Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: The Corrupt Monk's Assault
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"Haha."
The atmosphere surrounding the monk shifted in an instant. Even without assuming a proper stance while seated, a fiercely ferocious fighting spirit erupted from him. His wide-open eyes gleamed with sharp intensity.
Whoosh!
A chilling aura surged forth, extinguishing every candle in the hall. Even the sunlight filtering through the paper windows vanished somewhere. Only the monk's facial features, glistening right before them, stood out clearly.
The group swiftly drew their swords. Even in the darkness, the blades' outlines radiated a keen murderous intent. As the small hall brimmed with the warriors' intimidating presence, the monk slowly rose from his seat.
His diminutive frame wavered like a shadow before swelling dramatically. Muscles expanded, and bones grew larger. From a body that couldn't even catch a mosquito, he transformed into the clear form of a seasoned martial artist. It was the Bone Shrinking Art.
"You rabble from the alliance sure are quick on the uptake."
"……!"
"That's why, perhaps? Even those who came sniffing around first didn't plan on leaving in one piece. If you'd just turned a blind eye, you wouldn't have been marked as the next sacrifices."
The monk spewed harsh words like a waterfall in an instant. The whites of his eyes were gradually turning red.
"Those fools who came looking for me were truly dim-witted and arrogant. They strutted about like idiots, relying on their meager strength. But the battle prowess you'd built over lifetimes was utterly useless before Maitreya's divine power. The looks of shock on their stunned faces as they watched... how delightful it was."
The monk's relentless tirade, spat without pause for breath, came to an abrupt halt. Won-yeong had kicked off from her spot and lunged forward.
Bam!
The monk effortlessly raised an arm to block. His sleeve tore, exposing bare skin, yet not even a scratch marred it despite the blade's strike. His protective aura was remarkably strong.
Yuk Jin-yang and Yu Baek joined in immediately. Swords swung from both sides, targeting the monk's vital points. He quickly retreated, creating distance.
The hall where they'd sat moments ago vanished like a mirage. Now, only a dilapidated, crumbling temple remained on the verge of collapse. The roof was gone, walls half-demolished—it was practically an open clearing.
"What in the world...?"
Yu Baek muttered in bewilderment. Yuk Jin-yang replied.
"The hall itself was an illusion crafted by a formation array."
"The young one's right. Keep your wits about you."
Won-yeong interjected. She sheathed her shortsword and drew the iron spear slung across her back.
The three fixed their gazes straight ahead, ready to strike in unison at any moment.
"Your wits? What a joke."
The monk sneered, cracking his neck side to side.
"With your feeble minds, no trick will get you out of here. The Unborn Eternal Mother and her proxy, Maitreya, shall punish you deluded wretches!"
With a shout, he spread his arms wide. His form shimmered, then split into three distinct figures.
"What next? Now clones too?"
Yu Baek grumbled through gritted teeth. Yuk Jin-yang denied it.
"Probably not clones."
Such techniques existed in the world. Daoist arts like the Primordial Infant Divinity, which forged a second body from true qi, were prime examples.
But only sect leaders from Wudang, Huashan, or Zhongnan could aspire to such heights. It was impossible for these recluses in this forsaken place.
It had to be some sorcery toying with their senses.
"At best, they're using proxies hidden in the formation beforehand to mimic appearances."
"……."
"No need to worry. This kind of crude sorcery is just their way of hiding their inferior skills. Their true prowess isn't that high."
Perhaps struck at a sore spot, the monk's face hardened.
"Insolent whelp, spouting nonsense."
"Our young one's got spirit, doesn't he? We specially recruited him to catch trash like you."
Won-yeong chimed in with a grin. The three monks each spoke in turn, their voices echoing like from a cave.
"Arrogant fool. I wonder how long that confidence will last."
"You won't die easily."
"In the name of the Unborn Eternal Mother, you shall be punished!"
Two of the monks' silhouettes vanished from sight. The remaining one charged at Won-yeong. A chill of killing intent grazed her nape like frost.
"Senior Yu, behind you!"
Shouting that, Yuk Jin-yang spun around as well. His Silver Dew Sword etched a brilliant white arc in the air.
Slash!
The shadowy figure aiming for his back was sliced apart. A fragment of the monk's hemp robe fluttered to the ground. Right beside him, a sharp clash of metal rang out. Yu Baek ground his teeth.
"Damn, he slipped away."
"Same here."
Yuk Jin-yang glared into the darkness. He faintly sensed their presences darting through the space. Masters of advanced lightness skills, they flitted about silently—even the sound of their footsteps required full concentration to detect.
The trio pressed shoulders together, forming a triangular formation. To trust their comrades and eliminate worries of rear attacks.
Yu Baek let out a groan.
"There aren't more of them besides these, right?"
"Who knows."
Yuk Jin-yang replied vaguely while scanning the surroundings.
Whoosh!
A fierce gust blew from the diagonal direction. His senses screamed danger. Turning his head, he saw a monk who had suddenly appeared, fist cocked toward him.
Keen killing intent stabbed from other directions as well. The group broke formation, each engaging their foes to avoid clashing swords.
Explosive force erupted from the tip of the monk's thrusting fist.
Clang!
He blocked it easily with his sword. Dust on the blade scattered spectacularly. Yuk Jin-yang frowned. The fist technique was a familiar one.
It closely resembled Shaolin's Lesser Flood Fist. He'd seen it before, so he recognized it instantly.
'Did they recruit a renegade Shaolin monk? Makes sense—their sects and branches have all sorts of colorful characters.'
With the ambush failed, the monk unleashed a barrage of punches in earnest. Up close, thrusting palm strikes flew, and though the motions were familiar, something felt off.
Shaolin martial arts have a peculiar trait. Preparatory motions to retract lethal strikes. Even against villains, to uphold compassion at any moment.
An effort to honor the precept against killing. Their compromise amid the contradiction of Buddhist monks learning deadly arts.
But this fake monk showed none of that Shaolin essence.
No trace of its profound principles. Only obsession with power and intent to kill swiftly.
He'd arbitrarily twisted and corrupted Buddhist techniques.
'A butcher playing monk.'
Crude, even amateurish. Pathetic.
Yuk Jin-yang's arm moved. A soft gesture disrupted the fist's trajectory. He deflected the straight punch with his forearm, then seized the wrist in one fluid motion. It was the Imperial Guard's Tiger Claw Grip Seal he'd stolen before.
The monk's eyes bulged as his wrist was clamped. Their gazes met. Shock at his technique's dismantling flickered in the trembling eyes.
Yuk Jin-yang smirked.
"Poorly learned. Shaolin arts' true value isn't raw power, but the subtle principles of advance and retreat."
"What do you know...?"
"I already saw your technique stems from Shaolin. But you didn't learn it properly. Expelled mid-training, perhaps?"
The monk's pupils blazed with murderous fury.
"You bastard!"
Roaring, he thrust his other hand. Claw-like fingers raked fiercely through the air. Yuk Jin-yang released the wrist and leaped back.
Whoosh!
The wind from inches away roughly scraped his face. Yet he kept his eyes wide, refusing to look away. Through the billowing dust burst another fist.
Yuk Jin-yang ducked and countered, diving in. The fist's wake grazed his temple, pounding his ear deafeningly. Perilously close, but he'd created the desired opening.
Ten Thousand Rivers Single Source Art, second stance: Random Water Scatter.
He unleashed a furious barrage of punches. Not stopping at single blows, countless fist strikes rained down. The interval between extension and retraction was minuscule, filling the space like a hail of arrows.
The monk responded straightforwardly. No evasion—he met them head-on. Fists tangled and clashed chaotically.
Vision blurred amid swirling qi waves and flying dust. Feints, deflections, and lethal blows unfolded in a frenzy. An intense contest of speed.
Shriek!
Even the wind slicing skin felt razor-sharp. Thin gashes threatened to spill blood.
Yuk Jin-yang spotted an incoming punch toward his upper arm. He didn't block—instead, he twisted aside, pulling the foe inward.
Suddenly, the monk's side was exposed. With a light step, he drove a palm strike home.
"Urk..."
The tumbling monk scrambled up swiftly. Bloodshot eyes glared as he roughly wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Blood stained it. His pale face suggested internal injuries.
Yuk Jin-yang advanced with powerful steps. As his Silver Dew Sword flashed out, crossing the space with an explosive air burst.
Air ruptured explosively. Arm extended, the Silver Dew Sword traced a crescent arc.
The diagonal upward slash deflected the monk's outstretched arm.
A shock like striking steel transmitted up the blade. Not mere qi repulsion, but externally honed mastery through rigorous training.
Ignoring it, he swung repeatedly. Mixing feints into Moon Maiden Sword Art. The monk's pouring fist barrage struck empty air.
"Wh-what?!"
Shock crumpled the monk's stance. Seizing the gap, Yuk Jin-yang's thrust dove into the monk's guard like it was being sucked in. Trusting the qi gathered at the tip, he stabbed with full force.
"Gah!"
The blade pierced thick outer robes and emerged from the other side. A strangled scream escaped as breath caught. Yet he clung to life, not quite dead.
Deliberately, he'd held back the final shockwave. To avoid instant death from ruptured organs.
Yuk Jin-yang whispered into the wretch's ear.
"Where are the Five Harmony Alliance martial artists you took?"