.
He would take part in the Murim Alliance Leader Selection Tournament.
There he would triumph, become the Alliance Leader, and place all under heaven beneath his feet.
A wave of heat washed outward.
Yi Mo Baek felt the intensity radiating from Wi Ji Gwang’s body.
Not everyone who dreams achieves their dreams.
A mistaken dream can drive a man toward death itself.

‘Don’t say such absurd things. Where in this world is there someone born with nothing?’

He had once quarreled with Cheong Mong Seonsa.
It was about a month after entering Shaolin.
Cheong Mong Seonsa had proposed that the two of them form a secret master-disciple bond, unknown to anyone else at Shaolin.
You have talent.
He had declared with certainty that if his martial prowess combined with Yi Mo Baek’s natural gifts, a sublime masterpiece would be created.

‘Can you make me Alliance Leader?’

As if hearing something completely unexpected, Cheong Mong Seonsa had been taken aback, unable to speak.

‘I could perhaps create someone like Mo Yong Cheon, but nothing more.’
Mo Yong Cheon was born for it.
“Where in this world is anyone born for anything? If someone isn’t born for it, then no amount of effort will change that — is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s not entirely impossible. There are simply limits.”
“Limits? What kind of nonsense is that?”
“With effort, you can reach second place. But first place — that requires being born for it.”

Perhaps no time in his life had felt more suffocating than that moment.
To Yi Mo Baek, who had lived with hope, who had charged forward believing there was nothing impossible — those words about being born for something were a blade through the heart.

For someone not born for it, no statement could have been more crushing.
Yet without realizing it, he found himself accepting Cheong Mong Seonsa’s words bit by bit.
There was indeed something called fortune at work in life.
Fortune.
Being born for something meant that luck followed you more often.
He had faced thin ice, perilous moments, many times — yet he still lived, not dead.
That meant he too possessed fortune, something innate.
In any case, he was received with warmth, and celebrations carried on through the night.

All around was quiet.
Save for the minimal guard contingent, nearly every master of the Mo Yong Family had drunk through the night, and so the early morning air lay still and serene.
Yi Mo Baek had risen early and taken to walking.
He moved slowly, hands clasped behind his back, but his eyes never ceased their careful survey of his surroundings.
The banquet that had stretched until dawn meant most of the officers were absent; only a few warriors, their eyes still bloodshot and hazy with drink, passed back and forth.
Click.
He passed through a narrow mountain path and stood where a distant pavilion came into view.
Two two-story pavilions lay buried in the Pine Forest, and a chill rose from them.

The Heuk Sang Dae.

The cornerstone of the Mo Yong Family, its true seat of power.
Ability mattered, but to prevent betrayal, one had to be scrutinized for one’s origins and pass through various trials before entry was granted.
It did not even attend the Mo Yong Council, the highest deliberative body of the Mo Yong Family.

“The head of the Heuk Sang Dae is Gam Mu, if I recall correctly?”

From Mo Yong Cheon, he had heard detailed accounts of the key figures.
The head reported only directly to the Family Head.
Even those of higher rank received no reports and were granted no information.
“What brings you here?”
As he entered the broad courtyard before the pavilion, a voice suddenly cut the air, and a man emerged.

‘Excellent Light Body Technique.’

The man appeared young.
Surely not yet thirty, he asked with a bright expression.
“What business brings you to our organization?”
His voice was far softer than the rumors had suggested.

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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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