259 - Murim Login

Chapter 259 The Passing of Master Gyeongdo Master Gyeongdo, the revered head monk of the Shaolin Temple known as the Everest of the martial world, and one of the Ten Kings, has passed away. And it happened right here, in Henan, where the Holy Shaolin Great Banquet is held. "This, this can't be happening." "Master Gyeongdo!" The hall was consumed by grief and shock, but my gaze was fixated on one person. I opened my mouth, speaking to his rigid back, like a stone statue. "Noya, my master." As Jeok Cheon-gang looked down at Gyeongdo's lifeless body, he turned his head. "We go to Shaolin." His voice simmered like molten lava. The aura emanating from Jeok Cheon-gang, like a blade, was so overwhelming it stifled breaths and pricked the skin. But his eyes alone remained cool and composed. Right now, he was suppressing an overwhelming urge driven by a sliver of reason—an intense desire to tear apart and kill Jong Richu on the spot. What could be more important than avenging his dearest friend? "Is that truly Master Gyeongdo's last wish?" "Later. Now, time is of the essence." Just as Jeok Cheon-gang finished speaking, dozens of presences rapidly approached from afar. Leading them was Lord Byeokryeok, whose eyes widened at the scene before him. "Gyeongdo is...!" "No time for astonishment, listen closely." Jeok Cheon-gang quickly continued. "I'm heading to Shaolin immediately. You must inform everyone and rally them. We can't waste a single moment." "Are you deploying the celestial spider web to ensnare Jong Richu?" "The opposite." "What?" "Though Manliyo is tracking him, failure is inevitable. When people gather, have them come directly to Shaolin." "Did you say Shaolin?" "Yes." Jeok Cheon-gang nodded sombrely. "If Master Gyeongdo's last words are true... a bloody storm will soon strike Shaolin. Perhaps it has already begun." "...!" His shocking words plunged the hall into silence. Even Lord Byeokryeok was left agape, and I was no different. In Shaolin? What sort of place was Shaolin? It's a monastery, a sect of immense standing, naturally referred to as the Everest of the martial world. Some even claimed the martial world began with the appearance of Bodhidharma. A sacred ground of Buddhism and the main bastion of martial arts. Even as Shaolin's might wanes, its deep-rooted history and widespread respect remain unshaken. But now a bloody storm is threatened to befall Shaolin? "What... what do you mean by that? Master Gyeongdo's last words? Who dares to..." "Enough!" BOOM! Jeok Cheon-gang's stern shout snapped everyone back to attention. The babbling Lord Byeokryeok sealed his lips. "The Dark Heaven. They've started moving. If my instincts are right, we'll confront Jong Richu, that wretched soul, at Shaolin." "The Dark Heaven..." Several leaders, including Lord Byeokryeok, widened their eyes. Their reaction suggested they'd heard something about it before. "Do you understand now how urgent this is?" Jeok Cheon-gang, shifting his gaze from Lord Byeokryeok, surveyed the assembly with deep-set eyes. "Do as I've instructed. This is Master Gyeongdo's final will." There was truly no time to waste. Sharing a look with Jeok Cheon-gang, we simultaneously unleashed our speed techniques and left the gathering. Shoo—! As the fierce wind whipped past, a cold liquid brushed my cheek. The sky, clear without a trace of cloud, showed no sign of rain. Yet somewhere, someone unable to avenge a friend as he ran, would have tears welling in their eyes. No, let's call it rain. Let's decide it's just rain. "Damn it." I clenched my teeth, thinking of Jong Richu. It was likely to be a long day. * * * Beeeeeep! "Find the criminal!" "He might be hiding nearby!" "Calm down, everyone! Everything will be fine!" The martial arts alliance was in chaos, like a disturbed hornet's nest. Many martial artists attending the Holy Shaolin Banquet, eyes ablaze, were searching every nook for Jong Richu, while civilians, fraught with worry, followed orders. ‘It’s all a futile effort.’ They don't yet know that Jong Richu has fled far away, nor that Master Gyeongdo has died. For a moment, I debated whether to inform them but quickly dismissed the thought. ‘It would only add to the confusion.’ There was also no time to track down each leader and inform them. Within a short time, they'll know as well. For now, simply keeping pace with Jeok Cheon-gang requires all my energy. ‘Luckily, Shaolin isn’t too far.’ It's a slight relief. When I moved from Song Mountain to the martial arts alliance after the preliminaries, it took about three watches by carriage; with speed technique now, the time would drastically decrease. Swooosh! As I ran like the wind for a while, the bustling crowd and lined buildings vanished, replaced by sprawling fields. As the vast plains stretched before us, Jeok Cheon-gang, quiet until now, finally spoke. "Jong Richu, the Dark Heaven, Mu-myeong. Fire Staff." The four uttered terms would seem random to an unknowing ear, but I understood immediately. These were the answers I had been waiting for. "Are those Master Gyeongdo's final words?" "Indeed. It took everything he had." "......" "He shouldn't have been able to speak. He clung on just to pass those words to me." Jeok Cheon-gang's tremulous voice steadied. "What do you think of it?" "Just as you suspected, Master." "It's just a suspicion, not certainty. Share your thoughts without holding back." "Judging by the first two terms, it's clear Jong Richu is linked to the Dark Heaven." "And?" "As for Mu-myeong and Fire Staff... I'm uncertain. I apologize, I really don’t know." "Do you remember Master Gyeongdo’s disciple?" "Oh, yes." The memories were still vivid—about a year ago, I met a young warrior monk in a guesthouse in Henan, who introduced himself as Mu-myeong, Master Gyeongdo’s disciple. So the "Mu-myeong" Gyeongdo mentioned was indeed his disciple. Was he entrusting his disciple to Jeok Cheon-gang before he died? "But what about the Fire Staff? Are you referring to the monk's staff they carry?" Jeok Cheon-gang nodded. "That's right. However, the 'Fire Staff' Gyeongdo referred to is the Jade Fire Staff of Shaolin, a sacred relic." "Jade Fire Staff?" A memory surfaced from not long ago, when Jeok Cheon-gang and Gyeongdo shared laughter during their reunion. 'Who else could take on the role of abbot if not for you, even if you didn't want it?' 'The Jade Fire Staff. Entrusting such an artifact of immense authority from the thousand-year Shaolin to a foolish monk like me. They must be blind.' The staff Gyeongdo had pulled out that day was unusually short, with a glossy surface that emitted a subtle green hue. I had been puzzled about its significance, only to realize its importance upon hearing it was a sacred relic of Shaolin—I was quite taken aback. "But why was the Jade Fire Staff mentioned in the last words?" "Shortly before his death, Gyeongdo confided to me that he had entrusted the Jade Fire Staff to his disciple." As Jeok Cheon-gang spoke, a hint of furrow on his brow became apparent. "The Jade Fire Staff is not only a sacred relic of Shaolin but also a symbol that the abbot always carries." "Oh!" A realization struck me, echoing in a spontaneous gasp. A fleeting thought sprinted through my mind. The last words Gyeongdo uttered with his remaining strength, the reason Jeok Cheon-gang postponed avenging his dearest friend to head towards Shaolin— "The Jade Fire Staff!" "Yes." Jeok Cheon-gang's deep voice continued. "The true intention of the Dark Heaven isn't merely to cause Gyeongdo's death but to seize the Jade Fire Staff." This cleared everything up. It was now evident that not just Jong Richu but the Dark Heaven coveted the sacred relic of Shaolin. Gyeongdo, aware of this desire, used all his strength to communicate this through his final words. With the Jade Fire Staff no longer in Gyeongdo's possession, even a child could predict the Dark Heaven's next move. 'A bloody storm will strike Shaolin.' Recalling Jeok Cheon-gang's words to Lord Byeokryeok sent a chilling reverb through my mind. "Huff, huff." Thud, thud, thud! Ragged breaths and tireless strides. It was a wizened voice that halted the strides of a man sprinting along the mountain path. "It seems the young friend is in quite a hurry." The voice belonged to an elderly man with a long beard reaching down to his chest. His towering stature and neatly groomed hair gave him the appearance of a retired scholar. "The weather is pleasant. Don't you think it's better to walk and take in the scenery?" The middle-aged man's throat bobbed heavily. A voice struggled past his lips, unable to mask his tension. "Who are you?" "Just an old man out for a stroll. Hearing about Song Mountain's beauty, I came to see for myself." "A stroll?" The middle-aged man clenched his teeth and shouted. "Spare me your nonsense! You must be another wicked demon!" "Hmm?" With widened eyes, the old man let out a soft chuckle. "Such a fiery temperament in this young friend. But you're far better than the ones I met earlier. They were too preoccupied lying through their teeth." "Earlier... You mean...?" "Woodcutters, herb collectors—such an abundance of fools. Ah, the couple disguised for fertility prays were convincing. Even fooled this old man." "......!" "And so, all martial artists and civilians alike were slaughtered. It seemed far more convenient." The middle-aged man's body trembled as if struck by lightning. There was no mistake. His comrades, dispersed to deliver urgent news, had undoubtedly met their deaths. And soon enough, he would meet the same fate. 'Perhaps I should be thankful it wasn't a meaningless death.' As he found solace watching the messenger eagle soar across the distant plains, a sharp whistling sound ensued. With that piercing whine, a dark shadow enveloped the messenger eagle. The immense figure, three or four times larger by first glance, ended the aerial clash of the two birds quickly, to his despair. As the eagle plummeted with a final screech, blood trickled from between the middle-aged man's gritted teeth. "The Dark Heaven..." "Oh, you recognize us?" "Why wouldn't I, you detestable wretch!" "Most of the beggars from the Beggar Clan weren't aware. Judging by your martial prowess, I doubt you're from that underling sect... Yes, it's Silver Hall, isn't it?" The bearded old man raised the corners of his lips. "However, that 'detestable wretch' remark is unpleasant. What's your take on it?" "Daring to commit such acts, yet still..." Just as the man was about to shout, his reddened eyes bulging, the old man shook his head. "Not you." He pointed his bony finger over the middle-aged man's shoulder. "I was asking that friend there." "......!" Crunch! The middle-aged man couldn't turn his head. The world turned upside down, and his vision blurred. His final sensation was only one thing. 'How hot.' Whoosh. Thud. The charred, blackened corpse crumbled to the ground. Footsteps then crushed the skull of the scorched middle-aged man. "Hansu, you rascal, what dog-like deed have you gotten yourself into? Toying around with filth like this." The gruff voice belonged to another elder, well-built with a bold physique. The most peculiar red beard marked him. With the arrival of his long-time comrade, Hansu, the scholar-like elder, smiled faintly. "I was just about to call it a day. How's it going up top?" "Everyone's having a ball. Ah, the Jade Fire Staff is apparently with that disciple brat." "Oh, really? Then let's get going. Yeomho." The two exchanged sly smiles as they strolled leisurely. With each step, the screams from Shaolin grew closer.