Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: The Daily Life of the Hyeonseo Pavilion Trainees
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The old man bellowed, unleashing his fiery temper.
"Answer properly! If you don't, I'll have you flunk the training and report you straight to the Sect Leader. This organization was established through a joint effort between the Murim Alliance and the Imperial Court. Try slacking off if you dare. I'll make sure bastards like you never set foot in the jianghu again, not even a toe."
Silence fell once more.
The old man roared again.
"Are you all deaf? Huh? Do you want to pack your bags and go home?"
"No, sir!"
Only then did the young men's voices unite in disciplined unison.
"Good. The Murim Alliance will select the next batch of talents based on your performance in this training. Hahaha. You must have thought you were hot stuff, selling out your sects left and right... But this is the Murim Alliance. It's overflowing with real talents. Forget your sects—throw them to the dogs. The best performers take it all. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good."
With that, the old man vanished outside in a flash, just as swiftly as he had entered.
Yet his lingering presence—or perhaps the overwhelming aura he left behind—had completely crushed the young men. They sat there dumbfounded, wide-eyed and speechless.
That's when Heo Son-dam cleared his throat, sensing the awkward tension building.
"Ahem. So... that was none other than the Chairman of the newly formed Yeomsa Society, Great Hero Jang Gyo-ryeon of the Wudang Sect."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Soon, someone timidly raised a hand.
It was Yeom Gyeong-bin of the Wudang Sect.
"But... Instructor Heo."
Heo Son-dam spoke up.
"From now on, address me as 'Instructor Heo.'"
"Yes, Instructor Heo."
"Speak."
"The Chairman mentioned Wudang Sect... but we've never seen him before."
Heo Son-dam nodded.
"That makes sense. The Chairman has been dispatched to the Murim Alliance since his youth and has been active there ever since. Alliance operations are often kept confidential... Any more questions?"
No one responded.
Heo Son-dam continued.
"Very well. Since this is the first day everyone's gathered, we'll end here. Starting tomorrow, the real training begins, so get plenty of rest. You might never get such a comfortable night's sleep again..."
Heo Son-dam added with a gentle yet expressionless face,
"...ever."
"Gack. Snore! Hnngh!"
Han Ibi couldn't sleep a wink.
His mind was already troubled by this baffling story development...
And that kid monk Hyeon? He seemed to have sleep apnea or something.
Fine, snoring was tolerable enough.
He'd heard it plenty in the army.
But sometimes, the gaps between exhales and the next inhale dragged on forever.
Even though there was zero reason for concern, Han Ibi grew unbearably anxious waiting for the next breath.
It's all that fat! No wonder—he doesn't even eat pork, so why's he so damn chubby? What the hell does he stuff himself with...
Then it hit him.
Well... elephants grow huge just eating grass...
"Gack! Snore!"
Ugh! No way he could sleep through this.
Han Ibi bolted upright and glared daggers at Hyeon, who was emitting that eerie racket.
He itched to rush over, pinch the kid's nose shut, or shake him awake by the collar.
He glanced at his roommates from Imperial Dragon Hall, Gwak Won-hoe, and Morning Sun Sect's Gil Son-rok.
Shockingly, they slept soundly, utterly unfazed.
"True jianghu warriors, huh..."
As Han Ibi muttered quietly and gave up, lying back down—
"Can't sleep?"
He jolted upright again in surprise.
No one was there.
What a ghostly situation.
Then—
"You must've grown up pampered at home."
Only then did Han Ibi pinpoint the voice.
It came from Gwak Won-hoe, eyes closed, lying still.
"Lie back down. Conserve your energy."
"Ah, yes..."
Han Ibi lay down unwittingly and said,
"Brother seems fine with this."
"I'm used to barracks life. This is nothing... Something worrying you?"
Worries? Endless.
How to get home. How to unravel this tangled plot. And...
How to plug that pig monk's nose!
Maybe order an anti-snoring pillow!
"Worries? Nah, just not used to communal living."
Gwak Won-hoe chuckled softly, eyes still shut.
"Our Hall Lord said the training won't be easy. Better force yourself to sleep."
"I see... But how come..."
"Hm?"
"...the Imperial Army's joining the Murim Alliance training?"
Gwak Won-hoe shrugged while lying down.
"Who knows? Us grunts just follow orders."
Fair enough. Soldiers have always been the same—bark, and they jump. Must be nice and simple.
"R-Right."
"Don't dig too deep. I hate giving advice, but heed this: much higher-ups prepared this training than we think. I don't know all the details..."
"Got it. Thanks, Brother. Goodnight."
"Yeah. Sleep well, Jong-ri. Then..."
Gwak Won-hoe's breathing soon turned steady and rhythmic.
Out like a light in seconds.
Damn... that's a skill in itself.
Han Ibi chuckled alone and peered out the window.
The tilting moon made the late hour feel even more oppressive, deepening his unease.
Half-asleep, half-awake, Han Ibi joined his roommates at Hyeongseol Hall.
They followed Yeomsa Society rules: no clumping by sect.
Sticking together defeats the training's purpose, apparently.
Anyway, Hyeongseol Hall buzzed with the trainees' fervor.
Thanks to that old geezer 'Yeomsa Chairman' barking orders, they now saw excelling here as the path to success.
Up front stood the affable Heo Son-dam, same as yesterday.
"The Yeomsa Society you're now part of was planned long-term. The Murim Alliance consulted endlessly with sect leaders and military brass. Thus, we've secured optimal instructors from each sect, tailored to the curriculum."
The youths murmured.
Even Alliance affiliates had never heard such details.
Heo Son-dam pressed on.
"To block the Demonic Cult's depravity and suppress them in emergencies, we must first grasp their true nature. So, our first session: learning about the Demonic Cult."
He cleared his throat and continued.
"Introducing Great Hero Seok Bun-geon of the Myriad Scholars Assembly, who'll lead our historic first lesson."
As he spoke, Hyeongseol Hall's doors slid open smoothly.
A tall, gaunt middle-aged man entered, clad in the Assembly's signature pure white uniform.
Refined and dignified...
Yet somewhat rigid and stuffy.
He looked less like a jianghu man and more like a scholar or Confucian student.
A soft voice rose from the youths.
"U-Uncle? How is Uncle here..."
It was Yuk Hyeon-rip of the Myriad Scholars Assembly.
The Assembly, a Confucian sect that rose in the last thirty years, formed a pillar of the Murim Alliance through martial prowess while revering scholarship like Confucianism, boasting levels rivaling true literati.
Seok Bun-geon must have heard his nephew but showed no sign, introducing himself and beginning the lecture.
"'Demonic Cult' is a catch-all for bizarre sects practicing twisted martial arts. Thus, while groups called 'Demonic Cults' persist across generations, their forms evolve: Moon and Sun Cult, Ming Cult, White Lotus Cult, Northern Divine Cult... Now, the Child Boat Cult carries their mantle, expanding from the west."
His words flowed relentlessly.
True to a top scholar from a Confucian powerhouse, info poured like a flood, without pause.
But...
Aaagh! Boredom, tedium, stuffiness—the unholy trinity!
Han Ibi screamed inwardly.
Child Boat being a dinghy off a mothership? Derived from prior heresy Hong Rae Cult? Nothing hooked him.
Most here were born warriors, uninterested in books unless Assembly folk.
They wilted like grilled squid, boredom overwhelming.
Han Ibi scanned the room.
There—two with sparkling eyes, scribbling notes.
Jong Ri-hyeok and So Eun-ri.
Han Ibi grumbled inwardly.
What're these two? Flaunting protagonist vibes like that.
Small comfort: Yeo Nan-ju already drooling, head nodding off.
Thus, Han Ibi endured the Yeomsa Society's brutal first day of training.
They say even hanging a clock upside down, time marches forward.
Finally free from the nightmarish Myriad Scholars lecture on Demonic Cults, Han Ibi awaited dinner.
Lunch was packed bentos from outside.
Now, internal cafeteria was ready.
The youths swarmed the makeshift mess hall.
Perhaps due to the crowd, it used standard chow line serving.
Familiar from Qingcheng Sect meals.
Cooks and servers from who-knows-where manned stations.
Han Ibi queued with the others, tray in hand.
Scoops portioned into bowls atop trays.
Mentally drained from the lecture, he fidgeted, craving nutrients ASAP.
Then—
A server called to him.
"Hey? You!"
Han Ibi looked puzzled.
And froze.
Familiar face.
No way... How? I'm screwed.
The man said,
"Aren't you... from Clear Stream Inn?"
Indeed.
Ban Jin-seong, the waiter from Clear Stream Inn at Demon Valley Mountain's base.
(To be continued in the next chapter)