Chapter 232

Chapter 232: Silence (3)

Jin Hagyeong kept his blade drawn and alert, fixing his gaze on the peaks above.

A sudden glimmer had cut through the thick mist.

The distance separating the primary encampment of the Colorful Lake from the slopes of the mountain exceeded two hundred Zhang. Because the early dawn mist hung heavily between the two locations, visibility was severely obscured, yet he could sense the disturbance with absolute clarity.

The ground beneath his soles was vibrating in an entirely unprecedented manner.

Up until a few moments before, the tremors had been powerful, but they still belonged to the kind of warfare one would expect within the boundaries of the Murim.

It was the familiar impact of Internal Energy clashing against Internal Energy, a resonant shudder that anyone could comprehend.

But now.

Everything had shifted.

An unnatural, piercing luminescence was slicing through the dense fog, and the fundamental nature of the tremors had completely transformed.

“This… I am not the only one perceiving this anomaly, am I?”

Jeon Rahwa moved up beside Jin Hagyeong, her fingers tightly gripping the hilt of her weapon.

“Are you also sensing it, Young Lady?”

“……Yes.”

Jeon Rahwa gave a brief reply, though an underlying tension strained her words.

However, the luxury of processing this overwhelming sense of dread was denied to them.

Papat-!

“Watch the flank!”

The instant Jin Hagyeong’s warning echoed, figures clad in reddish-brown monk robes surged out from the lower slopes.

It was the surviving contingent of the Rakshasa Monks.

Even a cursory glance revealed their numbers to be at least several dozen.

Displaced by the cataclysmic conflict occurring higher up the mountain, these fractured units were pouring down the hills directly toward their position.

Their formations had disintegrated and their synchronized chanting had fallen silent, but the grip they maintained on their Crescent Moon Sabers remained lethal.

Regardless of how severely they had been battered by Dong Bongsu and his companions, they remained the fearsome Rakshasa Monks belonging to the Dark Rakshasa Way.

“Namu Amitabha—!”

The vanguard Rakshasa Monk lunged forward, executing a sweeping strike with his Crescent Moon Saber.

Sukeong—.

Jeon Rahwa struck with far superior swiftness.

Her blade, saturated with the absolute Cold Qi born from the Twin Snow Yin Cold Art, carved an upward diagonal path that deflected the incoming Crescent Moon Saber.

As her weapon’s point brushed past the monk’s vestments, an icy glaze instantly spread over the reddish-brown fabric.

The Rakshasa Monk’s shoulder froze solid in a heartbeat, and then.

Jjeong.

The frozen flesh and bone shattered completely.

Paat—!

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jeon Rahwa slit the throat of the Rakshasa Monk.

Maintaining her momentum, she dropped her center of gravity and pressed the assault.

Her blade traced a flat horizontal arc, freezing the knees of a second Rakshasa Monk before shearing right through the wrist of a third.

A pair of Crescent Moon Sabers went airborne, spinning rapidly before clattering onto the dirt.

Before the two startled, hairless foes could even comprehend their predicament, she severed their necks as well.

The encounter was brief.

Yet the display was incredibly fierce.

“Haa, haa-.”

The massive release of Cold Qi caused her exhalations to condense into heavy plumes of white vapor.

Though this marked her initiation into actual combat, she felt an unexpected absence of panic.

It felt as though she had spent her entire existence preparing for this exact moment as she wielded her weapon and cut through the opposing ranks.

“Fallback the young ones and the wounded to the rear immediately!”

In tandem with Jeon Rahwa’s lethal display, Jin Hagyeong roared orders while maintaining a relentless offensive using his left hand.

His severed right side left an empty sleeve that billowed wildly with every movement.

Hoae showed equal composure in the face of the chaotic onslaught, pushing against Seok Gyeong’s back to guide the casualties away from the front line.

“To the front…… Mister, we must hold the vanguard position.”

Hoae spoke with unwavering resolve.

Seok Gyeong ground his teeth together and planted his feet firmly along the defensive perimeter.

Though the tip of his blade wavered slightly, he kept it pointed directly at the advancing enemy.

A quartet of Rakshasa Monks converged upon their position, but.

Papat-!

Jin Hagyeong launched himself into the fray, his blade flashing through the air.

Having lost his arm only recently, he had not fully adapted to the imbalance, yet his accuracy remained flawless.

He shifted half a step aside to evade the descending trajectory of the lead Rakshasa Monk’s Crescent Moon Saber, parrying the strike with the reverse edge of his weapon, before driving his point toward the foe’s recovering wrist, unleashing a concentrated burst of Sword Qi.

Chachang—!

The Crescent Moon Saber was ripped from the monk’s grasp, and the sheer force twisted his wrist awkwardly, compelling him to stagger backward.

The remaining three Monks exploited the temporary opening, striking simultaneously.

Confronting three adversaries with merely a single arm left his defensive angles compromised.

The moment Jin Hagyeong shifted to intercept the attacker on his left, his right flank was left entirely unprotected.

Swaek-.

A Crescent Moon Saber whistled toward the exposed area where his empty sleeve fluttered.

Right at that critical juncture.

Kang!

Jeon Rahwa arrived in a flash, interposing her own blade to deflect the lethal Crescent Moon Saber away.

They had never coordinated their movements before this day.

They did not even exchange a passing glance.

She had simply observed the vulnerability on Jin Hagyeong’s right side, and her instincts and weapon had responded automatically.

While Jin Hagyeong contained the left assault, Jeon Rahwa neutralized the right threat.

When Jin Hagyeong advanced with a piercing thrust, Jeon Rahwa eliminated a Rakshasa Monk attempting a flanking maneuver from behind.

Jin Hagyeong relied on the sophisticated swordsmanship of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect, whereas Jeon Rahwa infused her strikes with the biting Cold Qi of the Twin Snow Yin Cold Art.

The nature of their martial arts was fundamentally distinct, and their movement patterns followed entirely different cadences.

Despite having never trained as a pair, their battlefield synergy was astonishingly perfect.

Whenever Jin Hagyeong’s Sword Qi forced a breach in the enemy’s guard, the frost-laden blade arrived to secure it; whenever the chilling frost slowed a foe’s reactions, the single-handed swordsman delivered the decisive blow.

They were far from alone in this struggle, however.

“Eliminate them!”

“Butcher these monsters!”

Every capable combatant from the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect, alongside Hoae, Seok Gyeong, and the rest of the unseasoned disciples from the Hero’s Sect, threw themselves into the conflict against the Rakshasa Monks with total desperation.

Regardless of how formidable the Rakshasa Monks typically were, this disorganized remnant lacked any true powerhouse to lead them. They stood no chance of containing the combined might of Jin Hagyeong and Jeon Rahwa, nor could they withstand the furious, vengeful onslaught of the surviving Vast Heaven swordsmen.

In short order, every single Rakshasa Monk involved in the ambush lay lifeless upon the earth.

“Haa, haa…….”

The piercing Cold Qi dissipated from Jeon Rahwa’s blade, leaving a layer of frost clinging to the surrounding greenery.

“Hwook, hwook…….”

Jin Hagyeong also drew ragged breaths as he lowered his weapon toward the ground.

“Are you unharmed?”

“……Yes.”

Jeon Rahwa offered another clipped response, though the hand wrapped around her hilt trembled minutely.

This was her very first instance of taking a human life, yet she refused to return her blade to its scabbard.

The primary danger had not yet passed.

Kuuuuung—!

As if confirming her fears, a massive concussive wave rolled down from the upper peaks.

The scale of this impact was entirely distinct from anything that had preceded it.

The soil beneath their boots shuddered violently, and the surrounding fog was blasted backward in a massive, sweeping curve.

Through the newly opened space, a luminous column erupting from the mountainside cast a brilliant, blinding glare across the landscape, merging with the morning light.

The radiance was so piercing that it was nearly impossible to look toward it directly.

“……!”

“……!”

Every warrior present involuntarily turned their eyes toward the phenomenon.

Yet the brilliant illumination showed no signs of waning; instead, its intensity multiplied.

“What could possibly be transpiring up there……. More importantly, what kind of adversary are they engaging?”

● ● ●

Wuuuuuuung-.

All sound suddenly dissolved, replaced entirely by beams of brilliant light emanating outward from Beom-eum’s form.

The destruction of the Sea of Ten Thousand Sounds meant that Beom-eum had essentially been rendered blind.

He had spent two decades existing with his eyelids firmly shut.

He possessed the faculty of sight, yet he chose to abstain from it.

He abstained from looking because his sense of hearing sufficed.

Whenever the cadence of sacred chants filled the air, that auditory landscape served as Beom-eum’s vision.

The rhythmic strike of his Alms Bowl established the boundaries of his perception, while the resonant frequencies of the holy texts provided the fine details.

The collective choruses delivered by hundreds of his fellow Rakshasa Monks transformed the entire mountain terrain into a massive symphony, and within that arrangement, Beom-eum perceived every movement.

But now.

The grand composition he had spent so long directing had been utterly ruined.

His Alms Bowl lay shattered into two separate fragments.

Half of the sacred Dharma Artifact that had accompanied him for twenty years was gone.

The sight of merely a broken half resting within his palm felt profoundly alien to him.

The missing segment was likely buried beneath the churned earth.

And the artifact was not the only thing interred there.

The vital presence of Gakjin had also vanished from the world.

To be completely accurate, his pulse had ceased entirely.

A short distance away.

Only a brief span from where he stood, the massive eight-Zhang-tall colossus lay crumpled upon the dirt like a discarded piece of cloth.

Naturally, Beom-eum had perceived the entire sequence auditorily.

The distinct clatter of the three-pronged fork slipping away, the sickening crunch of fracturing skeletal structures, and the final, absolute quiet of a heart that would never resume its rhythm.

Their seemingly limitless duet had reached its definitive conclusion.

Twenty years.

Since the moment he had entered the ranks of the Rakshasa Monk Corps, Gakjin had remained an invariable fixture at Beom-eum’s side.

Whenever Beom-eum forged a path through his vocal incantations, Gakjin’s heavy three-pronged fork would march down that exact path.

A harmony of melody and physical impact.

The rhythm followed by total destruction.

When their breathing aligned in perfect synchronization, no foe in existence possessed the capability to disrupt their performance.

It had been immensely entertaining.

This was an undeniable truth.

It brought him pure exhilaration whenever the collective agonies of thousands merged into a singular melody, when the frantic pacing of retreating steps provided a frantic tempo, and the snap of a breaking blade delivered the perfect crescendo.

The specific noise Beom-eum treasured above all else in this life was the sound of a human being coming apart, and Gakjin had been the premier artisan capable of generating that exact sound.

Yet now, that particular duet and concerto could never be staged again.

His fingers clamped down with immense force upon the remaining half of the Alms Bowl.

What an immense pity.

His emotion was not one of grief.

Nor was it driven by fury.

It was simply a profound sense of dissatisfaction that his favorite ‘entertainment’ had been brought to an end.

The edges of Beom-eum’s mouth curled upward.

A visible grin manifested beneath his closed eyelids.

It was an expression that had not graced his facial features for two decades.

Because now, he was finally liberated to perform without restraint.

That singular epiphany triggered a profound awakening deep within Beom-eum’s physical frame.

It owed nothing to his vocal incantations.

It had no connection to the standard Internal Energy circulating through his Meridians.

It was an ancient force that had resided within his body long before he had ever donned the vestments of a Rakshasa Monk twenty years prior.

Hyuuuuuuuuuuuung-.

An exotic energy began to unfurl from the very core of his sternum.

It bypassed the traditional Meridians entirely.

It did not originate from or travel through his Dantian.

It was a total resonance that manifested simultaneously across his skeletal structure, his muscular tissue, and his skin—vibrating through his entire physical being.

A Spiritual Root.

The specific Spiritual Root that Beom-eum carried was that of Rhythm.

The foundational source of all sound and the primordial seed of vibration.

Completely independent of this realm’s conventional Meridian framework, his entire physical vessel was itself a musical apparatus: the Rhythm Spiritual Root.

The chanting practices of the Rakshasa Monks were merely an inferior, degraded form of martial arts that attempted to confine this sublime Spiritual Root within the rigid pathways of human Meridians.

The internal cycles of the Sea of Ten Thousand Sounds—a specialized Qi methodology that utilized bones as strings, flesh as vibrating membranes, and blood vessels as hollow pipes—came far closer to the true nature of the Spiritual Root, but the moment that energy was forced through the narrow tracks of the Meridians, it was inevitably degraded and stripped of its true Spiritual Energy.

Now, things were entirely different.

He no longer routed the power through those restrictive Meridians.

His entire physical form vibrated in perfect unison.

Every single bone shuddered, his vascular system harmonized, and his outer skin transformed into a taut membrane, striking against the surrounding air.

This was the authentic expression of the Spiritual Root of Rhythm.

The fundamental, primordial sound.

It was completely distinct in its core properties from ordinary Internal Energy.

This was pure Spiritual Energy.

The true majesty that only manifests from an authentic Spiritual Root.

It required no established Meridian tracks to travel through.

The physical body itself served as the conduit.

An ethereal luminescence began to leak out from beneath his monastic garments.

A subtle yet perfectly uniform radiance.

An illumination entirely distinct from the morning sun, possessing neither coolness nor heat—a mystical light that had no rightful place on this earthly mountain.

That intense light began to systematically shred the individual threads of his reddish-brown monk robes, tearing them apart piece by piece.

Beom-eum rose to his feet.

Kuuung—!

With that singular movement, the collective vitality of the peak and the mountain structure itself were heavily suppressed.

Beom-eum had done nothing more than stand upright with his feet planted against the soil, yet the ground across a perimeter of several dozen Zhang collapsed downward simultaneously.

The shattered remnants scattered about his position were violently propelled outward in a perfect circle.

Concurrently, a torrent of Spiritual Energy erupted from Beom-eum’s physical form, drastically altering the literal density of the surrounding air.

“What under heaven is this……?!”

Positioned at a significant distance, Yan Bilyeong’s weapon began to emit a sharp cry from within its scabbard.

It was not the physical metal of the blade that vibrated, but rather the very Internal Energy that had been infused into it.

“That individual…… he is some manner of incomprehensible entity, not a mere practitioner of the Dark Rakshasa Way.”

The fingers with which Myo Jinheo held his fan began to twitch uncontrollably against his will.

Wuuuuuu-.

The entire mountain massif began to vibrate in perfect sympathy with Beom-eum.

His eyes remained firmly shut, just as they had been.

For there was still absolutely no necessity for him to look.

The precise instant his Spiritual Energy permeated the atmosphere, a faculty of perception on an entirely different plane than the Sea of Ten Thousand Sounds became accessible to him.

He could perceive the entire mountain audibly.

The detailed contours of the scattered debris.

The exact profile of the fractured mountain ridge.

The pulverized boulders and the completely uprooted trees.

And the solitary man positioning himself directly ahead.

The moment Beom-eum’s expanding Spiritual Energy made contact with that individual, Dong Bongsu, an inexplicable anomaly occurred.

His presence could not be deciphered.

To be entirely precise, his form could be detected, but his essence could not be pinned down.

An invisible, untouchable perimeter was maintained around the man’s physical form.

A peculiar Qi Field, entirely unified with the natural environment, was completely dominating the surrounding area.

It was so perfectly integrated and natural that it crossed the threshold into being utterly terrifying.

“You…… it appears you likewise originated from that place.”

The intense radiance completely tore the remaining monastic vestments from his body.

And then.

Those fierce, piercing rays of light, which looked capable of rending the mountain asunder, quietly withdrew, absorbing directly into Beom-eum’s entire physical vessel.

A slender, compact frame with eyes sealed shut.

Any vestige of the familiar Rakshasa Monk had vanished entirely.

Instead, the Cultivator, revealing his true primordial identity for the first time in an immense span of years, Goeum, took a deliberate step forward toward Dong Bongsu.