Chapter 231

“Amitabha. Excuse me, but may I pass through for a moment?”

The person who appeared alongside that timid voice was a young monk wearing a shabby robe.

Holding a large strand of prayer beads in one hand, he bowed repeatedly as he squeezed his way between the dark-path swordsmen.

“Then, please excuse me. Amitabha. Amitabha…”

“Uh-oh. Look at this.”

“Uhhh?”

The swordsmen were bewildered by the monk’s fearless behavior, which had come out of nowhere.

Several of them hurriedly pulled themselves together and tried to stop him, only to be pushed aside helplessly.

“W-what the hell is this?”

“Gasp. Where does he get that kind of strength…?”

Skrrt! Thump!

It made no difference when they charged him. No one could stop him.

I realized that an incredible amount of muscle was hidden beneath the monk’s old, baggy robes.

Massive forearms and bulging veins. At first glance, he looked like a man of average build, but those were compact, combat-ready muscles.

Damn, look at those muscles. That’s insane.

At that point, he looked like he should be wearing Under Armour instead of a monk’s robe.

While I admired him in silence, the monk passed through the dozens of dark-path swordsmen and wiped the sweat from his brow.

His face was filled with tension.

“Phew…”

The hulking man wasn’t going to stand there and watch.

His face had flushed red, and his eyebrows kept twitching.

I waved at him as he stared back and forth between the monk and me, clearly debating what to do.

“Hey, take your time. I’ll wait.”

“…How considerate of you.”

Crack.

The hulking man ground his teeth as he stepped in front of the monk.

“Who are you?”

“This poor monk is…”

“Never mind.”

His sharp gaze swept over the monk from head to toe.

“You’re a monk?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t even have a precept seal on your forehead.”

A bead of sweat ran down the monk’s forehead.

“My practice is still too shallow, so I have yet to receive one.”

“Practice, huh? What’s your Dharma name?”

“I have not received one of those, either.”

“So you’re a monk with neither a precept seal nor a Dharma name…”

The hulking man muttered under his breath, then gave a derisive laugh and asked his subordinates,

“Judging by his appearance, he’s clearly one of us. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir!”

“He looks like he’d be good at the job. We should take him in as the youngest member.”

“Right?”

The hulking man laughed loudly, then suddenly hardened his expression and glared at the monk.

“Where did you come from?”

“…I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“I know all about you, you bastard. I asked where you came from. The Poison Dragon Sect? Or the Black Blood Sect?”

“T-the Poison Dragon Sect and the Black Blood Sect? This poor monk is from Shaolin.”

“What? Shaolin? Shaolin Temple on Mount Song?”

“Yes.”

Shaolin Temple?

This situation was getting interesting.

Even Jeok Cheongang, who had been ignoring everything behind him, turned around to watch.

“Old Master, he says he’s from Shaolin Temple.”

“Be quiet. I’m thinking about how to straighten out this rude brat of yours.”

“…”

That wasn’t good news.

My expression probably looked a lot like the monk’s.

His face had darkened as he stared at the hulking man, who burst into booming laughter.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Shaolin Temple? You say you’re from Shaolin Temple?”

“B-benefactor, why are you laughing?”

“Benefactor, my ass. What mangy dog bone did you crawl out from under to run your mouth in front of me?”

Boom!

The hulking man’s fist shattered a solid section of the wall.

Unlike his subordinates, who were Third Rate at best, he possessed enough martial prowess to pass himself off as a Peak master wherever he went.

Though he had barely entered the realm.

“You little bastard… You think our Dongcheon Sect is a joke? Do I look that stupid to you?”

“Benefactor, you appear agitated. Please calm down. Settle your heart.”

“Calm down, my ass!”

Boom!

The remaining rubble came crashing down.

The innkeeper, who was watching the situation from behind, had probably felt his heart collapse along with it.

“You have neither the precept seal that should obviously be stamped on your forehead nor a Dharma name, and you look like a fine dark-path thug, yet you claim to be a monk? You little shit. You might as well say that the Abbot of Shaolin is your master!”

“Gasp. How did you know?”

The young monk opened his eyes wide in surprise.

That was the last straw for the hulking man’s patience.

“You little son of a—!”

Whoosh!

A mace covered in sharp steel spikes shot toward the monk. It traced a clean, practiced arc, the attack of an experienced First Rate master.

The monk sucked in a startled breath and raised the prayer beads in his hand.

At that instant, screams erupted from the crowd watching the situation outside the inn.

“Eek!”

“It’s dangerous!”

But what they feared did not happen.

Clang!

With a sharp metallic ring, something came raining down.

The small, pointed objects were, astonishingly, the steel spikes that had been protruding from the mace.

“…Huh?”

The hulking man stared at his mace in confusion.

Then the young monk shouted in a terrified voice,

“Benefactor, you started this!”

“W-wait a minute!”

But the situation was already moving in an unexpected direction.

Rattle-rattle-rattle!

The prayer beads, large enough to look almost absurd, wrapped around the monk’s entire arm.

A strangely familiar sheen gleamed from the beads threaded between his fingers.

Wait a second. Could that be…

Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron?

The instant that realization flashed through my mind, a terrifying sound rang out.

Crack! Crunch!

The single punch that shattered the mace drove straight into the hulking man’s side.

“Guh!”

Blood poured from his mouth, which had fallen open from the pain.

“W-wait a minute!”

The hulking man cried out desperately, but it was a futile shout that never reached his opponent.

The young monk, his face already deathly pale, squeezed his eyes shut and shouted,

“Amitabha!”

Thud!

“Namu!”

Crack!

“Avalokiteshvara!”

Crunch!

“Amitabha, Amitabha, Amitabhaaa!”

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!

He hit him, broke him, then struck the places he had already hit again.

Every time the gleaming prayer beads shot forward, blood sprayed into the air.

Watching the scene, I muttered like I was groaning in pain.

“Oh, shit…”

That was the strongest reaction I could manage.

I had expected the monk to win from the moment he appeared, but I had never imagined he would be this insane.

“T-that…”

Jeok Cheongang had risen from his seat without me noticing. His mouth hung open.

“The Arhat Fist!”

“The Arhats? You mean Shaolin’s Hundred and Eight Arhats?”

“Y-yes. That is definitely Shaolin martial arts.”

“…That?”

I turned my head again.

The young monk’s eyes were now half-rolled back as he delivered a final finishing blow to the fallen hulking man.

“Gate, gate, paragateeek!”

Bam-bam-bam!

The scene was covered in brutal violence and blood. I wiped the blood from my cheek and barely managed to speak.

“…Old Master.”

“Speak.”

“Is that really Shaolin martial arts?”

“…Technically.”

“Then why don’t I feel even a trace of the Buddha’s compassion or anything like that?”

After a brief pause, Jeok Cheongang gave a short answer.

“At least he didn’t kill him.”

“…”

At this point, killing him seemed like it might actually be kinder.

But I had to swallow those words before they reached my throat.

Clink, clink.

The prayer beads swung and rattled with every step.

A robe drenched in blood and a pair of unsteady eyes approached me.

“Um, excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“Forgive me, but may I ask your name, benefactor?”

“W-why?”

My voice trembled before I could stop it.

The young murderer—no, monk—approached me with timid steps.

“Could you perhaps be someone from the Jin family…?”

“I’m sorry. You have me confused with someone else.”

“That is Jin Taekyung.”

Jeok Cheongang interrupted, and I immediately changed my answer.

“That’s right. I was just joking around. I didn’t offend you, did I?”

“Amitabha. How could I be offended?”

Fortunately, he didn’t seem upset.

Unlike me, who kept glancing uneasily at the prayer beads, he wore a joyful smile around his mouth.

If there hadn’t been a drop of blood splashed beneath his chin, I might have thought, So this is the smile of a Buddha.

“But why were you looking for me?”

“This poor monk was ordered to bring the Master of Morning Star.”

The master of what?

Before I could ask again, Jeok Cheongang abruptly spoke.

“Do you know Hong Dao?”

“Yes. He is my master.”

“…Hah. That damned monk is as uncanny as ever. He can still see a thousand li without leaving his seat.”

“Then you must be the Fire King, Great Hero Jeok Cheongang.”

“Did your master tell you that, too?”

The young monk silently lowered his head, and Jeok Cheongang let out a quiet laugh.

“Then there’s no need for a long explanation. Lead us to Hong Dao.”

“Yes.”

As the Yama disguised as a monk took the lead, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

While everyone was distracted by the commotion, I asked Jeok Cheongang in a low voice,

“Old Master, who is Hong Dao?”

“The Abbot of Shaolin.”

That alone was surprising, but Jeok Cheongang wasn’t finished.

“In the Murim, they call him the Dharma King.”

“…”

Unnamed.

That was the Dharma name of the young monk who introduced himself as the Disciple of Dharma King Hong Dao.

Though, technically, it could hardly be called a Dharma name.

The word itself meant that he had no name at all.

“He’s still the same even in his old age. To give his Disciple a Dharma name like that…”

When Jeok Cheongang clicked his tongue, Unnamed gave an embarrassed smile.

“My master gave it to me, so it is both my name and my Dharma name.”

“From what this old man can tell, you don’t seem to be a formally accepted Disciple. You have no regrets about that?”

“Isn’t it all Heaven’s will?”

Unnamed pointed toward the sky and smiled brightly.

Jeok Cheongang shook his head.

“Even when he chooses a Disciple, he really… What should I say?”

After a brief hesitation, Jeok Cheongang continued,

“He chose a peculiar one.”

“Hehe. Amitabha. Thank you.”

“…”

“…”

Don’t laugh. That wasn’t a compliment. And stop saying Amitabha.

Even now, whenever I closed my eyes, I could vividly see Unnamed covered in blood.

With his smiling face, he looked no different from a living Buddha. But whenever he slipped the beads between his fingers, he turned a ten-meter radius into a living hell.

This guy is the scariest of them all.

From what I had heard during the half day we’d traveled together, he was so naturally introverted that once he snapped, he couldn’t control himself.

Jeok Cheongang tilted his head several times before giving a cursory nod.

But I had a different opinion.

I even knew his exact diagnosis.

Anger-management disorder.

That made him a walking time bomb.

That was also why I had been trying to travel behind Unnamed whenever possible.

A Peak master with anger-management disorder could strangle me with those Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron prayer beads.

No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be strangled with prayer beads…

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to get from Luoyang to Mount Song.

The two places were geographically close, and the roads had been well maintained because so many pilgrims visited Shaolin Temple.

As we reached the foot of Mount Song, wooden buildings began to appear in the distance.

“Have we arrived?”

Jeok Cheongang shook his head at my question.

“Not yet. We have to climb halfway up Shaoshi Peak. Visitors without a specific purpose are only allowed to remain at the Guest Reception Hall.”

“You know a lot about this place. Have you come here often?”

“I’ve heard plenty about it.”

“Oh.”

Well, if the Abbot of Shaolin was his friend, that much was probably only natural.

Jeok Cheongang dismounted and began climbing Shaoshi Peak. After a moment, he spoke.

“That lazy habit of yours hasn’t changed. Do you still sleep five shichen a day?”¹

The next moment, an unexpected answer came from a broad, flat rock far above us.

It was a presence only a master of Jeok Cheongang’s caliber could have sensed.

“Hmm. Five shichen. There was a time when I could sleep that long.”

The voice sounded like the tolling of a bell in an ancient temple.

It was quiet but weighty, carrying a deep resonance.

“Being the Abbot of Shaolin is a heavy responsibility. I can’t sleep as much as I used to.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. It’s a sense of responsibility that a carefree Fire Gate Sect Leader like you could never understand.”

Jeok Cheongang and Hong Dao spoke as casually as friends who had seen each other only yesterday.

“So how many shichen do you sleep?”

“Well, that is…”

Whoosh.

A black silhouette slowly descended from the broad, flat rock several dozen meters above us.

Very slowly, stepping on empty air as though it were solid ground, Dharma King Hong Dao landed and smiled like a child.

“I can only sleep about four shichen.”

“You lazy bastard.”

A smile appeared at the corners of Fire King Jeok Cheongang’s mouth.