Chapter 155: The Conspiracy of Go Ju-gang, Leader of the Martial Alliance (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 155: The Conspiracy of Go Ju-gang, Leader of the Martial Alliance (3)
“Now then, Sect Leader!”
How much had he sacrificed to obtain this martial art? It was a treasure won through countless casualties and a relentless, bloody pursuit.
However, the man who had just shredded the manual merely clicked his tongue, brushing his hands as if they were covered in filth.
“Forget it. I held onto a sliver of hope, but as expected, this is a martial art one should never associate with. The fundamental problem with the Demonic Energy Absorption Art is its impure demonic qi. It is a technique that offers no way to refine the energy from the start.”
“B-but, if we were to further advance our Violet Mist Divine Art in the future...”
“I told you to let go of that lingering attachment. The Violet Mist Divine Art is nothing more than a legendary martial study. No one has mastered more than three stars of that art in generations. Refining demonic qi is impossible for anyone—even if the Progenitor Jamsangbong were to return from the dead.”
Gu Jung-cheon stood up from his seat.
“Let us leave. Staying here will only invite unnecessary suspicion. As soon as you depart, confess your wrongdoings and beg for leniency. Tell them you had no ulterior motives for gathering the monsters. No matter how much they berate you, you must endure it. What else can we do? No matter how rational our goals were, we are still weaker than Wudang and Shaolin.”
Leaving those words behind, Gu Jung-cheon quickly departed. He opened the door and vanished into the night.
Even after the door clicked shut, Go Ju-gang remained prostrate, unable to rise.
“The Violet Mist Divine Art...”
His dreams had been torn away along with the shredded pages of the manual.
The greatest legend of the Mount Hua Sect: the Violet Mist Divine Art.
After their descendants proved incompetent and lost the core heart method of their ancestors, the lineage was technically maintained by the Plum Blossom Swordsmen. But Go Ju-gang knew the bitter truth. The current Plum Blossom Swordsmen did not possess even half the strength of those from Mount Hua’s golden age.
“The plum blossoms...”
The sword flowers bloomed by those called Plum Blossom Swordsmen today numbered three at most. However, the Plum Blossom Swordsmen of two generations ago used to bloom seven plum blossoms with a single strike.
It was a divine art that enabled extreme speed through the Great Heavenly Circuit. The Plum Blossom Sword Technique was originally inseparable from the Violet Mist Divine Art; the former existed only because of the latter. It was a peerless martial art essential for the revival of Mount Hua. And yet...
“...In the end, I knew it would come to this.”
A hollow laugh escaped him.
What should he do now? The initial responsibility lay with everyone, not just him. But the situation had shifted. Because of that pack of monsters, everyone had begun pointing their fingers solely at him.
Gu Jung-cheon told him to tell the truth, but if he did, he would be stripped of his position as the Leader of the Martial Alliance, and Mount Hua would suffer the collateral damage.
Chirp! Chirp!
The sudden cry of a bird snapped him back to his senses. Nearly half a shijin had passed. If he stayed any longer, his tracks would be discovered, and he might even cause trouble for the Elder.
“I cannot let that happen. And I certainly cannot back down like this.”
Grip!
Swish! Swish! Swish!
He exerted his body lightness law to its full potential. After taking a long, circuitous route through the forest, he headed back to his original location.
Ji Jung, who had been waiting anxiously, greeted him with a startled expression.
“You’ve returned. Did you meet someone...?”
“None of your business. Get the boat ready.”
“...?”
Ji Jung was confused. The face of Go Ju-gang, which usually wore a practiced smile, was now sharp and cold. His eyes flickered between desperation and ruthlessness.
“We are going to Diancang.”
“...Pardon?”
“To Diancang.”
Another incomprehensible demand. Ji Jung tilted his head, recalling what he had been told when they first set out.
‘Didn’t he clearly say we were going to Shaolin?’
*
In a place where bizarre rocks stretched out sharply like a canyon, a high-ranking monk walked with measured steps. These strange rocks, hollowed out by pooling rainwater, were a common sight even within the grounds of Shaolin.
As he entered the temple proper, thick, gnarled ancient trees lined the path. There was something peculiar about these trees: their condition. Each trunk was marked with concave grooves the width of a human thumb. There were dozens of such marks on every single tree.
They were the traces of high monks practicing Shaolin boxing. It was said they had thrust their fingers thousands, even tens of thousands of times to cultivate finger strength. The depth of the holes carried the weight of ages, revealing the sheer will and effort of Shaolin.
As he moved further inside, the rhythmic shouts of men echoed through the air. Deep within the White Cloud Hall, a separate martial arts training ground had been prepared so that disciples could train at any time.
As he reached one of the entrances, a man saw the approaching monk and hurriedly bowed his head.
“You have arrived, Abbot.”
“Is the Little Divine Monk inside?”
“He is currently training.”
“It wouldn’t be wall-gazing meditation... what kind of training is he doing?”
At the monk’s question, the man hesitated for a moment before answering.
“He is practicing Shaolin boxing.”
“Boxing...”
Abbot Hye Seon’s expression hardened. Of all the possible forms of training, he was practicing Shaolin boxing. To perform such a feat after losing an arm meant risking the possibility of his qi and blood twisting due to improper circulation. Since his current flow of qi was different from before, it was a type of training he should have avoided for the time being.
He turned his gaze inward. Many monks were training in the yard. Their movements were fast and fluid, dynamic enough to evoke admiration even from this distance.
“I shall go see him.”
The man stepped back to clear the way, and the Abbot walked inside. He headed toward the corridor on the left. Since the White Cloud Hall was a place for communal training rather than private rooms, he expected to see Beopgye immediately.
As expected, Beopgye, positioned in the furthest corner, sensed the presence and stood up.
“You have arrived, Martial Uncle.”
Watching Beopgye perform a one-handed salute, Abbot Hye Seon briefly thought of the legends of Dharma and Huike. When Dharma refused to accept him as a disciple, Huike cut off his own arm to prove his resolve.
Somehow, that story was projected onto the image of Beopgye. He felt that the act of saluting with one hand was a ritual to honor that legacy.
“How is your body?”
“It is not bad.”
“Is that truly so?”
Beopgye looked at Abbot Hye Seon with wide eyes, his expression suggesting he didn't understand the true intent behind the question. At this, Abbot Hye Seon revealed his inner thoughts.
“It hasn't been long since you suffered a major injury, yet you are training... and practicing Shaolin boxing instead of silent meditation. It would be a lie to say I am not worried.”
“I believe this is better than trying to hide because I am injured. Though I have lost a hand, I believe that once I become accustomed to it, I will be able to recover my former martial prowess.”
Beopgye was thinking positively, but Hye Seon could not take his words at face value. The more Beopgye acted this way, the more his resentment toward the boy named Seok Myeong grew.
Hye Seon looked at Beopgye with pity, but Beopgye did not share the sentiment. Instead, his face brightened as if recalling something, and he spoke softly.
“He was truly strong.”
“...?”
“That man, I mean. He was more brilliant than the splendor of Mount Hua and softer than the fluidity of Wudang. Even within that, he was precise and stronger than anyone else. He truly lived up to the reputation he holds across the Jianghu.”
“Who are you talking about?”
When Hye Seon asked with narrowed eyes, Beopgye answered without hesitation.
“The one named Seok Myeong. The rising star of Qingcheng.”
“What? You are talking about that boy...?”
At that moment, Beopgye interrupted him, his voice urgent.
“By any chance, what happened to that Taoist?”
“Are you talking about the one who did this to your arm?”
Beopgye did not answer, but Hye Seon took it as confirmation and continued quickly.
“A judgment will soon be passed on him. Not only did he cut off your arm, but he has already committed various acts that an orthodox practitioner should never do. And though you might not know it, there was a reason he was able to exert such power at that time. Do you know what it was?”
Beopgye wore a puzzled expression. He did not understand the implication.
“It was because of demonic arts.”
“...!”
“So do not worry too much. The Nine Great Sects consider his use of demonic arts a very grave matter that cannot be overlooked. Furthermore, the Qingcheng Sect plans to conduct an investigation to root out everyone who has learned that martial art.”
At those words, Beopgye suddenly raised his voice.
“Demonic arts? Who says he used demonic arts?”
“Did you not know? That boy Seok Myeong practiced demonic arts. I didn't realize you were unaware that the martial world has been turned upside down because of it.”
“Taoist Seok Myeong? Who claims such a thing?”
“My boy... why are you suddenly acting like this regarding facts that have already been brought to light?”
Hye Seon spoke as if he couldn't understand. But the reaction was even more intense on Beopgye’s side. Since Hye Seon kept saying things that didn't make sense, it was truly difficult for him to accept.
“There must have been some mistake. The martial arts I felt from Seok Myeong were not demonic. They were purer than any other martial art.”
“No. You are mistaken. Everyone witnessed it. For you, who were the closest, to say such a thing... you are gravely misunderstood.”
“No, Martial Uncle. It is true. Seok Myeong’s martial arts were pure. Furthermore, the energy itself was so gentle that, thanks to the righteous heart within his energy, my mind would actually feel calm just by being near him.”
“You keep saying strange things...”
“You will understand once you see this!”
Beopgye violently tore his sleeve and lifted his wrist. In that moment, Abbot Hye Seon witnessed the site of Beopgye’s severed limb. A darkish scab had formed there, confirming that it was healing smoothly.
“If it were a demonic art, it should naturally be rotting away. No, even if it wasn't a demonic art, if it were an evil energy, the blood and pus would have seeped inside and prevented even the chest wound from healing. But there are no such side effects from him severing my wrist. Rather, the wound was cauterized and treated perfectly.”
Abbot Hye Seon looked at the area as Beopgye directed. Indeed, there was no evidence on Beopgye’s wrist to suggest that Seok Myeong’s internal energy was an evil power.
“At that time, my internal energy was being drained by a monster. The rising stars of Mount Hua and Wudang were watching, but they couldn't bring themselves to act. They were likely afraid of causing a misunderstanding. I understand. I would have acted like them if I were in that situation.”
“...”
“But the man named Seok Myeong was different. He severed my arm in a single stroke and pushed me away. Afterward, even in a moment where he knew he would be misunderstood, he left without making excuses. And even now, he has not spoken of these circumstances.”
Abbot Hye Seon was speechless. He felt as though he had missed something massive within Beopgye’s words.
Stepping forward when everyone else hesitated—wasn't that the very definition of the justice Shaolin pursued? To him, Beopgye revealed a part of the truth that had remained hidden until now.
“You once told me, Martial Uncle, that demonic arts are a martial study that cannot be controlled. Therefore, one must not go near them. Doesn't that mean, paradoxically, that if one can control it, it is different from the demonic arts practiced by the Demonic Path?”
Demonic arts cannot be controlled. But if it is controlled, it is not a demonic art.
Abbot Hye Seon did not answer Beopgye’s words. No, he couldn't.
“I was dying,” Beopgye said softly. “He was a true Taoist. One who did not stand by during another's hardship and did not fear saving sentient beings.”
“Everyone else stood by and watched.”
He was a man who pursued the Way, but in a sense, he was just like them—those who learned and practiced the teachings of the Buddha.
“He saved me, Martial Uncle!”
Only then did Abbot Hye Seon realize the truth. The feeling that he had missed a huge piece of the puzzle was gone. It was the Truth. He realized that their actions had been an act of denying the very principles they sought to uphold.
“I must go to Qingcheng immediately.”
Abbot Hye Seon walked straight out of the White Cloud Hall.