Chapter 514
Shaolin Temple…
The towering pillar of the martial world, Shaolin Temple.
Whenever calamity befell the Central Plains, they were the first to take up arms. A thousand years ago, a hundred years ago, and even during the Great War of Righteous and Demonic Sects decades prior—they had always stood at the forefront.
The price for such devotion was paid in blood, more than any other sect.
Yet, not a single monk of Shaolin regretted it.
It was the path they had chosen—the path of righteousness, the path toward a brighter future.
And that same determination was deeply ingrained in the monks now striding across the well-maintained road, heading toward the city of Xixia.
Whoosh!
A gust of wind swept through the saffron robes of the monks.
It was a clear spring day, without a single breeze. Yet, the swift movement of the monks stirred the air, creating winds where none had existed.
“Xixia is in sight.”
Among the twenty monks of Shaolin, the one leading the group spoke. A middle-aged monk at the forefront nodded in response.
“We’re fortunate not to be late.”
“Yes. The appointed hour is Shen Hour, meaning we still have nearly one full hour left.”
Though Xixia was a vast county, these monks were highly skilled. Even at a normal walking pace, reaching the docks in an hour was more than feasible.
The middle-aged monk made a small gesture with his Zen staff.
Clink.
Understanding the signal, the monks immediately halted.
To stop so abruptly after executing such high-speed movement was proof of their refined martial skill.
Observing their discipline with satisfaction, the middle-aged monk turned his gaze toward a lone figure standing behind them.
The figure wore a bamboo hat, pulled low to conceal their features.
“Soon, we will reach the main road. The common folk may grow uneasy. Should we reduce our pace?”
The bamboo-hatted figure’s lips barely moved as they replied, their voice hoarse and aged beyond recognition.
“Do as you will.”
A fleeting sorrow flickered across the faces of the monks. Even the middle-aged monk hesitated before responding.
“Thank you… Senior Brother.”
It was still an unfamiliar title, one that felt heavy on the tongue.
Just as the monks resumed their march toward Xixia—
Kyaaaaaah!
Murder! Someone’s been killed!
A distant scream rang through the air.
The middle-aged monk, possessing immense internal energy, had already sensed the disturbance before the cry reached them.
But before he could issue a command, the bamboo-hatted figure spoke first.
“It seems we must hurry.”
Whoosh!
The twenty monks shot forward, moving like a golden tide.
Their fluttering saffron robes and solemn expressions quickly drew attention as they approached the marketplace.
Observing them from a short distance, the young warrior of the Black Dragon Demon Sect frowned.
“Shaolin, huh… A troublesome group to deal with.”
Especially in times like these.
It was already bad enough that one of his more dim-witted subordinates had openly killed someone in the middle of a busy street.
“You idiot.”
Whack!
A dull thud echoed as the giant, eight-foot-tall warrior winced from the kick to his shin.
“You hurt me, Young Master.”
“That was the point. I told you to be careful. How could you act so recklessly?”
“That man deserved to die.”
“Sigh… You’re impossible.”
“What now?”
“What do you think? We clean up the mess. Somehow.”
A new voice, sharp and unwavering, cut in. The towering warrior blinked in confusion.
“Young Master… I am not good with words.”
“You don’t have to say it. I already know.”
Smirking, the young warrior turned to face the approaching monks.
Just five steps away, he now stood before the middle-aged monk leading them.
With a courteous bow, he spoke.
“I greet the esteemed monks of Shaolin. I never expected to meet Master Zheng Ho so soon.”
The monk’s thick brows twitched slightly.
“You know me? But I do not recall meeting you before.”
“It’s true that this is our first meeting. However, I’ve long heard of you.”
“There is little worth hearing about this humble monk. And I am no great master.”
“As expected, just as my father described—a man of humility and strict discipline.”
“…Your father?”
“Indeed. He once spoke of a fiery-tempered—ah, no, a deeply devoted monk of Shaolin, known for his unwavering principles.”
The young warrior’s gaze dropped to the Zen staff in Zheng Ho’s grip.
“He also mentioned a monk who wielded his staff like a specter, a weapon adorned with prayer beads.”
“Amitabha… You have sharp eyes.”
“I’m relieved I found the right person. If I were mistaken, this would have been rather embarrassing.”
Zheng Ho studied the young warrior with keen eyes before finally speaking.
“Indeed, fortunate. And yet, from what you’ve said, I too have a few suspicions.”
“I am listening.”
“Your attire unmistakably belongs to the Black Dragon Demon Sect of Gansu. Your presence and demeanor are not ordinary. Which means…”
The monk’s voice deepened.
“You must be the rumored Young Lord of the Black Dragon Demon Sect. Am I correct?”
The young warrior’s lips curled into a smirk. Bowing once more, he spoke clearly.
“I greet you once more. I am Sama Pyo, heir to the Black Dragon Blade.”
A murmur rippled through the monks behind Zheng Ho.
The Black Dragon Blade—a name known throughout the martial world.
A rising force, often compared to the legendary Ten Dragons of the Martial World.
And this man before them, the one who carried its name, was no ordinary warrior.
The title Black Dragon Blade was widely known.
As the heir to the Black Dragon Demon Sect, one of the three most formidable factions in the unorthodox martial world, Sama Pyo’s background alone made him a significant figure.
Yet, none of the monks noticed the fleeting smirk on Sama Pyo’s lips as he bowed his head.
When he looked up again, his face was adorned with a pleasant smile.
“You flatter me, Master Zheng Ho. To be held in such regard by a revered monk such as yourself—I hardly know what to say.”
“As I mentioned before, I am no great master,” Zheng Ho replied. “Nor do I intend to overestimate you. I am merely stating facts.”
His gaze then shifted toward the corpse lying in a pool of blood.
“But what I do not yet know… is the truth behind this unfortunate man’s death.”
Sama Pyo rubbed his stubbled chin.
“This is… a long story.”
“No need for concern. There is a quicker way.”
Clink.
At Zheng Ho’s signal, a lean, sharp-eyed monk stepped forward to examine the body.
Before joining Shaolin, he had roamed the martial world as a vagabond, accumulating extensive knowledge. It did not take him long to identify the corpse.
“This is Blood Staff, Do Sang-ho.”
“Are you certain?” Zheng Ho asked.
“Yes. His skull may be shattered, but I am confident in my assessment.”
“Blood Staff… I see.”
Zheng Ho murmured the name while absentmindedly stroking the prayer beads hanging from his Zen staff. Then, his sharp gaze settled on Sama Pyo.
“Did you know about this?”
“Know about what, exactly?”
“That Do Sang-ho was wanted for the murder of five innocent merchants in Shaanxi just two days ago.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“It seems he believed himself safe, having committed his crimes in a secluded mountain. Perhaps he thought no one would track him all the way to Hunan.”
“…What a monstrous act,” Sama Pyo said, furrowing his brow in mock disapproval.
In truth, his reaction had nothing to do with Blood Staff’s crimes.
What truly piqued his interest was Shaolin’s ability to investigate and disseminate such information in mere two days.
‘Is this the intelligence network of the Murim Alliance? Or is it just Shaolin’s own reach?’
Do Sang-ho was a notorious thug, but that notoriety stemmed from his brutality and loud mouth.
In the grand scheme of the martial world, he was just another rogue wanderer.
Yet, Shaolin had already uncovered every detail of his movements.
The sheer efficiency of their intelligence network was unsettling.
‘This isn’t good news for us. Then again… given the circumstances, it makes sense.’
Though he inwardly frowned, Sama Pyo maintained his outward composure.
“A fortunate turn of events, then.”
“What do you mean?” Zheng Ho asked.
“I mean that the water I spilled turned out to be rotten. It’s as if I simply removed a poisoned cup before anyone could drink from it.”
Zheng Ho’s expression darkened.
“You knew.”
“Does it matter? The result was favorable, was it not?”
“Results are important, but so are the methods. Regardless of your reasoning, killing someone in broad daylight in the middle of a busy street was reckless.”
“It was a dangerous situation. I had to act before he could kill me first. Of course, it wasn’t my doing, strictly speaking.”
Sama Pyo gestured toward the towering warrior beside him.
“This one was responsible.”
The giant blinked his cow-like eyes.
“Young Master. Was that… a person?”
“Try wiping the blood off your cudgel before asking such a question.”
“…Ah.”
The giant’s response was simple, direct.
“Yes. I killed him.”
“Please be understanding, Master Zheng Ho,” Sama Pyo said with a grin. “His martial prowess is impressive, but his head… well, not so much.”
He twirled a finger beside his temple, gesturing to his subordinate’s lack of intelligence.
Zheng Ho observed them in silence before finally speaking.
“You—no, the Black Dragon Demon Sect—will need to explain this incident properly.”
“Of course. I take full responsibility for my subordinate’s actions.”
“You are aware that tensions in the martial world are high. The common people live in fear.”
The current state of Murim was a powder keg, moments away from igniting.
Even the most uneducated villagers knew that the Murim Alliance was not just a fraternity of martial artists.
During the last war, it wasn’t just martial artists who suffered. The bloodshed had spread to commoners as well.
“If such blatant killings continue on public roads, it will only add fuel to the fire.”
“I will bear that in mind.”
“Even though the deceased was a criminal, there may still be repercussions from the higher-ups.”
“I will gladly offer an explanation.”
“You must also apologize to the townsfolk.”
“No need to worry. If necessary, I will even provide compensation.”
Zheng Ho’s brow twitched.
Even as a warrior monk, he had spent decades practicing patience.
Yet, this entire conversation left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Everything about the Young Lord of the Black Dragon Demon Sect felt off.
His polite demeanor… his willingness to cooperate… it all seemed too convenient.
But what could he do?
The young man bowed his head when required, spoke with humility when necessary.
There was no excuse to escalate the situation further.
“Then… this matter is settled.”
Sama Pyo smiled.
“This is fate. Would you care to join me for a conversation elsewhere?”
“Amitabha. Regretfully, I must decline. We are expecting a guest.”
Zheng Ho’s expression showed no regret whatsoever.
Just as he turned to leave—
“Your sword.”
“Hmm?”
“You do not seem like one who uses a blade.”
A voice, hoarse like grinding metal, interrupted.
The figure who had remained silent until now—the one hidden beneath a bamboo hat—finally spoke.
“This sword does not suit you. Return it to its rightful owner.”
Sama Pyo chuckled, glancing down at the weapon in his hand.
“This sword is mine.”
“That is not how it appears to this humble monk.”
Sama Pyo’s smile slightly faded.
“Forgive my rudeness, but who might you be, Master?”
“I am no one relevant to this matter.”
Just as the amusement completely drained from Sama Pyo’s face—
A loud cry rang out from the distance.
“The Taewon Jin Clan! The Taewon Jin Clan is here!”
