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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Teottry
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Iron Dog, Nameless, both aliases contained the character for “invincible.”
Even if it was common in the Demonic Sects, for someone in the prideful Righteous Sects to openly use “invincible” in their title meant they were truly powerful.
“Another thing I found out is that his first martial arts master was from the Shaolin Temple.”
“Shaolin? The Shaolin Temple I know?”
He was puzzled that an assassin, a killer, would come from the Shaolin Temple, a Buddhist sect that forbade killing, known as the origin of all martial arts.
“Have you heard the saying, ‘All martial arts originate from Shaolin’?”
“Of course, it’s a famous saying.”
He nodded, knowing that the Shaolin Temple was the largest sect among the Nine Great Sects, and that their library housed almost every martial arts manual in existence.
“The true meaning of that saying is a sarcastic remark: ‘While great martial arts come from Shaolin, so do dangerous demonic arts.'”
“Excuse me?”
“It happens sometimes. Martial monks who become obsessed with martial arts, forsaking Buddha’s teachings and walking the path of Asura.”
Zi Lu handed Mancheon a book containing information about a certain martial art.
“Dragon Elephant Prajna Palm?”
The name itself exuded power, especially since the character xiang (象) meant elephant.
He had seen plenty of martial arts named after dragons or tigers for their coolness factor, but this was the first time he had seen one named after an elephant.
Literally translated, it meant Dragon Elephant Martial Art. It couldn’t be weak.
“It’s classified as a demonic art due to its dangerous nature, but it was developed by the Vajra Sect, a branch of Shaolin, to replicate the superhuman strength of the Vajrapani in a human body.”
“Vajrapani?”
He tilted his head at the unfamiliar term, and
“Don’t you know? He’s a legendary martial artist who was active in the Western Regions, even further west than Tianzhu (India), where Buddhism originated…”
Zi Lu grumbled about his lack of knowledge but explained patiently.
“He strangled an indestructible Vajra lion with his bare hands, lifted a mountain to crush a nine-headed serpent, chased an invulnerable doe blessed by a goddess until it collapsed from exhaustion and captured it unharmed, and finally invaded the underworld and defeated a three-headed hellhound, becoming a deity in Buddhist mythology.”
That was… Heracles!
He never thought he would hear the myth of Heracles in the Central Plains.
But then again, Alexander the Great, who claimed to be the son of Zeus, had conquered Persia and reached northern India,
spreading Greek culture far and wide. It wasn’t surprising that their deities had been incorporated into other cultures in modified forms.
Considering that Indra, the chief god of India before the rise of Hinduism, was depicted as a strong warrior with blond hair,
perhaps he had been… influenced by Zeus?
Then was Shaolin’s Vajrapani a recreation of the Nemean Lion’s pelt? He wasn’t sure.
Well, it was fun to imagine.
But… Heracles as a martial arts hero? The possibilities of martial arts were truly endless.
Once again, fantasy was no match for reality.
He used to watch the cartoon “Olympus Guardian” religiously every weekend.
He even had a, shall we say, “lustful” memory of the bathing scene of Artemis in the “Greek and Roman Mythology” manhwa.
Anyway, putting aside his nostalgic reminiscing, the story continued.
“There was an incident where a Shaolin martial monk stole a copy of the Dragon Elephant Prajna Palm manual and ran away. And years later, a martial artist who had mastered the Dragon Elephant Prajna Palm and…”
Zi Lu tapped his burning cigarette against a metal bowl, recounting the information about the enemy who had killed his beloved disciple.
“the Venomous Snake Fist, an assassination technique of the White Snake Hermit of the Silk Desert, appeared in the martial world.”
Zi Lu’s grim faced twisted further.
“Wu Ming. He’s a monster who possesses both the superhuman strength of Vajrapani and the cunning of a snake.”
A flame, made of pure qi, flickered from his hand, the Samadhi True Fire, burning the remaining tobacco.
Wu Ming, the infamous public enemy of the martial world,
-Crack!!
easily snapped the neck of a female martial artist who had attacked him, targeting Yan Wuyong, the Tenth Elder of the Sun Moon Holy Cult.
The woman collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and…
her comrade glared at Wu Ming, his eyes wide with rage. His grip on his sword tightened.
“She’s just a child…! Have you no honor as a martial artist?!”
Confused by the martial artist’s inexplicable anger, Wu Ming glanced at the corpse of the girl, who looked barely out of her teens, then…
turned his gaze back to the martial artist who was pointing his sword at him.
“Um… I can see that. So what?”
“You villain!!”
Unable to contain his fury any longer, the martial artist unleashed a desperate attack, his inner energy exploding from his dantian.
Hundred Transformations, Thousand Illusions, Hengshan Cloud and Mist Thirteen Styles.
Thirteen afterimages flickered along the trajectory of his sword, creating a flurry of unpredictable attacks, like clouds and mist drifting around Mount Hengshan.
-Bang!!
And with a single punch that ripped through the air, the martial artist’s upper body was blown away.
“It’s strange. I can understand if you call me trash for killing people.”
Wu Ming muttered, looking at the remaining lower half of the martial artist’s body.
“But people get especially angry when I kill women or children.”
He turned to Yan Wuyong, a faint smile on his face, as if seeking agreement.
“As if life isn’t precious, regardless of whether it’s a man, woman, elder, or child.”
Yan Wuyong, glancing at the corpses scattered around, replied with an incredulous look.
“That’s rich, coming from an assassin.”
“Haha… It’s my assassin joke of the day. Half-serious, though.”
Was he still going with that joke? Wuyong frowned.
“More importantly, what martial art did you use to break that attack?”
The martial artist Wu Ming had just defeated wasn’t weak. If he had been alone, he would have struggled against the combination of the thirteen styles and the attacks of the other assassins.
“Oh, it was just a straight punch. The martial arts I learned enhance my physical abilities, so my honed basic techniques are as powerful as any special move.”
“Dragon Elephant Prajna Palm… an invincible martial art.”
Wu Ming’s expression turned serious at Wuyong’s muttered words.
“No, it’s not. It might sound strange coming from someone with the title ‘Invincible,’ but”
“There’s no such thing as an invincible martial art. Everything has a counter, a weakness.”
Defeat was usually a shameful memory for martial artists, but Wu Ming openly recounted his own defeat.
“After I killed my first master, the orphanage director who taught me the Dragon Elephant Prajna Palm, I worked with some bandits for a while because they offered me food.”
‘You worked with them just because they offered you food?’
He had killed the Crown Prince for chicken porridge, and now this. He was way too obsessed with food.
Wuyong had a lot to say, but he was curious about the martial artist who had defeated the invincible assassin, so he held his tongue.
“Back then, I fought against a giant old man, the Eight-Foot Tall Monster…”
“What? You… fought the Eight-Foot Tall Monster?!”
“and I was completely defeated by his Emptiness Illumination Fist, a technique that redirects the opponent’s force, making their attacks miss.”
Wuyong’s usually calm face was filled with surprise at the unexpected name, but Wu Ming simply nodded, reminiscing.
“I was attacking, and he was defending, but I was the one getting pushed back and losing strength. It was like being tricked by some supernatural being…”
“So I turned tail and ran, leaping over the mountain at full speed.”
He mimicked the Eight-Foot Tall Monster’s hand movements, swirling his wrist.
“Even the greatest force is useless if its direction is changed.”
A thought seemed to occur to him, and a smile spread across his face.
“Come to think of it… Yan Wuyong, ‘useless.’ Your name has the same character as ‘useless.’ What a coincidence.”
Due to his jiangshi body, Wuyong’s already pale face turned even paler.
“I… I didn’t mean to make fun of you… I… I apologize.”
“It’s fine. So, could you beat the Eight-Foot Tall Monster now?”
“Excuse me?”
Wu Ming tilted his head, repeating the sudden question, but Wuyong was firm.
“I hired you because you’re supposed to be the best assassin, capable of killing anyone. Don’t talk about losing.”
At his employer’s demand, Wu Ming closed his eyes and rubbed his chin, calculating.
Hmm… back then, he was just a young, inexperienced brat, and…
Since then, he had encountered his second master, the White Snake Hermit. He had learned to harness his strength more skillfully and had mastered a variety of techniques.
He thought he might have a chance now, but battles were unpredictable, and one should never underestimate their opponent or be overconfident, so
“The Eight-Foot Tall Monster is basically a scholar. I might be able to win in a straight fight, but…”
he couldn’t say for sure.
“I’m an assassin.”
But he wouldn’t say he would lose either.
Contrary to his uncertain tone, Wu Ming’s muddy eyes gleamed like a snake’s.
“If it’s a fight to the death… I think I might have a chance.”
But in the end, it was his defeat against the Eight-Foot Tall Monster that had made him realize the need for better techniques,
leading him to seek out the White Snake Hermit, the greatest assassin of the time.
And thanks to that, he had met Sima Bu, his senior brother, and even gained a nephew, Mancheon.
Now, he was actually grateful for the experience.
He didn’t want to fight unless he had a good reason.
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a retired assassin🤣
