The Return of the Dark Moon
Chapter 21. The Lotus Sutra
—Ah, I'm telling you, it's true. There's a place called the Peach Blossom Spring, I tell you! Ahem, you don't believe me? Baek Cheon, my friend, I didn't take you for such a person. I'm very disappointed. Are you ignoring the words of this invincible one?
From the Lotus Sutra, Martial World Edition.
My consciousness sank and resurfaced, over and over.
It was a seclusion so long that I could no longer properly distinguish day from night.
I was sure I had started my work when the sun rose, but countless times, it would be evening just a short while later.
Rebuilding my Dharmic power from its very foundation, along with the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Art, was no easy task, even for a Heavenly Martial Body.
It was the same just now.
Had it been a day since I completed the new Muscle-Tendon CTransformation Art?
I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, the stars had risen in the night sky, creating a beautiful vista.
Originally, I had planned to leave only after reaching complete mastery.
But I had a premonition that it would be impossible.
The auras I sensed outside were far from ordinary.
Is this the aura of supernatural monstrosities?
I can also sense the distinct plum blossom fragrance of the Mount Hua Sect's internal arts.
What in the world could have happened?
Did the Peach Blossom Spring finally invade Shaolin?
I lifted my body, which felt as heavy as a thousand catties.
It was as if all the meridians and acupoints in my body had hardened solid.
This was because it was a divine art, completely different from the original Muscle-Tendon Transformation Art.
A stiffness ran through me as I moved my body for the first time in a long while.
I quickly attuned my senses and stepped outside, only to stare blankly at Mount Song.
The entirety of Mount Song was engulfed in a fiery maelstrom.
Shaolin Temple itself, thankfully, seemed to be in a better state, perhaps because its warrior monks were protecting it.
It was in far better shape than the Shaolin of my past life.
After all, the very site of my final battle with the Society Lord had been Shaoshi Peak on Mount Song.
In the sky, a dragon with the head of a chicken was clashing with Beomcheon, his yellow kasaya fluttering in the wind.
[Sit.]
At Beomcheon's single word, the chicken-dragon that had been floating in the sky plummeted.
For now, I had no intention of joining the battle between those lunatics.
Supernatural monstrosities had invaded the Shaolin grounds.
The first and second-generation disciples stood against them.
The younger disciples were being evacuated by the third-generation disciples and Shaolin's attendants, while among the pilgrims in the Guest Hall, a few martial artists were protecting the common folk.
Because this is Shaolin.
It was only natural.
I could see Hwapyeong among the martial artists protecting the commoners; at least he was pulling his weight.
[MISSING]
At a screeching sound, Kiii—I turned my head to see a bird with the face of a dog standing stiffly in front of the Bodhidharma Cave.
A dog-bird, for short.
It seemed no one was guarding the Bodhidharma Cave, probably because it was some distance from the main temple.
I stepped forward.
With the rustle of dry leaves, the dog-bird under my foot exploded into gore.
The Beggars' Sect's Ten Thousand Li Chasing Wind Movement Technique.
Killing such a low-level monstrosity wasn't particularly difficult.
Normally, no matter how small the monstrosity, one must always clean up the remains after killing it.
But with no time for that now, I immediately descended from the Bodhidharma Cave.
As I descended the steps from the Bodhidharma Cave for the first time in two months, the Pagoda Forest came into view.
Strangely, the monstrosities couldn't seem to enter it; they were trembling and pissing themselves in fear.
For a moment, I was seized by a powerful desire and reached a hand toward the Pagoda Forest.
Instantly, Dharmic power flowed from the middle dantian near my heart and jolted my mind.
Only then did I come to my senses.
I shook my head hard and looked at the Pagoda Forest anew.
It is said that an ancient monstrosity is sealed within Shaolin's Pagoda Forest.
It must have taken advantage of the chaos engulfing the temple to try and tempt me.
In terms of sheer level, my current upper dantian was that of a peerless master.
Even after regressing, the attainments of my upper dantian hadn't changed much.
The only difference was that my physical condition placed restrictions on what I could do.
The fact that it could bewitch even me meant that most masters would have been utterly helpless, forced to release the monstrosity's seal.
As a temporary measure, I carved a powerful demonic aura into one of the stone pagodas.
My intent was one of profound hatred and rage.
The people of the martial world despise demonic arts, so this should be enough to keep them from approaching.
As I forced the demonic aura into the stone pagoda, my right hand began to tremble.
Demonic aura, much like Dharmic power, must be cultivated alongside its corresponding martial arts, but my current body knew no demonic arts.
I had merely followed the senses from my past life, forcibly engraving it with sheer, powerful intent.
Still, this would make it much easier to learn demonic arts later, now that there was a precedent of demonic aura flowing through my arm.
Furthermore, I might even be able to use the unfathomable divine arts that exist only in my mind a few times.
Demonic arts that use the upper dantian, like the Soul-Shifting Grand Art, could be performed without any physical burden.
It was a technique that had fallen out of use, however, as it involved moving one's own soul to control an opponent's body like a puppet.
In the first place, my aptitude always revealed its full power whenever I was in danger or my emotions were in turmoil.
The talent to instantly wield a martial art just by remembering its oral formulas wasn't something one was simply born with.
Like the Shaolin monks, I beat the monstrosities to a pulp with my bare fists as I headed for the temple.
Most of them were bizarre amalgams of various animals.
No one had yet discovered why they appeared in such hideous forms, but frankly, I wasn't curious enough to investigate.
In the great clans of the Orthodox Faction, like the Nine Great Sects or the Eight Great Families, there was always at least one person who studied these monstrosities.
In the Beggars' Sect, that person was Elder Pung—the Wind Elder of the Dragon, Tiger, Wind, and Cloud Elders—but the problem with that old man was that he'd hole himself up in some beggar's den to 'research' and never come out.
Sometimes, the Sect Leader would raise hell, ordering us to drag him back, even if we had to beat him half to death.
He was the type of man who loved his research so much that he hadn't attended a regular Elders' meeting in over a year.
That old eccentric might have even outlived me in my past life.
After all, the Dark Heaven Society couldn't have possibly killed every single person in the Central Plains.
My hands were covered in blood from dispatching the monstrosities with the Drunken Eight Immortals Fist.
But I felt that fighting any more of them would take too much time, so I lowered my stance and dashed forward.
Despite using a lightness skill, my footsteps made no sound.
This was the Flying Heaven Shadowless Movement Art, brought to the level of grand completion.
Beomgak gasped for breath, his sluggish body scanning the surroundings.
Shaolin, the place he had lived his entire life, was on the verge of collapse.
Had anything like this ever happened in the thousand-year history of the temple?
Not that Beomgak knew of.
The Scripture Pavilion, which housed all of Shaolin's divine arts and Buddhist scriptures, was relatively unscathed.
The same was true for the Abbot's quarters and the Hall of the Eight Great Guardians.
But it was an undeniable fact that a colossal, turtle-like monstrosity had crushed the Guest Hall with its front paw as it passed.
The Four Great Vajras were now fighting that turtle.
It was impossible to be certain who would win.
Beomgak could feel it.
Without the training from that man, Wangcho, the Shaolin monks would already be lying on the ground, waiting for the monstrosities to tear the flesh from their bones.
Wangcho was arrogant and violent, but Beomgak knew.
He knew that people like Wangcho were better than those who smiled on the surface while hiding sinister schemes within.
The Heavenly Martial Body was just too honest for his own good, but...
In truth, the effects of the training had been absurdly good.
All they did was get beaten and exhausted all day, yet their stamina increased, and they grew stronger by the day.
That was why the warrior monks, who for the first day or two had complained to the Elders, eventually shut their mouths and committed to the training.
Shaolin's main forces, including the 108 Arhats, were currently holding back the monstrosities in the mountains, not at the temple itself.
The very fact that the creatures had pushed this far meant a hellscape was unfolding at the foot of Mount Song.
What could the guardian of Mount Song be doing?
Just how many monstrosities were there for mere beasts to invade the temple itself?
KUUUNG—KWANG!
A deafening roar assaulted Beomgak's ears.
It was the sound of the Abbot and the chicken-dragon fighting.
As they exchanged blows, several of Mount Song's peaks crumbled and fell.
That was no human battlefield; it was nothing less than a clash between monsters.
KWANG!
With the sound of something shattering, a massive cloud of dust billowed up.
The monstrosities were beginning to swarm again.
Beomgak clutched his trembling arm and thought.
I'm going to die.
I'm really going to die.
Where did so many of these monstrosities come from, all aiming for Shaolin?
He couldn't bear to even imagine Shaolin falling to mere beasts that lacked all reason.
His eyes trembling, Beomgak glanced at Hwapyeong standing beside him and spoke.
“Benefactor, you should leave Mount Song. You have no reason to protect this temple. Go, and always remember us monks….....”
“What kind of bullshit is that?”
Ilgyeokmujeok's disciple pounded his chest in frustration and said,
“Listen, if I were going to leave, I would've left ages ago. And what? Remember you monks? Why are you acting like you're about to drop dead?”
Hwapyeong scowled in annoyance, his legs emitting a faint blue lightning—proof that he had begun his training in Ilgyeokmujeok's Hyeongroebo.
Ignoring that, Beomgak grabbed a white tiger that was biting his left arm by the scruff of its neck, threw it to the ground, and stomped it to death before asking.
“Do you have another solution, then?”
“If we just wait a little longer.”
He trailed off, his gaze falling to his waist.
A rather fine-looking iron sword was strapped there, gleaming.
It was a sword for someone to use in a pinch.
It was obvious who he was waiting for.
In fact, Beomgak was anticipating it as well.
What would happen when the Heavenly Martial Body finished his seclusion?
Forcing himself to look away from the iron sword, Beomgak threw his fists wildly, then stared blankly at the sky as lightning rained down with insane ferocity.
So that’s a peerless master.
There wasn't a single Shaolin disciple who didn't know that the young girl from the tournament was the former number one under heaven, Ilgyeokmujeok.
But even so, the martial arts they practiced and the arts wielded by masters of that caliber were on completely different planes.
The sight completely shattered Beomgak's understanding of the world.
They say that when martial arts reach a certain realm, they become indistinguishable from sorcery.
Beomgak unleashed Shaolin's sonic art, the Lion's Roar, toward the Shaolin disciples who were staring blankly at the sky, just as lost as he was.
“Hah!”
The Lion’s Roar was a martial art effective in steadying a scattered mind.
The dazed eyes of the warrior monks, who had been unable to pull themselves together, instantly regained their clarity.
But their energy was just as depleted.
Beomgak, too, had exhausted what little stamina he had left with that Lion’s Roar.
Hwapyeong, however, just grinned.
It was then that the full moon embedded itself in the mind of Beomgak, who had trained in the Marrow Cleansing Sutra, Shaolin's divine art for cultivating the upper dantian.
Whipping his head around, Hwapyeong hurled the sword with all his might.
Swoosh!
With a sound that sliced through the night air, the iron sword vanished at high speed.
A slightly high-pitched, almost feminine voice was heard immediately after.
“Duck.”
A minuscule amount of demonic qi amplified the man’s voice like thunder.
Beomgak laughed inanely, wondering.
Did the Heavenly Martial Body cultivate demonic qi?
In that instant, a flash of white light shot up from the distant horizon.
At the same time, Beomgak, with his large frame, dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
KRA-KA-KA-BOOM!
A crescent-shaped wave of white sword qi grazed past Beomgak’s smooth, bald head, and all the grotesque monstrosities flying toward them were sliced into a single line of flesh and fell.
It wasn't a Sword Aura.
It was a miracle wrought by a simple sword qi.
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