Murim School Record - Chapter 68

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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 68: Victory (3)

Glug-glug-glug!
Yi Mo Baek began drinking in one continuous stream, just as instructed.
Potent.
Bitter.
His breath caught in his throat.
The fragrance that seeped from the sealed edges had been utterly intoxicating, yet the taste was something else entirely.
Gulp!
Cough—cough-cough-cough!
His lips remained pressed to the mouth of the gourd as he kept swallowing.
His Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly up and down, and the gourd gradually tilted toward vertical.
Neung Pa, watching from the side, let a satisfied smile play across his lips.
Gluuuuuu…gulp!
After the final sip, he lowered the gourd and straightened his neck with a sharp movement.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
Bitter.
So bitter he nearly retched.
“What do you think?”
At that moment, as if already prepared, Neung Pa pressed a piece of honey candy into his hand.
Pop!
Yi Mo Baek quickly popped the candy into his mouth.
The bitterness gradually faded, and his expression brightened.
“Lord Neung.”
“Please, speak freely.”
“What is it you want from me?”
Neung Pa was taken aback slightly.
His true intention had been exposed.
“Speak with an open heart. As the saying goes, there must be reciprocity.”
If there is a giving, there must be a receiving.
“Hehehehe.”
Neung Pa laughed loudly.
It was the laughter of genuine pleasure.
From the beginning, the Dragon Transformation Wine had not been brewed to forge any particular bond.
He had encountered Yi Mo Baek while wandering the Tianmu Mountain, and things had unfolded naturally until today.
Moreover, he had never imagined Yi Mo Baek would become its owner.
Life turns within the wheel of fate and connection.
“Shall I speak, then?”
“Please do.”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“In Shanxi Province, there is a place called Hyeol Wang Village.”
“Hyeol Wang Village?”
“Do you know of the Kala Disease?”
“The Kala Disease… I’ve heard of it, though I don’t know its depths.”
“Those afflicted cannot blend with ordinary residents. The villagers drive them away, the authorities expel them, and they have nowhere to turn. In the end, they gather and live in Hyeol Wang Village, but there are far too few treatment facilities. Physicians refuse to treat them.”
“And so?”
“I wish to spend my remaining years healing them. But to build treatment facilities and procure medicinal herbs, I would need considerable funds.”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes sparkled.
He now understood what lay beneath Neung Pa’s words.
Yi Mo Baek smiled faintly, though something in his expression seemed awkward.
“My face has grown warm.”
“Why the blush?”
“Do you mock me? When measured against your heart—to save those cast aside by the world—my own aspirations seem petty and trivial.”
“Different aims are not shameful or wrong. What matters is how diligently each person labors in their own station. I will earnestly pray that you become the Alliance Leader.”
“To gain entry to Hyeol Wang Village, you mean?”
“As the Murim Alliance Leader, you would have ample resources to build those facilities and procure the necessary herbs, would you not?”
“Then so it shall be. If I become Alliance Leader, my first act will be to honor my promise to you.”
“Thank you. The Buddha’s great compassion and mercy will light the path ahead for you.”
Neung Pa pressed his palms together with reverence.

The Martial Tournament had been underway for some time.
But with so many applicants, the early rounds were being conducted through a lottery system using dice.
And finally, two weeks ago, the regional preliminaries had begun.
After the lottery winnowed down the field, martial contests erupted across each region.
Deaths mounted from the very first day.

‘Killing is permitted. Only maiming is absolutely forbidden.’

That was the only rule that mattered.
Yi Mo Baek, too, set out for Jiangsu Province, where the Mo Yong clan resided, to participate in the tournament.
The Murim Alliance had already been notified of Mo Yong Cheon’s appointment as the clan’s head—what remained was the tournament’s outcome.
“The Nine Sects and One Alliance, along with the other Great Clans, show no signs of movement yet.”
By “movement,” he meant whether the Sect Leaders or clan heads would attend.
Their participation or refusal was the tournament’s greatest point of interest.
The odds of non-participation seemed very high, but unexpected variables always existed.
“What would happen if they did attend?”
Yi Mo Baek rode alongside his companion, their horses moving in tandem.
“The tournament would be thrown into turmoil. The crucial point is that the probability itself remains slim.”
“True enough. If a Sect Leader stepped forward and fell, it would be like being struck by lightning from a clear sky.”
“They’d have to hang their heads in shame for decades to come.”
As he said this, Yi Mo Baek smiled.
Mo Yong Cheon’s tournament rules were a stroke of genius.
“If a sect leader were to participate, they would have to be prepared for their sect’s closure. Unless they reach the final match for the Alliance’s leadership and concede only after their knees touch the ground, the humiliation would be unbearable.”
Then he glanced upward at the sky.
“Rain’s coming. We should hasten.”
The two urged their horses forward.
Thud-thud-thud!
The two mounts struck the ground and galloped away.

It pierced deep into the dark-skinned man’s chest.
The man with the punctured chest shuddered once, then looked at his opponent.
“Tch—”
He twisted his lips as if in dissatisfaction, grumbling.
“All I wanted was a chance at leading the Alliance.”
The man ground his teeth.
“It’s over. Pull it out.”
Whoosh!
His opponent seized the blade embedded in the man’s chest and yanked it free.
Splurt!
The blood erupting from the heart drenched the wounded man’s face.
Crash!
At that moment, the dying man hurled the sword he’d been gripping with all his remaining strength.
The blood exploding from his heart momentarily obscured his opponent’s vision.
Whoosh!
It pierced through the dark-skinned man’s throat.
Gag!
The moment his throat tore, his opponent knew something had gone terribly wrong.
His breathing suddenly turned rough, and his vision swam.
“I… I won’t… lose…”
The man whose heart had just been pierced by his own blade grinned.
“Don’t know it? The Heavenly Demon, one of the Demonic Sect’s Five Great Ancestors, once said this.”
The man’s expression shifted.

‘There is no technique greater than Mutual Destruction.’

When someone believes they’ve won, their guard drops without exception.
If a blade pierces the heart at this moment, death is absolute.
There is no escaping it.
In such circumstances, who among us could truly let go of our caution?
Someone once said that Mutual Destruction was the final curse spat out by a corpse.
The moment you lower your defenses in victory, Mutual Destruction strikes—a simultaneous death pact of “you die and I die.” It is the attack one must guard against most carefully.
Thump!
The man who took the blade through his heart fell first, and his opponent, who had struck him down, collapsed upon him an instant later.
“Clear the field.”
The referee overseeing the match called out.
Two men rushed forward, quickly hoisted the corpses, and spirited them away.
“Next contestant, step forward.”
The moment the words left Referee Sa Bok Si’s mouth, a black silhouette hurtled into the Tournament Arena.
“Excellent use of the Divine Movement Technique.”
Someone murmured in admiration.
A second shadow appeared in response—it was Yi Mo Baek.
Yet no one recognized him.
“State your name, contestant.”
“Hehehehe—Cheon Bang Ma, Sect Leader of the Dae Wang Sect.”
At the mention of Dae Wang Sect Leader, the crowd that had gathered to watch stirred with surprise.
“The Dae Wang Sect?”
“It sounds like an enormously powerful sect.”
Everyone turned to one another with questions about the Dae Wang Sect, though none seemed to know of it.
“Yi Mo Baek, then,” Sa Bok Si said.
Referee Sa Bok Si glanced down at his colleague below the arena, the one checking the entry documents.
The colleague seated at the desk raised his hand.
Both registrations matched the submitted papers.
“Approach.”
Yi Mo Baek and Cheon Bang Ma closed the distance between them.
Cheon Bang Ma cut an imposing figure, and his eyes in particular were striking—enormous.
They occupied nearly half his face, vast as ox eyes, and now he fixed them on Yi Mo Baek with a piercing glare.
The problem, as always, was the eyes.
Cheon Bang Ma tensed his gaze, trying to crush Yi Mo Baek’s fighting spirit with the sheer force of his stare.
Yet because his eyes were so large, the intended ferocity and sharpness simply would not manifest.
Quiver-quiver.
In his effort to maintain an appropriately menacing expression without blinking, his eyelids began to tremble.
He looked as though tears might spill at any moment when Referee Sa Bok Si spoke.
“As you know, the rules are straightforward. The use of poison or underhanded tactics results in immediate disqualification.”
At that, Cheon Bang Ma declared loudly:
“Have no fear. I would never resort to such petty tricks.”
Sa Bok Si turned his gaze to Yi Mo Baek.
Why did he say nothing?
Did he understand the rules or not? Let him answer.
“Understood.”
Currently, the Martial Tournament in Jiangsu Province was being held only at the Murim Alliance’s regional headquarters.
Before this, it had been held at a dozen other Murim Alliance branches, where preliminary rounds—dice games, simple tests of strength, and weapon demonstrations—had filtered the field down appropriately.
Now the province held its final tournament here.
Each province selected its last two victors.
Thus twenty-six fighters, chosen from the Thirteen Provinces of Central Plains, would arrive at Tianmu Mountain and the Murim Alliance headquarters to decide their fates in a stroke that would determine heaven and earth.
“Any questions?” Sa Bok Si asked.
Sa Bok Si posed the question.
“A question.”
Cheon Bang Ma spoke.
“Very well. What is it?”
“Is it permitted to kill in one second?”
“Of course. The faster the better—it expedites the tournament for us.”
“Haha—that concludes my question.”
Sa Bok Si turned to Yi Mo Baek, asking if he had any questions.
“I do not.”
“Take your positions.”
The Tournament Arena had two lines drawn upon it.
The Starting Line.
The distance was just under three zhang—a standard separation where warriors would stand and face each other when beginning combat.
Snap!
The two fighters took their positions at the Starting Line.
Boom!
The drum announcing the match resounded across the arena.
Before the drum’s echo had even faded, Cheon Bang Ma unleashed a thunderous battle cry.
“AAAHHHHHHH!”
Loud.
Incredibly loud.
The cry was so powerful that ordinary men’s chests would practically cave in from the sheer force of it.

‘Heaven-and-Earth-Turn-to-Meat.’
The cry was tremendous, and the palm technique’s name was equally long.
A palm technique so savage that merely hearing its name made one shudder.
It meant he would kill a man and strip his flesh to jerky.
The spectators, sensing the gravity of the moment, tensed their eyes upon Cheon Bang Ma’s frame.
Crash!
An enormous wave of palm force surged forward.
Palm energy tinted slightly black rushed toward Yi Mo Baek’s chest.
Yi Mo Baek’s face remained expressionless as he extended his right fist to meet the incoming double palms.
Boom!
“Aaaahhhhh!”
A thunderous scream pierced the air.
The match was over.
All eyes fixed on the Tournament Arena.
By the intensity of that scream alone, the blow had dealt at least critical injury—if not death.
“Huh?”
“Where’s the other one?”
The spectators gasped in confusion.
Only Yi Mo Baek stood upon the Tournament Arena.
Everyone searched for Cheon Bang Ma—the man who had radiated such commanding presence, whose voice had rung out so powerfully, who had embodied the bearing of a mighty general.
“Surely he didn’t rush off in the middle of the match for some urgent matter.”
“This is unprecedented. If he were dead, there’d be a body. If he were wounded, there’d be blood. But he’s vanished entirely from the Tournament Arena.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Then a figure climbed onto the Tournament Arena, carrying a man draped across his shoulder.
Thud!
The Murim Alliance official who oversaw the matches dropped the body to the ground—and it was Cheon Bang Ma, who had been fighting Yi Mo Baek moments before.
Cheon Bang Ma could not rise; he only writhed upon the ground.
“Ow, ow, ow.”
An endless stream of cries poured from his lips.
“Ow, ow, ow.”
Arbiter Sa Bok Si asked the man who had brought Cheon Bang Ma back.
“Where was he?”
“Caught on a pine branch, off to the right.”
At this, everyone’s gaze followed the direction the man was pointing.
A pine grove was visible in the distance.
One particularly massive pine tree stood out among them.
“That one?”
“Yes. Had he fallen to the ground instead, he would surely not be breathing now.”

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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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