The World’s Greatest Junior Martial Brother - Chapter 9

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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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Cheonha Jeil Sajae (9)
He has returned.
“Uhhh…”
Baekri Unhak woke from his faint, pressing a throbbing forehead as he sat up.
His head ached. And his chest, always clamped shut by his twisted qi channels, was tight, tight, tight…!
‘Impossible!’
It was completely clear!
The crushing weight that had pressed on his chest for the past six months had vanished without a trace!
Not even needles or medicine could remove it. He had received outside help, but there was nothing to be done. The aftereffects of Qi Deviation were like pockmarks in the skin, and no remedy could fill them in.
And yet the Heavenly Punishment had flown away in an instant.
‘How refreshing it feels!’
With a clarity he hadn’t felt in ages, Baekri Unhak drew in a deep breath.
What a crisp, bright sensation after so long!
“You’re up.”
Baekri Unhak had jumped to his feet and spread his arms wide, savoring the fresh morning breeze, when a curt voice from somewhere nearby snapped him back to his senses.
“S-Junior Brother?”
“If your meridians settle one more time, you’ll be dancing around like a fool.”
Baekri Unhak stared at Jin Muok, who turned away from him and grumbled, his eyes trembling with emotion, and stammered.
“Don’t tell me, Junior Brother, it was you who—?”
“Don’t get excited.”
Jin Muok picked up a leaf lying carelessly on the ground and brought it to his mouth.
Crunch.
“I managed to open your blocked qi channels and meridians, and I loosened the tangled pathways well enough, but since you left your body neglected for so long, a grueling rehabilitation is essential. Just how long did you let it go untended…!”
Whump!
Baekri Unhak charged at Jin Muok and wrapped him in a hug.
“Thank you, Junior Brother! I truly mean it, thank you!”
“Gah! Cough! Let go!”
“You saved me, who was dying day after day with not a shred of hope left!”
“I said let go!”
With a grunt, Jin Muok pried Baekri Unhak off and rubbed the neck he’d been grabbed by.
“What’s there to get so giddy about? The real hell starts now.”
Looking at Baekri Unhak, Jin Muok wore a sly, unsettling smile.
“To drive out the turbid qi that’s built up for so long, you’ll be wailing starting tomorrow.”
* * *
A man on a vast plain, keeping the setting sun as his companion, gazing at the descending light.
He was middle-aged.
Having traversed the years with a single sword for over fifty years, he was a man who cut right through the center of the dawn’s light and the falling sunset.
Sword Emperor Namgung Cheonggwang!
Among the Eleven Overlords who represented the present martial world, he was a warrior who had proudly earned his name among the Five Emperors, and the current head of the Namgung Family, the foremost clan under heaven!
Now in his fifty-sixth year, he was attempting to surpass his own limits.
Woooong-woooong-woooooong―.
Surrounded by dense undergrowth, Namgung Cheonggwang drew his blade from its sheath, and a sword cry like a wailing ghost echoed in every direction.
Shararak―.
Regardless of the spirit-like wails ringing out all around, a single stream of spring breeze caressed his robe as it passed by.
Gulp―.
Off in the distance, the thirty swordsmen surrounding Namgung Cheonggwang unconsciously swallowed dry.
Something tremendous was about to happen. No, it had to happen.
It had to.
Contrary to the swordsmen’s hopes, the surroundings hung in a thorough silence like a curtain, so the space they occupied seemed cut off from the world.
Weeeng-wiwiwi-eeeeing―.
The pressure grew steadily heavier.
As Namgung Cheonggwang channeled his inner power, the grayish-white blade swelled as if about to burst.
And then, in a single moment!
Buwaaaak―.
His blade erupted explosively, and a tremendous burst of light surged skyward, piercing the heavens.
Gyeokchung Seongnak (Star-Falling Assault)!
Lightning shot straight through the sky in a single line, stretching endlessly outward.
“Oh!”
“At last!”
As the sword force radiating from Namgung Cheonggwang intensified, the thirty swordsmen who watched in awe were soon forced to draw in their breath.
Kkwadeuk—.
A qi that swallows them whole! This must be the aftershock of Namgung Cheonggwang’s sword momentum!
“Haaap!”
To withstand the backlash of the sword momentum, all thirty swordsmen activated their Hosin Ganggi at once.
Ccheooeoeong—!
A shell of qi rose around them, as solid as iron armor!
Hosin Ganggi.
The supreme defensive martial art that turns qi from an instrument of attack into a shield, that is Hosin Ganggi.
For thirty people to wield such a transcendent art at the same time, and not just one or two, was proof that these swordsmen were no ordinary men.
Woonghon Thirty Swordsmen!
The representative swordsmen of the Namgung Family, each one said to far surpass first-rate masters!
They had long ago pacified the region of Gangnam with their swordsmanship, handed down from ancient times, and it was openly rumored that only Huashan or Wudang could stand against the Woonghon Thirty Swordsmen.
That such formidable swordsmen were scrambling just to shield themselves with Hosin Ganggi showed just how devastating Namgung Cheonggwang’s sword momentum was.
Wiyeong-wiyeong-wiyeoeong—!
Namgung Cheonggwang’s sword qi, racing toward its peak!
At some point he rose lightly from his seat, released the sword-seal he had formed with his left hand, and took the stance of Jikdan Cheonji.
“Bang Milmil!”
At the cry of Namgung Cheon, leader of the Woonghon Thirty Swordsmen, the thirty swordsmen pushed their Hosin Ganggi to its absolute limit.
And from Namgung Cheonggwang’s hand, the Namgung Family’s final sword form unfurled.
The ultimate insight of Cheolgeom Sipsik, which no one had mastered in a hundred years.
Cheolgeom Manri.
Kkwaaang—!
With a roar that turned the heavens over and shook the earth at its roots, a radius of ten jang was reduced to wasteland.
“Kheum!”
“Eum!”
Though they had shielded themselves with Hosin Ganggi, the Woonghon Thirty Swordsmen strained with everything they had to settle their churning chests against the aftershock of Cheolgeom Manri.
Kuooooo—.
As the dust and broken branches that had soared high into the sky settled back down, a massive crater came into view.
In the middle of the pit, Namgung Cheonggwang, who had produced such a shocking spectacle, slowly steadied his breathing with his eyes closed.
“That was—!”
“That was truly—!”
Swordsmen who had forced down the blood surging in their chests looked at one another and let out cries of joy.
At last, had the hundred-year aspiration of the Namgung Family finally come true?
Parting the crowd of jubilant men, a young man in his mid-twenties stepped forward.
Namgung Ilmyeong.
The second son of Namgung Cheonggwang.
The pride of the Namgung Family, regarded as a talent who excelled in both letters and arms.
He was the very man who had neatly disproved the common saying that a younger brother never surpasses his elder.
Not only in literary learning and military strategy, but in his cool and precise handling of affairs, Namgung Ilmyeong was the very pillar holding up the Namgung Family.
By contrast, the eldest son, that disappointing wretch, had long since fallen out of Namgung Cheonggwang’s favor.
Namgung Ilmyeong approached Namgung Cheonggwang respectfully and knelt on his right knee.
“Congratulations, Father!”
“Hmm.”
Namgung Cheonggwang let out a heavy sigh.
“Did my Cheolgeom Manri appear perfect to your eyes?”
Namgung Cheonggwang asked sharply, but Namgung Ilmyeong’s answer came without hesitation.
“In this world, perfection does not exist, Father.”
Lifting his head, Namgung Ilmyeong met Namgung Cheonggwang’s eyes.
“There are only comparisons, relative to one another.”
A witty answer, aptly given.
At Namgung Ilmyeong’s words, Namgung Cheonggwang looked down at the bluish aura coiled along his sword.
His son’s words were true.
In the end, there is no perfection in any form, and the path of martial arts has no terminus.
That was why his true goal was not Cheolgeom Manri, the final form of Cheolgeom Sipsik, but to surpass the last realm of martial arts itself.
Muboong Jiro!
Like the saying that a heavenly robe has no seam, the ultimate martial art with not a single flaw!
Yet no martial artist had ever reached Muboong Jiro, and no technique had ever manifested it, so Namgung Ilmyeong’s reply was exquisitely apt.
Namgung Cheonggwang, who had fallen silent for a moment at his second son’s brilliant retort, turned the conversation around.
“Comparisons, is it.”
Drawing out his words, Namgung Cheonggwang narrowed his eyes, and Namgung Ilmyeong spoke first.
“Our Cheolgeom Sipsik stands on equal footing with Taegeuk Hyegeom. We take pride in that.”
If the Namgung Family is the famed sword house representing the Secular Sect, then Wudang is the sword sect that leads the Daoist Sect.
And if the Namgung Family has its Cheolgeom Sipsik, then Wudang has its Taegeuk Hyegeom.
“Even the Daohuang, they say, has not yet been able to reach Muboong Jiro with Mugeuk Sisaeng Taegeuk Byeon.”
Mugeuk Sisaeng Taegeuk Byeon. The final insight of Taegeuk Hyegeom.
When Namgung Ilmyeong mentioned the title Daohuang, Namgung Cheonggwang’s eyes grew deep and unreadable.
The world lumps them together as the Eleven Overlords, but there are real differences among them.
The Five Emperors fall half a step behind the Three Emperors, and the Three Emperors are no match for Ima.
And finally…
Ilbul is unrivaled!
Such was the general verdict on the Eleven Overlords.
But Ilbul and Ima are all reputation with no substance, their very existence uncertain, so the ones who truly contend for the title of greatest under heaven are the Three Emperors.
“I doubt even the Daohuang ever fully mastered Mugeuk Sisaeng Taegeuk Byeon…”
Daohuang Eulji Sangin.
A peerless swordsman produced by Wudang, and among the Three Emperors, the undefeated Daoist who shook the world with his swordsmanship.
“Perhaps so.”
Namgung Cheonggwang was regarded as the foremost sword of the Secular Sect, so he was inevitably compared with Eulji Sangin, the foremost sword of the Daoist Sect, and he had no choice but to endure that comparison.
But at this moment, Namgung Cheonggwang was not thinking of Eulji Sangin.
His interest lay with one person alone.
“What about Bukjin Gwangpung?”
Flash!
At the mention of a name his father had never expected, Namgung Ilmyeong unconsciously raised his head.
He had assumed his father would bring up the Daohuang, yet here he was, suddenly speaking of Bukjin Gwangpung.
“You witnessed Bukjin Gwangpung’s martial arts up close. You were only fifteen at the time, but a clever boy like you should be able to judge how far his skill reached.”
Staring straight at Namgung Ilmyeong, Namgung Cheonggwang pressed again.
“Could you surpass him with Cheolgeom Manri as it stands now?”
“That is…”
Namgung Ilmyeong’s gaze sank downward when someone burst into the training ground.
“Lord! Lord!”
“What is the matter?”
Even if it was not a seclusion, the Lord was in training, and such a breach of courtesy was unthinkable.
Namgung Ilmyeong’s brows knit faintly, when a guard from the front gate dropped to his knees before Namgung Cheonggwang as if he had collapsed.
“The eldest young master! The eldest young master!”
“What about Ildo?”
“He’s been gravely wounded!”
Namgung Cheonggwang and Namgung Ilmyeong arrived at the infirmary and looked down at Namgung Ildo with grim faces. His entire body was wrapped in bandages, leaving him a mummy, yet from his mouth came a constant, unintelligible mumbling.
“I can’t make out what he’s saying.”
Frowning, Namgung Cheonggwang sat beside the bed and turned around.
“Explain it to me.”
The 3rd Mobile Squad members who had brought Namgung Ildo back exchanged uneasy glances until finally one of them stepped forward.
“Well, that is…”
When the squad member finished his account, Namgung Cheonggwang muttered as if groaning.
“Jin Muok…”
Namgung Cheonggwang drew the name out, and Namgung Ilmyeong narrowed his eyes as he asked the squad member.
“Are you referring to Bukjin Gwangpung, the captain of the 8th Mobile Squad of the Murim Alliance, when you say Jin Muok?”
“That’s right!”
“The Bukjin Gwangpung who ten years ago died together with the remnants of the Demonic Cult at Sipman Daesan, is that correct?”
“It is an undeniable fact!”
At this point, Namgung Ildo spoke haltingly.
“That… bastard… is definitely Jin Muok…”
A ten-year-old brat being Jin Muok? Namgung Ildo’s mind must be unsound from the beating he took.
But Bukjin Gwangpung Jin Muok certainly died ten years ago, so by what means could he have come back to life and taken a ten-year-old disciple?
“Pardon me, but do you remember how that boy fought?”
When Namgung Ilmyeong asked, the squad member slowly rose to his feet.
“That was… he drew his cudgel like lightning with a quick-draw technique…”
“Set aside the quick-draw. How did he swing the cudgel?”
As Namgung Ilmyeong pressed relentlessly, Namgung Cheonggwang also grasped what his second son was aiming for.
Namgung Ilmyeong meant to confirm it: what martial art the boy, the disciple of Jin Muok, had used.
“Uh, well.”
The squad member did not want to recall that moment, but since the request came from the renowned second son of the Namgung Family, he struggled hard to reenact the situation.
“So it went like this, like this—no, wait, that boy did it like this?”
As the 3rd Mobile Squad member reenacted Jin Muok’s cudgel strikes in an awkward stance, Namgung Ilmyeong and Namgung Cheonggwang studied every movement, then looked at each other.
―No matter how I look at it, that’s the same technique, isn’t it?
―Without a doubt.
“That’s enough.”
Ilmyeong waved a hand, lowered his gaze, and sank into deep thought. Cheonggwang scolded his eldest brother.
“What on earth possessed you to go all the way to Jiuding Mountain in that treacherous Sichuan?”
“I thought… this was my chance to… drive Unhak out for good…”
“You didn’t go sneaking around Geommun to peek at A-yeong, and get yourself humiliated in the process?”
“…!”
Namgung Ildo flinched, caught in his own secret, and Cheonggwang pressed a hand to his forehead.
What a hopeless eldest son. First one foolish blunder after another, and now he’s chasing women and breaking Murim Law besides.
“Take care of yourself.”
Cheonggwang and Ilmyeong stepped out of the infirmary and turned their steps toward the rear garden.
As Cheonggwang walked deeper into the garden, he watched the leaves tremble like the wind chimes of a mountain temple and murmured to himself.
“One shouldn’t carelessly disgrace another person’s sect. Yes, certainly not.”
He nodded, then suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“Still, I can’t very well cripple the boy and send him off.”
Crack—.
Cracks began to spread slowly beneath Cheonggwang’s feet.
He hadn’t even stamped his foot, yet from that single point the ground began to split like the shell of a tortoise.
Crack-crack-crack-crack—.
“Cripple him…”
Crrrrrack— Kwa-aaaaaaaack—.
As fissures radiated outward and swallowed the wide garden whole, ancient trees and boulders began sinking down with the earth, and Ilmyeong hastily gathered his internal power to shield himself.
The Sword Emperor was enraged!
When the head of the foremost family under heaven and one of the Eleven Overlords showed his anger, the earth howled and the mountains and rivers bowed their heads!
Namgung Cheonggwang spat out the words through clenched teeth.
“I’d rather he just be killed.”
That foolish eldest son had clearly broken Murim Law, but sending the boy back in that state was something I simply cannot tolerate!
Drawing a breath, Cheonggwang spoke in a businesslike tone.
“The technique the little boy used was beyond doubt the Bukhae Mupa.”
Remarkable self-control. Cheonggwang swallowed his fury and focused on analyzing the situation.
The Eleven Overlords were not a position one could reach through martial strength alone.
“To use his sect’s sword forms while fighting several grown men in a brawl—a year or two of training wouldn’t get anyone that far.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“It suggests that Jin Muok has been raising that boy recently, so…”
Cheonggwang drew in a sharp breath.
“…There’s a strong chance Jin Muok himself is still alive.”
Recalling a sunset from long ago, Cheonggwang rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Whoosh!
“Jin Muok, huh.”
A name that had been forgotten for ten years rose from the dead.
A man who had faded far into the distance of memory now declared his return.
A displeasure welling up from the deepest part of his heart.
On top of that, the moment his youngest disciple appeared, he had crippled Cheonggwang’s own child.
“What a bitter feud.”
Cheonggwang suppressed the killing intent clawing up through his chest and drew his voice up from the very bottom of his lungs.
“Prepare yourselves.”
Clank—.
Gripping his enormous iron sword, Cheonggwang turned around.
“If Jin Muok returns, the ripple effect will be enormous. Whether it’s our Seven Sects or the Six Schools standing opposite us, no one in the Murim Alliance can afford to ignore him.”
Not only that, but the Heterodox Sects will be watching Jin Muok’s every move as well!
“News of him will spread quickly, and the other sects will mobilize every means at their disposal.”
Facing forward, Cheonggwang’s eyes blazed like a volcano in full eruption.
“Make every preparation.”
“Yes.”
As Ilmyeong led the Woonghon Thirty Swordsmen out of the training grounds, Cheonggwang took out brush and ink and wrote a single sentence in one bold, unbroken stroke.
Tahoilaeyo
(He has returned.)
.

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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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