What I Couldn't Pass On (3)
How do you soothe a disciple who's sulking? If the disciple's young, a candy picked up off the roadside would do the trick. If they're a bit older, a good scolding might work.
But what if that disciple is well over sixty, heads an entire sect, and commands over a thousand subordinates? Even a master as revered as the heavens might hesitate. Handing out candy like old times or trying to coax them wouldn't cut it. People get bigger heads as they age, after all.
So what I'm saying is, do it right from the start.
"Left three, right seven!"
Getting 108 people to move as one is no easy feat.
"Right twenty-six, left fifty!"
Laymen might not see it, but to my eyes—someone who knows a thing or two about the 108 Nahajin—I could roughly make out how they were operating it.
"Forward thirty-eight, retreat twenty-six!"
Six in total!
The number of people controlling these 108. No one else had spoken since it started—just those six, positioned at the six directions of the hexagram.
As the one who'd deployed the 18 Nahajin before, I knew what their positions meant. The 108 Nahajin was ultimately just six 18 Nahajin formations multiplied together. Those six were the crucial links binding the separate 18 Nahajins.
If I got trapped in there, my top priority would be smashing those six. That's the only way to shatter the 108 Nahajin.
Of course, it wouldn't be easy...
That shady old coot over there couldn't possibly be ignorant of what I knew. He hadn't spent his year in the mountains just whittling beads.
So why walk right into it voluntarily?
I glanced at the one other shady old coot who seemed to know the reason.
Mujikja had been studiously ignoring my stare since earlier.
"Ahem!"
He cleared his throat pointlessly and finally met my eyes. The moment our gazes locked, a voice rang out.
"What's the scheme?"
Muwangsubul. Couldn't hide it after all.
Just as he opened his mouth to reply, another sharp one butted in. Mujikja's face twisted in dismay at the intruder.
"You could've just left if you wanted to. But you went out of your way to create this awkward spot. And even before things got this messy on their own, you had plenty of chances to bail—yet you went along with it willingly. Doesn't that seem fishy? And I've been to enough of these uncomfortable gatherings to know..."
Mujikja nodded in resignation. Yeah, the kid sometimes—no, often!—seemed like a madman, but his knack for reading the world was the real deal.
Namgung Daeso was clever, sure, but still a kid. He'd spent his life cooped up in the Namgung estate, training nonstop. He had a sharp eye for piercing situations, maybe, but lacked the seasoned savvy to unpack and navigate them. That came with time.
This one was different. His lips were already curling up. Madness gleamed in his eyes, and his gaze held the certainty of enlightenment.
Busted.
Namgung Je-cheon finished his thought.
"You made a bet with Ilseon Dosa, right? On who wins if he fights the Shaolin Temple. Knew it~ As expected! What's life? Money~ Admit it?"
Er... this punk.
He wasn't like this before.
"Knew there was something fishy! A bet! Called it! How'd you figure it out? Good job, Je-cheon!"
"Thank you! Young master!"
Another money-grubber chimed in gleefully. Fine, the youngest young master makes sense. His eyes always spun at the whiff of cash.
The problem was the kid who'd always been a bit nuts but genius-level sharp...
"Heh heh, I might miss everything else, but I sniff out money like a bloodhound. Sniff sniff! There it is! Sniff sniff! Jackpot smell!!!"
Had turned into a dog.
Those who hang with ink turn black, as they say. Ever since he came back from that inn fiasco looking like a total fool, he'd been off. No way it started then! Or maybe all those headbutts from the Daegalbak crew finally broke him.
Mujikja suddenly felt a pang of guilt.
"Who'd you bet on, Gramps? The monk grandpa out of loyalty?"
"Pfft~ blinded by greed? Got no conscience? Loyalty my ass—I'm all in on Shaolin. Every last one of my 20 silver taels!"
Er...! Hold up! All of it?
"Nice. I'm betting on the monk."
He hadn't planned to originally. Ilseon Dosa's presence here hid a nobler purpose. He'd been about to spill it, figuring it'd all come out anyway—but things had changed.
Mujikja's eyes shifted to match Namgung Daeso and Namgung Je-cheon's.
"Heh heh, now the young master just needs to pick."
"Hm... I'll go with a draw."
"Perfect. Bet's on."
My lost money!
Mujikja didn't realize it yet—he'd already been corrupted long ago.
"First Nahajin, attack!"
"Second Nahajin, stand by for attack!"
"Third Nahajin, guard against mishaps. Fourth and fifth, defend. Sixth, prep for third wave."
The six commanders' orders flowed without a single gap. The assault was relentless, and Ilseon Dosa's single arm blurred in response.
Left! Right! Up! Right again! Left!
His eyes tracked the strikes. Fatigue had turned them bloodshot. Slack off even a moment, and the onslaught would sweep him away.
Yet Ilseon Dosa hadn't taken a single solid hit.
Worthily martial uncle.
The Great Nahajin's assault wasn't even at full throttle yet. Its terror built over time. But even this was plenty threatening for an average martial artist.
Ilseon Dosa's deep-set eyes pierced straight through the formation. Jingak inwardly paid respects once more to the man hailed as Unrivaled.
Thanks to Jinheo's stubbornness and obsession, he'd gathered the 108 Nahans that couldn't be assembled without a sect crisis. If asked whether he held any grudge against Ilseon Dosa, he'd admit a touch of personal motive in this.
And everyone here likely felt the same—miffed that he'd up and left alone. They'd want to vent the hardships they'd endured in his absence, even knowing 108 against one was overkill.
Still, the results were unexpectedly solid. He'd figured the opponent wouldn't go down easy, but he was holding out better than thought.
Should be showing up any moment now.
The Nahajin's horror lay not just in endless chains, but the mounting pressure that surpassed them. It intensified over time as the members' qi seeped into the formation.
That was why the 108 Nahajin was the pinnacle of joint formations, and Shaolin the strongest sect. Once trapped in a completed one, no one could break free from that overwhelming pressure.
To find a way out, you had to strike early, before the links fully synced.
Martial uncle knows that much.
Jingak couldn't say why, but he sensed Ilseon Dosa was deliberately dragging it out.
Amitabha.
The proof? From the Great Nahajin's start, Ilseon Dosa hadn't counterattacked once. He was waiting—for its completion.
Jinheo eyed his master's actions with bewilderment.
Senile?
It was the natural assumption. No sane person carrying dry grass would walk into fire like that.
If an outsider saw this, they'd praise Ilseon Dosa endlessly for parrying the nonstop barrage. The early onslaught denied the foe time to think—time favored the formation's members.
The first, second, and third Nahajins were already linked. The pressure was now triple the start.
Unrivaled's realm was Hwagyeong.
Four. Five if pushing it.
Jinheo's own realm was Hwagyeong too. That was his estimated limit if trapped inside.
Kuung—
The fourth linked up. Pressure doubled again. Ilseon Dosa's movements slowed a fraction. His counters halved in force. Attacks that missed before now grazed.
Yet his arm kept whipping around.
How vast is that qi reserve?
A formation's excellence hinged on qi transmission efficiency. The famed Nahajin managed a mere 10%.
Eighteen members per small Nahajin. Assuming each had 1 jia of qi, total 18 jia. At 10%, just 1.8 jia transmitted.
Seemingly low, but the golden ratio. No formation in the central plains matched it for sustaining member qi and transmission.
More members, and they'd rupture their own channels from overload.
1.8 jia per small Nahajin, then 30% loss merging into larger ones—inevitable in transmission. Final yield: 1.26 jia per Nahajin. Factoring member variances, at least 1 jia.
Lossy? The key was endless circulation. Exhausted? Rotate back, recover qi, rejoin.
That organic system had claimed countless demonic heads.
A typical Hwagyeong high master's qi: ~2 jia. Now four Nahajins linked—minimum 4 jia crushing Ilseon Dosa.
Jinheo's own: 3.5 jia. From lifelong nonstop meditation and heaps of elixirs—at least five Small Return Pills, one Great Return Pill.
Kuung—
Another overlap. A whopping 5 jia bore down.
Jinheo's eyes gleamed.
As expected!
Ilseon Dosa grew clumsier. Scratches appeared. The Nahans, long strained, regained some ease. They sensed the end nearing.
And they took pride in their Shaolin kin enduring five linked Nahajins—few in all Murim had.
Now, just the sixth remained. Jingak and Jinheo thought as one:
Heavenly Demon!
The sole survivor of the sixth in the past. Heavenly Demon vs. 108 Nahajin. No victor—Ma-gyo goons crashed it midway.
But those who'd formed it were certain:
A bit more time...
And the central plains' top title would've been Shaolin's, not Namgung!
Kuung—
The sixth linked. The 108 Nahajin's true power emerged. 6 jia—an inhuman force—pressed Ilseon Dosa.
It's over.
Jinheo barked the final order.
"Jingak! Finish it!"
In that instant, the hitherto stationary Ilseon Dosa stepped forward.
"That's it!"
I-gwon instantly blurted, as if he knew.
That’s—!
Now I finally saw what Ilseon Dosa intended.