Tangma Myeolsa (3)
“Hoo.”
“Awake at last?”
“Brother?”
“Yes.”
Mo Yong Woo nodded with a weary expression.
Moyong Gun frowned.
“Was it that tough?”
“……Yes.”
He hesitated before finally admitting it. No matter how grueling it had been, Mo Yong Woo had always brushed it off as manageable—until now. He was owning up to it outright. It must have been truly harrowing.
“Why on earth did the Shaolin Abbot seek a spar with you? A bout with a master of his caliber is an unparalleled learning opportunity, of course.”
Shaolin Abbot Gong Gong-daesa. Direct disciple of the Fist God Muheo, one of the Thirteen Seats of Sacred Heaven, and hailed as possessing the pinnacle of martial arts among the leaders of the Nine Great Sects and Six Great Clans.
He rarely displayed his skills, but the sect leaders tacitly agreed he was the strongest outside the Thirteen Seats. They had no choice. Even the glimpses he offered were enough to shake the world.
Moreover, he had personally inherited the teachings of immortals and supreme rulers from three hundred years ago—the era's greatest powerhouses at the height of Murim.
There was no exaggeration in calling him the strongest leader of the White Path.
For such a master to grant a spar? Its value went beyond a fortune in gold. It was undoubtedly a massive boon for Mo Yong Woo's future martial growth.
But why now, and why seek him out personally? That was the puzzle.
“I don't know the exact reason.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I sensed goodwill, but even that felt... ambiguous.”
Mo Yong Woo's voice was cautious. Even he treaded lightly when speaking of Gong Gong-daesa. The abbot commanded that much respect.
Moyong Gun nodded.
“It's no surprise you feel that way. Truth be told, even I haven't grasped his true intentions yet.”
He was the epitome of a righteous faction leader—pure compassion and chivalry without a trace of impurity. Yet he sometimes seemed to hide something deeper. His concern for the world felt genuine, but as if he pursued something beyond it. And he always maintained political neutrality, which made him a thorn in the side of Moyong Gun, who craved ultimate power.
“One thing was clear, though.”
“Hm?”
“His martial arts. I finally understood why Shaolin is called the White Path's foremost sect.”
Moyong Gun's eyes gleamed.
“It must have been overwhelming, but was it truly that impressive?”
“Yes.”
Mo Yong Woo nodded.
“Shaolin's arts were remarkable, but the abbot's were on another level.”
“What do you mean? The abbot's arts are Shaolin's arts.”
“That's just it...”
Mo Yong Woo smacked his lips, looking troubled.
“They're... a bit different.”
“Different?”
“Yes. Of course, what he uses is Shaolin martial arts.”
Moyong Gun shook his head.
“You're speaking in riddles.”
“I can't quite put it into words. But it was incredibly powerful. I've never felt such an insurmountable wall before.”
“Hah.”
“And that's why.”
Excitement flickered across Mo Yong Woo's fatigue-lined face.
“I think I've grasped a clue. To breaking through Mujongjibyeok.”
* * *
Boooom!
With a thunderous explosion tearing through the air, Gong Gong-daesa landed lightly on the ground.
Yeon Hojeong's eyes sparkled.
Just as I thought.
Not a speck of dust clung to the abbot's body as his feet touched earth. He'd unleashed Tiger King Nine Thunder Strikes in fist form—a blow that would cripple even peak masters—yet the abbot had blocked it effortlessly.
Whooosh!
Yeon Hojeong positioned himself opposite the abbot. Gong Gong-daesa murmured in admiration.
“Did you read my movements?”
“Yes.”
“Hah! Were you familiar with Shaolin arts?”
“As if.”
“Then how?”
Rrrumble.
Yeon Hojeong raised Gwang Yong Bu again. Four colors gleamed in his eyes.
“When you strive to kill the strong as a weakling, you learn these things naturally.”
Thud!
The earth quaked once more, twice as fiercely as his initial advance. Bolstered by the powerful step, Yeon Hojeong shot forward like an arrow.
He's coming.
A subtle golden glow lit Gong Gong-daesa's pupils.
Straightforward charge. But...
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Even in his light-footed sprint, each step shook heaven and earth. It was like a colossal tiger bounding forth.
Mysterious.
Footwork. But no ordinary footwork.
As if the footwork itself is an attack...
The sheer momentum sapped the enemy's will to fight. This was inherent to the art itself, beyond Yeon Hojeong's spirit. His qi circulation while advancing was flawlessly refined.
Vrooom!
The massive blade of Gwang Yong Bu, bathed in sunlight, swung toward the abbot's collarbone. A slanted strike that could cleave his chest in two.
A strange excitement lit Gong Gong-daesa's face.
This unnatural power and insight.
Simple in form, yet impossible to block or dodge rashly. The qi wave preceding the motion read every reaction.
The abbot's right palm struck the axe blade head-on.
Craaaash!
Surprise flashed across Yeon Hojeong's face. He'd poured every ounce of White Tiger Qi into that strike. Yet it bounced off a mere palm technique.
The attack failed, but panic didn't. Riding the rebound of Gwang Yong Bu, Yeon Hojeong unleashed a soaring high kick.
Wham!
The midair kick whipped up a wave-like shockwave. The abbot, stepping half a pace left to grab his ankle, had to abandon the attempt.
Damn.
Hummm!
The expanding shockwave repelled his grasping hand. Forcing it now would invite an immediate counter. High-level duels turned on instants; no need to press a futile move.
Swoosh!
Now it was Yeon Hojeong's turn to be startled.
Fast!
As his stance crumbled mid-spin, he spotted the abbot's fist surging from his left blind spot.
Yeon Hojeong's left palm shot out desperately. Black Tortoise Qi surged through his left hand like lightning.
Boom!
Urk.
Yeon Hojeong soared through the air before landing.
I didn't block perfectly.
His left wrist and elbow buzzed. He'd circulated Black Tortoise Qi in a split second, but lacked time for a proper defensive stance.
“Impressive.”
Gong Gong-daesa was equally astonished.
“The resilient bounce in your true qi alone is outstanding, and that ironclad defense—with one hand, no less?”
Yeon Hojeong exhaled deeply. No chance to reply—the abbot pressed the attack again.
Wham-wham-wham!
Shaolin's Diamond Fist poured forth. Its blinding speed was secondary; the fist pressure through the air was unimaginable. Underestimating it without peak techniques would shatter every bone.
Boom!
With his strongest White Tiger Roar Step yet, Yeon Hojeong unleashed Tiger King Nine Thunder Strikes.
Craaack!
An epic clash. The abbot countered Gwang Yong Bu's ideal attack forms—adapted on the fly—with unyielding fist mastery.
The unparalleled fist art of a millennium-old Shaolin...
Yeon Hojeong filled his lungs to build endurance, then erupted Vermilion Bird Qi for explosive blood flow, striking with full might. Steel assaults backed by a thousand catties.
Yet they weren't landing fully.
Blocked. No gaps, no openings.
Perfection. The abbot's plain fist art parried every blow from Gwang Yong Bu.
Not mere defense. He counterattacked in kind. Their strikes, spirits, and power clashed head-on.
Astonishing.
The best defense is a good offense. That was Yeon Hojeong's way—even his defensive Black Tortoise Qi attacked. The abbot matched it.
Without deploying Shaolin's famed ultimate arts.
Yeon Hojeong's eyes flashed.
Stronger than Father!
Kaboom!
The abbot's feet sank two inches into the earth under the crushing axe. Blood seeped from his forearms.
That was it. He'd blocked a strike that could pulverize men barehanded, suffering mere flesh wounds.
“......That was close.”
Thud!
With an explosion, Yeon Hojeong slid back. His eyes wavered.
What?!
Hummm.
A faint golden aura rose from Gong Gong-daesa's body, as if his skin turned to gold.
The abbot gave a wry smile.
“Looks like without drawing the abbot's ultimate art, this is my limit.”
Yeon Hojeong, glancing from the abbot's arms to his axe blade, clicked his tongue.
“Is that the legendary Diamond Indestructible Divine Art?”
“Indeed.”
Gong Gong-daesa smiled.
“I can't even remember the last time. Using it in a spar with another.”
“Hoo.”
Yeon Hojeong caught his breath. The prior clash had heated his lungs. This was his first time drawing such power in a one-on-one since sparring his father.
Shhhrk!
Holding Gwang Yong Bu in his right, he uncoiled the Gyo Ryong Swai from his torso with his left.
Breath steady, Yeon Hojeong grinned.
“Shall we go for round two...”
“Shall we call it here?”
“......Pardon?”
Yeon Hojeong blinked.
“You're ending it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
He was flustered. He'd gone all-out from the start, but his stamina held. With pacing, he could fight half a day more.
But Gong Gong-daesa shook his head firmly.
“No need for more sparring with you.”
“No martial artist ever has enough sparring.”
“Haha, true enough. But I have nothing left to give.”
“......?”
The abbot clasped hands behind his back, signaling no more fight. Seeing him fully relaxed deflated Yeon Hojeong.
I haven't even shown Azure Dragon Art or Gyo Ryong Swai yet.
He'd planned to hone them fully here. But the abbot quit midway. Infuriating.
Yeon Hojeong grumbled, relaxing his stance.
“Shame. Such a good chance.”
“Haha, a good chance? To refine new arts against me?”
“You knew?”
“Your movements gave it away. And that chain—you can wield it, but not smoothly.”
Sharp insight. Reading desires through arts, levels through motion.
“Don't worry. At your level, you don't need me to hone it. With enough practice, you'll wield it in real combat.”
“Tch.”
Gong Gong-daesa's gaze deepened. Yeon Hojeong flinched instinctively.
“Why look at me like that?”
“......”
“......?”
“Listen, Yeon Commander.”
Yeon Hojeong straightened unconsciously. The abbot's tone had shifted—weightier now.
“Speak.”
“I want you to stop now.”
“Stop what?”
The abbot's clear, deep eyes sharpened like an awl.
“I'll speak to Moyong Patriarch myself. But both sides—end the political strife.”
“......!!”