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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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From early morning, a noisy commotion swept through Shaolin Temple.
Young novice monks rushed to their seniors, chattering away.
“Brother! Brother, Senior Uncle Ja-pyung has emerged!”
“……!”
And who was Ja-pyung?
A child of the Namgung Clan who had entered Shaolin at the mere age of five.
In truth, Ja-pyung had only shown himself at Shaolin for a few months before secluding himself away, but every monk at Shaolin, knowingly or unknowingly, kept him in mind.
Because of his father.
The Sword Star, Namgung Cheol-bin.
The undisputed number one under heaven, the acknowledged greatest of the Central Plains—and yet, now branded a public enemy of the martial world.
Even though Ja-pyung had become a monk, as long as people were people, none could help but be conscious of his presence.
“Master! Brothers! Fellow disciples! Have you all been well?”
A bright, thunderous voice rang throughout Shaolin. It was hard to believe such a resounding cry came from someone only eighteen.
Clad in a tattered monk’s robe, Ja-pyung ascended the stone steps of Shaolin. His stride was steady, his bearing lofty. They were the steps of one who had firmly grasped his martial path.
The first to rush out and greet him was Shaolin’s abbot, the venerable Master Yi-guk, who also occupied one of the seats among the Twelve Arhats, titled the Buddha Venerable.
“Amitabha! It has been long indeed!”
“Yes, have you been well, Master?”
“Well indeed! Come, come, we have much to speak of.”
“Haha, I am relieved to see you well.”
Master Yi-guk took Ja-pyung by the shoulder and led him inside. Ja-pyung had no reason to refuse, so he followed without resistance.
The faces of his senior brothers, his juniors, and though he was now a monk, the family he longed to see again—all passed through Ja-pyung’s mind in eager anticipation.
At that time, his heart was still drunk on the joy of having ended his long seclusion.
“…Pardon?”
“Mm… I see it is difficult for you to accept.”
“P-please, say it once more. Surely I misheard, Master.”
“No, Ja-pyung. You heard correctly.”
It felt as though a great stone had slammed down upon Ja-pyung’s heart. A suffocating weight made his very breath falter.
“Th-that cannot be true!”
“Ja-pyung.”
“M-my father, do you know what kind of man he is? How could you say such a thing?!”
“Ja-pyung, keep your composure. Have you forgotten the foundation of Shaolin—an unshaken heart?”
Though he spoke so, Master Yi-guk fully understood Ja-pyung’s reaction.
For thirteen years, the boy had cut himself off from the world, secluding in darkness, all for the sake of his father whom he idolized.
And now he was told—that very father had walked the path of heterodoxy, a hypocrite steeped in demonic ways.
How great must the shock be? It was beyond comprehension, Yi-guk thought.
“The Council has verified it as fact.”
“There—there must be some mistake! Surely, a misunderstanding!”
“Ja-pyung!”
“Enough! Do you know what you’re saying? My father, practicing demonic arts? Impossible!”
“Child…”
“I may have only spent four years with him, but I can say with absolute certainty—Father is not that kind of man! There must be some error, some trick!”
“You call yourself a monk, yet you let personal attachments cloud your eyes. What will become of you?”
Yi-guk gazed at Ja-pyung with pity. His blue eyes wavered dangerously, as if they had lost their place in the world.
“And you are a monk now. Cease calling the Sword Star your father.”
“Grandmaster!”
“Enough! Do you think clinging to this denial will change reality? You must not reject the truth—you must look to the path ahead!”
“……!”
“The martial world is in chaos. On all sides, the Green Forest bandits and river pirates run rampant. And now, with the rise of the Black Faction League, the common people suffer greatly. This is no time for you to lose yourself.”
“But… my father…”
“It is no coincidence you emerged from seclusion today. All things are according to the will of the Tathāgata. That you appear in this world at this moment—this too is Heaven’s will.”
Ja-pyung bowed his head, his heart thrown into disarray. Words too impossible to accept churned in his chest.
Yi-guk looked upon him quietly, then rose slowly and stepped toward the doorway.
“It seems you need time to think.”
“……”
“I grant you three days. When your heart has settled, come forth.”
With those words, Yi-guk stepped outside. Time was the medicine of all wounds—though the shock was heavy now, eventually the boy would accept it.
So he thought.
But as he took a quiet step forward—
Whooooom—
“……!”
A chilling current surged from the room he had just left. His body stiffened at once.
To one of the Twelve Arhats, a supreme master, such a feeling was rare.
The Great Strength Vajra Qi…?
It was unstable, liable to burst at any moment, but the sheer explosive force it carried was undeniable. For one steeped his entire life in Shaolin arts, such power was no surprise.
What shocked him was something else.
This… threatens me.
The force itself.
Even if he bore the blood of the Sword Star, how could thirteen years of training bring him to a level that made Yi-guk himself feel threatened?
Impossible. And yet, for a brief instant, the energy Ja-pyung released was on par with his own.
Even if he had reached enlightenment at miraculous speed, his inner strength should have been far from sufficient.
How…?
The question called forth a memory—something his own master had once asked him thirteen years ago. One of the Five Absolutes of the Martial World, the man they called the Divine Monk.
“How many Summoning Pills remain within the temple?”
There was no need to guess further. Without such a pill, Ja-pyung’s immense inner strength could not be explained.
Wait… isn’t this dangerous? For now I can contain it, but if this continues unchecked…
It was not that he distrusted Ja-pyung as a disciple of Shaolin. But in Yi-guk’s eyes, the turmoil within the boy was clearly a heart demon.
Shaolin arts were famed for their safety, but in truth—what in this world was absolute?
Even the Blood Monk, one of the Seven Devils of the Martial World, had been consumed by unstable energy after hastily taking a Great Restoration Pill, falling to inner demon.
And besides…
He is of Namgung blood. Since the era of the Azure Heaven Sword King, that bloodline… mm.
Ja-pyung’s lineage gave Yi-guk no small cause for concern.
Another tragedy like that must not happen again.
Feeling the prickling, overwhelming current through his whole body, Yi-guk turned his steps elsewhere.
I must consult with Master.
At the end of the path stood a small, humble hermitage.
“…That is the situation.”
Kneeling, Yi-guk explained everything.
Before him sat a gaunt old monk, head cleanly shaven, palms pressed together.
“Amitabha…”
“What should we do?”
“Ja-pyung… the son of the Sword Star…”
Though he had long since declared complete retirement from the martial world, the old monk had once been the one they called the Divine Monk, a man who held the martial world in sway.
Even now, three years since he washed his hands of worldly strife, the shadow of the Divine Monk still lay heavy over Henan, bringing peace.
Until the Sword Star rose. Until the monster called the Killing Star appeared three years ago. Until then, he had been acknowledged without question as the greatest of the martial world, the foremost of the Five Absolutes.
That was the truth of the old monk’s identity.
“I was rash.”
“…Pardon?”
“Falling into heart demon, I hastily declared retirement. That was my mistake. Had I not done so, matters would never have become so twisted.”
“Master, how could you blame yourself?”
“Lead the way. I shall see for myself.”
The Divine Monk slowly unfolded his legs, long bound in immovable meditation. For three years he had sat in lotus, and now his knees straightened with a creak.
His face was lined with scars, though they blended into his countless wrinkles. Once a pillar of muscle, he was now frail with age.
For the first time in years, the Divine Monk left his hermitage and walked toward Shaolin.
The young novices did not recognize him, but every monk of five years’ standing or more bowed deeply, pressing palms in utmost respect.
Even when the abbot himself walked beside him. Of course, none dared find fault in this. Not even Yi-guk himself.
“So, that is the place.”
The Divine Monk gazed toward the separate quarters, from which an ominous current spilled.
As befitted one who had attained the highest state, he too felt its unnatural aura, dark and oppressive.
“You there.”
Creak—
“…G-grand Patriarch?”
Sitting in the dark, with the lamps extinguished, Ja-pyung’s eyes widened at the unexpected visitor.
The Divine Monk entered with a gentle smile.
Behind his back, he silently gestured for Yi-guk to withdraw.
“You’ve grown tall, Ja-pyung.”
“…! Grand Patriarch, how do you come to be here…?”
“Why, is this a place I cannot come?”
“That is not so, but…”
“I hear you are troubled.”
The Divine Monk brushed his palm along the floor, then sat down heavily. Ja-pyung hurried forward and sat respectfully before him.
“Though I am not your direct master, the master of your master’s master is still a master, is he not?”
“I-is that so?”
“Tell me, then. Your troubles. It is a master’s duty to hear his disciple’s burden.”
Of course, he already knew. But he gave Ja-pyung the chance to speak.
For once a man lays bare his suffering, body and spirit ease. The Divine Monk knew this well, for even the Sword Star himself had once poured out his darkest woes to him.
“…So… they say… and so… I…”
“So that is how it is.”
“To be honest… I cannot believe it.”
“So you say.”
“My father is not such a man. Others may doubt, but as his family, I know. Long before he became the Sword Star, Father was a kind man. To call it all hypocrisy is absurd.”
Like a fish finding water, Ja-pyung spilled his anguish. From the depth of his words, it was clear how tormented he had been in the short while since Yi-guk had left.
“I, too, share your sentiment.”
“…! Y-you do? Then why do the others—”
“Ja-pyung.”
The Divine Monk’s low, steady voice pierced into Ja-pyung’s ear. His heart stilled.
“All beings suffer trials.”
“They are given by the Tathāgata, are they not?”
“Your father… was born with too many trials. Far too heavy a burden.”
“Ah…”
“The tongue, child, is more treacherous and more powerful than most realize. Tell me, why did Bai Qi, hailed the greatest general of the Warring States, take his own life? Why was Lian Po, who knew only victory, dismissed? Why was Shang Yang, who brought Qin to strength and forged laws that endure to this day, executed on false charges of treason? Was it because they were idle fools? Men who never lost a war, who raised nations to their height, who left legacies of governance that endure even now? No. It was the tongue. A tongue that blinds eyes and deafens ears, that clouds judgment.”
“I… see.”
“Your father once walked the trial of the sword—blood and violence. He overcame it. Now, he faces the trial of words. Such is his harsh fate.”
“Then… what must I do?”
“Why are monks monks? To guide those who walk in darkness. Otherwise, what use are our practices, our chanting of Dharma?”
“Ah!”
Enlightenment sparked in Ja-pyung’s mind. His eyes—though younger, though brimming with blood-hot fervor—were the same as his father’s.
“If you believe a path is truly right, then walk it without doubt. At times, look back to reflect, but knowing your father’s character, I doubt you will stray into evil.”
Each word was bone and flesh to the struggling youth.
In truth, Ja-pyung, who had been secluded since age five, knew little of the world. He did not even know the fates of those figures from the Warring States the Divine Monk spoke of.
But.
“Now you are a monk. Help him in a monk’s way. And I, this old monk, will aid you as best I can—so long as I do not break my vow of withdrawal.”
“Yes!”
One truth became certain.
Just as Namgung Cheol-bin once cast himself into a pit to protect his son from the onrushing Demonic Cultists—
Now it was Ja-pyung’s turn.
To protect his father, suffering beneath a false and cruel accusation.
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