The Lightning I Harbor Is Too Strong - Chapter 42

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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 42
—Winning the Entrance Ceremony as Top Disciple was certainly a remarkable achievement, but the Martial Competition is a different matter entirely.
It was a prediction favoring Mujin’s victory, and a cold assessment of Jeong Ishin.
‘He’s right. I haven’t shown them anything yet.’
In any case, I’d spent the past few days contemplating the depths of my own martial capabilities.
I knew I was stronger than my peers. And perhaps that was the problem.
‘I’ve been looking at this all wrong. My real opponents aren’t these people.’
From the start, even Chamwol Rang—whom I’d faced during the Entrance Ceremony—was a formidable foe.
What if he hadn’t been careless? What if he’d drawn his blade the moment we met?
Of course, there’s no tomb without excuses, but that saying applied to me as well.
And what of the instructors surrounding me here?
The academy’s instructors, who served Jegal Gicheon’s will, were for the most part superior to that Chamwol Rang.
What if a situation arose where I found myself at odds with them?
Could I swear such a thing would never happen?
‘This is enemy territory. To achieve what I want here… I can’t afford to be merely strong.’
A strange sensation spread through my chest.
‘What should I call this? Is this fighting spirit?’
It was the first time I’d felt such a thing since beginning my martial training.
I’d learned to survive, and in the course of surviving, I’d learned. That was how things were in Mujeo Gaeng.
But now it was different. I could feel it changing, very slowly.
‘First, I need to understand my full capabilities.’
So I decided to draw upon the most powerful things I possessed.
The strongest force within me—lightning.
The two that stem from it.
The Gugeuk Cheonroe Gong and the Noe Ryun.
The Noe Ryun’s second ring wasn’t yet complete, so I couldn’t wield it freely.
That’s why I chose the Gugeuk Cheonroe Gong as my first target.
Using the Jeognoe Shin to subdue Hwangbo Yeongeol was part of that plan.
‘I need to push higher the critical threshold where the Cheonroe Ki begins to burn through my entire body.’
In simple terms, it meant I had to extend the duration of the Jeognoe Shin.
“Then, let’s begin.”
Crackle—
At Ipmu Wonju’s signal—ambiguous as to whether it had truly started or was merely starting—I activated the Jeognoe Shin once more.
In an instant, electric current ravaged my entire body as I fixed my gaze ahead.
I’d wondered if I was being too brazenly open with the Cheonroe Ki, but I already had a degree of certainty from my conversation with Baek Rishyeon.
‘Lightning energy isn’t a particularly rare form of True Energy.’
They’d said it was rare in Mujeo Gaeng.
Gong Heon had even called it a force that could shake the Madao Cheonha.
‘Or is it not Madao Cheonha, but something of lesser value?’
Such idle thoughts came to mind. I recalled even the crude lightning energy of Noejeong검문.
In any case, here was my conclusion.
“Master has the advantage!”
Which is to say, Mujin looked utterly charming as he shouted from mere inches away, already charging in.
Jeong Ishin pulled the corners of his mouth taut and drew in a long breath.
Whoosh—!
The opening strike was Mujin’s fist flying toward my face.
‘Nahan Gwon.’
The foundational fist technique called both the beginning and end of Shaolin’s palm arts.
No flashy forms. Each movement was extraordinarily clean and linear.
‘Yet the strikes are remarkably heavy, and the combinations flow with perfect naturalness.’
One could say the achievement of Nahan Gwon hinged on how one wove these combinations together.
Under the hyper-acceleration of the Jeognoe Shin, the trajectory of Mujin’s punching fist became crystal clear.
Without hesitation, I brought my hand down. The joint where one movement connected to the next.
Thwack!
The sound that issued forth was deeply dull for what should have been a palm strike.
The sensation transmitted through my hand didn’t feel like striking human flesh at all.
‘Impressive.’
How much effort must it have taken to forge such a body?
Marveling at that dedication, I began to parry his attacks.
Mujin didn’t rely on his fists alone. He brought elbows into play, and moreover, his knees and feet, deploying leg techniques as well.
He channeled everything he’d learned to press Jeong Ishin.
Thud! Crash!
The trajectory of his fists grew increasingly complex, his limbs blurring into phantom trails.
Again and again came the sound of stones hurled against a wall.
“Hmph.”
“Shaolin’s close-range hundred strikes—truly worthy of its reputation.”
“The So Geumgang’s fame seems underestimated, if anything.”
Even among the New Disciples, admiration for Mujin dominated the gaps in conversation.
From the start of the match, he’d been on the offensive without pause—a natural evaluation, one might say.
But those watching from closer range.
The instructors of Cheonmu Academy saw differently.
“Master, what is your assessment?”
“There are no effective strikes landing. A Top Disciple, as Jeong Ishin is called, is defending as though he sees through every attack from So Geumgang.”
“The situation differs from expectations. Even their physical robustness appears comparable.”
“But that one—why isn’t he attacking?”
“Who knows. He certainly seems to have room to spare.”
* * *
Whoosh!
The palm aimed at Jeong Ishin’s shoulder shot skyward.
Though the strike carried considerable force, its trajectory twisted with surprising ease.
When an attack failed, exposure of an opening was inevitable.
Yet this time, too, there was no counterattack.
Tap.
Mujin halted his advancing footwork and asked.
“Master, why aren’t you attacking?”
“I’m not sure how long the opponent I’m yielding to will last.”
“……What?”
Jeong Ishin waved his hand dismissively at Mujin, whose pupils had widened to twice their normal size.
“Only joking.”
……
Truth be told, Jeong Ishin harbored a desire to teach Mujin something as his senior. This selection had been for that purpose from the start.
It was never a light-hearted whim.
For a long time now, he’d held the determination to return to Mujin everything he’d received from Gong Heon—without exception.
Yet.
‘……I can’t explain it in words.’
Mujin’s martial attainment was certainly impressive. But Jeong Ishin sensed something subtly off about it.
Shaolin monks possessed a distinctive balance.
It concerned how to wear two garments of starkly opposing nature—that of a martial artist and that of a Buddhist disciple.
Once, Gong Heon had said that this balance lay nowhere in the middle, but to Jeong Ishin, such words had remained useless theory.
‘So what do I do? Just strike?’
From the beginning, Jeong Ishin had learned martial arts by engraving them directly into his body.
But he couldn’t very well thrash Mujin here.
The depth of Jeong Ishin’s worry as a senior grew.
“Ishin, senior.”
“Hmm?”
“Frightened?”
“……What?”
“A disciple of Shaolin so full of worry? Like a coward.”
“……Heh.”
Jeong Ishin’s eyes narrowed softly.
He recognized it as a fine provocation and, in the same breath, awakened the Jeognoe Shin he’d let scatter.
“You’re right.”
The Cheonroe Ki that swept through his entire frame surged to his Upper Dantian. His thoughts accelerated, and behind his eyes, threads of golden lightning flickered once more.
Crash!
Jeong Ishin appeared before Mujin and drove a single palm strike into his abdomen.
A form found everywhere, yet executed in a way found nowhere.
“Gugh……!”
It had been far too swift. He’d tracked it with his eyes, yet couldn’t react.
A sharp, spreading ache bloomed from his abdomen—most uncomfortable. His body, tempered to withstand ordinary impacts, faltered.
The External Power training he’d undergone, conditioning himself with cudgel strikes across his entire frame, suddenly felt utterly worthless.
“Your shoulder’s wide open.”
“……!”
But before Mujin could even assess his abdomen, his right shoulder snapped back hard.
Clang!
The sound rang out like a whip cracking against steel, and the same searing pain radiated through his entire body.
Yet Mujin didn’t repeat the same mistake.
“Haagh!”
He exhaled roughly and swung his opposite arm in a counterattack.
Having surrendered his right shoulder, he meant to seize the opening and gain ground.
Whoosh!
But his hand found nothing.
The moment his arm cut through empty air, Jeong Ishin—moving at terrifying speed—seized that wrist.
It was a grip worthy of Shaolin’s Diamond Guardians—the Geum Nasu at its finest.
‘What is this.’
In that moment, Mujin realized he’d lost the thread of the fight entirely. Every move he made was being read before he threw it.
A crushing force gripped his captured wrist, and his body lurched forward with a sharp pull.
Mujin drove his knee up by instinct, but Jeong Ishin’s leather shoe simply blocked it cleanly, effortlessly.
With the counterattack smothered, his entire upper body lay exposed.
‘Ah.’
For a moment, he understood what price was about to come.
His wrist was captured. The distance between them had shrunk to nothing.
In fist forms, a narrow gap normally prevents true force—but this close, pressed flush together, strength couldn’t flow properly.
‘Yet why.’
How was he managing such short, precise footwork through that invisible gap?
Thud!
Jeong Ishin stamped hard against the floor and twisted his hips—a textbook motion of drawing footwork power through the arm. Now came the fist, brimming with all that force.
Mujin clenched his teeth.
His right arm had felt subtly numb ever since the strike; his left was completely pinned. The knee thrust he’d thrown was crushed beneath his opponent’s weight.
All that remained was a desperate defense.
He poured strength into his abdomen and twisted his torso—it was the best he could do.
“……?”
But the expected pain never came. Neither did the pressure that should have torn his wrist apart.
The terrible momentum simply vanished, as if washed away.
“Ah, I’m dizzy.”
Jeong Ishin stepped back, his voice strangely hollow—the sound of a man drained of strength.
* * *
This fight hadn’t begun with crude thoughts about seizing the advantage.
Since Mujin truly acknowledged him as a senior, he’d simply meant to act in kind.
“……I’ve lost.”
“Why?”
So it rankled when Mujin suddenly declared defeat without warning.
He’d held back the final strike because the backlash from the Jeognoe Shin had reached its peak.
One step further, and his own brain might truly have burned out. His Internal Power was already running dangerously dry.
‘I pushed too hard.’
A competition wasn’t worth damaging your own body.
But Mujin had clearly read it differently.
“……I didn’t lay everything bare either.”
The disciple spoke with unconcealed frustration written across his face.
For the first time, Mujin looked his age—a young man, not a monument.
So Jeong Ishin laughed.
“That’s supposedly the second-most shameful thing a loser can say.”
“…….”
He raised his fists in salute to the scowling Mujin, then turned his gaze toward Ipmu Wonju.
The Energy Ripples shimmering around him were unmistakable.
How many Sound Transmissions had been passing through them?
Ipmu Wonju wiped the sweat from his brow, his lips moving silently for a moment.
“Indeed—a martial competition worthy of Cheonmu Academy’s New Disciples.”
Though Ipmu Wonju offered his praise, the reaction remained lukewarm. The disciples watching the bout let out hollow laughs one after another.
“Worthy of New Disciples? That’s New Disciple level?”
“I’ve wandered through no few competitions to broaden my understanding, but I’ve never witnessed combat like this.”
“I’m the same. Even the Paecheon Bimuhoe wasn’t at this level.”
“……Huh? Isn’t that the Martial Competition of Paecheon? A mock—could it be……?”
Professors and disciples alike threw out their opinions without restraint.
Ipmu Wonju wiped the sweat streaming down his forehead once more, then opened his mouth.
“Everyone! Please focus on the results!”
“Is there anything to see? They’d both be ranked Top.”
“The So Geumgang part I understand, but how could a frame so frail achieve that…….”
“Didn’t you notice the leeway at the end? He must be a hidden warrior cultivated in secret by Shaolin.”
“Enough!”
Only when he infused his voice with True Energy did the training grounds fall silent.
Ipmu Wonju cleared his throat and spoke.
“Mujin, Top Disciple. And Jeong Ishin…….”
Hold.
“That’s preposterous!”
Jeong Ishin blinked. Far across the grounds, Bang Sijeong had bolted upright, his voice ringing out.
‘Hmm? I didn’t know he had that temperament.’
Sure enough, the many eyes turned toward Bang Sijeong made him frown, yet he didn’t sit back down.
He looked Ipmu Wonju straight in the eye and spoke.
“Among those gathered here, I doubt anyone truly accepts this result.”
Many of the New Disciples nodded at his forceful words, though not all did.
As if to prove the exception, another figure rose abruptly—and that face too felt familiar.
“And what reason is there to reject it?”
“……The Azure Blade Guard House.”
A man from among Jegal Jeok’s company, the ones Jeong Ishin had met in Mugang County.
More specifically, he was the one who’d charged at Jeong Ishin and eaten dirt from the Daeryeok Geumgang Su.
‘What was his name? Wi, Wi……?’
Jeong Ishin remembered being handled roughly alongside the Noejeong검문’s rumor-master, yet the man’s name escaped him.
Still uncouth it seemed—the man even scoffed at Bang Sijeong.
“Ho! So Gaebang’s intelligence network still stands? Then the rumors of losing to Haomun were all false?”
“Ah, perhaps news from the Joonwon doesn’t reach as far as distant Gangso Province. I’ll be sure to suggest reinforcements for Gaebang in my lands.”
“You……!”
“Listen, Wi Seok.”
Bang Sijeong stepped closer to the man, his lips moving soundlessly—clearly a Sound Transmission.
Whatever he said, Wi Seok’s crude features drained to ash in an instant.
“Ahem! Ahem!”
Wi Seok merely said he respected the decision of Ipmu Wonju and the instructors, then stepped back.
Though in his retreat, he muttered quietly one last time.
“……You’d do well to watch yourself.”
It was a parting so pathetically transparent.
“Remarkable—the ugliest words a loser can speak! And to hear it firsthand.”
At Jeong Ishin’s quip, Mujin flinched slightly.
Jeong Ishin gave Bang Sijeong a light bow of thanks, then turned to Ipmu Wonju.
He was grateful for the intervention, but it wasn’t as though he had objections.
“I hear that those on Hold must undergo an additional Martial Competition. Do I have a choice in the matter?”
It was a way of saying he would accept the result quietly.
Ipmu Wonju could not hide his regret.
“It depends on circumstances. Normally, if there is another on Hold, you would face them in a rematch.”
“I have no objection.”
“……Thank you. Ordinarily, the reason for Hold should be announced at once, but it relates to your Entrance Ceremony.”
“That’s perfectly fine.”
With the familiarity now well-worn in him, Jeong Ishin clasped his fist and led Mujin away from the competition grounds.
‘So the Entrance Ceremony was the problem.’
Well then, there was nothing to complain about. There would need to be multiple issues for that.
“What exactly happened during your Entrance Ceremony?”
“I returned a lost wolf to the wild.”
“……If you don’t achieve the upper rank, there will be considerable repercussions, brother.”
“I’ll do well in the rematch, then.”
The disgruntled disciple had nothing more to say to the master.
The lightning I carry within is far too fierce
— End —
Woo San-yu
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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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