Third-rate Martial Family Becomes the Best Under Heaven - Chapter 383

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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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Third-rate Martial Arts Family, Greatest Under Heaven – Episode 383
An old man whose appearance suggested he had been trapped within a statue for easily several decades.
If the other party was truly the Dalai Lama, there were so many questions I needed to ask.
Whether he was truly a being who underwent samsaric rebirth.
Why he had once masqueraded as Gwigyoe Jungok-gun in the past.
What reason could possibly explain his confinement here.
‘No, rather than being trapped, it would be more accurate to say he imprisoned himself.’
In any case, among the many questions, there was one I needed to ask first.
“You said you still wish to introduce yourself as the Dalai Lama, correct?”
The old man offered a bitter smile.
“Arranger, you are quite perceptive. Indeed. I still wish to think of myself as the Dalai Lama.”
“Are you in the process of transforming into something else?”
“Who can say. Am I changing, or am I perhaps returning to my original form?”
The old man’s eyes grew profound.
So much so that those who lived but a single lifetime could never hope to match it.
It was regret of such immeasurable depth.
“Let me introduce myself anew. I am a fragment of Honeum.”
“…!”
A gasp of shock escaped me.
The Dalai Lama, who had served as the spiritual pillar of the Western Monastery for over centuries, was a fragment of that demon bastard Cheonma?
“No, I still do not fully understand myself. Was I truly born from Honeum’s arrangement, or did Honeum become entangled in some scheme?”
‘Even he doesn’t know which it is. How exactly is this situation unfolding?’
A hundred years ago, the Dalai Lama had departed from Podal Lapgung and stained both the Great Thunder Sound Temple and the Small Thunder Sound Temple with Mara.
Yet after that, the Dalai Lama’s whereabouts became shrouded in mystery.
It was inevitable, given that he had imprisoned himself here.
“What exactly happened?”
“It seems I must explain.”
A long tale began.
“Everyone possesses their earliest memory. For me, that memory became a single conviction: the world is irrational, and thus those in pitiful circumstances continue to emerge endlessly. I wished to become even a small strength for them all.”
The Dalai Lama had undergone samsaric rebirth and served as the leader of the Western Monastery for centuries, yet never once indulged in luxury or abused his authority.
It was a conviction that suited such a person perfectly.
“My conviction extends beyond a single lifetime. It is my heavenly mandate. A wish I desperately desire to fulfill, even across multiple lives.”
The rumors that the Dalai Lama underwent samsaric rebirth appeared to be true.
Though from the way he spoke, it seemed he did not preserve all memories perfectly across his rebirths.
“It was a hundred years ago. The moment I was reborn as a child in my next life. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: if I wished to save more people, was there not a more efficient method?”
If the world was irrational and many fell into pitiful circumstances because of it, should not the world itself be changed?
Could one not make those in misery regard even their own unhappiness as happiness?
It was nonsensical.
To attempt to change the world is to go against heaven, and the contradiction of transforming misery into happiness is likewise going against heaven.
Moreover, going against heaven is to become a demon.
“When I came to my senses, I found myself forcing everyone to learn demonic cultivation. Thanks to the authority I’d accumulated as the Dalai Lama, it was hardly difficult to make them all follow me.”
Thus, the Great Thunder Sound Temple and the Lesser Thunder Sound Temple came to revere the demonic path and became subordinate forces of the Il-wol Radiant Sect.
“If I may ask—did you receive the Il-wol Radiant Sect’s demonic cultivation from their disciples?”
Wrinkles deepened across the old man’s weathered face.
The old man shook his head.
“It surfaced in my mind of its own accord. The demonic cultivation for wielding mystical artifacts, the teachings of the Il-wol Radiant Sect, the very form of the world I wished to reshape—all of it. That’s why I doubt myself. Perhaps I was never truly an independent being, but merely an arrangement of Honeum.”
“….”
“But then, at some point, I finally regained clarity. I came to realize it suddenly.”
The old man recalled a moment from his past.
Demonic cultivation transmitted through whispers in his mind.
The sight of those taught a demonic art that grew stronger by consuming one another, devouring each other.
Only then could he understand.
He had believed he was acting for his original convictions, but the truth was far different.
“Is that why you confined yourself?”
“Indeed. For me, even death is not an ending.”
It was a terrible thing—to bear the weight of one’s own sins for a lifetime, nay, for all eternity beyond death itself.
Yet there was something slightly suspicious about it all.
‘Dalai Lama. Are you truly a fragment of Honeum?’
I closed my eyes and fell into contemplation.
Silence permeated the hall.
‘Cheonma once said that Seolha and I also originated from his arrangement.’
Swordmaster Yeo Dong-bin had spoken of it as well.
That Yang Hwi, who emerged from darkness yet shone brilliantly in the light, was a being of miracles.
“Do you still hear the whispers?”
“Yes. I wish to reshape the world into its rightful form. I desire to escape this place at once. I must fulfill my duty.”
Yet the reason he confined himself here was surely because his rational conviction told him such a path was wrong.
If so, could the Dalai Lama truly be considered a fragment of Honeum?
“What does it matter?”
At those bluntly spoken words, the old man’s eyes widened.
“You?”
“What does it matter whether you originated from that bastard Cheonma or not? In the end, you’re resisting the whispers through your own will, are you not?”
Where one originates from is irrelevant.
One’s birth and lineage cannot govern a human life.
I myself am proof—risen from a beggar in the dirt to become Eung-hyo Je-il.
“The Swordmaster told me the same. That I too originated from Cheonma’s arrangement. I’m not entirely certain how it all came to be, but apparently that’s the case.”
“You?”
“Yes. Me. But honestly, I don’t concern myself with it. What matters is how I choose to live from this moment forward, does it not?”
I turned my gaze toward Seolha.
“Seolha. Tell me of the old man’s inner nature.”
“A warm embrace. A vessel that wishes to hold all things. It grows dark, yes, but its essence is unmistakable.”
The form of one’s inner landscape reveals everything about a person.
A basket brimming with warmth.
The Dalai Lama’s path was proven by the form of his inner landscape.
“Indeed. A man who stands as the greatest under heaven surely knows that the form of one’s inner landscape never lies? So take heart, Old Man. Do not despair. I will do the same.”
“….”
Moisture began to seep across the Old Man’s gaunt face.
His eyes grew wet.
For the Old Man who had confined himself for decades, for the Dalai Lama who had lived for centuries, no greater comfort could exist than this.
“Thank you. Truly, I am grateful. Even death could not end it, so I remained imprisoned. I had steeled myself for an eternity with no end in sight. You have become my light.”
Whether the Dalai Lama truly originated from Honeum or had fallen victim to Honeum’s machinations, I could not say.
But one thing was certain.
“Old Man, I make you this vow. You will not need to endure an eternity within this place. Before my time runs out, I will surely slay Cheonma.”
I would stake everything on it.
Only then could I make the main family the greatest under heaven.
“I swear it. So wait just a few more decades.”
“…Thank you. Truly, I am grateful.”
“But!”
Yang Hwi’s lips curved upward subtly.
I’d won his favor through sentiment—might as well leave with something for my trouble.
“Lend me your strength. Have you nothing to give? You called me the Arranger, after all.”
“….”
The Old Man’s expression shifted from bewilderment to laughter.
“Heheheh, you’re quite the amusing one. Very well, since you’ve come this far, I should give you something. You’ll be able to bear it.”
A thunderous rumble echoed from above.
Dozens of demonic artifacts came flying, filling the space entirely.
Murderous demonic energy bloomed viciously. A suffocating malevolence accompanied it as well.
Everything that had been sealed was now released.
“What are you doing?”
While Neung-o and Seolha quietly assumed battle stances, I asked.
The Old Man’s answer was simple.
“Absorb them.”
“Pardon?”
“My arrangement for you. You should be able to bear it. You must bear it.”
Each one was a demon that could drench the world in blood.
And he wanted me to absorb not just one, but all of them?
“How am I supposed to absorb them? I haven’t learned the Absorption Demonic Art.”
“In this place, you can absorb them. All demons originate from Honeum. Your demonic nature is skewed. You must take all of it to approach the true essence.”
-Baek Dou. This is dangerous. I advise against it.
-Brother, this doesn’t feel right. That old man even said he’d been corrupted by demons himself.
“….”
I alternated my gaze between the dozens of demonic beasts and the Dalai Lama’s face.
‘Gain a companion, unite the sword paths, pierce the heavens through calculation. Wander and roam, covet the strange and bizarre, obtain one’s true desire.’
Long ago, when I began wielding demonic energy, I had found the path to ascend beyond the realm of Cheonmu-sip-jon and above the stage of harmony.
Yet the words inscribed in the Swordmaster’s Decree had not yet vanished.
This meant I had not yet grasped the power to pierce the heavens by uniting the sword paths.
Beyond that lay the instruction to seek the legacy of Gwigyoe Jungok-gun and obtain what I desired.
“I understand, Old Man.”
“Baek Dou.”
“Elder brother!”
“I know you’re worried, but trust me.”
I gazed upon the demonic beasts.
Hesitation surged forth now that the moment had come.
These were demonic beasts, each harboring different demonic energies and malevolent thoughts.
Could I endure it?
With a sharp sound, I drew the Black and White Twin Swords.
The Black and White Twin Swords, saturated with demonic energy from slaying the bastard leaders of the two Thunder Sound Temples.
They were more than worthy of being called demonic blades.
‘If I accept such vast quantities of demonic energy and malevolent thoughts, even I would be consumed by Sim Ma.’
Then I would become a Dae Ma-du myself.
Was it worth risking such danger?
I looked into the Dalai Lama’s eyes.
A basket brimming with warmth.
“….”
‘Damn it, if I hesitate at this point while boasting of being the greatest talent under heaven, what good am I?’
I had comrades.
The disciple of Cheonmu-sip-jon and the young sect leader of Gu-pa were guarding my back.
If problems arose, my comrades would stop them.
So then.
Let’s go all in!
“If my belly bursts from eating too much, sew me back up yourself!”
I severed the first demonic beast with the Black and White Twin Swords.
An enormous torrent of demonic energy poured through the blade like a raging current.

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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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