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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Teottry
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“Are you alive, Sam-bung?”
“Please… don’t call me Sam-bung. It sounds stupid.”
Jang Sam-bung, servant, bodyguard, and assassin of the Sima household, picked himself up, brushing dirt, dust, and bits of flesh from his clothes, in response to Muk-gang’s calm inquiry.
He hadn’t been injured by the enemy. He had prostrated himself to survive.
Yes, he had groveled like a worm to avoid being swept away by the storm that was Muk-gang, the Dharma protector of Esoteric Buddhism, the Immovable Wisdom King.
He looked around. Unlike him, the corpses of the Heavenly Demon Sect assassins, swept away by the unnatural disaster, were scattered everywhere.
He had briefly exchanged blows with them and knew they weren’t weak. They were skilled, experienced, and worked well as a unit. Even to a fellow assassin, they were exemplary.
He glanced at the river, now a desolate wasteland, transformed by a single one of Muk-gang’s techniques.
Muk-gang was simply overwhelmingly powerful.
He watched warily as Muk-gang retrieved his shirt from the pile of corpses, brushing the dust off it, not a single scratch marring his body.
He knew the Dharma protector of Esoteric Buddhism was strong, but he hadn’t realized he was this strong. He wanted to hurl a metal ball at Muk-gang and shout…
“Eek-! Monster! Get out of our village!!”
But… he knew he would only be rewarded with a flick to the forehead that would likely explode his skull, so he swallowed his true feelings and changed the subject.
“If you’re this strong, why did you tell the young master to flee?”
“I wasn’t confident I could control my strength against those mediocre assassins without harming the Sima siblings. And…”
A faint smile played on Muk-gang’s lips as he calmly answered Jang Sam’s question.
“I told him to go, not to flee.”
Jang Sam sighed at the unexpected wordplay, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the burning storehouse.
“It seems that’s over as well. Do you think he survived?”
“He is the genius who deceives even the heavens. Of course, he survived.”
Jang Sam burst out laughing at Muk-gang’s nonchalant reply, which sounded both like a tease and a compliment.
Man proposes, God disposes. Or in the words of the Central Plains, While planning is up to man, success lies with heaven.
Ultimately, heaven decided. Fate, destiny, it was all in the hands of heaven.
But… what if someone emerged who could deceive even heaven itself?
He couldn’t stop laughing, the thought so absurd. His young master’s very name, Mancheon (Deceiving the Heavens), implied such a feat.
He pictured his close friend, his arrogant, shameless young master.
That man would cheat, would rig the game, even if heaven itself rolled the dice and landed on a one. He was a gambler at heart.
Mancheon, who deceived fate itself to ensure victory.
Perhaps… it was a name as sacrilegious as that of the Heavenly Demon, the ancient and supreme demon worshipped by the very assassins lying dead before him.
Jang Sam looked up at the darkening sky, the rain starting to fall, and thought how ridiculous his own musings were.
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Confined to his room by the physician and his mother’s strict orders to rest, he tossed and turned on his bed, pondering the events Jang Sam had described.
He frowned. It didn’t make sense.
A band of thieves, seeking to rob the Sima family, had launched a coordinated attack. With the help of the family guards and a passing martial artist, they had been repelled.
Did they really think such a nonsensical story would be convincing?
‘Yeong-do, first-class assassin of the Black Assassination Unit of the Heavenly Demon Sect.’
He recalled the face of his opponent, a vile man, yet one who possessed a strange fanaticism and pride in his organization.
He was far too strong to be a common thief.
There was no way a mere bandit could push Sima Mancheon, the genius who deceived even the heavens, whose name was inscribed upon the tablet of Fudo Myo-o, to the brink of death.
His pride wouldn’t allow it. And the assassin had declared his allegiance to the Heavenly Demon Sect.
While he shouldn’t believe everything his enemies said, the assassin hadn’t seemed to be lying.
He stared blankly at the familiar ceiling, which, for some reason, seemed alien and unsettling today.
He had suspected it for a while now, but his family was keeping secrets.
He wasn’t sure about his mother or his brother, but his father and Jang Sam were definitely hiding something. Something they were keeping from him.
Even he, with his limited knowledge of the martial world, knew of the Heavenly Demon.
A legendary figure, a demon king who appeared in countless wuxia novels, a polymath skilled in cooking, gardening, hunting, childcare, broadcasting, teaching, and even space travel.
He was practically the Da Vinci of the martial world.
If the Martial Alliance hadn’t been so petty and hadn’t ostracized the Heavenly Demon Sect, perhaps the Heavenly Demon would have ushered in an industrial revolution.
And yet, this renowned organization, led by the incredibly capable Heavenly Demon, had launched an attack on a moderately wealthy family in a small, insignificant village. And they had lost.
They might not have brought their full force, but they had still lost. Defeated by a small-town family.
It was as absurd as a legendary archmage, who had terrorized the magical world, being utterly defeated by a group of high school students.
It was all so confusing. He was getting nowhere, and it was exhausting.
Confined to his room, unable to go outside, with no visitors except for the servants delivering his meals, he had no way to gather information.
He wasn’t recovering; he was a prisoner. He felt… isolated, excluded.
Despite being a reincarnated person with memories of a past life, he still considered himself a member of the Sima family.
He hadn’t expected to be shut out, kept in the dark. It was as if they had a separate group chat he wasn’t privy to.
Well, he supposed there was a reason for their secrecy. Surely, they wouldn’t deliberately exclude their beloved son.
There had to be an explanation. He would discuss the matter with his father later, and the truth would eventually come out.
Everyone had secrets.
He himself had kept his reincarnation and martial arts training a secret from his parents.
He hadn’t actively concealed it, but he hadn’t revealed it either. He hadn’t wanted to burden them with the confusing information of his past life.
He hadn’t wanted to be seen as a strange, unknown entity, an outsider.
It seemed the boredom of confinement was getting to him. He got out of bed, stretched, and began to practice his martial arts, hoping to dispel the gloom.
He recalled the weighted punch he had thrown during his fight with the demonic sect assassin. He tried to replicate the feeling, even throwing himself to the ground to recreate the momentum, as he practiced the punch.
He focused on the sensations, recreating the scenario, losing himself in the exploration of this new technique, his mind clear of all other thoughts.
“Brace yourselves, demonic scum, my Wisdom King Fist packs a punch.”
“What are you doing?”
He turned at the calm voice that interrupted his solitary training. A cool night breeze drifted in through the partially open window.
“Uncle Muk-gang! I knew you were still alive~ Dammit!!”
“Don’t call me ‘Uncle’.”
Muk-gang chuckled wryly at the boisterous young disciple, still as loud as ever, despite having just escaped death.
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“The Wisdom King Fist is sealed.”
“Huh? Why?”
He questioned Muk-gang’s order to refrain from using his newly acquired technique, and Muk-gang, his face more serious than usual, answered.
“You are not yet strong enough to control it. If you wish to use it, you must eat well, train hard, and learn the Thousand-Pound Weight Technique.”
Muk-gang looked at Mancheon’s right leg and admonished him sternly.
“Relying on luck twice in a fight is suicide.”
Since Muk-gang wasn’t confiscating the technique or forbidding him from ever using it, he readily agreed, nodding his head.
“Alright. Anything else?”
“Nothing else comes to mind. Farewell.”
“Goodbye.”
Mancheon, uncharacteristically subdued, accepted Muk-gang’s farewell.
He didn’t want to cling to his departing master, begging him to stay.
‘Have I matured a little?’
He thought to himself, then offered Muk-gang a cloth bundle he had prepared, just in case.
“It’s not much of a parting gift, but enjoy these whenever you have a moment.”
Muk-gang, initially reluctant, peeked inside the bundle and smiled faintly, accepting the gift. It was a bundle of dried meat.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
With those words, he turned and walked away, his steps purposeful, his back straight. He did not linger.
He would slay monsters and protect humanity.
That was his role, his responsibility, as Muk-gang, the Dharma protector of Esoteric Buddhism, the Immovable Wisdom King.
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Well, parting is a part of life. Let’s find a new master mancheon!!😏
Thanks Teot!
Wouldn’t deliberately what?