Chapter 239
Chapter 239
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 239
Chapter Title: Chapter 5. The Bloody Wind Blows Without Regard for Place (2)
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The cremation of Venerable Muryang was held in the Pagoda Forest.
The Pagoda Forest housed pagodas enshrining the sarira of Shaolin's past eminent monks, built in varying heights and shapes according to their lifetime achievements.
Around thirty people had gathered in the Pagoda Forest. Most were Shaolin's eminent monks, but there were also quite a few who were not. They were renowned experts among Shaolin's secular disciples or highly reputable warriors from the outside world.
They all stared at Venerable Muryang's body with somber expressions.
"Amitabha! Amitabha!"
The Shaolin monks chanted invocations repeatedly with their eyes gently closed.
To them, Venerable Muryang had been more than just a senior—he was their spiritual pillar. His death brought them profound emptiness and a sense of loss.
Among them, the one feeling the greatest sense of loss was Shaolin's abbot, Gwangcheon.
"Amitabha! What a great loss for Shaolin and the world. To send off our Grand Martial Uncle like this."
He had led Shaolin admirably for the past several decades, yet he could not help feeling powerless in the face of Venerable Muryang's death.
Even though he had entered nirvana just yesterday, Venerable Muryang's body remained as vivid as if he were still alive. That made his death all the harder to accept.
"It's infuriating. To hold the cremation of Shaolin's greatest senior in such a shabby way."
Gwangmun, head of the Arhat Hall, vented his rage.
With every major figure in the world already gathered, it should have been a grand affair, yet holding it in utmost secrecy with only a handful of people infuriated him.
"Amitabha! Calm yourself, junior brother."
"But this isn't right, Sect Leader."
"I know. But didn't Grand Martial Uncle himself say he didn't want a lavish cremation?"
Gwangcheon soothed Gwangmun.
"But Sect Leader..."
"Enough! What good does more talk do? Let's send him off now."
"Under...stood."
Gwangmun answered reluctantly.
Gwangcheon looked around. Most were seasoned elderly warriors, but one stood out.
"So Cheon."
"Yes! Sect Leader."
The young monk bowed his head in response.
His dharma name was So Cheon. He was one of the Nine Dragons and Shaolin's once-in-a-millennium prodigy.
"Pay your final respects to Grand Martial Uncle on his journey."
"Yes!"
At Gwangcheon's words, So Cheon stepped forward to Venerable Muryang's body.
Venerable Muryang was dressed in ragged monk robes, just as he had been in life. His unchanging frugality cast an even deeper hush over the surroundings.
It was then, as So Cheon prepared to bid farewell to Venerable Muryang.
Thud!
A low footfall echoed through the Pagoda Forest.
"Who goes there?"
Gwangcheon and the others frowned at the sound shattering the silence and turned their heads.
Two figures were approaching from the entrance to the Pagoda Forest. One was the familiar Gwanghae, and the other was a stranger they were seeing for the first time.
But the moment they saw his gait, everyone realized who he was.
"The... Fist Demon?"
"Hmm!"
His all-black attire and the unique, offbeat limp in one leg were the signature marks of Fist Demon Damho.
These days, most warriors assumed any limping fighter was Damho on sight.
"Why is the Fist Demon here?"
Puzzled looks appeared on their faces.
They had heard that the Fist Demon had entered Shaolin, but no one had expected him to attend Venerable Muryang's cremation. It was a natural assumption, as they were unaware he had met with Venerable Muryang.
Gwanghae hurried forward to them.
"Sect Leader."
"What is the meaning of this? Junior brother, bringing the Fist Demon along."
"Grand Martial Uncle wished to see Hero Dam before his passing. I brought him so he could see him one last time on his final journey."
"Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Hmm!"
Gwangcheon wore a distinctly displeased expression at Gwanghae's response.
Damho was a public enemy of the martial world, notorious for his brutal hands. The very fact that someone who always carried the stench of blood had entered a sacred Buddhist ground was unwelcome.
They had accepted him into Shaolin due to the circumstances, but his presence was still loathsome. The blood aura emanating from him was already giving them headaches.
Gwangcheon gazed at Damho. But Damho did not return his gaze.
It was impertinent behavior when facing the abbot of Shaolin, leader of one of the Nine Great Sects. Gwangcheon tried to let it pass, but Gwangjin, head of the Discipline Hall responsible for Shaolin's precepts, would not.
"Patron! Observe proper etiquette."
"Etiquette?"
"The abbot of mighty Shaolin stands before you. Greeting him first is the proper etiquette. Even a fiend who scorns the rules of the martial world must adhere to this bare minimum of decorum."
Gwangjin's bellow rang out thunderously.
The one looking troubled at this was Shaolin's abbot, Gwangcheon.
True to his role as head of the Discipline Hall, Gwangjin was incredibly rigid and unyielding. He tolerated no affront to Shaolin's dignity.
"Se-senior brother!"
"How can you be so thoughtless, junior brother? Even if Grand Martial Uncle wished to meet the Fist Demon in life, he is one of the great demons of the martial world. You can't just bring him here without any prior arrangements."
Gwangjin glared at the flustered Gwanghae with fierce eyes. Gwanghae could only look troubled in response.
That Damho had already met Venerable Muryang was a secret unknown even to them. It was frustrating that he couldn't explain the connection between Damho and Venerable Muryang.
Damho's gaze turned toward Gwangjin. The emotionless, indifferent eyes shook even the heart of a deeply cultivated eminent monk.
"Urk!"
Gwangjin's face paled without him realizing it, and he bit his lips hard.
He nearly staggered back a step involuntarily. Had his martial arts been even slightly weaker, he surely would have.
Damho spoke.
"Out of my way."
"I told you—show respect to our abbot first."
Gwangjin stood his ground.
To him, upholding the abbot's dignity was the same as upholding Shaolin's prestige. It was an absolute principle he could never compromise on as head of the Discipline Hall.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, immense pressure and terrifying killing intent crashed over his entire body.
"Gasp!"
Startled, Gwangjin hurriedly tried to muster his internal energy. But his dantian felt like a block of stone—no energy would rise.
Damho's impassive eyes filled his entire field of vision. The savage glint in those eyes, like those of a grim reaper, crushed his chest.
Resistance was unthinkable.
In that instant, Gwangjin saw an illusion of his own death. In the vision, his chest was caved in, his limbs twisted, and he was gurgling his last breaths.
Without realizing it, Gwangjin clutched at his chest with both hands. Damho passed right by his side.
Only then did Gwangjin realize he had staggered two steps to the side.
"Wh-what?"
Gwangjin's teeth chattered loudly.
"Junior brother, are you all right?"
Gwangcheon approached. Even his own face had hardened like stone.
Gwangjin might be inflexible, but he was still the head of Shaolin's Discipline Hall—a master of profound martial arts with considerable mental fortitude honed by Buddhist practice. Yet Damho's killing intent had been so fearsome that it made him lose his senses for a moment and flail about.
Not only Gwangcheon, but even elders like Gwangmun had wilted under that killing intent, if only briefly. Had they been directly exposed like Gwangjin, they might have made an equally unsightly display.
By now, Damho had passed Gwangjin and was standing before Venerable Muryang's body. The memory of their conversation from yesterday was still fresh, yet there lay the cold corpse.
He had spared Gwangjin's life for the sake of his connection with Venerable Muryang. At the very least, he had no desire to kill a Shaolin disciple in the presence of his body.
Damho gazed down at Venerable Muryang's body for a long while. As if holding a conversation with the man while he was still alive.
"That bastard..."
Gwangjin, belatedly regaining his senses, nearly burst into a fit. But Gwangcheon and Gwanghae restrained him.
"Calm down."
"Senior brother."
"But..."
"Grand Martial Uncle wouldn't want any more commotion. That's enough, junior brother. We can address etiquette later."
"Urk!"
In the end, Gwangjin could only grit his teeth and endure.
Even at that moment, Damho was intently examining Venerable Muryang's body.
Just as Gwanghae had said, there were no traces of foul play. His expression was serene, as if he had simply passed from old age.
'Did he truly die of natural causes?'
Everything visible suggested as much, yet Damho found it hard to believe. Just like Gwanghae, a vague unease stirred in his heart.
As Damho turned around, his eyes had sunk into an even colder chill.
Gwangcheon approached Damho.
"Amitabha! I am Gwangcheon, the abbot of Shaolin. On behalf of Shaolin, I thank you for attending Grand Martial Uncle's cremation. He will rejoice in the afterlife."
"What will you do now? His absence leaves a great void."
"There will be no changes. In truth, Grand Martial Uncle has not involved himself in Shaolin's affairs for years now. Shaolin will continue preparing for war against the Demonic Cult as before."
"Is that so?"
"Wouldn't you join us for a cup of tea after the cremation?"
"No need."
"Hero Dam, please..."
"I know full well that my presence is nothing but a burden."
"Amitabha!"
"This isn't a place for me. A Buddhist holy ground doesn't suit someone like me. I only came because Venerable Muryang wanted to see me."
"Do you happen to know why Grand Martial Uncle wished to see you?"
"No idea!"
"Truly?"
"Yes!"
Gwangcheon peered deeply into Damho's eyes. But divining the truth from those eyes was impossible.
"Understood. Then, may I ask where you plan to go next?"
"To Zhongnan."
Damho's voice scattered away on the wind.
***
Zhongnan Mountain stretched across more than five hundred li, linking Shaanxi, Gansu, and Henan Provinces. Its beautiful scenery and fine vistas drew poets and scholars year-round without fail, but what truly made it famous was the presence of the Zhongnan Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects.
A palpable tension hung over the Zhongnan Sect, which ruled Shaanxi alongside Huashan Sect as one of its twin hegemons.
Like Shaolin, the Zhongnan Sect was sheltering the Murim Alliance warriors who had fled Sakju in defeat. Their defenses were several times stricter than usual, and their leadership had been convened for daily strategy meetings.
At the base of Zhongnan Mountain, Zhongnan Sect disciples stood guard. With the endless strategy sessions at the main hall, tension was evident on their faces.
Jo Cheon-geum cautioned the disciples.
"Keep your eyes sharp—no slacking. Not a single suspicious person gets through."
Jo Cheon-geum was one of the first-generation disciples of the Zhongnan Sect. Among them, he ranked high in martial prowess, which was why he had been assigned to guard the entrance.
The hundred or so disciples under his command were among the sect's more skilled fighters.
It was while Jo Cheon-geum was lecturing the disciples at length.
"Se-senior brother?"
Suddenly, one of the disciples called out to him.
"What is it?"
"Over there?"
The disciple pointed toward the official road. Jo Cheon-geum glanced casually in that direction, and his eyes widened in shock.
Far down the road, someone was approaching.
It was an elderly man with white hair, dressed in white robes. To an outsider, he might have seemed like an immortal, exuding an air of utter transcendence.
He appeared to be strolling leisurely, yet in no time, he was right in front of the Zhongnan Sect disciples.
'Expert.'
Jo Cheon-geum's pupils trembled.
The elder who had arrived before him opened his mouth.
"Child, let me ask you one thing. Are there any warriors from the White Battle Sect here?"
"Why do you ask?"
"A stranger visits the martial world for only one reason. It's the same for me."
"Wh-what is it?"
"Grudge."
The elder, Cheon O-gyeong, answered.