Returning to the Dark Moon
Chapter 16. Become My Disciple
If there's one lesson I've learned living as a beggar, it's that you can't trust people.
As expected, Geolshin Wangcho's theory on humanity racked up another victory today.
Just look at that Unorthodox Faction vermin, sprawled out on the ground even though I practically spoon-fed him the opportunity.
Come to think of it, Hwapyeong's been like that since he was a kid.
The ranks in the martial world are simply divided into third-rate, second-rate, first-rate, peak, and transcendent.
Above that are realms like Enlightenment, the Profound Realm, and the Realm of Life and Death, but since those are levels for Elders of the great sects and above, the third-rate riffraff of the martial world didn't really count them.
An Elder from one of the Nine Great Sects was practically revered as an immortal by the common folk.
This might be because the Nine Great Sects and One Union had particularly strong religious undertones.
Hwapyeong isn't actually weak.
In terms of martial skill alone, he's at the peak level, a guy who can more than hold his own in the martial world.
But it's just his bad luck that this is the world-renowned Shaolin.
To be honest, I felt more pity for him than anything.
I taught him for several weeks, yet he lost this miserably.
This was the guidance of the former greatest under heaven.
It would be stranger if it didn't have an effect, yet that unfathomable event was happening right before my eyes.
Even Beomcheon hadn't expected this, it seemed.
He turned to me and said,
“Your companion… hmm. Tell him to keep up the hard work.”
Just eliciting this reaction from Beomcheon made Hwapyeong's struggle meaningful.
Because it's quite rare for that guy to be genuinely flustered.
The reason virtuous high monks can maintain a serene smile even in the face of the unusual is related to the mind-and-body-stabilizing effect of their Buddhist power.
This was even more true for the old monks of Shaolin Temple.
Anyway, the plan went a little sideways.
I wanted to let him feel a sense of accomplishment.
At this rate, I don't have a choice but to take second place on purpose?
This is definitely not because I don't think I can beat Ilgyeokmujeok.
With the corners of my mouth turned down, I watched Hwapyeong leave the dueling stage.
For some reason, Ilgyeokmujeok was approaching him.
‘Why on earth?’
Nothing was going right.
They say life is full of ups and downs, but isn't this a bit much?
Hwapyeong, having left the dueling stage for a secluded spot, kicked a tree.
It hurt like hell. As he clutched his foot and whimpered, his situation seemed so pathetic.
‘I tried my best, too.’
The master of the Haomun primarily trained in hand techniques.
Naturally, Hwapyeong, his nominal disciple, had also learned the ultimate art known as Nanhwa Bulyeongsu.
But the Haomun was, after all, a major sect of the Unorthodox Faction.
To the members of the Orthodox Faction, they were people to be looked down upon.
For him to show off by using Nanhwa Bulyeongsu in that situation…
…it would be a novel method of suicide, one that might as well be setting fire to the gates of Shaolin.
The young Hwapyeong didn't want to die yet.
No matter how he thought about it, the sword didn't suit him.
No, it seemed as if martial arts itself disliked this poor gambler.
His dream, long ago, was ridiculously to become the greatest under heaven.
A martial god who could slash through anything, no matter how distant, with the legendary Shim-eogeom.
To command a sword with one's mind.
How beautiful is that?
But such a vain hope had long since vanished.
Unfortunately, he was no dunce, but he was no genius either.
Suddenly, he heard a crackling sound and quickly turned his head.
There was nothing there.
On a hunch, he looked down and saw a little girl. The arrogant look in her eyes suited her quite well. But she was insanely cute. The kind that made you want to pinch her cheeks.
“You're having irreverent thoughts.”
Her tone wasn't so cute.
The old geezers of the Haomun spoke in that exact tone.
The girl approached, her black hair swaying.
Hwapyeong also remembered the superhuman strength she had displayed on the dueling stage.
But how could a child this young be wandering around alone?
Even though he was a martial artist of the Unorthodox Faction, he was the type to be kind to children and the elderly.
“Little one, where are your parents?”
The girl tilted her head.
“Are you not afraid of me?”
It seemed that, contrary to her appearance, she had already reached the age of Jihak (15 years old).
That was the only explanation.
After all, that's the age when everyone carries a black dragon in their heart.
He just hoped she didn't spend her nights kicking her blankets around.
“Oh, is that so? You're so scary, so hurry back to your parents.
If you don't go now, a tiger will come and get you….. Gaaah!”
He suddenly screamed because the girl, who had approached in an instant, was choking him with lightning erupting from both her hands.
Fortunately, the girl sighed and quickly removed her hands from his neck.
He had almost died for real.
He was reminded anew that this child was a master who had easily defeated Shaolin's Eighteen Arhats.
While Hwapyeong was coughing and sputtering, the Dark Moon Society's Ilgyeokmujeok asked him,
“Have you ever learned Lightning Ki Art?”
“N-No, I haven't!”
Strange. That can't be right.
Ilgyeokmujeok tilted her head once more.
Hwapyeong flinched at the movement and shrank back.
“Were you ever struck by lightning…
No. Forget what I just said.”
Ilgyeokmujeok, who seemed to be pondering something for a moment, pointed at Hwapyeong with her small index finger and said,
“You, become my disciple.”
The quarterfinals of the tournament.
I stood with my wooden sword hanging loosely, looking at the judge.
My opponent, a Shaolin monk, was sitting with his head bowed, completely limp.
He wouldn't accept the result and kept coming at me, so subduing him took quite a while.
He was one of the Shaolin Eighteen Arhats and had a strong fighting spirit.
He wasn't one of the ones I taught.
In the first place, most of the ones who received my training didn't even participate in the tournament.
Being one of the Eighteen Arhats, his level was certainly different.
My match was actually faster than Ilgyeokmujeok's, which was why the reason she followed Hwapyeong was still a complete mystery.
She wouldn't kill him, would she?
I gave a light wave to the cheering gamblers and stepped back onto the dais.
Ilgyeokmujeok's match was about to begin.
Her opponent was the second-generation disciple who had defeated Hwapyeong.
The moniker Ilgyeokmujeok was given to her because she literally finished her opponents in a single strike.
Tamrang, the peerless master of leg techniques.
Few among the masters of that era could recognize her face.
That was because she had reverted to a child's form through Banrohwandong.
The judge's resonant voice announcing the start of the match echoed across the training yard.
In an instant, a fierce gust of wind pressure shot up to the dais.
I strained to keep my chair from being blown away and narrowed my eyes.
I hadn't been able to see the match properly myself.
But the Shaolin Elders seemed to have seen something with their keen eyes and couldn't hide their solemn expressions.
“Hoh, could she be an old master who has undergone Banrohwandong?”
“Amitabha, that benefactor's Lightning Ki Art feels somehow familiar.
I believe we must ask the former generation.”
No matter how strong I was in my past life, the reality is that I'm weaker than those bald-heads over there right now.
Their achievement in eye techniques is bound to be higher than mine.
The result of the match was, as expected, a victory for Ilgyeokmujeok, who stomped on the Shaolin monk's head.
She didn't seem to have any intention of hiding her identity, freely emitting lightning from her entire body.
Who would see that as a child?
It's only natural to see her as an old monster who has undergone Banrohwandong.
A silence fell over the dueling stage once more.
It seemed even the common folk were realizing that this young girl was no mere member of the younger generation.
That was because they hadn't seen anything.
Ilgyeokmujeok's move was so fast that, from the commoners' perspective, the match must have ended in the blink of an eye.
If she's going to act like Ilgyeokmujeok, then I too, must end my match in a single strike.
I twirled my wooden sword and stepped forward for my match.
My opponent was a familiar face. The giant Shaolin monk who had thrown a punch at me.
He was also the disciple with the deepest attainment.
It seemed he had a natural talent for external arts.
Beomgak stood with his arms hanging loosely.
As I activated the Sun and Moon Heavenly Art, a slightly stinging sensation swirled around my eyes, and I began to see the internal energy flowing through his body.
Judging by the path of his ki circulation, it's a right-handed fist technique.
The ultimate technique, known as Baekbosingwon, which could strike an opponent from a great distance.
Soon, a sound like a cannonball being fired erupted from his body.
I immediately raised sword ki from my wooden sword and cleaved the incoming fist projection in two, along with the star clusters of the Sun and Moon Heavenly Art, which I hadn't manifested until now.
The true value of the Seongwol Sword Ki lies in toying with the opponent.
It naturally obstructs their vision, and since each and every one of the scattering star clusters is sword ki, it could even be used as an offensive move.
Thaat!
As I leaped off the lapis lazuli tiles, Beomgak's innocent face came into view.
How should I pierce that solid body?
A first-generation disciple should be clad in Protective Ki.
Beomgak clenched his fist and slightly twisted his waist.
It was the stance of the Arhat Fist.
He intended to shatter my sword move head-on.
He was also thinking that he wouldn't mind if his fist was pushed back by my sword move.
He was a guy who took pride in his tough body to begin with.
In truth, my sword force was still insufficient to pierce his body.
But after all he's seen of me, does he still not understand?
I gathered the surrounding Seongwol Sword Ki back into the iron sword.
Woooong—
The old iron sword let out a resonant cry.
With a faint smirk, I brought the sword down toward his shoulder.
A graceful half-moon was drawn. Simultaneously, his heavy fist and my iron sword collided, and both the sword and the fist shook wildly.
But only for an instant.
Beomgak's fist, which seemed to hold immense power, was thrown back with the sound of something bursting, and my sword had already dug into his shoulder, creating a long gash.
Countless subtleties were mixed into that simple-looking sword move.
Traces that no master could fail to recognize.
From the Internal Family Heavy Hand Technique that bypassed his Protective Ki, to the Four Ounces Deflecting a Thousand Pounds that used a small force to overcome a great one, and even the Grafting Pear Blossoms onto a Plum Tree that redirected the opponent's power to beguile them.
In the first place, the Shaolin monks, who had gorged themselves on elixirs, had more internal energy than I did.
But when has a fight ever been decided by internal energy alone?
As I stepped down from the dueling stage, I looked at Ilgyeokmujeok. The ghost of the past, Tamrang of the Dark Moon Society. What remained in those dark eyes?
The final match of the tournament is tomorrow. Since getting the Soul-Summoning Pill was now a sure thing, I felt at ease.
Shaolin's guest quarters were packed to the rafters because of the tournament.
Even if it was an informal event held only at Shaolin, it was still a tournament hosted by the Shaolin Temple itself.
It was only natural that martial artists from the Henan region, not to mention Dengfeng County where Shaolin was located, would flock here.
That was why, with the finals approaching, Ilgyeokmujeok and I were moved to the Eight Great Guardians' Court, right beside the abbot's chambers.
I sat at a wooden table inside the building, waiting for someone.
As I sat with my chin propped in my hand, I had a desperate craving for alcohol, but unfortunately, finding liquor in a temple was impossible.
Bored, I tapped on the table while I waited.
Tap. Tap. Tap
Soon, with a creak, the door to the building opened, and a young girl entered.
“I’ll sit.”
“By whose permission?”
It was Ilgyeokmujeok.
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