Ultimate Martial Venerable - Chapter 3

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Chapter 3. Patience Is a Skill
The characters that bloomed on the Black Stone before the Library Pavilion did not fade, even as considerable time passed.
――――――――――
【Black Stone Assessment】
Realm: Yeon Che Realm

Stage 5
Grade: Intermediate
――――――――――
Yuk Beom took in the luminous characters once more.
Just this morning, he had been at Stage 3 of the Yeon Che Realm. The fact that he had breached a wall that had held him back for years—and done it in a single day, clearing two stages at once—still felt like a dream.
But there was no time to luxuriate in joy.
Only a month remained until the Martial Arts Selection.
Rising in Realm alone did not guarantee victory in sparring. Without proper control of one’s power, even an opponent at the same Realm could beat you down one-sidedly.
Yuk Beom withdrew his hand from the Black Stone and pushed open the Library Pavilion door.
Creak.
Despite the lateness of the hour, a light burned within.
Beside the door sat an old man with white hair, reading a worn book. He was Sim, the elder who kept the Yuk Clan’s Library Pavilion.

Though his spine was bent and one leg gave him trouble, no one treated him carelessly. No one even knew for certain how long he had maintained this place.

“My respects to you, Sim.”

The old man lifted his gaze from his book.

“Yuk Beom. What brings you here at this hour?”

He was somewhat surprised that the old man remembered his name.
Yuk Beom had visited the Library Pavilion once before. That time, he had only confirmed that there were no Martial Techniques he could yet learn, and had left with his spirits sunk.

“I’ve come to choose a Martial Technique.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“You’ve broken through to Stage 4 of the Yeon Che Realm?”
“Yes.”

Yuk Beom did not mention that he had reached Stage 5. There was nothing to gain from word spreading that he had advanced two stages in a single day.
Sim asked no further questions.

“Left to right: Blade Arts, Sword Techniques, Fist Techniques, Footwork, and finally the miscellaneous texts we haven’t yet catalogued on the far right. Choose what appeals to you and bring it to me.”
“Thank you.”

Yuk Beom headed first toward the shelf lined with Footwork manuals.
The Yuk Clan was a family renowned for close-quarters combat. To master the family’s supreme technique, the Blazing Gold Body, one needed a sturdy physique and solid fundamentals in body control.

Choosing between Footwork and Fist Techniques was the safest path.
But as he scanned the shelves, Yuk Beom’s expression darkened.
The collection consisted mostly of basic evasion drills and conditioning exercises. A few texts he had even seen the Yuk Clan’s younger disciples practicing in Yeonmu Plaza, and their flashy movements seemed of little practical value in actual combat.
The Fist Technique section offered little better.
Rolling Stone Fist, Great Power Fist, Savage Bull Force.

The titles seemed respectable enough, but the contents were pedestrian. They would certainly help if pursued methodically, but achieving real results would require at least half a year.
Yuk Beom didn’t have that kind of time.
If he didn’t produce decent results in the Martial Arts Selection, even reaching the fifth stage of the Yeon Che Gong realm wouldn’t save him from being sent away.
He’d spent nearly two hours rifling through books, but came away empty-handed.
In the end, Yuk Beom returned to the old man with nothing.

“Nothing caught your eye?”
“Old man, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is there a martial technique that could show results within a month?”

The old man closed the book he’d been reading.

“I understand your heart’s in a hurry, but forming a habit of always seeking the easy path from the start is unwise.”

Though his words were reproachful, Yuk Beom didn’t back down.

“I understand that too. But only a month remains before the Selection. If I can’t prove my strength by then, I won’t be able to train here any longer.”

The old man gazed wordlessly into Yuk Beom’s eyes.
There was urgency there, certainly, but not the gleam of someone hoping for shortcuts. Instead, a stubborn resolve shone through—that he would endure even a difficult path if it yielded results.
A strange smile played across the old man’s lips.

“There are martial techniques that can be learned quickly enough.”

Yuk Beom’s eyes brightened.

“Truly?”
“The problem is that no one wants to learn them.”

The old man rose from his seat and hobbled toward the pile of miscellaneous books in the corner.
After rummaging through the dust-covered volumes for some time, he pulled out a worn tome from the very bottom of the stack.
On its yellowed cover was written powerful calligraphy.
Collapsing Mountain Fist

.
Yuk Beom’s heart quickened at the name alone.
He opened the book immediately, but his expression hardened within a few pages.
The training method was simple.
Strike a rock with your arms and fists.
Eight hours a day, striking with all your might from every angle—front and side. Endure for a month that way, and you could reach Minor Completion

according to what was written.
Training in name only—it was closer to a method for breaking your own limbs.
The old man asked with amusement.

“Well? Not quite as magnificent as the name, is it?”

Yuk Beom turned more pages.
The Collapsing Mountain Fist was a Human-tier martial technique of the highest class. Mastered properly, it could channel raw force into a single point and shatter solid defense.

In terms of pure destructive power, it was certainly superior to the other fist techniques in the Library Pavilion.
But to achieve that power, he’d have to compress into one month the suffering that others endured over half a year.
Yuk Beom closed the book.

“I’ll learn this.”

The old man’s smile vanished.

“You actually read the training method properly?”

“I’ve read it.”
“If you’re not careful, you could lose the use of your arm before you ever step into the Martial Arts Selection.”

Yuk Beom gazed down at his own hands.
He was years behind everyone else.
Following the ordinary path at an ordinary pace would never close that gap. If he had started late, he would have to endure hardships others avoided.

“I understand there are no easy paths on the Martial Way.”

Yuk Beom lifted his head.

“This is my choice, so I’ll take responsibility for the outcome.”

The old man did not answer for a long time.
Then he let out a low chuckle and waved his hand dismissively.

“Take it with you. It’s such an unpopular book that there’s no need to record it in the lending ledger.”
“Is that truly all right?”
“Didn’t I say I’d take responsibility?”

Yuk Beom received the Collapsing Mountain Fist Secret Manual with both hands.

“Thank you.”

The moment he turned to leave, the Library Pavilion door swung open.
The person who entered was Jang Wol Ham.
When their eyes met, her expression stiffened awkwardly.
Yuk Beom averted his gaze without concern.

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

He passed Jang Wol Ham and left the Library Pavilion without hesitation.
Behind him, the old man’s voice carried through.

“You’re not a member of the Yuk Clan, are you? Outsiders cannot enter the Library Pavilion.”
“I came at Yuk Myeong’s request.”
“Regardless of whose request, it’s not permitted. Leave.”

Just before the door closed, Yuk Beom heard Jang Wol Ham stamp her foot in frustration.
But he did not turn around.
That night, Yuk Beom read the Collapsing Mountain Fist from beginning to end, again and again.
Simply striking stones with his fists would not constitute proper training. To restore the muscles and bones damaged by impact, he needed Flame Herb.

The Flame Herb was essential.
Training without using the herb’s essence to protect his arm risked breaking his bones before his Martial Technique improved.
The next morning.
Yuk Beom gathered every coin he had and made his way to the Central Market of Ganglim Castle.
The snow-covered streets were already crowded with early-morning travelers. Merchants called out loudly for customers, and along the roadside stood a long line of stalls selling medicinal herbs, weapons, and sundries.
The Yuk Clan sold medicinal herbs as well, but their prices were steep. They didn’t offer discounts even to family members, so for someone with as little coin as Yuk Beom, the street stalls were preferable.
After spending nearly half the day combing through the streets, he spotted a heap of red herbs beside a weapon shop.
Flame Herb.
Yuk Beom hid his relief and approached the stall slowly.

“How much is this?”
“Five silver coins per root.”

It was enough money for an ordinary family of three to live on for a month.
Yuk Beom set down the herbs and turned away.

“That’s too expensive. I’ll look elsewhere.”

The merchant called out to him urgently.

“Wait! If you buy several roots, I’ll give you four for the price of three. You won’t find quality like this anywhere else.”

Yuk Beom turned back reluctantly and rummaged through the pile of medicinal herbs.
The texture beneath his fingertips felt different.
Hidden beneath the red leaves, a root gleamed white.
His heart leaped.
The quality of Flame Herb varied by root color. The common variety was entirely red, while blue roots were more precious.
White roots were the finest grade.
More than ten times rarer than ordinary Flame Herb, the Secret Manual recorded that it could nearly double the rate of progress in training the Collapsing Mountain Fist.
Several white-rooted Flame Herbs lay scattered throughout the pile.
Without changing his expression, Yuk Beom held up three fingers.

“Three silver coins per root. I’ll take everything here.”

The merchant spent a long moment calculating in his head, then reluctantly nodded.

“Fine. But don’t ask for a better price after this.”

Yuk Beom handed over the money at once and cradled the Flame Herbs against his chest.
He’d spent most of what he had, but it was no loss. He could sell just a few of the white-rooted specimens and receive far more than what he’d paid.
The moment Yuk Beom turned away from the stall, someone drove a rough shoulder into him.
The Flame Herbs he held trembled.

“Well, well. If it isn’t someone.”

A broad-shouldered young man in blue martial robes blocked his path.
The insignia of the Martial Arts Academy was emblazoned on the garment he wore with deliberate ostentation—he was the eldest son of the Mok Clan of Ganglim Castle, Mak Un Bi.

“Did someone from the Yuk Clan cause trouble? You’re hauling medicinal materials around since morning.”

The servants following him burst into laughter.
Without permission, Mak Un Bi snatched two Flame Herbs from Yuk Beom’s bundle.
Yuk Beom immediately retrieved them and tucked them back inside his robe.

“Young Master Mak, please continue on your way. I have my own business to attend to.”

Mak Un Bi’s eyes narrowed.

“Your manner of speaking has grown rather bold in the days I haven’t seen you.”

The servants moved to block the path.
Mak Un Bi looked Yuk Beom up and down, then sneered.

“Even Yuk Myeong watches his step in front of me, yet here you are—the most hopeless one in your whole clan—acting like this. What gives you such nerve?”
“If you have something to say to Yuk Myeong, tell him directly.”
“Don’t worry. When the chance comes, I’ll teach him a lesson personally.”

Mak Un Bi tapped the Flame Herbs cradled in Yuk Beom’s arms with a finger.

“Though I must say, the Yuk Clan’s finances must be tight indeed, if you’re still wasting money on a worthless wretch like you.”

Yuk Beom’s eyes went cold and still.
As if he’d been waiting for that reaction, Mak Un Bi laughed and waved his hand dismissively.
Crack!
The Flame Herbs she’d been cradling scattered across the floor.
A few sprigs rolled beneath the feet of onlookers.
Yuk Beom’s fists clenched.
He wanted nothing more than to strike Mak Un Bi across the face.
But he couldn’t win.
Mak Un Bi was at least at the Lianyti Realm Stage 8 or higher. If he rushed him now, he’d collapse without even venting his rage, and he’d lose the hard-won Flame Herbs besides.
Yuk Beom bent slowly at the waist.
He gathered the fallen Flame Herbs from the ground one sprig at a time.

“What a pathetic sight.”
“No wonder your own family casts you out.”

The bystanders watching joined in with laughter.
No one came to his aid.
It was obvious whose side to take when it lay between the eldest son of the Mok Clan and a boy cast aside by the Yuk Clan.
Mak Un Bi watched from above with his servants, his face alight with amusement.
Yuk Beom rose as he gathered the last Flame Herb.

“May I pass now?”

Mak Un Bi’s expression had already grown bored.

“Go on. No sport left in keeping you here.”

The servants parted to clear his way.
Yuk Beom walked forward, turning his back on their laughter.
A few steps later, blood seeped from his clenched palms.
He’d restrained himself today.
Not from fear.
Throwing yourself at a fight you couldn’t win wasn’t courage—it was folly. What he needed now wasn’t to pour out his rage, but to gain the strength so that next time, he wouldn’t have to bow his head.
Yuk Beom clutched the Flame Herbs in his arms more tightly.

‘I’ll remember this, Mak Un Bi.’

The next time we meet, I won’t bow like I did today.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————