Spirit Fire's Trial (7)
“Fine! If you’re so desperate to crawl into Buddha’s embrace, who am I to deny you?”
The Monster Monk, who from a distance might’ve resembled one of the Four Heavenly Kings or a Diamond Guardian statue at temple gates, suddenly closed the distance without warning.
Diamond Unmoving Divine Method.
The Shaolin absolute art I’d first seen at the Yongbong Branch Assembly was now unfolding before my eyes at an even higher level.
The Monster Monk… was strong.
Excluding the New Murim Alliance Leader, a super peak expert, he was probably the strongest among the alliance remnants here. Naturally stronger than me, too.
In fact, he was the second one who’d killed me the most times. The Leader took first place.
But his weakness was crystal clear.
True to his madness—still seeing himself as a monk leading the salvation of sentient beings even in this state—he had immense pride in Shaolin Temple. That pride extended straight to his martial arts, turning into a rigid monotony of repeating fixed forms.
For me, who’d personally experienced every technique he used through countless deaths, it was a godsend weakness.
Thanks to it, at some point, his attacks stopped reaching me.
No matter how fast or powerful, when you know exactly where they’re coming from, dodging becomes a breeze.
“Amitabha…!”
I slipped past his straight punch—accompanied by sutra chanting—with minimal movement. The follow-up form chasing me met the same fate. Not a single strike landed.
“You rat bastard!”
He tried some irregular attacks leveraging the Diamond Unmoving Divine Method, but so what? The trajectory stayed the same; only the distance changed. And even those variations? I’d seen them a hundred times.
By moving a step ahead of him, all that grazed me was the wind from his fists. It looked like I was toying with him unilaterally, thanks to our overwhelming gap.
Of course, reality was simpler: his attacks couldn’t touch me, but mine couldn’t pierce his body either. Stalemate.
There’s this external art called Diamond Indestructible Divine Gong. Shaolin boasts it can block not just sword qi but even sword gangs once mastered.
I didn’t know if he’d achieved it, but his body was tough enough that my qi-infused strikes only scratched the surface.
Something heavy like Mount Tai Crushing Strike might work. But high-power moves need prep time, and his Diamond Unmoving Divine Method wouldn’t just sit idle.
That’s why I hadn’t tried killing him yet. No need to take risks when I could dodge forever.
But not anymore.
I’d vowed to slaughter every last remnant here. Only then could I escape this hell and return to Hong Yeonhwa and Paeng Soso.
Time to slice through that ironclad body I’d been avoiding.
No Mount Tai Crushing Strike. So where do I get the power?
A bit more force wouldn’t even dent those sinewy muscles; my sword wouldn’t stick.
If I knew some dark canon to shake his internals, I’d test it—but I didn’t.
I kept thinking while dodging his assaults. What does it take to cut what won’t cut?
First thing that came to mind: raw power, of course.
Like how I’d crushed foes before with Martial Spirit Divine Art-boosted physicals and inner energy pressure. More strength turns impossible into possible.
But not now. With my dantian’s energy evaporated, I couldn’t output that overwhelming force anymore.
Can’t amp strength? Sharpen the sword, then.
Also impossible. Logically sound, but I couldn’t grind it on a whetstone right now, and even a keener edge probably wouldn’t breach him.
Why do martial artists obsess over sword gangs? Sure, toughness matters, but the real draw is cutting the uncuttable.
Not like I’d suddenly manifest one. Unrealistic.
What about the step below—sword flame? I’d touched it once at the Yongbong Branch Assembly.
Holding the image of a sword in my mind like back then, maybe? I forcibly drew inner energy and poured it in, but no dice.
Sword qi sharpened a tad, like smoke rising from a heat haze. Not enough.
Really no way?
Simple killing? Sure—chuck him off the cliff. But shoving someone way stronger than me? And luring him there would take ages.
Time up, and the New Murim Alliance Leader arrives. Fight them one-on-one? I’m not confident. Both at once? No chance.
No matter how many regressions, I saw no path to victory against those two.
So, behead him here. But how…
Suddenly, it hit me: was I over-relying on sword qi?
No matter the famed sword, a nobody wielding it can’t even slice firewood properly. But a master with a plain iron blade? Fells thick logs easy.
What’s the difference? Technique.
Sword-tip tremors, arm tension, optimal angle—meet those conditions, and a normal sword cuts wood.
I’d thought it impossible without genius talent… but now?
Still impossible? The answer came quick.
Worth a shot.
I glared, dissecting his every move. Forms and trajectories I’d mastered through deaths.
How he stepped, fisted, thrust in arcs. And how to sever them.
Answers lay in my accumulated memories. Realizing it, my body moved on autopilot, possessed.
His right hand snapped like a striking snake. Left straight punch always followed.
Straight as a spear, wrapped in golden fist qi that could pulverize boulders. I positioned my sword against it.
Not swung. Just extended. At the precise angle.
Shk.
Hardly a sound. But the result wasn’t quiet.
“GRAAAAAAAH!!”
The Monster Monk screamed like the world was ending. The first-rate warriors—watching from afar, not counting as allies—clutched their ears at the ear-splitting wail.
His left arm dangled, severed side to side. Pain like that? No joke. Especially for a body like his, unscarred since hardening.
“H-How…!”
Already brimming with pride in his arts, he hadn’t expected his external art pierced so easily. His eyes trembled as he demanded answers.
I had none to give.
Silently closing in, he sensed my silence and gnashed his teeth.
“You…! Die!”
His intact right arm whipped like a lash, tracing a menacing arc. I raised my sword again.
This time, lightly drawing a line. At his elbow.
Can’t match his power? Borrow it.
My job: keep the tip steady. No big swings.
Motions etched in my brain, Martial Spirit Divine Art pulling ideal forms from memory into reality.
The result? Even I could hardly believe it.
Thud.
His right arm flew off, inertia carrying it far. Too light a sound for a high external expert’s limb—sword qi barely penetrating. Unreal.
He was the most shocked, face full of questions over pain.
“Not once, but twice… How are you breaching Shaolin arts…?”
“Simple.”
Staring at him—blank, whether unwilling or unable to resist—I slowly assumed stance. Legs shoulder-width, sword guarding center, tip above head.
The setup for my strongest move, Mount Tai Crushing Strike. I grinned, just like when our eyes met earlier.
“Work. Hard. Your best.”
BOOM!
The lightning bolt sword shattered his skull. Not split—shattered. Proof of his toughness… but whatever. He was dead.
The surrounding first-rate warriors were no threat now. Partly skill gap, but they’d frozen in terror or slunk away after seeing that.
No mercy, though.
Only the New Murim Alliance Leader left.
But I wasn’t heading left. Had to clear the minions before he looped back.
“Hoo…”
I steadied my frayed intent from back-to-back fights. Just that reignited Martial Spirit Divine Art’s vitality in my weary body.
Stamina, inner energy—plenty. Phantom pains from accumulated deaths? Horrific, but familiar now.
Almost there.
I could still fight.