What I Couldn't Pass On (4)
‘Muryangsujeongbeop.’
Mujikja’s eyes sank calmly. Only he knew why Ilseon Dosa was there.
“Nahanbo!”
I-gwon shouted in excitement.
“Nahangwon!”
His voice rang out just ahead of Ilseon Dosa’s movements. And sure enough, the monk executed the exact technique I-gwon had named. I-gwon’s eyes weren’t just sparkling—they were flashing like lightning. Even that blockhead seemed to have caught on.
I turned back to the monk grandpa and kept my eyes glued. If my guess is right…
What was about to unfold was the essence of martial arts that you couldn’t see even if you shelled out a few hundred thousand nyang of gold.
The monk grandpa’s neatly clenched right palm unfurled wide. Thud— A heavy palm force laden with power surged toward the Nahajin. The formation rippled once. It was Daeryeok Geumgangjang.
Thwack— His slightly bent fingers snapped upward. A lump of energy gleaming with crystalline light struck the Nahajin again as it tried to regain stability. Iljiseon.
Whoosh— This time, unlike before, it arced in a curve. Hoesanjeo.
The monk grandpa was already preparing another move. At that moment, changes rippled through the men forming the Nahajin. I was certain. Some of them had already grasped Ilseon Dosa’s intent. He… was about to show everyone here everything he had built up until now.
Ilseon Dosa had long pondered what he could give to Shaolin. Daeseung Beomcheon Banya Simgong. The lifelong dream had come true more easily than expected—thanks to the youngest young master. He thought he no longer needed to feel indebted to Shaolin. But that was just a delusion.
An unresolved knot. So long tied that it had become familiar. By the time he realized it, it was too late. So he had tried to let it go.
Yes. If I hadn’t met the youngest young master.
He waited deliberately until the pressure from the Nahajin reached its peak. He waited until his disciples’ inner energies fully linked. His breath grew ragged. Though he kept breathing steadily, it felt like his lungs filled with water each time, as if he were drowning. His whole body felt as heavy as a sodden cotton ball. He wanted nothing more than to escape this place right now. Yet Ilseon Dosa waited and waited.
Finally, as the pressure hit its zenith. He saw Jinheo shouting something. But no sound reached him. His ears had long lost their function. Fortunately, his vision held. He saw the Nahajin moving again.
“Amitabha.”
He chanted the low invocation, but only a faint, soundless vibration echoed. The pain coursing through his body offered small comfort that his sense of touch remained. For now, that was enough. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
And for the first time, Ilseon Dosa counterattacked.
Boom!
Nahangwon struck the Nahajin. A massive explosion roared, but Ilseon Dosa heard nothing. In his eyes, he saw the formation ripple. Proof that the attack had reached everyone.
“Amitabha.”
Chanting again, Ilseon Dosa began unleashing his techniques in earnest.
Jinheo quickly said to Jingak, “Absorb the shock!”
Jingak responded not with words but with commands. “First, second, and third Nahajin—defend! Fourth, fifth, and sixth—circulate your inner energy to support the front lines!”
Soon, the first-generation disciples in each formation relayed detailed orders.
“Hoesanjeo incoming! Counter with Daeryeok Geumgangjang!”
“Rear groups, spread your energy softly to cushion the front’s shock!”
“Another attack right behind! Prepare now!”
For the moment, they prioritized defense over offense. The first-generation disciples never took their eyes off Ilseon Dosa. If he was the monk they knew, he surely had an ace up his sleeve. But as the attacks continued, they couldn’t discern any clear intent. It was just one or two techniques piling up.
“So that’s how you use Cheolbigong.”
“Ah… That’s how you execute Goeryeok Hangmagong. No wonder the demon-subduing energy felt weak when I tried it.”
“I always felt something off with Nanhang Jeolcha’s forms—it was that part I got wrong.”
Some were gaining insights. The Nahajin, meant to pressure Ilseon Dosa, had somehow turned into a classroom, with the Nahans viewing him as a teacher.
Jinheo now fully understood the situation. ‘Think this atones for it!’
His master intended to repay a decade of resentment in one go. Even as these thoughts swirled, Ilseon Dosa was personally demonstrating the essence of Shaolin martial arts. It was worthy of awe. Even Jinheo spotted details he himself had missed.
Damn it!
He muttered a curse inwardly for the first time in ages. Of course, he didn’t let it slip out. But those who knew him could guess his mind. He’s pissed.
Even the young Namgung kingdom he’d briefly observed could tell—it was all over his face. In Jinheo’s eyes flickered a hint of envy amid the fury. Two conflicting emotions plain on his face, like a child whining to a weary father home late: Why so late?
If he were just a kid, it’d be cute.
“Jingak, Jincheong, Jinso, Jinil, Jingu—from now on, no mercy.”
Jinheo’s rising killing intent reached even where Namgung Daeso stood. The first-generation disciples anchoring each formation snapped to attention. Monk or not, sweeper or backroom elder—he was still Shaolin’s abbot.
“One hundred eight six.”
At Jinheo’s words, the Nahajin’s flow reversed. The formation’s ultimate method, used only to crush foes. The energy of 108 pressing Ilseon Dosa converged on six specific individuals.
Jinheo savored the endless influx of energy as he strode toward Ilseon Dosa. Five first-generation disciples soon flanked him, encircling the monk. Each felt their power bolstered by at least two full cycles more than their own reserves. Their fellow priests’ energy poured in ceaselessly through the 108 Nahajin.
For subduing a strong foe, this—overwhelming with peak elites—was far more efficient than mobbing with numbers.
“Prepared something amusing?”
Ilseon Dosa looked up at Jinheo. His disciple wore a bitter sneer. His hearing, lost to the pressure, slowly returned. The crushing weight eased. When it fully lifted and his ears cleared, a voice rang out.
“Looks like finishing it personally is the right call. What do you think, Master?”
Ilseon Dosa hadn’t caught his disciple’s earlier words. But.
“Amitabha. Excellent.”
Whatever it was, the Jinheo before him was worthy. Ilseon Dosa swallowed the unspoken reply. Do as you will.
Jinheo answered, “Good!”
At once, immense energy erupted from the six surrounding him. Ilseon Dosa instantly grasped what was happening. The Nahajin’s energy flow shifted from dispersion to concentration.
Even if the fight dragged on, these six’s inner energy would hold steady. With 102 as their inexhaustible source. From his view, facing all 108 at once had been easier. Moreover, this wasn’t for just anyone. Holding at least five cycles’ worth required the vessel to endure it. Shoving more in blindly would shatter it. But these six qualified.
Most terrifying: their realms had elevated further. In the past, Ilseon Dosa had halted the Heavenly Demon this way. Back then, Jinheo had supplied from behind, not the front. The Heavenly Demon… was strong. He’d killed three and crippled one. True, he hadn’t emerged unscathed. Some might think they’d nearly had him. But Ilseon Dosa, who faced him, knew. If Namgung Sega hadn’t arrived in time, Shaolin would have…
Vanished into history’s shadows.
Since that day, he’d striven to strengthen Shaolin. Harshly drilling disciples, doubly so for next abbot Jinheo. And the boy had followed silently. He walked the path Ilseon Dosa had abandoned midway, now standing grown before him.
“Haa.”
“Crying now?”
“No, just yawning.”
“Got guts of steel? Yawning in this situation?”
“Heh heh, indeed.”
Ilseon Dosa was proud of his disciple. Now it was his turn to show. Shaolin hadn’t surpassed Namgung Sega, but at least he’d found a way to avoid the deaths of that day.
Ilheo, Ilji, Ildo, Ilmyeong, Ilchu.
He etched their names—unspoken since that day—into his heart.
—Senior brother, you okay?
—Why’d you take the hit for him! Why!!!
—Heh heh. Why? You’re Shaolin’s future, aren’t you? So I leave the rest to you.
Ilheo took a gaping chest wound in Ilseon Dosa’s stead. Ilji lost both arms. Ildo’s dantian shattered. Ilmyeong and Ilchu poured their remaining energy into Ilseon Dosa, then flung themselves to clamp the Heavenly Demon’s legs. Barely inflicting a fatal blow.
Amitabha.
A distant memory from long ago. Yet its weight of regret still crushed Ilseon Dosa.
Time flowed, eras changed. Of the Iljabbae, only he survived; Jinjabbae now filled their places.
I’m a cowardly fugitive.
Seeking revenge on the Divine Sword was mere excuse. He’d fled Shaolin. He’d live out his days as a criminal wracked by guilt. Then his eyes caught Namgung Daeso. The kid, far younger, always charging into impossible odds. Strutting before men forty years his senior, declaring, I’ll make your wishes come true!!! despite barely handling himself.
“Heh heh.”
“Laughing now?”
“Sorry. A funny thought crossed my mind.”
—Young master.
—Ah, damn! You stay quiet when I’m eating grass, but yap when it’s meat time. What?
—…
—Got it, what?
—Ahem. There’s a man who’s fled his whole life. Nowhere left to run. So where does he go now?
—Why’d he run?
—Feared facing his pursuer. Even if he did, no confidence in winning.
—Simple.
—Simple?
—Yeah. He’s just scared to face it alone.
—R-right?
—Gang up on ’em. In a brawl, more heads win. Pass the scariest to someone else if needed.
—This is from my friend’s next-door sister’s brother-in-law’s wife’s cousin’s grandpa’s neighbor’s daughter’s story, but aren’t you scared of the Heavenly Demon, young master?
—Not at all. Grandpa lopped his head off, the cripple. Why fear a dead guy? I’m more scared of our old man and my first, second, and third brothers.
—No way! You were spooked by a dead cripple?
—Told you, it’s my friend’s etc. story.
—Yeah, yeah. If you’re really scared, tell me.
—You gonna fight the Heavenly Demon for me? You get your daegari smashed 500 times a day?
—Back to my meat?
—Sorry. Got too real, sincerity slipped. Amitabha.
—…
—So?
—Haa… Simple. Tell my dad right away. You know how scary our old man is, right, monk grandpa? Even if Heavenly Demon grandpa shows, no dice. Scared? Tell me. I’ll tattle to Dad for you.
—Not me, I said. I fear the Heavenly Demon. I fear the will my priest-brothers left. I fear losing you all helplessly again. I…
Daeseung Beomcheon Banya Simgong. The radiant light that once guarded Shaolin blazed from Ilseon Dosa’s body. No longer just a monk.
—Monk grandpa, yard’s filthy—go sweep it! Don’t yap while I’m eating sacred meat! You know how holy it is? It won’t remake itself cold! And labor costs these days—who’s got time to slack? Have some conscience!
Monk…? Yard sweeper…? Mooch eating our rice…?
Screw it, just a holy monk. That’s why he came back to Shaolin.
Damn meat… No, filthy world!