Murim School Record - Chapter 60

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

Episode 60: Not Everyone Can Eat from a Table That’s Already Set (2)

But he couldn’t block the third sword strike and took the hit squarely again.
Cough!
It was fast, certainly.
But not so fast that it couldn’t be stopped.
The problem was the first wound he’d sustained.
It had crippled him, and with the second wound, his body’s condition plummeted to half its normal state.
Whoosh!
Those who rely on swift attacks grow weak in prolonged combat.
That’s why they push themselves to settle the match in a flurry, no matter the cost.
Sa Yul’s Qi and Blood churned as his consecutive double-strikes were parried.
Sa Yul’s blade sprang back.
It descended like the blue waves of Namhae itself.
Soft droplets of water.
Yet the moment it landed, it would pierce holes through an entire body.
Hah!
Gam Mu gave a sharp cry as he struck against the incoming blade.
But Sa Yul didn’t dodge.
Crack!
Staff and sword collided, and both men staggered backward.
Whissshhh!
Yet it was Sa Yul who recovered his balance first and drove forward again.
His movements were certainly faster than Gam Mu’s, his transitions a step ahead—which meant only that his physical condition was superior.
Boom!
Gam Mu saw the incoming blade and instinctively raised his hand.
Since his body’s center hadn’t yet been properly established, there was no chance his right arm held any real power.
Thrust!
The blade pierced through his extended palm and drove deep into his chest.
“Nh—”
Gam Mu clenched his teeth to stifle the groan.
But it escaped through his gritted teeth, and his entire body trembled once.
Schwick!
Sa Yul tore the embedded blade free, then drove it in again.
Gam Mu could only convulse instinctively; he couldn’t dodge.
The blade sank precisely into his solar plexus.
Gam Mu opened his eyes and stared at Sa Yul, who had driven the sword into his chest.
“The… Namhae Sword?”
There seemed to be something Gam Mu had grasped.
“Yes. I come from Namhae.”
“So… the Geumgang Shibpal Hyeol Byeok Su is indeed particularly vulnerable to speed.”
It was not a disparagement of the Geumgang Shibpal Hyeol Byeok Su.
He meant that had the blade been even a fraction slower, he would have taken Sa Yul’s life.
A small smile played at Gam Mu’s lips.
Flash!
A brilliant bolt of lightning split the sky, and moments later, thunder shook the earth and heaven.
Rumble, rumble, rumble, rumble, rumble!
“Master Wi… you once told me something like this. That a man’s dreams have their season.”
He murmured softly.
“It seems my dream, and the Master’s dream, both end here.”
Thud!
As Sa Yul withdrew his blade, Gam Mu tumbled backward.
Dark blood began to spread across the ground.
“Unngh!”
Sa Yul too let out a faint groan.
“Now I understand why this young master was so intent on eliminating Huk Sang Dae’s removal.”
Sa Yul turned away.
Squelch, squelch.
His wet clothes had dried, and a thin thread of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Bodies everywhere.
The numbers barely diminished.
For every one he killed, more came rushing in.
Yi Mo Baek’s entire body was covered in blood.
Some of it was from the dead, but no small amount flowed from his own wounds.
Shriek!
Bang!
He struck and was struck in turn, answering blow for blow.
His opponents swarmed like hornets, a true battle for survival.
Gasp!
Ragged breathing poured from Yi Mo Baek’s lips.
He was overmatched—he knew it.
He understood well enough that such work shouldn’t be done alone.
It required a certain amount of backing to pull off.
That’s precisely why mob battles and gang clashes always erupted.
He’d known this and had meant to gather some force before acting, but somehow the Golden Opportunity had arrived a step ahead of schedule.
It wasn’t as though he’d forgotten about Yang Si Changgga and Hwang Ha Suro Maeng.
He and they had broken down considerable walls between them, deployed every charm and tactic to draw Yang Woo Bi and Sa Gong San closer, but the time to pull them in had not yet come.
Bring them in too soon, and they’d demand much in return.
Desperate as he might feel, he couldn’t refuse their price.
In any case, such chances were rare.
To squander a Golden Opportunity that had arrived when he wasn’t fully prepared would be irreversible.
There was no guarantee a better one would come later.
An assault on Tan Hwang, who was letting his guard down completely, pleased with the power of the newly developed Poison Bomb; and Wi Ji Gwang, who had misread his attempt at distance-keeping and arranged a drinking gathering to draw closer instead.
Even the most tightly knit organization grows slack once its leader is removed.
That was the only thing he believed in.
When history shifts, certain people emerge who read the flow of the times with precision and mount the rising tide.
Posterity brands them traitors and rebels, but in their own age, they’re often respected as wise men.
Crack!
He knocked the probing blade aside with his left fist and sent his right driving toward the man’s jaw.
The man’s neck snapped audibly and he crumpled, but Yi Mo Baek didn’t dodge the next blade that came cutting in—he caught it with his fist instead.
Snap!
The sword broke against his knuckles, and he drove through, striking the man’s left chest.
Whoosh!
The chest caved inward.
His heart was crushed, and the man fell trembling.
Crack!
Heat flared across his back.
Yet Yi Mo Baek’s face showed no sign of panic.
The situation was perilous, certainly, but he felt one thing acutely.

‘There is no training superior to real combat.’

Whenever Cheong Mong Seonsa watched him practice alone, the old master would settle down and launch into his nagging.
One day, worn thin by the endless lectures, Yi Mo Baek had asked testily.

‘I understand that much already. The problem is who you’re fighting. You can’t just improve your martial prowess and grab any random person to spar with.’

It was a dismissive brush-off, practically an exile order, but Cheong Mong Seonsa had laughed.

‘That’s just words.’

But today he was feeling the truth of it deeply.
His fists now were different from when the fight began.
Though his Internal Energy was being depleted by the prolonged battle, the changes his fists wrought had altered in ways that were remarkable.
Some said the Baekbo Sinquan was so powerful it was crude, simple brute force.
The power was good, but it lacked variation—or so others claimed. Yet what Yi Mo Baek felt now in his own Baekbo Sinquan was nothing of the sort.
It contained variations beyond imagination, layered and intricate.
Only those who had never mastered it to his level spouted such nonsense.
Hah!
Ugh!
Not only those struck by his fist but even those merely grazed by the fist-wind collapsed.
Brushed on the arm and the arm was severed; brushed on the leg and the leg was severed.
A glancing touch to the head and half a skull was cleaved clean away as though by a blade.
Hah, hah!
It was grueling.
Yet at the same time, it felt magnificent.
So strength came of its own.
Crack!
A single sword slashing down at the shoulder.
He spun like lightning, seized the descending blade in his left hand, and wrenched it toward him.
Stumble!
The man was dragged forward, and a right fist flew straight at his face.

‘That one.’

Among the throng, a single man stood out.
It was Jong O Bang—cunning enough to hide behind his subordinates while barking orders from the rear.
The underlings pressed forward in such numbers that Yi Mo Baek could not reach him.
At first he thought that if he simply kept killing them one by one, he would eventually face Jong O Bang alone. But that was not happening.
The numbers never seemed to diminish, and Jong O Bang kept exhorting his men forward.
He understood well enough that breaking the leader’s spirit would shatter his subordinates’ morale and turn the tide.
But to make a desperate gamble for the leader and fail would be fatal.
Life and combat were the same in this regard.
Follow the current as it flows, decide as fate decrees…
Thump-thump-thump!
But now was the moment to make that desperate play.
Victory or defeat had to be decided.
He parried the attacks of the men blocking his path, and what he could not block he took into his body.
Thud!
Crack-crack-crack!
Searing as though struck by flame.
Yet he threw himself forward with all his strength, and finally stood before Jong O Bang.
He had closed the distance so quickly that Jong O Bang started in surprise.
Then he smiled.
Seeing Yi Mo Baek drenched in blood, he seemed to think this might be worth the effort after all.
Whoosh!
Yi Mo Baek advanced immediately.
Whirl!
As Yi Mo Baek rushed at him, Jong O Bang extended his hand—fingers spinning so fast they were a blur.
This was the Geumgang Sippa Hyeol Byeok Su – Sippa Wa Hyeol.
The intense rotation shredded the wound site into tatters, leaving it raw and jagged.
Yi Mo Baek simply drove his fist forward.
Baekbo Jikquan.
Pure fist alone.
Unlike before, no grazing blow or light contact would cut or sever. All force was concentrated in the strike itself.
Every shred of power was channeled into the fist.
The reason for using Baekbo Jikquan was simple.
Injury and prolonged fighting had drained his Internal Energy severely.
In such moments, variation had to be stripped away entirely—only crude, direct force would settle the matter.
Clumsy variations only invited danger.
Thwack!
The instant his fist struck Jong O Bang’s palm squarely, his breath caught.
His chest flared with heat, and something surged toward his throat as though to pour forth.
He could not show weakness.
He forced the welling blood back down.
And what comes next is even more astonishing.
As if nothing were wrong, as if he’d just begun fighting, he throws himself at Jong O Bang with sudden ferocity.
Hah!
Jong O Bang stares in shock.
After watching so long, the man should be utterly exhausted by now.
The assault just moments before must have dealt him considerable damage.
Yet his movements only accelerate, and before Jong O Bang can even prepare, he strikes.
Craaash!
Yi Mo Baek unleashes the Geumgang Hyeol Byeok Sippal Su – Ilsik.
Yi Mo Baek does not evade.
A direct collision is the primary strategy of those with superior martial skill or abundant physical strength.
Thump!
But as Yi Mo Baek meets him head-on, Jong O Bang flinches involuntarily.
The thought flashes through him—perhaps he’s miscalculated something.
As they’re about to collide, fear grips him that some trap lies in wait, and in that moment his Internal Cultivation wavers.
Boom!
The price of that wavering is steep.
Ugh!
Jong O Bang feels his chest tighten.
He takes the full force of the impact.
Shwip!
Yi Mo Baek presses forward, allowing no respite.
Overthinking can be as much a curse as a blessing.
Jong O Bang falls victim to it now.
Caught in his own trap, he has ensnared himself.
Like a stretched rubber band snapping back with the force of a bullet, Yi Mo Baek hurls his fists with savage intensity.
Shwip-shwip-shwip-shwip!
“Damn you to hell!”
He roars to rouse his flagging Fighting Spirit and meets the assault.
But it is only sound—the desperate resolve to fight to the death is nowhere to be found.
Though his internal injuries are trivial compared to Yi Mo Baek’s, he reels nonetheless.
Moreover, with subordinates at hand, there is no need to court danger unnecessarily.
Crack!
At that very thought, Yi Mo Baek’s left fist drives forward.
Jong O Bang blocks with his palm, but it avails nothing.
Argh!
He cries out in pain as Yi Mo Baek’s right fist follows, hammering into his chest.

‘The man is completely insane.’

He grants no quarter.
As Jong O Bang staggers backward, Yi Mo Baek bears down and drives his fists in relentless succession.
Jong O Bang tries to meet him, but the momentum has already shifted.
Combat is all about momentum.
Crack-crack-crack!
Three rapid punches find their mark, one of them snapping against his face.
Drip-drip!
His nose bone shatters and blood streams down.
“What—what are you all doing? Strike him down!”
Jong O Bang shouts.
His subordinates do not move easily.
This man has slaughtered dozens of their comrades and now presses their very leader to the brink.
They know well enough that to rush such a foe is to court certain death.
Overwhelming Fighting Spirit.
A tiger that bleeds yet never loses its formidable majesty.
And yet a strange, unsettling thought creeps into the hearts of his men.

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