Chapter 18
“The Qi Clan……”
“A Transformation Realm master in his thirties?”
“Heavens……”
“Amitabha……”
“Infinite Buddha……”
“Another precious talent lost……”
“Truly the world's greatest clan……”
A wave of varied reactions rippled through the hall.
Bang Deok thought to himself,
Young Hero Cheon. Thanks to your sacrifice, I stand here now. It's not much, but I've done my small part in return. The Qi Clan's prestige endures, at least for a moment, and everyone remembers and is grateful. I hope you know that.
Bang Deok waited for the mood to settle, then lightened the atmosphere.
“The Qi Clan and its heirs are vital, of course, but now let's turn back to the Demonic Cult and the news stemming from it.”
The room grew solemn once more at his words.
“Proceed.”
“As you all know, the newly ascended Emperor Togtemur has died, and Emperor Khushila has taken the throne.”
“Indeed.”
“And the Black Wind Corps infiltrated the imperial palace in secret.”
“Amitabha. Are you suggesting a connection?”
The Shaolin abbot's representative, Master Mu Won, voiced his curiosity.
“Precisely. The late Emperor Togtemur, like his predecessors, had close ties with the Demonic Cult. But the new emperor, Khushila, is linked to the Blood Cult. That gives the Demonic Cult one reason to act—their sweet connection has been severed.”
Bang Deok paused to let them process, then continued.
“And one theory about the Black Wind Corps' movements involves the Demonic Cult's Young Cult Leader.”
“Young Cult Leader?”
“Yes. It seems the Young Cult Leader was involved with a princess, the fifth concubine's daughter from the emperor two reigns ago. He was hiding his identity and staying in the palace. But during the princes' rebellion, many princesses died—including her, apparently. After that, the Young Cult Leader vanished.”
“Vanished?”
Bang Deok nodded.
“Yes. That's why the Black Wind Corps lingers in the palace, searching for something. My guess is they're securing the Young Cult Leader's whereabouts and safety while keeping the current emperor and the Blood Cult in check.”
With that, Bang Deok bowed politely to the assembly and returned to his seat.
Jegal Cheong, who had been listening quietly, gave him a nod of thanks.
“Based on Elder Beggar's intelligence, our course of action becomes clear.”
Jegal Cheong stood, drawing all eyes.
“And what is that?”
He raised one finger.
“First, we must locate the missing Young Cult Leader. If we find him, he could be leverage against the Demonic Cult.”
He raised a second finger.
“Second, prepare for any provocations from the Demonic Cult or Blood Cult. If we wait until disaster strikes—like fifty years ago—and then unite, we'll spill rivers of blood again. Therefore, I propose forming the Murim Alliance.”
He raised a third finger.
“Third, view the imperial palace, overrun by the Demonic and Blood Cults, as fundamentally hostile to us. Recently, Zhu Yuanzhang led the Red Turbans to repel an imperial force of 100,000. Their army grows, but they lack mid-level commanders. We should dispatch our sects' elite disciples to aid them.”
Paeng Jinseong of the Haebeok Paeng Clan scowled, displeased at sending his clan's talents to bandits.
“Red Turbans? Just thieves, aren't they?”
Jegal Cheong hid his expression behind his fan at the rude retort.
“Far from simple thieves. There are three major Red Turban factions now, and Zhu Yuanzhang's ideology and prowess stand out. He understands the martial world well. In my view, he's a tiger—and we're his wings. With our help, he could soar to the heavens.”
The words of the Divine Strategist Jegal carried weight, prompting deep thought in the hall.
Jegal Cheong snapped his fan shut against his palm.
“Consider how the Mongol imperial house, backed by the Demonic Cult, has oppressed us. How much blood we've shed because of the Demonic Cult's imperial support.”
The assembly frowned in agreement.
Seizing the mood, Jegal Cheong pressed on.
“We endure only because we have the strength to respond individually and the bonds of the righteous sects. The Blood Cult holds power now, but soon the Demonic Cult will oust the new Emperor Khushila and install one to their liking. Their imperial ties and influence are formidable.”
Heads nodded in consensus.
“Our position will worsen. The palace will become a full Demonic Cult stronghold. Then we might face not just martial artists, but hundreds of thousands of imperial troops.”
Unsettling visions filled their minds.
“Ahem……”
“Hmm……”
Murmurs of unease spread as heads grew heavy.
Jegal Cheong's tone hardened.
“We've always been reactive. Now's the time to seize the initiative. No righteous martial artist will be excluded. Even small sects eager for glory will join under the Murim Alliance banner. No need to squabble over gains—we can unite and enthrone our own emperor.”
He emphasized our and uttered the seditious call to crown an emperor, targeting factions weak on righteousness but hungry for profit. The top elders like Divine Sword Baek Cheongseon had pre-approved.
As intended, several faction leaders eyed the opportunities greedily.
After deliberation and debate, they voted in favor of forming the Murim Alliance.
To conclude, Jegal Cheong raised his voice.
“Thus, I nominate Divine Sword Baek Cheongseon as the first Alliance Leader—his age, insight, martial prowess, and renown are unmatched.”
“Ahem……”
Paeng Jinseong had coveted the role but stayed silent amid the natural acclaim for Baek Cheongseon.
“Any objections?”
None spoke. Without the Shaolin abbot—secluded in meditation—the matter proceeded smoothly. No one wanted to oppose the tide for a nascent alliance; better to secure early gains.
With consensus, Baek Cheongseon rose and clasped his hands in salute.
“I humbly accept the leadership. Though the title is high, I'll gladly heed your counsel. For urgent matters, however, I'll exercise the leader's customary authority—my apologies in advance.”
Heads nodded.
“For now, I'd entrust the military affairs to Jegal Cheong. Any objections?”
“That seems wise,” said White Ape Nun Baek Won of the Ami Sect.
Sect leaders from Shaolin, Wudang, Jongnam, Cheongseong, and others voiced agreement. With pre-aligned sects leading, the meeting flowed uneventfully.
As details wrapped up, Jegal Cheong stood formally.
“I pledge my body and soul to the military role. Rest now, and reconvene in two days for specifics. Well done, everyone.”
* * *
In a village near Jeseong in northern Haebeok, Tian Ailang gazed contentedly at the fat pouch of silver from selling wolf pelts at the clothier's. His first self-earned money.
He'd skinned the wolves he'd caught and brought the hides to town. Not knowing villages nearby, he'd eaten the meat on-site and discarded the rest.
The clothier mentioned demand for wolf meat among certain tastes, sparking mild regret, but the pelts fetched a handsome sum. Untouched by blades or weapons, they were pristine—earning extra generosity. Tian Ailang wondered if showing his bloodied hands, claiming he'd caught them barehanded, had helped. From the clothier's view, it might've seemed proof of something else.
He shrugged.
As long as the price was good.
With coin in hand, he headed straight to the clinic for a checkup.
A flag marked [Physician] fluttered before the building. Inside wafted a warm, sweet herbal scent.
The cluttered interior gave a messy impression—porcelain wares scattered on the entry floor. Tian Ailang stepped carefully, doubting such a place saw customers.
“Anyone here?”
Calling out, a man emerged from the back, dusting his hands.
“Who might you be?”
Neatly dressed in whites, fanning himself—likely from dispensing herbs—he looked surprisingly young. Thirty at most; he'd pass for even younger.
Tian Ailang had heard medicine was profound, taking decades to master. Reputable village doctors were usually over forty.
Youth didn't mean incompetence, so he stated his purpose.
“Whoa, a customer! Welcome. Internal injuries? A martial artist?”
A bit odd, but his eyes were clear. Tian Ailang nodded.
“Yes.”
The physician examined him closely, then extended a hand.
“Let's check your pulse first. Wrist, please?”
Tian Ailang complied readily. The young doctor jolted, mouth agape.
“You're unusual. Martial artists hate having their wrists grabbed.”
Perplexed, Tian Ailang tilted his head. The doctor chuckled and shook his own.
“Never mind. Let's examine you.”
Eyes closed, he pulsed slowly. Tian Ailang felt alien qi probing gently—mostly comfortable.
After a time, the doctor opened his eyes and shook his head.
“No idea.”
“Pardon?”
“Your qi feels stagnant for some reason, yet your body's in fine shape. Like walking healthy on a broken leg—beyond my knowledge. I could force-stir it, but no clinical basis or data. Not worth risking.”
Tian Ailang listened calmly. He'd expected little; qi injuries weren't simple fixes. He'd stopped by on a whim. Without qi, he'd still survived via other means, easing his urgency.
“Understood.”
As he reached for payment, the doctor waved frantically.
“I can't charge without diagnosing or treating properly. But if you're inclined, I can write a referral to the Healer’s Hall, where physicians gather.”
“Healer’s Hall?”
The doctor rummaged for paper and brush.