Murim School Record - Chapter 8

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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 8: Dragon and Tiger at Odds (2)

Dang Doo-chun stared down at Yi Mo-baek’s mangled face.
It was no longer the face of a man.
“Mo-baek!”
He crouched down.
“Mo-baek!”
“Your brother!”
It was impossible to tell whether he’d answered with his mouth or simply closed his eyes.
“Oh God, ahhh!”
“Hngh—”
The deputies who had followed Seol Yeo-chul flinched at the sight.
“This is Mo-baek? Surely not?”
“Stand back!”
Seol Yeo-chul pulled out Gold Wound Medicine he kept for emergencies and daubed it across Yi Mo-baek’s face.
“Nnnngh!”
Yi Mo-baek let out a whimper of pain.
Just then, a small commotion broke out among the deputies.
“That’s her!”
“No, it isn’t!”
“Yes, it is!”
“It isn’t.”
They were arguing about the figure sprawled nearby—Byeok An-mihui.
“Mo-baek, can you hear me?”
Seol Yeo-chul shook him gently.
“It’s me, Yeo-chul. The Yeo-chul you always admired most.”
“Ah… I… yes. Yes, I hear you.”
Whether his eyes were open or closed, and whether what you saw was lip or bloated flesh, had become impossible to distinguish.
“Help me sit up.”
“Right! Yes!”
Seol Yeo-chul and another deputy carefully supported him upright.
“Ow… ugghhh!”
“Sorry, sorry!”
They managed to ease the screaming Yi Mo-baek against a flat rock.
A monster sat before them.
Caked in blood, breathing in ragged gasps, yet his eyes never left Byeok An-mihui, burning with unspent fury.
His hands trembled visibly—his rage had not yet fully subsided.
“She’s completely dead. There’s no pulse.”
One of the deputies spoke to Dang Doo-chun.
Dang Doo-chun approached just to be certain, and felt Byeok An-mihui’s pulse himself.
He closed his eyes like a physician and took her pulse with grave attention.
Whisk.
This time he checked the carotid artery beneath her jaw, and his brow furrowed slightly.
Even clinging to a thread of breath, she was a master of Jianghu whose power alone could slaughter everyone present.
“What troubles you, sir?”
The deputies tensed.
“I’m not certain.”
Dang Doo-chun tilted his head and felt once more.
“There’s no need to look so troubled.”
Rip!
Seol Yeo-chul stepped forward and tore open Byeok An-mihui’s front garments.
Gasp!
Everyone startled.
Firm breasts rose suddenly, bound tightly beneath white cloth.
“When one breathes, the chest moves. I’ve heard that there’s a Precious Rest Technique in Jianghu—even with it, the chest moves very slightly.”
Every eye fixed upon her chest.
Gulp.
Someone swallowed hard.
Even now, unmistakably, male instinct was rising to the surface.
“She’s not moving.”
“She’s dead. I’m convinced she’s dead.”
One by one, they checked her pulse, then bent low to press their ears near what they took to be Byeok An-mihui’s nose, listening for breath.
Another lay his face flat against the ground and leveled his gaze horizontally with her chest.
If her chest moved, the line would shift.
“She’s dead!”
Dang Doo-chun declared it official.
Whoosh!
Ah, she lives.
Could living be this blessed?
Color returned to the deputies’ faces.
“Deputy Chief, someone’s coming.”
The deputy standing watch called out, relief short-lived.
At word of the approaching visitor, everyone threw themselves flat and held their breath.
But Dang Doo-chun could not hide.
Yi Mo-baek was leaning his back against a boulder, sitting in plain sight.
“What are you doing? Never mind me—hide quickly.”
Creak!
Dang Doo-chun laughed.
“I’m responsible for this place.”
Besides, the egg had already cracked the stone.
“Nothing to fear.”
Dang Doo-chun watched the approaching figure calmly, then suddenly his eyes widened.
“Oh!”
In surprise, he rushed forward several steps and cried out.
“Master, is that you?”
Remarkably, the figure approaching was Myeong Gong Seonsa, Leader of the Hangma Yeonhwa Great Group.
But his appearance was pitiful.
His robes and sash, once immaculate, hung in tatters, and he limped heavily on one leg.
“Master!”
The deputies in hiding emerged at once, clasped their hands, and bowed.
Hmph!
Spotting Yi Mo-baek leaning against the boulder, he furrowed his brow.
“I… I am Deputy Yi Mo-baek.”
Since Yi Mo-baek was not recognized, he introduced himself aloud.
“How so?”
Though Myeong Gong Seonsa had seen him once before, he had paid attention only to his White Step Divine Fist training, not committing his face to memory.
What startled him was only the pitiful sight he now presented.
“And that?”
Dang Doo-chun pointed to one spot.
“What is that?”
Myeong Gong Seonsa did not recognize Byeok An-mihui, reduced as she was to an even worse state than Yi Mo-baek.
“Hungry and went hunting, it seems.”
Dang Doo-chun explained the situation briefly.
Flash!
Myeong Gong Seonsa’s eyes grew wide as palms.
“Is that true?”
“I would never lie, Master. It is certain.”
Dang Doo-chun fixed his gaze firmly.
Myeong Gong Seonsa, who had stood with mouth agape in silence for some time, finally approached the dead Byeok An-mihui.
Her face was so shattered that he could not confirm her identity through her features.
But the long nails, one of the distinctive marks of the Byeok Ma Technique, and the color of her shoes matched those of the woman he had met a short time ago.
Swift!
Myeong Gong Seonsa quickly grasped her left foot and rolled up his sleeve.
A crimson mark on the elbow—the Water Palace Mark, which spoke of virginal purity.
Byeok An-mihui’s Byeok Ma Technique was thoroughly a Yin Martial Art.
The moment she lay with a man, all of it would shatter and vanish.
Yet Myeong Gong Seonsa’s expression was not one of certainty.
If he faced me head-on, it would be a fair fight.
A fight he would lose.
A Peak Master like that—he’d glimpsed the power of the White Step Divine Fist, a single strike, a single form that night at Camp, and even if he died and was reborn, he could never match such a master with that alone.
“How?”
He wanted to prove it wasn’t Byeok An-mihui, but without evidence, there was nothing.
“Amitabha Buddha! Amitabha Buddha!”
All he could do was mutter the Buddha’s name.

‘Heh-heh!’

Yi Mo-baek laughed silently to himself.

‘This is the Shaolin martial monks’ sickness—they’re trapped in the arrogance that the stronger martial art always wins.’

Of course, to defeat an opponent, one’s martial art had to be strong.
But when you thought about assassins, the calculation changed.
They killed men with far superior martial power all the time.
A blade wasn’t the only way to kill a man.
You could starve him to death. You could frighten him until he stopped breathing.
Whatever it took to win—that was strength.

Shaolin was in upheaval.
The Hangma Yeonhwa Great Group had been nearly annihilated.
Only the group leader, Myeong Gong Seonsa, and three others had survived; the rest were dead.
Regardless of martial skill level, Shaolin had never seen an affiliated group destroyed so completely, and the shock was profound.
Great and Small Shaolin.
That phrase explained everything.
A realm of absolute sanctity.
And that realm had fallen.

Monks crowded the courtyard in front of the Healing Buddha Hall.
This Healing Buddha Hall was where the sick were treated.
Yet all the monks gathered in the courtyard looked healthy, and not a single sign of illness could be found among them.
They lingered here and there as if they’d come to see someone.
“Please, leave now!”
Medical Monk Cha Ul, who carried a medicine bowl, frowned at the murmuring monks in the courtyard.
“Just let us see him once.”
“Just his face—surely you can grant us that much?”
The monks pleaded with Medical Monk Cha Ul.
“What good does seeing his face do?”
“What good? How else can we behold the radiant visage of the man who could slay Byeok An-mihui?”
“Behold?”
“They say that merely touching the sleeve of a Master can elevate one’s martial art by a stage. Who knows? Perhaps this humble monk’s Sumeru Sleeplessness Technique, stuck in stagnation all this time, might suddenly bloom the moment I lay eyes on him.”
“What is all this?”
Then a grave voice, infused with Internal Energy, echoed through the hall.
The gathered monks all turned their heads at once, and two elderly monks were walking toward the Healing Buddha Hall.
“Abbot!”
It was Cheong Ak Seonsa, the sect leader, and Cheong O Seonsa, his dharma heir and master of the Arhat Hall.
“What business is this at such an hour?”
This was when each should be meditating and practicing martial forms in their quarters.
“Welcome, sirs.”
Medical Monk Cha Ul quickly descended and bowed respectfully.
“I asked what all this is about. You are the master of this hall—you should know.”
“They’re asking to see Deputy Yi Mo-baek, the one who killed Byeok An-mihui.”
“And what good will that do?”
“I’m not entirely certain myself, Abbot.”
Master of the Arhat Hall Cheong O Seonsa turned to look at the gathered monks.
“Speak. There must be a reason you wish to see him.”
“Just that!”
“Just that?”
The monk in front hesitated, and a large, broad-shouldered monk stepped forward.
“I am Jeong Woo, attached to the Guest Hall Division. I came because I heard that one of our Shaolin deputies, Yi Mo-baek, killed Byeok An-mihui, a peerless master of the Jianghu.”
“You find it hard to believe?”
“In truth, I wanted to ask him directly.”
“It is fact. Byeok An-mihui was indeed killed by our Shaolin deputy, Yi Mo-baek. Now, be on your way.”
The monks did not turn to leave easily.
The Arhat Hall master was among Shaolin’s most eminent and venerable monks.
Such a master would have no reason to lie.
Yet their feet would not obey.
In the Jianghu, water always flows from high ground to low.
It does not flow upward.
Though their doubts remained unresolved, there was nothing to be done.
One by one, the monks turned their backs and began to leave the Healing Buddha Hall.
“Amitabha! It is a matter that invites suspicion. Who would believe that a rat had caught a cat?”
Cheong Ak Seonsa, the sect leader, murmured to himself.
The two monks followed Cha Ul back into the Healing Buddha Hall.

One could not tell if he was a man or an object.
Three days had passed, yet the swelling in his face had not subsided, and his complexion was livid as if he had been dipped in dark water.
A monster.
Unable to eat, the monks of the Healing Buddha Hall spoon-fed him three meals a day.
“Yi Mo-baek, is that what you said your name was?”
Cheong Ak Seonsa called out.
Yi Mo-baek did not respond.
“Can you hear me?”
“Who are you?”
Even though one could see who stood before him, it was impossible that Yi Mo-baek would ask who stood there—not when facing the sect leader of Shaolin himself.
Creak!
The closed door opened, and Cheong Ak Seonsa and Cheong O Seonsa walked out of the treatment room.
“Amitabha!”
Cheong Ak Seonsa drew in a sharp breath.
He had heard that Yi Mo-baek was battered and bruised to the point of requiring someone to carry him on their back, but this was the first time he had seen his face with his own eyes.
“What is your assessment?”
Cha Ul answered.
“As you can see, the external injuries are severe, but the internal damage runs deep. His five organs and six viscera have nearly shifted from their proper positions, and the Yin essence peculiar to the Byeok Ma Technique has penetrated into several of his organs and refuses to dissipate.”
Twitch!
Cheong Ak Seonsa’s left eye twitched.
That was what frightened him.
That was what those who feared poison and Yin Martial Arts dreaded most.
If the Yin essence could not be expelled, the affected area would rot away.

‘How could such a thing come to pass?’

According to Myeong Gong Seonsa, leader of the Hangma Yeonhwa Great Group, Byeok An-mihui had appeared while they were encircling Hyeol Seon Seosaeng in a coordinated assault.
With her attack, some ten of his disciples had perished, and Hyeol Seon Seosaeng, trapped within the encirclement, had managed to escape.
Of course, Byeok An-mihui herself had been wounded.
Yet a first-rate master, wounded though she was, does not suddenly become a worthless puppet.
The two men gazed at the room where Yi Mo-baek lay, then turned and left.

The two men walked through a quiet forest after leaving the Healing Buddha Hall.
Both were silent.
Snap!
Cheong Ak Seonsa, who had been in the lead, stopped in his tracks.
“What are your thoughts on this?”
“Thoughts on what?”
Cheong O Seonsa furrowed his brow.
“Is it true? What do you make of the situation?”
“What situation are you referring to?”
Cheong O Seonsa’s face flushed with irritation.
“Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry—it’s just that when you ask what I think without any context, how am I supposed to know what you’re asking about?”
“What else would I be asking about if not Byeok An-mihui’s death? Think about it. What kind of woman was Byeok An-mihui? She was nearly a Peak Master, wasn’t she?”
“There were witnesses. Multiple witnesses. Shouldn’t we believe them?”
“Believe them?”

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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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