The Shaolin Abbot Collapses
The Shaolin Abbot crumbled. And he fell beneath the very same Hundred-Step Divine Fist he had boasted about.
Not a single elder among the temple’s leadership dared to ask why. Anyone watching could see the reason for the outcome with perfect clarity. The woman had simply wielded the Hundred-Step Divine Fist with greater mastery. Her understanding of the divine fist ran far deeper. That was why she had vaulted over every conceivable gap in power and toppled Yang Hae-yul.
“Just… who in the world is that woman?”
That single low murmur from one of the elders spoke for every heart present. Just who was that woman? What kind of existence could master every martial art of Shaolin—even their divine techniques—to perfection?
“This time, allow me.”
The one who stepped forward after Yang Hae-yul was a warrior everyone expected would one day claim an elder’s seat. He was also the greatest talent to emerge since the Righteous-Demonic War. Yet before the woman, he was utterly powerless. Another figure fell.
The next to come out was a genuine Shaolin elder. He had declared that continuing this way would only increase the number of victims and that he would handle it himself. But in the end, the title of elder proved meaningless—he simply joined the pile of unconscious warriors already sprawled on the ground.
One after another. Step after step. They advanced only to bow before the woman’s might. A woman who had barely reached the tail end of first-class was on the verge of bringing the entire Shaolin Temple to its knees!
Beom-un felt as if he were dreaming. This defied all common sense. Unable to hold back the hollow laughter bubbling up his throat, he suddenly recalled a story he had once heard.
The tale of the woman who had stormed the Murim Alliance alone.
Because her own sect had been attacked, she had tried to single-handedly crush the Murim Alliance. An outsider. A first-class martial artist. Yet the depth of her comprehension of the martial arts she displayed through the Heavenly Demon Divine Art had been so profound that neither body nor realm held any meaning before her.
What was unfolding before his eyes matched that story exactly.
Then… could this woman be the very culprit who had turned the Murim Alliance into a smoking ruin and dragged its name and reputation into the abyss?
It hadn’t been Maryo.
It had never been Maryo.
He had been mistaken all along. This person had truly come here for no other reason than to shatter their nameplate—an absolute nightmare given form.
Even as Beom-un reeled in shock, yet another warrior collapsed.
“Shall we wrap this up?”
The woman casually tossed aside the martial artist she had just defeated and turned her gaze toward Beom-un.
“Now, only you remain.”
A disaster beyond any hope of resistance stared straight at him. In that instant, Beom-un’s mind flashed back to the past.
The memory of standing before the Heavenly Demon as the commander of the Arhat Formation. The memory of every pride Shaolin held dear crumbling before overwhelming power. The memory of begging for his life—head pressed to the ground, terrified of death, terrified of his own breath being cut short.
“What will you do?”
Before he realized it, she had drawn close. As the masked face looked down at him, Beom-un felt cold sweat trickle down his spine.
Can I win?
Can I possibly defeat this woman?
She who could place me upon her palm and toy with me as she pleased. She who seemed so vast that I could never even reach the hem of her robe. Could someone like me…?
There was no way.
“…I shall hand over the nameplate.”
Yes. This was better. Far better to surrender the nameplate now than to struggle desperately, be shattered, and then watch the nameplate be destroyed anyway.
As Beom-un tried to rationalize his own actions, the woman remained silent. Then, from behind the mask, a sound reached him.
The sound of teeth grinding together.
“Hah… How ridiculous.”
“For a moment my mind went completely blank.”
“Is this even possible? The abbot of Shaolin—without throwing a single punch—acknowledging his own defeat!”
“You… You are supposed to be the central pillar of the Five Great Sects!”
“How can you possibly think it acceptable for someone like you to submit so easily?!”
“There is a limit to how entertaining the fall of the righteous faction can be!”
“There is a limit to how much I can laugh while watching you wretches crawl on the ground in misery!”
“Have you no pride as a martial artist at all?!”
“The Mount Hua Sect Leader was far better than you. Even that fool who joined hands with the Blood Cult, borrowed power that was not his own, and denied his own history in pursuit of revenge—he was still better than you!”
Anger surged through me. I ground my teeth, then let out a long breath. I will give you one word of praise. No other martial artist has ever managed to bewilder me to this degree. When foolishness reaches a certain level, it can even produce a strange sort of enlightenment. Truly fascinating.
I couldn’t endure it without my pipe. I slightly lifted the mask and placed the long pipe between my lips. As smoke rose, I pressed down on the surroundings with killing intent. This was not the moderated pressure I usually used to harass others. This was sincere. To manifest the will to tear this wretch apart and kill him, I needed neither internal energy, body, nor realm.
The face of the trash who called himself abbot drained of all color. His teeth chattered uncontrollably.
“It seems you are under one misunderstanding, so I shall correct it for you especially.”
“W-what…?”
“The right to choose was never yours to begin with.”
To choose anything is the privilege of the strong. Only the strong may divide life from death, right from wrong. The weak cannot even choose unless the strong permit it. And I have no intention of granting you that permission.
“Come at me.”
Will you lose your life while displaying your martial arts, or will your head fly off right here and now? Either way, the ending will be the same. If you are going to die anyway, is it not better to struggle with all your might before you perish?
I intensified my killing intent, forcing the wretch into motion. He bit his lip and charged forward. The weapon he used was the fist, and the art he displayed was the Prajna Art. So you used your position as abbot to learn something far beyond your station. It is indeed one of the supreme techniques that deserves to be called divine. A martial art said to reach perfection only when one attains the ultimate Buddhist enlightenment—its potential is limitless. Had you truly embraced all of it, you would have made for an entertaining opponent.
But you have not.
The Prajna Art is wasted on you. A bald-headed monk who does not even deserve to be called a martial artist—how could you possibly wield the Prajna Art?
I deflected the fist he thrust forward using the principles of the Resonant Fist and stepped into his range. He immediately drew his internal energy inward. Are you trying to become a Vajra? Do you believe that will let you withstand my attack? How foolish. There are countless ways to shatter something hard.
My fist struck his abdomen, yet the impact did not penetrate his skin. The idiot must have thought his technique had succeeded. A stupid smile formed on his lips—only for blood to leak from the corner of his mouth moments later.
It was simple. If the outside had grown hard, all one needed to do was crush what lay within. I had expected him to at least realize and respond to that much, but he could not even manage that. Pathetic.
With his internal organs turned to mush, the wretch no longer had the strength to maintain his internal energy. I struck the jaw of the fool whose Vajra Indestructible Body had already dissipated, and he collapsed to the floor like a broken doll.
This one is not even worth taking a life from. Still, I no longer wish to see him strut about pretending to be a martial artist.
I prodded several of his pressure points while he twitched on the ground like an insect.
“Aaaaagh!”
A scream like a pig being slaughtered burst from his mouth. This is something I always do to myself. The rampage of the pressure points. They will run wild until he can no longer form internal energy, and he will writhe in agony until his body becomes one that cannot use even a single strand of qi. Do not worry. He will not die. He will simply become a cripple. How merciful of me.
Leaving the wretch behind, I stood before the building that housed Shaolin’s nameplate. At first, I had planned to simply crush all the warriors, smash the plaque, and be done with it. That was the level of request Maryo had made, after all.
But my mind had changed. After seeing how the so-called abbot behaved, it could not help but change.
I pressed the pressure points to send his internal energy into a rampage, then took a deep breath and assumed a stance. I will not erase the name of Shaolin from this land. If I completely wiped this place away, they would have an excuse, would they not? “Shaolin was destroyed because of that disaster called the Heavenly Demon.” That cannot be allowed. You must be left with not even the slightest room to be reevaluated. You must fall because of your own mistakes and deficiencies. Therefore, I shall leave behind only a trace. A trace brought about by your own incompetence.
I took the stance. I stamped my foot.
Cracks spread outward from the point of impact, sending stone dust flying into the air. I would not use the Heavenly Demon Divine Art. I had decided that from the beginning. Instead, I would make you lose your main temple using your own martial arts.
What is the Hundred-Step Divine Fist? It is a fist strike powerful enough to reach beyond a hundred steps. But I wish to interpret this fist in a different way. As a fist that erases everything that exists beyond those hundred steps.
After my fist was thrown, all that remained where the main temple had once stood was the bare foundation. With this, I suppose I have successfully destroyed the nameplate.
“Baru.”
“What is it?”
After finishing, I turned my head slightly and looked toward Baru. She was surrounded by a crowd of people. Even while answering me, she kept a wary eye on her surroundings, while the users stared at her with twitching fingers and foolish grins, as if their hands were itching to pet her. It seemed no one cared whether Shaolin fell or not.
“I’m going to die and come back, so wait for me.”
“…Wait? In the middle of this mess?”
“What’s the problem? None of them are going to hurt you.”
They are simply people who find you cute and like you, just as I did and as Baek Hwaryeong did.
“That is exactly the problem! I cannot act tough around them!”
“Then just give up and be a doll for a little while. You have lived for so many years—surely you can endure that much.”
“Min-ga! You bastard! Just because it is not your problem, you speak so lightly…!”
Baru shouted something or other, but I let the noise flow in one ear and out the other as I closed my eyes.