254 - Murim Login

Chapter 254 “Jin Tae-kyung of the Hidden Dragon of Sanseo, wins!” At the judge's announcement, tens of thousands of spectators stood up in unison. Amidst the shower of cheers and applause, a man's gaze was intently fixed on Jin Tae-kyung as he descended from the martial arts stage, his eyes deep and contemplative. 'A peculiar guy? Indeed.' The Tegu Staff Technique is the pinnacle martial art of the Beggars’ Sect, taught only to the branch leader successors. Despite its playful name, the technique’s power and mysterious forms are ranked among the top ten in the world. Yet, Jin Tae-kyung effortlessly dismantled the Tegu Staff Technique without using any notable martial skills. He shattered the power-infused bamboo staff barehanded and remained unfazed against the Hongryong Eighteen Palms, merely flinching slightly. He even seemed to deliberately take hits that could have been avoided. No doubt, it was intentional. Why?' While he might have appeared to be someone who enjoys pain, judging by his constant grimacing, that didn't seem to be the case. Moreover, who in their right mind would endure the Tegu Staff Technique without protection just to harden their endurance? 'Nevertheless, he’s quite fascinating.' The surprise from seeing Jin Tae-kyung for the first time still lingered. A body like a gift from the heavens, indeed. Incredibly well-suited physique, akin to a celestial warrior. 'The disciple of Hwa-wang... I should keep a close eye on him.' With that thought concluding his introspection, Senior Swordsman Jong Richeu mingled into the excited crowd. There were eyes that followed his disappearing figure. A pot-bellied merchant? A hunchbacked old man, or a mediocre martial artist in cheap clothes...? Faces as ordinary as could be found anywhere in the crowd. Yet, with each movement of their lips, they exchanged whispers, using a secret communication technique only top masters could utilize. - Gakju, Ming myung. - Yi Ho and Sam Ho will keep watch from beyond the Baekjang boundary. - It's possible to lose track of his actions. - I'm aware. However, this is the best approach. -...... Understood. - Sa Ho and Oh Ho, keep watch over Jin Tae-kyung and Cheong-pung. Notify immediately if he approaches again. - Yes. - Then, may fortune favor you all. The brief conversation ended, no further replies exchanged. The ordinary-looking individuals nonchalantly walked into the crowd and disappeared. A middle-aged beggar, who was crouched on the street begging, continued bowing for spare coins thrown by passersby before finally standing up. The transformation began in a secluded alley. Creaaakkk, rustle. Shoulders hunched straighten, twisted spine aligns upright. As if massaged by unseen hands, his facial muscles twitched and quivered. Not ten steps in, the middle-aged beggar morphed into a kindly-looking old man. Tap. Tap. A prosthetic made of what was reputed to be indestructible ebony tapped against the stone pavement. 'Jong Richeu, the Senior Swordsman.' The elderly man, Cheonmyeon Hori Song Ho, silently repeated the name in his mind. Before serving as Gakju of the Covert Agency, he too was a master informant and expert in disguise. He could recall faces with just one encounter, recognizing opponents from subtle habits or skeletal structures. Even under disguise, he couldn't be easily fooled. But one individual, Jong Richeu, remained an exception. 'I’ve definitely encountered him before.' When and where that was, he couldn't fathom. Delving deeper into thought, trying to recall Jong Richeu’s face, Song Ho halted as pain radiated from his leg. 'It’s starting again, increasingly intense these days.' A scar of long date. Decades earlier, in his youth, he’d participated in the last battle against the Cult and lost a leg. He survived through twists of fate, but the memories of that day were burned vividly into his mind. A voice, as dark and deep as an abyss. 'Cheonmyeon Hori Song Ho. Quite a large specimen for a fox, aren't you? Let’s start by taking your leg apart first, shall we?' Song Ho's body trembled as he steeled himself against the pain and resumed his steps. A past that left no remnants remaining. More pressing was the tangible reality of the present. 'Jong Richeu… who are you? What are you scheming?' All preparations were in place. Yet, the unsettling anxiety in his chest continued to disturb him. 'Am I getting old? Or has peace been too long?' A low sigh escaped from between the old man's lips. * * * He closed his eyes. In the dark void, he conjured an image of a person. A youthful face always adorned with a bright smile, ordinary build. Yet, whenever he unsheathed his sword, everything changed. Whiiiiiiissh! Invisible yet visible. Unheard yet audible. Purple sword energy shot across, leaving no gaps across the thirty-six directions. It was swift as a streak of light and gentle as falling petals. Witnessing this beautiful spectacle, he thought. 'Destruction Flame God Fist, Flame God Hand, or...' Various martial techniques came to mind and vanished. Cheong-pung was an opponent against whom he must exert his full strength. Ultimately, there was but one answer. After a brief contemplation, the moment he grasped the cold spear shaft— Creak “Captain. Captain.” A voice pierced through his thoughts, breaking them. Cheong-pung, as well as the phantasmal sword energy he conjured, vanished without a trace. Lifting his eyelids, he saw Hyuk Moo-jin peeking his head through the slightly opened door. “Hehe. I’m here.” He gazed at the youngster silently before speaking. "Why are you here?” “Concerned you might be bored, I came to keep you company.” “Company?” “Yes. Isn’t that considerate?” “Considerate?” Heaving a deep sigh, he pulled out the legs of the chair. “Lie down, you cheeky brat.” “Wha- why are you doing this?” “Did Cheong-pung send you? To interrupt my training?” “Gasp, you were training?” “Do you ever see anyone meditate in a seated position while sleeping upright?” Hyuk Moo-jin awkwardly stammered, glancing around. “Didn’t you attempt to meditate seated in your youth, Captain?” That wasn't me... But are you backtalking me now?" “Can't I even talk back?” Was this kid insane? He stared at Hyuk Moo-jin, eyes wide in disbelief. In the past, this kid would have quickly shielded his head; now, after a brief flinch, he stood with his chest puffed out. “What are you up to?” "Now that you mention it, I think I’ve worked pretty hard supporting you, Captain." "And so?" "I believe I deserve some recognition befitting my contributions." "What kind of recognition? Social insurance? Workmen's compensation if you get injured?" "I’m not really sure what social insurance or workmen's compensation mean. If you keep this up, I might just quit everything and take over my family’s cloth shop." After pondering for a moment, I nodded. "Go ahead, then.” “What?” “Good work. No, I mean, thank you for your efforts, Mr. Mujin. I wish you success in your future endeavors as a cloth merchant.” “Wait, wait a minute.” “Oh, by the way, be ready to close the main store in Sanseo.” Suddenly, Hyuk Mujin clutched my calf with a pleading look. "I spoke out of turn." "Really?" "Yes. Just give me a smack upside the head." "Weren’t you asking for fair treatment?" "No way. I’ve become someone who can’t live a day without your discipline, Captain." "..." Is he insane? I shook my head and tapped his forehead lightly. "Enough nonsense. Get to the point. Why did you come?" "Actually, I just wanted to keep you company..." "What?" When I shot him a glare, Hyuk Mujin’s voice became feeble. "I thought you'd be feeling a lot of pressure since tomorrow is the final…” “The opponent hasn’t even been decided yet. Don’t you know today’s the last day of the semifinals?” As the sun began to set, the martial contest between Jong Richeu and Cheong-pung would soon commence. The winner would be my opponent in the finals, and unless something extraordinary occurred, Cheong-pung’s victory was almost certain. Hearing my words, Hyuk Mujin shrugged his shoulders. "I know, but I wanted to drop by." "You’re an odd one. You should be training at a time like this." Despite my words, a part of me felt touched. When I think about it, Mujin has truly endured a lot while following me around. His sometimes eccentric behavior could be due to my constant smashes to the back of his head, damaging his brain cells. 'Thinking this way makes me feel sorry.' I vowed to treat him better in the future. Just as I was making this resolution, Hyuk Mujin asked. “Cheong-pung will win, right?” “That’s a given… Wait, how do you know that?” “Even if others don’t know, I should. Isn’t his nickname ‘Invincible God Sword’ ridiculous? His real name is Kang Pung, and he even used the Ja Ha Divine Art in the last competition. How could I not know?” "You’re smarter than I thought." "Rumors have been spreading here and there. Most people just know Cheong-pung as a disciple of the Mount Hua Sect.” True, the Ja Ha Divine Art is so distinctive that piecing together his identity from that was plausible. “So, then, Cheong-pung winning is a sure thing, right?” "Isn’t it obvious?” "It must be certain. Definitely!" Why does he have that greedy look in his eyes? Just as I nodded, feeling uneasy— “Wooooaahh!” A cheer echoed not too far away. I grabbed the spear, Baek-yeom, positioned beside me, and stood up. 'No matter what, Cheong-pung will go through. That fact doesn’t change.’ This is clearly a battle between an egg and a rock. However, observing how the egg faces the rock, or how the rock shatters the egg, could greatly aid me in the final match. "What are you doing? Get up." “Yes, sir." * * * “Go for it, Sword of Prolongation!” “I’ve bet a silver coin on you! Turn things upside down once!” “Haha! Betting on the Sword of Prolongation rather than the Invincible God Sword? What a fool.” As the torches burned and laughter erupted, Jong Richeu climbed onto the martial stage, suddenly halting his steps. He stopped because of the gazes that fell upon him from the honorable seats. Three top-tier masters known as the ‘Ten Kings,’ alongside the elders of the Nine Large Sects and the Five Great Clans, were present, including the silently observing Cheonmyeon Hori, Song Ho. “Senior Swordsman Jong Richeu. Proceed to the designated position.” The moment he stopped was fleeting. At the judge's prompt, Jong Richeu ascended the martial stage with deliberate steps, drawing his sword without hesitation. Swoosh! In the brief silence that his abrupt action created, muffled laughter spread around. The sword’s pattern was unrecognizable due to chunks of soil clinging to it, and the blade was entirely rusted red. Warriors usually cared for their weapons as if they were their own lives, yet Jong Richeu’s sword seemed to have never undergone maintenance since it was forged. “What’s that?” “I nearly jumped out of my skin." “Well, it’s exactly what you’d expect from the Sword of Prolongation. What were you hoping for?” Ignoring the laughter around him, Jong Richeu closely inspected the rusted blade and clicked his tongue. “It’s useless for now.” At that moment, Cheong-pung, who was enthusiastically waving at the crowd, offered his own sword. “Here, want to borrow mine?" "No need. That’s yours to wield.” “I don’t mind—” “It’s okay? What about you then?” “It doesn’t matter. We’re friends, after all.” As Cheong-pung nodded earnestly, Jong Richeu grinned amiably. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can manage with my own.” “Even so, because we’re friends...” “Look here.” Ssss. The rust-covered blade directed towards Cheong-pung. The playful glimmer in Jong Richeu’s eyes had transformed into a fierce blaze. “I’ve never had a friend like you.”