Return of the Dark Moon
Chapter 23. I'll Take Action
To be honest, for a master of my caliber, a rain of fire was no threat at all.
The problem, however, was that we were on a mountain.
The number of viable strategies in my head dropped from fifty-six thousand to twenty-seven thousand.
I quickly looked around and shouted.
“Anyone who's trained in water energy or ice arts?”
There was no answer.
I don't know what I expected in a place full of bald heads.
Come to think of it, among Shaolin's vast collection of martial arts, there were none related to ice or water energy.
Martial arts that cultivated water energy, one of the Five Elements, were rare throughout the entire martial world.
Ice arts, too, were often classified as demonic arts, so there was no way Shaolin would have them.
I heard that back when the Murim Alliance existed, they used to store the martial arts of great demons in the Alliance's vaults, but since it was an organization created by people of the martial world, there was no way it was run properly.
I gathered Seol-sam's Extreme Yin energy in my hands and began to extinguish the blazing fire, but it wasn't enough.
It was, after all, just a cold chill, not a true ice art.
A booming shout came from somewhere.
“What, how did you get here, benefactor! You came with that fiend.”
It was the current head of Shaolin's 108 Arhats.
Beomjeong, the one who had guided Hwapyeong and me from the mountain gate.
I didn't know at first, but I found out while staying at Shaolin.
The leader of the 108 Arhats in my past life wasn't Beomjeong.
As a man of the martial world, it was highly likely he'd been killed by someone.
The 'fiend' seemed to be Hwapyeong.
Just what the hell has this guy been up to?
Still, having met the 108 Arhats, my safety was guaranteed.
Each and every one of them was known in the martial world as King Yama.
King Yama, my ass. Just a bunch of shiny-headed baldies.
Anyway, you have to give it to the gossips for their exaggeration.
They're the type to say the gods are fighting whenever it rains all day in the summer.
I blocked the downpour of fire with my protective aura.
A dark red light flickered all over my body.
The fiery rain actually bounced off me upon impact.
This was the protective aura, Total Solar Eclipse.
Because it was mixed with my mental image, its power was far greater than Elder Gyeon's protective aura.
What could I do with the 108 Arhats?
There was an easy way, and a difficult but fun way to win.
But, being the kind of person who values fun in life, I decided to choose option two.
“Beomjeong, take me to the Mount Song groundskeeper.”
“Pardon?”
I shot back at the questioning Beomjeong.
“Do that, and I'll clear your gambling debts.”
His hand throbbed.
The Shaolin Abbot, Beomcheon, felt a thrilling pain for the first time in a long while.
The monstrous being called Gyeryong was not an opponent that even Beomcheon could take lightly.
A Regressor who had mastered all seventy-two ultimate arts of Shaolin.
Beomcheon, once called a prodigy of the heavens, wondered why his realm of mastery no longer advanced.
The Invincible One said something about it, I think.
He wasn't sure.
He was too old to think about such things.
To Beomcheon, at least, regression was nothing more than a shackle.
“I'm dying for nirvana.”
Beomcheon muttered absentmindedly as he struck Gyeryong's red comb.
The chicken-head let out a pained groan but did not stop the rain of fire.
In the first place, such sorcery wasn't something these monstrous beings intentionally caused.
It was merely a natural phenomenon born from their rage and hatred.
The ancient immortals had simply named it sorcery.
Beomcheon's dream was to die.
At this moment, a vibrant flower field in the west was blooming in his mind.
The fight with the Gyeryong was a secondary concern.
He had become numb to all things.
Anyone who had crossed the swamp for a long time would inevitably be the same.
“Nirvana, nirvana, nirvana, damn it.......
As Beomcheon's hand moved, the sky unleashed a colossal, golden palm force.
A palm pressing down on Gyeryong's long body.
Shaolin's Tathagata's Divine Palm.
The Buddha's palm crushed the Gyeryong.
The chicken-head let out a shriek, spewing out its pain.
But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough to strike the reversed scale, the dragon's weak point.
The reversed scale, which should normally be on the neck, was located right next to the Gyeryong's eye.
The Gyeryong was not a complete dragon.
It was merely a half-dragon, a mix of chicken and dragon.
Touch the reversed scale, and the Gyeryong dies.
However, with Shaolin's martial arts, there was no way to strike only the reversed scale.
This was a drawback of Shaolin's arts, which were full of wide-area-of-effect techniques.
There is one way, but not unless someone helps.
If it were Wangcho, he would have pierced the Gyeryong's reversed scale long ago with his quick sword style.
But he wasn't particularly envious.
He knew of the Inner Demon that afflicted him.
Beomcheon thought.
Ah, I want to die.
Though as long as the Invincible One is around, dying isn't really dying.
To fight to live while yearning for death?
What a ridiculous notion.
But he was both the man Beomcheon and the Abbot of Shaolin.
Meaning, he could not let his people fall into danger.
They say that severing worldly attachments is the path to enlightenment, to becoming a Buddha, but Beomcheon could not do it.
And so, his fists are still aimed at these monstrous beings.
CRASH! KABOOM!
The Gyeryong's comb struck his jaw.
A comb that looked to be at least ten times Beomcheon's size.
Despite being hit by an attack of such power, Beomcheon merely staggered in mid-air before righting himself.
It was none other than the toughness of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Art that made it so.
Bodhidharma was an idiot, though.
Beomcheon muttered unconsciously.
How much wall-gazing meditation had he done?
Rotting away for tens, hundreds of years in a cave with no one else was an unbearable task.
It was only natural that he started talking to himself more.
Beomcheon's hand struck the suddenly heated air.
The Gyeryong's form fell, destroying a mountain peak as it went.
It was a fa jin method called Gyeokgongjang, which attacked the opponent by exploding one's qi.
Among palm techniques, it was an art of the highest order.
Beomcheon was still too weak to face the three masterminds, including the Peach Blossom Spring.
This wasn't just true for him, but for the other Regressors as well.
They weren't called the three masterminds for nothing.
It was only right for factions that controlled the martial world.
After all, they had practically created their own worlds.
Fwoosh!
He took a step and placed his foot on the Gyeryong's head.
In the empty air he passed through, nine lotus flowers bloomed beautifully.
The movement art, Nine Ranks of the Lotus Throne.
The Gyeryong looked up at Beomcheon with its two vertical pupils.
The Shaolin Abbot gave a slight smile and stomped his foot.
It was a simple technique of the Thousand-Pound Drop, sending a massive amount of internal energy through the Yongquan acupoint on the sole of his foot.
What would happen if the master of the principle 'All martial arts under heaven originated from Shaolin' were to perform it?
Kwa-gwang!
A tremendous roar echoed through Mount Song.
At the same time, the Gyeryong pinned beneath his foot was driven deeper into the ground.
It went without saying that all sorts of dirt and pebbles were scattered in every direction.
[You, pull yourself together. You're absurdly tough. Are you sure it wasn't you who learned the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Art, Benefactor Gye... as in, chicken?]
In that instant, the Gyeryong's long, massive body convulsed and thrashed, and its rage unleashed a spell.
A whirlwind that completely trapped Beomcheon and the Gyeryong in the Shaolin night sky.
The immense gale untied the eyepatch covering the current Shaolin Abbot's one eye and whipped his yellow kasaya about.
The wind, strong enough to send even a Hwagyeong master flying, even tore away the old piece of paper that had been covering the characters embroidered on the hem of Beomcheon's robes.
[Oh, dear.]
KWAANG!
Beomcheon stomped his foot once more, and the Gyeryong's rampage was suppressed.
As Beomcheon quietly reached out to touch the reversed scale, the Gyeryong suddenly let out a crazed shriek and shot upward.
As a result, Beomcheon's form also rose into the sky.
[What a nirvana-damned bastard.]
Muttering words that could be either praise or a curse, Beomcheon pulled his fist back.
It was the preparatory stance for Shaolin's Hundred-Pace Divine Fist.
It didn't take long for the loaded fist to be fired.
Hundreds of consecutive strikes exploded against the Gyeryong's torso.
Its massive size made it an easy target.
But the life thread of the monstrous Gyeryong was quite tenacious.
Even after taking hundreds of consecutive hits, it nonchalantly swished its scaly tail.
With that flick of its tail, a mountain peak was split in two.
[Oops, the one hundred and eight peaks have been reduced to one hundred and five. What are we to do?]
Kaaaaaak!
Beomcheon slapped the shrieking Gyeryong across the cheek and smiled.
Ah… I want to die.
On his kasaya, revealed by the wind, were the characters for 'Hangma' (Resist Demons).
As I was heading to the groundskeeper under the escort of the 108 Arhats, I suddenly paused.
I looked up at the sky and saw Beomcheon.
And the intent he was radiating flooded into my mind with absolute clarity.
It was so intense I could barely even look directly at him.
It felt like my head would explode if I looked any closer.
I shouldn't be able to feel his intent in my current state.
Most masters make it a point to conceal their energy through Banbakgwijin, but the intent Beomcheon was emitting now was strong enough to ignore even his own state of concealment.
Every time I glanced at Beomcheon, the character for Death cast a frantic shadow over my upper dantian.
Just how many deaths had he experienced?
Such a hideous intent was bound to affect not only himself but others as well.
It would lower the morale of allies and reduce the power of their techniques.
A master who has reached the Profound Realm begins to prioritize the Spirit of the upper dantian over the Qi of the lower dantian or the Essence of the middle dantian.
The precognition that comes from the upper dantian is a lifeline, and once one reaches that level of mastery, they make great use of the power of intent.
This is why I always say intent is important.
In fact, for those who have reached the level of the Society Leader and myself, internal energy isn't everything.
You could even say that intent is the most important thing.
But the intent Beomcheon was now emitting was a blind craving for death.
That is why Beomcheon, unable to escape the boundary between Life and Death, remains stagnant.
From time immemorial, martial arts were clearly created as a means of self-defense
“Benefactor, is something wrong?”
Could Beomjeong not feel that intent?
The current head of the 108 Arhats asked me casually.
And then I realized.
This intent must be visible only to Ilgyeokmujeok and me.
Typically, an intent that sings of death does not exist.
But the Life and Death Realm is where one advances a step through enlightenment or a once-in-a-millennium opportunity when facing a mortal crisis.
It is something that cannot be seen by anyone other than Tamrang and me, who have come closest to death.
I shook my head violently and moved forward.
As I ran, ignoring the chilling intent that still tickled the back of my neck, I felt my entire body become drenched in sweat.
It was then that I heard the sound of hundreds of Thunderclap Bombs exploding.
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
The negative intent had weakened Beomcheon's techniques.
It meant he was starting to be pushed back by the Gyeryong.
Around that time, an old monk stroking a beard that reached his waist suddenly manifested before my eyes.
It was the pinnacle of Shaolin's Vajra Immovable Body Technique, said to fold space itself.
“Hm? And who might you be, benefactor?”
Finally, a face I remembered.
The Songshan Mountain Keeper.
I didn't know any other name for him.
The moment I was about to open my mouth, the Gyeryong, freed from Beomcheon's suppression, circled in the sky, and a meteor shower began to fall toward me.
But the Mountain Keeper merely grunted, "Heo," and took no other action.
It was because he trusted Beomcheon completely.
The Mountain Keeper and I have different perspectives.
Geolshin Wangcho was a man who roamed the Life and Death Realm, while the Songshan Mountain Keeper was merely in the Profound Realm.
Naturally, he couldn't feel Beomcheon's intent either.
The Mountain Keeper spoke.
“Why are you in such a hurry? The Abbot of Shaolin, the very manifestation of the Tathagata Buddha, will protect you.”
How frustrating.
This was what the guardians of the main strongholds of the Nine Great Sects were like.
Having never looked upon the secular world, they possessed a certain purity.
That's why they don't have the concept of compromise in their heads.
In other words, they're completely inflexible.
There were one hundred and eight Mountain Keepers.
To be precise, the masters of the numerous temples located on Mount Song were called Mountain Keepers, and the one who led them all was referred to as the ‘Songshan Mountain Keeper.’
Feeling a stinging sensation, I lifted my head and saw the meteor shower, which had already drawn near.
If that fell, everyone would die.
The intense heat evaporated the sweat that had drenched my body.
While the surrounding trees were all ablaze, the old man finally tilted his head as if he'd just noticed something was amiss.
The only one who can resolve this situation is the peerless master, the Mountain Keeper.
I let my true qi flow along the path of demonic qi engraved in my body and met the Mountain Keeper's eyes.
“If you don't want to move.”
I connected my upper dantian to his.
A mysterious and unfathomable heretical art.
I transfer the soul residing in the Spirit of my upper dantian to the Mountain Keeper.
“I will move for you.”
Demonic Divine Art, Soul Shifting Grand Art.
The Mountain Keeper's body began to move according to my will.
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