A Wind Blows Through Murim

The result was staggering.

Silence had settled over the training grounds — a silence Sun Wukong himself had forced upon them. A shock so violent that even those who had watched it unfold with their own two eyes could not help but doubt what they had seen swept through the arena.

"……."

Six Peak Realm masters. These were no ordinary Peak Realm martial artists. Every last one of them was a renowned veteran who had walked Murim for decades upon decades.

The martial world is a place where the old are respected. Not because the teachings of Confucius have taken root among its wanderers. This is a world lived on the edge of a blade. In a slaughterhouse where a single slip means your body is carved apart, how does anyone live long enough to grow old? To become an elder, one must survive. And to survive in a Murim where death waits around every corner means one has grown so strong that they simply cannot be killed. The old are strong. That is why the jianghu proverb warns: beware the child, and beware the elder.

The people could not easily shake themselves free of the shock that had slammed into the training grounds. Had these merely been aging masters, perhaps. But these were experts of the Nine Sects and One Gang, men for whom the title of renowned veteran was not the slightest exaggeration. The epithet, the deeds, the fame of each and every one of them rang throughout the martial world.

And the man standing opposite them? A figure of brilliant gold, looking down with arrogant composure upon those who had collapsed in exhaustion, who knelt leaning against swords driven into the earth, who gasped for breath as they struggled to settle their inner energy. He was unknown. At most, a name that had only recently begun to spread, centered on Anhui Province and Hubei Province.

"The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven… Sun Wukong…"

Someone's murmur drifted through the silence like a breeze.

Wind blows everywhere. The faint breeze that brushes the skin, the coolness that soothes the heat, the typhoon that hurls everything away in fury, the storm that comes with rain and lightning — all of it is wind. Something that reaches everyone, that everyone feels. In a single moment it spreads across the entire world, arriving before each person with a meaning all its own.

"Brother Sun is helping ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his little brother…"

As Namgung Jinbaek murmured those quiet words, to the Namgung Clan, Sun Wukong was a cool wind that blew the sweat from their brows.

"This… how can this be possible?"

"Truth and liberation are things one must believe in and walk toward even when they cannot be seen. If you, sentient beings who cultivate the Buddha-dharma, deny even that which stands before your eyes — what then becomes of you?"

At the heavy, resonant voice of Shaolin's Cheonbaek-yeoksa, the Shaolin monks bowed their heads. Though they harbored no deep grudge against the Namgung Clan, they too were a great pillar of the Nine Sects and One Gang. As a force centered on that alliance, even Cheonbaek-yeoksa — who had cultivated the Buddha's teachings for so long — found it difficult to still the pounding of his heart at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

"A great vortex will rise in Murim."

A faint heat even threaded through Cheonbaek-yeoksa's grave voice. To the principal figures of the Great War such as him, this was a wind that would stir a massive whirlpool, shaking a martial world that had long lain silent.

"Ah! How can this be?!"

"Just who — who in the world is this Great Sage Equal to Heaven?"

"His affiliation is not with the Namgung Clan, is that certain?"

"Impossible! Who would dare challenge the masters of the Nine Sects and One Gang with such insolence, knowing the grudges it might breed? Only a Namgung man would pull a stunt like that!"

"With the vile cunning of those damned Namgung dogs, of course they would!"

"Then what are we supposed to do? They already have the Heavenly Edge Sword Star, and now the Great Sage Equal to Heaven as well. Two Transcendental Realm masters in the Namgung Clan alone — how, how are we supposed to push Namgung out?"

"The Great Sage, Equal to Heaven! Why did a man like that have to appear in Namgung of all places?!"

To those who had nursed their grudges and dreamed of vengeance against the Namgung Clan, Sun Wukong was a disaster no different from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a storm that overturned everything in its path.

"Waaaaah! The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Lord Sun Wukong, has handed defeat to six masters of the Nine Sects and One Gang!"

Cheers erupted. No matter how heavy the silence, it could not keep suppressing the hot blood of young martial artists who still dreamed of the romance of the jianghu. The young, as a rule, carry an instinctive resentment toward the generation already in power — an urge to lift their heads against the solid wall their elders have so perfectly constructed.

"The Nine Sects and One Gang have been running the show long enough!"

"Hey now, watch your mouth!"

"What, because you came from one of the affiliated clans? Let's be honest — the ones who bled the most in the Great War were the Namgung Clan over there. And the moment the Sama Order fell, didn't everyone start giving Namgung the cold shoulder?"

"Meanwhile our lot built up power in the Wulin Alliance and just passed things back and forth among themselves, didn't they?"

"Hmph. Look at those limp faces. Take a look at the Nine Sects' seating section."

"They're all standing there like their souls left their bodies! To think I'd live to see a sight like this. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong…"

"Isn't he magnificent? He doesn't even look that much older than us. And he fought that ferociously."

"What an incredible man!"

Flushed faces and eyes blazing with heat turned toward Sun Wukong. It was thoroughly, utterly satisfying. Every word and deed that set a young martial artist's blood boiling had their hips bouncing in their seats of their own accord. Hot-blooded young fighters, righteous wanderers who dreamed of the jianghu's romance, even the rootless wanderers who drifted like duckweed with no place to call home — this was a wind that brushed across all their fiercely burning hearts.

Here. Now. In this moment.

A wind had risen in Murim.

The wind called the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven — Sun Wukong.

Each person received it with a meaning of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their own. But the fact remained.

A wind was blowing through Murim.

The one who felt that wind most keenly was Geom Wi-hyeon.

Perhaps he had been the first.

When they had come face to face before Yangha Ironworks, Geom Wi-hyeon had known instinctively that he was standing on the line between life and death. So he had withdrawn from that place. He had even bowed his head, contrary to every reputation and rumor he had spent years accumulating.

It had not been without humiliation. It had not been without shame. Geom Wi-hyeon had always shown his Mount Hua disciples the one and only righteous path — and he had felt, with painful clarity, the disappointment in the eyes of his disciples and attendants. He was human, after all. For a brief moment, he had wondered whether his choice had been wrong.

I was right to back down that day.

Geom Wi-hyeon wore a bitter smile as he staggered to his feet. Had he not withdrawn then—

I would have had to resign myself to losing at least one arm.

No. That wasn't it. Would surrendering an arm have been enough to win? Impossible.

Practical. Destructive. No — cruel, even.

A lifetime rides on the tip of a sword. Everything a person has lived through, every experience they have gathered, melts into the blade's edge. Sun Wukong's steel staff was no different. Neither were the hidden blades that had erupted without warning.

Like a beast tearing out a throat.

Had he not withdrawn that day, he would certainly have surrendered at least ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one arm on the spot. Perhaps it would have been only an arm. To level a sword at someone is to declare hostility. It means you have no complaint if they take your life. And yet he had thought it would be merely an arm.

Truly difficult to understand.

A man who displayed such vicious, merciless technique — and yet, somewhere beneath it, mercy had shown through. If a beast clamps down on a throat and shakes it in a frenzy until the life goes out of it… then the mercy was this: sinking the fangs precisely into the carotid artery alone, ending it before the victim even had time to suffer. Two notions so alien, so utterly opposed, coexisted in Sun Wukong's martial arts.

In more ways than one… a peculiar fellow.

Geom Wi-hyeon stole a glance at Sun Wukong. Six men had charged him together, and Sun Wukong was completely unharmed.

"Ah, damn. There's a hole in my clothes. Who was that? The disciple who just kept poking with his sword?"

Geom Wi-hyeon let out a hollow laugh in spite of himself. To describe the Instant-Kill Sword Art — a peerless technique that slays by piercing only the vital points — in those terms. Unfortunately, the Instant-Kill Sword Art, and indeed every secret art of the Nine Sects and One Gang gathered here, had reached its limit at tearing, slashing, and punching holes in Sun Wukong's clothing. Not even a faint scratch showed on that body of steel.

Geom Wi-hyeon composed himself and stepped before Sun Wukong. In an instant, the clamor around them died. The expression on Geom Wi-hyeon's face as he mounted the dueling stage with such resolve was anything but ordinary. But the hush lasted only a moment. What followed drew gasps from every direction.

Geom Wi-hyeon clasped his fists in the martial salute.

"Geom Wi-hyeon, Scattered Plum Blossom Swordsman of Mount Hua, expresses his admiration for the martial prowess the Great Sage Equal to Heaven has built, and hereby acknowledges his defeat."

"…Hah!"

Short gasps burst out here and there — and then, before anyone could say a word, a roar of cheers came pouring down. A heat-soaked ovation. At Geom Wi-hyeon's acknowledgment of defeat, a gleam of interest flickered in Sun Wukong's eyes.

Geom Wi-hyeon had broken the ice. Next, Wang Ju-dae of the Beggars' Sect — who had been staring blankly at his shattered Dog-Beating Staff — lurched to his feet. He was a man judged sharp in every field, so much so that word had it he was already marked as the next Vice Sect Leader. The Beggars' Sect, by the nature of an intelligence organization, valued abilities beyond the depth of one's martial arts — and the most essential of those was reading a room.

This Geom Wi-hyeon is no fool!

Wang Ju-dae knew full well that Geom Wi-hyeon had been deliberately stacking up infamy with every step he took. A man who cared nothing for personal honor or notoriety so long as it served his sect. Whatever the process, everything he did was ultimately for Mount Hua. Wang Ju-dae instinctively understood that Geom Wi-hyeon's acknowledgment of defeat was no emotional choice — and decided to follow his lead.

"I, Wang Ju-dae, Elder of the Beggars' Sect, likewise express my reverence for the martial achievement of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. I admire the completeness of the martial learning you have displayed, and hereby acknowledge my defeat."

First Geom Wi-hyeon, and now Elder Wang Ju-dae of the Beggars' Sect. The crowd stirred. Faces flushed with excitement, the spectators marveled again and again.

"Good heavens — elders of the Nine Sects and One Gang, men that proud, taking such a humble stance!"

"They found out by fighting him, didn't they? He faced six of them alone and still dominated!"

And it was not only those two. The others, a beat behind, rose in turn to praise Sun Wukong's skill and acknowledge their defeat. The atmosphere around them burned even hotter.

"They really are the renowned veterans of the Nine Sects and One Gang. To lose to someone who looks so young — and in a joint assault, no less — and still acknowledge it with such composure."

"No matter how old and cunning they've grown, they too were once martial artists who carried a fire in their hearts, weren't they?"

While everyone else was drowning in that heat, Sun Wukong's senses were stretching outward, unnoticed by anyone. The Eighth Form, Alayavijnana, hears the voices of nature. Human voices, too, are a part of nature. Coughs, whispers, the sound of breathing, the shudder of excited lungs — all of it struck his ears with vivid clarity. A faint smile touched the corner of Sun Wukong's mouth.

Was it truly the purity of a martial artist, as the talk drifting through the crowd would have it?

Anyway, the older they get, the slyer they become. These kids act like they've lived so long. Please.

Sun Wukong snickered.

Humans, I swear. More cunning than any yaoguai. All that fuss over face.

Sun Wukong looked the six of them straight in the face. Honey on the tongue, a sword in the belly — just as the old saying went. He saw through them at a glance. Their insides were nothing like the purity they wore on the surface.

For men who came here as official representatives of their sects, losing to some nameless martial artist would be humiliating, no doubt.

From their point of view, across the vast expanse of Murim, the name Great Sage Equal to Heaven was still far from widely known. This had not even been a one-on-one defeat. Six of them had attacked together, and they had still lost. What that meant was not confined to a simple win or loss. Handled poorly, the face of the entire Nine Sects and One Gang would crumble.

The way to break the current situation was simple. The lives of martial artists who survive on the edge of a blade are lives of struggle, and beneath it all they always carry a longing, a hunger, for those who are strong. Strength is enough. All they needed was to make everyone around them understand that Sun Wukong — the one who had handed them this defeat — was an absolute master they could never have hoped to match.

That was precisely what Geom Wi-hyeon had done first. Had he not offered praise for Sun Wukong having transcended his realm?

The throats of the defeated veterans bobbed faintly. Voice transmissions flickered back and forth in rapid succession.

Talk lifting Sun Wukong higher and higher kept circulating through the crowd. And there were people fanning those flames, stoking them even further. The attendants of the Nine Sects and One Gang themselves. Sun Wukong cackled at the sheer absurdity of the spectacle.

For the sake of their face, Sun Wukong had to be an absolute master. He absolutely had to be. Paradoxically, the ones singing Sun Wukong's praises the loudest right now were not the Namgung Clan at all — they were the Nine Sects and One Gang.

They sure work hard at living. They really do.

Sun Wukong shrugged. If that was how they wanted to play it—

No reason for me to complain.

Sun Wukong addressed the renowned veterans still holding their martial salutes.

"Did you enjoy my lesson?"

"……."

"Ah, if you found it so satisfying, so enjoyable — wouldn't it be better to share something that good with those young disciples you all cherish so much?"

A strange tension settled over them. Their faces hardened to stone. In the spectator stands, the atmosphere turned to bewilderment.

"I hear the Pan-Orthodox Alliance is putting together a powerful organization centered on young, capable martial artists…"

The moment Sun Wukong opened his mouth, a stir ran through the surroundings. The Pan-Orthodox Alliance was still nothing but rampant rumor; its actual form had yet to emerge. And now he was mentioning, on top of that, a new organization being formed within it.

Geom Wi-hyeon's and Wang Ju-dae's faces went rigid. It was one of the many topics circulating beneath the surface. Once the Pan-Orthodox Alliance was established, they would found an organization built around the rising generation, to raise the future of Murim with certainty. It had not been decided. The maneuvering to seat someone from one's own sect as the organization's leader was fierce. So when Sun Wukong brought that fact up, the agents of the Nine Sects and One Gang gathered here understood perfectly well what it implied. Wang Ju-dae, flustered, was about to say something — when Sun Wukong's low voice cut him off with finality.

"……!"

"This Teacher Sun, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, is so humble he hadn't the slightest thought of taking command of that organization. Ah, but when renowned veterans such as yourselves praise me and lift up this inadequate body of mine, I fear it will become an empty reputation. So shouldn't I repay your disciples as well?"

Sun Wukong smiled. But beneath his brows, those unwavering golden pupils were colder than anything else in the world.

This was not cooperation. Not a request. Not persuasion.

"It's an organization made up of the rising stars of the Orthodox martial world — so the future of the Nine Sects and One Gang should come too, no?"

In other words.

Checkmate.