Chapter 259

Dharma King Hong Dao.

He was the Abbot of Shaolin, known as the Mount Tai and Northern Dipper of the Murim¹, and one of the Ten Kings. He had breathed his last.

Here in Henan, of all places—at Shaolin’s doorstep, where the Star-Array Grand Banquet was being held.

“H-How could this happen?”

“Master Hong Dao!”

Sorrow and shock weighed upon everyone gathered there, but my gaze remained fixed on one person.

I spoke toward his back, which had gone rigid as a plaster statue.

“Old Master—no, Master.”

Jeok Cheongang, who had been looking down at Hong Dao’s corpse, turned his head.

“I’m going to Shaolin.”

His voice boiled like molten lava.

The blade-sharp aura pouring from the entire body of the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang, made it difficult to breathe and prickled my skin.

Only his eyes were cold and still.

He was clinging to the last thread of his reason, suppressing the urge to hunt Jongni Chu down and tear him apart this instant.

What could possibly take precedence over avenging his dearest friend?

“Was that Master Hong Dao’s final wish?”

“Later. Every moment counts right now.”

Just as Jeok Cheongang finished speaking, dozens of presences rapidly approached from the distance. At the head of the group, the Thunderbolt Saber King stared wide-eyed at the scene before him.

“H-Hong Dao!”

“There’s no time to be shocked. Listen carefully.”

Jeok Cheongang continued without pause.

“I’m heading straight to Shaolin. Inform everyone and gather them together. Not a single moment can be wasted.”

“Do you intend to cast a net over heaven and earth to capture Jongni Chu?”

“The opposite.”

“What?”

“The Myriad-Mile Pursuit² is tracking him, but he is certain to fail. Once everyone is assembled, bring them straight to Shaolin.”

“Did you say Shaolin?”

“Yes.”

Jeok Cheongang nodded gravely.

“If Hong Dao’s final words are true… a storm of blood will soon descend upon Shaolin. It may have already begun.”

“……!”

The shocking declaration plunged everyone into silence. Even the Thunderbolt Saber King stood there gaping, and I was no different.

Shaolin Temple?

What kind of place was Shaolin Temple?

It was a temple and martial sect of such stature that it was only natural to call it the Mount Tai and Northern Dipper of the Murim. Shaolin had stood for a thousand years.

Some even claimed that the Murim itself had begun with the arrival of Bodhidharma.³

It was the holy ground of Buddhism and the central seat of martial arts. Even if Shaolin’s power waned, its deep-rooted history and the respect of the people remained unshaken.

And now a storm of blood was going to descend upon Shaolin Temple.

“W-What do you mean? Hong Dao’s final words? And who would dare to—”

“Hah!”

Kwoooong!

Jeok Cheongang’s roar jolted everyone back to their senses. The Thunderbolt Saber King stopped rambling and clamped his mouth shut.

“Dark Heaven. They’ve begun to move. If this old man’s guess is correct, we’ll eventually see Jongni Chu—that bastard who deserves to be torn apart—in Shaolin as well.”

“Dark Heaven…!”

Several leaders, including the Thunderbolt Saber King, opened their eyes wide. Judging by their reactions, they had clearly received at least some warning already.

“Do you understand now why every moment counts?”

Jeok Cheongang turned away from the Thunderbolt Saber King and swept his deeply sunken gaze across the gathering.

“Do exactly as I have said. That is Hong Dao’s final will.”

There was no time left to waste. Jeok Cheongang and I exchanged a glance, unleashed our movement techniques, and left the area simultaneously.

Whoooosh!

As I raced through the fierce wind, something cold touched my cheek.

The sky was clear and cloudless. There was no sign of rain.

But the eyes of someone running after losing a friend and postponing his revenge must have been brimming with tears.

No. It’s rainwater.

I’ll call it rainwater.

Damn it.

I clenched my teeth as I thought of Jongni Chu.

I have a feeling today is going to be a long day.

Shrill whistles pierced the air.

“Find the culprit!”

“He may still be hiding nearby!”

“Everyone, remain calm! Nothing is going to happen!”

The Murim Alliance buzzed like a kicked hornet’s nest.

The countless martial artists attending the Star-Array Grand Banquet were scouring the surrounding area for Jongni Chu with fire in their eyes, while anxious commoners followed the orders of those directing them.

They’re wasting their time.

They still did not know that Jongni Chu had already fled far away—or that Dharma King Hong Dao was dead.

For a moment, I considered telling them, but quickly dismissed the thought.

It would only add to the confusion.

Besides, I had no time to seek out every leader and explain what had happened. It was only a matter of time before they found out for themselves.

Right now, keeping pace with Jeok Cheongang took everything I had.

Fortunately, Shaolin Temple isn’t far.

That was our one piece of good fortune. After I passed the preliminary competition, the carriage ride from Mount Song to the Murim Alliance had taken roughly three shichen.⁴ At the speed we were traveling with our movement techniques, we could shorten the journey dramatically.

Whoooosh!

After racing like the wind for some time, the bustling crowds and tightly packed buildings fell away, giving way to fields and rice paddies.

As we crossed the broad plain, Jeok Cheongang, who had led the way in silence the entire time, suddenly spoke.

“Jongni Chu. Dark Heaven. Unnamed. Buddhist Staff.”

Four words uttered in a hoarse voice.

To anyone unaware of the circumstances, they would have sounded like a random list. I understood immediately.

They were the answer I had been waiting for.

“Were those Master Hong Dao’s final words?”

“Yes. Even that took every last bit of strength he had.”

“……”

“It would not have been strange if his breath had already stopped. He held on only to deliver those words to me.”

Jeok Cheongang’s voice trembled faintly, then settled again.

“What do you think?”

“It’s as you suspected, Old Master.”

“It is only a suspicion, not a certainty. Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

“The first two words seem to mean that Jongni Chu belongs to Dark Heaven. That hardly needs explaining.”

“And?”

“Unnamed and the Buddhist Staff… I’m not sure. Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember Hong Dao’s Disciple?”

“Oh, of course.”

The memory of our meeting a year ago remained vivid.

The young warrior monk I had met at an inn in Henan had been Dharma King Hong Dao’s Disciple. He had introduced himself as Unnamed.

So that was the Unnamed Hong Dao meant.

Had Hong Dao used his final moments to ask Jeok Cheongang to look after his Disciple?

“But what’s this Buddhist Staff? Do you mean the kind of staff monks carry around?”

Jeok Cheongang nodded.

“Yes. But the Buddhist Staff Hong Dao meant was the Green Jade Buddha Staff, Shaolin’s sacred treasure.”

“The Green Jade Buddha Staff?”

A scene suddenly came to mind from the day Jeok Cheongang and Hong Dao had reunited after a long time and chatted with laughter.

What choice did they have? They were the ones who forced the Abbot’s seat on someone who said he didn’t want it.

The Green Jade Buddha Staff. To entrust a sacred treasure of thousand-year-old Shaolin—one with such immense authority—to a damn monk like this… They must all have been completely blind.

The staff Hong Dao had taken from his robes that day had been absurdly short, its smooth surface gleaming with a faint green light.

I had wondered what it was, and the revelation that it was Shaolin’s sacred treasure had surprised me.

“But why would the Green Jade Buddha Staff be part of his final words?”

“Not long before his death, Hong Dao told me he had entrusted the Green Jade Buddha Staff to his Disciple.”

I frowned slightly, and Jeok Cheongang continued.

“The Green Jade Buddha Staff is not only Shaolin’s sacred treasure. It is also the symbol of office that the Abbot always carries.”

“Ah!”

The exclamation escaped me before I could stop it. A realization flashed through my mind.

Hong Dao’s final words, wrung from him with the last of his strength.

The reason Jeok Cheongang had turned toward Shaolin, postponing even the revenge for his dearest friend.

“The Green Jade Buddha Staff!”

“Exactly.”

Jeok Cheongang’s low voice continued.

“Dark Heaven’s true objective is not Hong Dao’s death. It is the seizure of the Green Jade Buddha Staff.”

Now everything was clear.

Jongni Chu—or rather, Dark Heaven—clearly wanted Shaolin’s sacred treasure.

Hong Dao had squeezed out the last of his strength to leave those final words and reveal that fact.

Now that Dark Heaven knew the Green Jade Buddha Staff was not in Hong Dao’s possession, even a three-year-old could tell where they would go next.

A storm of blood will descend upon Shaolin.

As I recalled Jeok Cheongang’s warning to the Thunderbolt Saber King, my thoughts went cold.

“Huff, hoo…”

Tap-tap-tap-tap!

Ragged breaths. Feet pounding without pause.

An aged voice brought the middle-aged man racing along the mountain path to a halt.

“You seem to have urgent business, young friend.”

The speaker was an old man with a beard that hung to his chest.

Tall, with his hair neatly arranged, he looked at first glance like a retired scholar.

“The weather is lovely. Why not slow down and enjoy the scenery?”

The middle-aged man’s throat bobbed heavily.

His voice emerged taut with tension.

“Who are you?”

“Just an old man out for a stroll. I heard the scenery on Mount Song was splendid, so I came to pass the time.”

“Pass the time?”

The middle-aged man shouted through clenched teeth.

“Enough bullshit! You must be another vile fiend!”

“Hm?”

The old man’s eyes widened before he let out a quiet laugh.

“You have quite a fiery temper, young friend. Still, you’re much better than the people I met earlier. They were far too busy lying.”

“You met people earlier… Don’t tell me?”

“A woodcutter, an herb gatherer. Why are there so many kinds of gatherers around here? Ah, the pair who disguised themselves as husband and wife to pray for a child were at least convincing. I almost fell for them myself.”

“……!”

“So I killed every last one of them, martial artists and commoners alike. It seemed much easier that way.”

The middle-aged man trembled as if struck by lightning.

There could be no doubt. His companions, who had scattered in every direction to deliver the urgent report, were already dead.

He would probably suffer the same fate soon.

At least I should be grateful that my death will not be meaningless.

Those on the ground had been caught in the net.

The sky was another matter.

He found a sliver of comfort in the sight of a messenger eagle flying powerfully across the distant plain.

Screeeeech!

A strange, piercing cry rang out as something black swooped down upon the messenger eagle.

It was three or four times larger at a glance. The battle between the two birds that collided in midair ended far too quickly to leave any hope.

Kreeee!

The messenger eagle plummeted with a final shriek. Blood seeped between the middle-aged man’s tightly clenched teeth.

“Dark Heaven…”

“Oh? You know us?”

“How could I not? You old bastard who has outraged heaven and man!”

“Most of the Beggars’ Sect beggars knew nothing about us. Your martial arts are too respectable for you to be Lower District Sect riffraff… Ah, that’s it. You’re from the Hidden Shadow Pavilion.”

The old man stroked his beard and raised the corners of his mouth.

“But I find that ‘outraged heaven and man’ remark rather unpleasant. What do you think?”

“You dare do something like this and still—”

The middle-aged man opened his bloodshot eyes wide and was about to shout when the old man shook his head.

“No, not you.”

He raised one withered finger and pointed over the middle-aged man’s shoulder.

“I was asking that fellow.”

“……!”

Crack!

The middle-aged man could not turn his head.

Heaven and earth flipped, and his vision shook.

Only one sensation remained at the end.

Hot.

Fwoosh. Thud.

His charred corpse crumpled.

A foot came down upon the middle-aged man’s head, crushing the lump of charcoal beneath it.

“Han Su, you bastard. What kind of bullshit are you pulling? Wasting your time playing with trash like this.”

The rough voice belonged to a thickset old man. His beard had grown wild and, strangely enough, was red.

At the appearance of an old friend who had been with him for decades, the old man who looked like a scholar smiled faintly.

“I was just about to wrap things up and leave. How are things up the mountain?”

“They’re busy having their fun. Oh, apparently that Disciple of his has the Green Jade Buddha Staff.”

“Is that so? Then let’s go together, Flame Tiger.”

The two exchanged faint smiles and began walking at a leisurely pace.

With each step, the screams coming from Shaolin Temple drew closer.