The saying that one can stave off hunger with temple food is a thing of the past.

This spring was so cool it felt as though a small glacier had been draped across the sky, and in some temples, rumors spread that commoners who came to offer food were disappearing without a trace—eaten, it was whispered.

In an age when no one dares call the demonic martial world uncivilized anymore, those who still come to temples must possess a deep Buddhist faith.

So it was at the Shaolin Temple’s Guest Hall.

“......”

A place where incense bearers and flower bringers pause briefly. Old, massive thangka paintings lined every wall, with all sorts of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas gazing down at the visitors from their ancient canvases.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought to himself.

“They say Shaolin doesn’t distinguish between commoners and nobles.”

That rumor seemed true enough, just from the vast hall. It was filled with all manner of people seated together.

Merchants and local nobles dressed in silks so glossy they made the famine seem like fiction, commoners draped in sleeveless hemp robes like rags, and even martial artists who bore no visible weapons but were surrounded by formless energy.

Their attire varied, but their temperament was alike.

“That’s the prince’s purple robe and that face—could the Master of the Divine Sword be at Shaolin...? Namo Avalokiteshvara.”

“Keep your voice down. Don’t go announcing it.”

“That head... is it a trophy from some evil cultist? He’s even wilder than the rumors. Reliable.”

He carried a solemnity reminiscent of Mount Song. Even nobility beyond composure could be sensed.

Most of the incense bearers were like that. No one raised their voice, and few were visibly excited about seeing the Master of the Divine Sword.

“Oh my, you can feel Buddhist intent from those commoners practicing the Three Talents Heart Method.”

The Lord of Cheongeuk Gate shook his head as he limped after Jeong Yeon-shin. The shadow of his conical hat danced frivolously on the ground.

“I’ve always disliked the solemn air of the Dharma Hall. It’s only natural—swordplay and the Buddha’s teachings don’t go hand in hand. What lunatic would conceive of channeling Buddhist faith through swordsmanship?”

“......”

“Any swordsman with real rhythm would think as I do. To call a man who swings a blade imbued with the Buddha’s teachings a contemporary of mine is... a rare stroke of misfortune.”

Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly, seated cross-legged on the wide floor.

“A pioneer, isn’t he?”

“The incense of a temple always smells musty. Primal Calm Mind, Primal Calm Mind....”

Though he seemed to be rambling at random, a profound understanding of the Way of the Sword naturally emerged in his words and manner.

When it came to swordsmanship, this Foremost Outsider Sword was someone few dared dismiss.

It was after he'd made up his mind at the Jeong family’s grave to revisit the foundations of the Jeong Clan’s martial arts.

He intended to reexamine everything: the compatibility of Nimble Radiant Wheel Qi and his sword strikes, the imagery that matched Return-Wing Nine Steps and Return-Wing Ten Steps, and the method for uniting the Three Radiant Wheels.

To step into the limits of human potential granted by the heavens.

...Like Master and the Battle God.

Just as the silence among the incense bearers held steady—

A light sleeve gently pushed open the Guest Hall’s door with a breeze of pure air.

It was Elder Beomha.

“All matters to be discussed among the monks of this temple have been handled, fortunately. All of you.”

The Lord of Cheongeuk tilted his head. At the same time, he flicked his single ankle and asked:

“You’re saying you’ll teach me the Tendon Transformation Canon?”

His tone was relaxed, but his words carried disbelief. Some of the incense bearers even drew faint, surprised breaths.

“No. If you shaved your head, we might consider it. But the Foremost Outsider Sword doesn’t seem likely to uphold the precept of not killing. Moreover, the Tendon Transformation Canon is only taught after one is recognized for having a gentle heart and body.”

It was the Asura of the Heavenly Ruin who replied calmly.

Sshk.

Rising smoothly with formless agility, the Lord of Cheongeuk leaned on Dongmong like a walking staff and asked,

“Then what’s your offer?”

“I’ll teach you the inner technique of Shapeless Limbs. How quickly you learn is entirely up to you.”

“Let’s set aside the issue of talent.”

A faint arc curved beneath the brim of his hat.

“I suppose I’m entering the sect lineage of the abbot.”

“Think of it as a donation from an old monk. It’s the only way I could gently guide you toward enlightenment. After all, striking the skull of one who abuses Unnatural Emptiness isn’t easy.”

Elder Beomha shook his head as he spoke.

And just as Jeong Yeon-shin began worrying about Shaolin’s reputation, the Lord of Cheongeuk brushed past them and said nonchalantly—

“Well, thank you.”

Jeong Yeon-shin sensed that those words weren’t just for Elder Beomha—they were meant for him too.

It was certainly unprecedented.

“How strange...”

He shook his head inwardly.

It wasn’t a particularly sincere thank-you. It had the feel of a fisherman murmuring thanks while distracted by his catch.

“Follow me.”

With a serene expression, Elder Beomha moved ahead. Like Subhuti treating Sun Wukong with no expectations as a disciple.

The three of them left the Guest Hall.

Passing several wooden pavilions, they found all the Dharma Halls eerily empty.

Only half-grown pine needles and stunted cones rolled about in place of the straw sandal footsteps of monks.

Most of the monks had gone through the gate at Shaolin’s Sojeol Peak.

To fill the void left by Elder Beomryeol and Elder Beomha.

Only gaunt scholar-monks remained, sweeping the grounds like devoted fire tenders with long brooms, bowing respectfully as Elder Beomha passed.

Receiving their greetings, the old monk flapped his empty sleeve like an arm, and leisurely spoke to Jeong Yeon-shin and the Lord of Cheongeuk as if recounting a tale from the past.

“These days, this temple has little strength left. That Gate, the union of Wonyuk and Chunhamok... so we’re left without monks.”

“I heard that the thousand-year Shaolin’s foundation is strongest among the old sects. Is the situation so dire that even all the martial monks must leave their posts?”

At Jeong Yeon-shin’s question, Elder Beomha smiled gently.

“Before descending the mountain, pushing Wonjeok back through the Gate came first. There was no other way if we were to protect the patrons in the village below Sungsan. That was where we caught evil spirits and beat sense into Wonjeok’s skull. Not only the 108 Arhats, but every disciple who took in the essence of Sungsan is blocking the Gate and Wonjeok alike. Of course, Beomnyeol also headed to see Wonjeok as soon as he returned to the monastery.”

At that moment, the Master of Cheongeukmun interrupted.

“Wonjeok, you say—do you mean that 'Hundred-Year Wall-Sitter' among the Four Diamond Guardians of the Myung Clan? I did have some interest in him.”

He had been a monk often intoxicated by Jeong Yeon-shin’s spiritual power. With his sublime Diamond Immovable Body Technique, he once inspired the Phantom Wings Steps. His physical tempering through the Tendon Transformation Method, along with his refined energy cultivation and defensive nerves, had placed him on the doorstep of transcendence.

If that were combined with the unified ability of Chunhamok...

It would be like Hahое Wi-jin, who had mastered the Jeong Family Core Skill and the Wind Spirit Method, finally transforming into a fully ripened transcendent master. Perhaps even stronger.

You could tell just from the rare drop in Elder Beomha’s tone.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“That’s the very Wonjeok. That’s why Wonmu alone protected Shaolin. He was a boy who once feared his own clan might bring calamity upon the monastery and wandered in and out of the Gate by himself... but that has no meaning now.”

In the Myung Dynasty of today, power was law. The northern Asura of the Demonic Abyss ended the remark quietly.

Then, a large shadow fell over the party.

A deep voice scraped the air.

“Head Monk, the Meditation Cave is ready.”

It was the Four Diamond Guardian, Wonmu. With sunlight completely behind him, his sheer size was more noticeable than any expression.

He was a man only known by the nickname Fist Demon within the Shaolin grounds. Even the people of the village below Sungsan, as well as someone like Jeong Yeon-shin, were just now learning his identity.

“Already? The Bronze Guardians must have been filled with the earth’s power.”

“They’ve all merged with the ground. Only fragments remain now.”

“You’ve done well.”

Before they realized it, they were in the Pagoda Forest.

Over six hundred gray-white stone pagodas stood thick as thickets—where the sarira of deceased masters were kept.

One of the larger pagodas among them suddenly let out a clear pine breeze.

Wuuuuuung—

It was an incomparably auspicious spiritual wave. It felt like the mind and body were being washed in clear water. Jeong Yeon-shin had to suppress the shiver running up his spine.

“What...?”

“That’s the Sarira Pagoda of Master Huike... the first disciple of Master Bodhidharma. Naturally, the spiritual presence is intense.”

“Ah.”

“Perhaps your own spiritual power pleased him.”

—How tragic.

Jeong Yeon-shin glanced side to side at the thought that had stabbed into his upper dantian. It seemed like only he had heard it, so he simply resumed walking.

Step.

Elder Beomha smiled faintly and nodded to both him and Wonmu.

“Head to the Meditation Cave. I and the Master of Cheongeukmun will enter through the Gate. It will be a rather noisy lesson.”

“The stakes are high for both sides. Shall we place a bet on whose cultivation will progress further?”

The Master of Cheongeukmun posed [N O V E L I G H T] the question lightly. Despite being on the verge of entering the most sacred land of Shaolin, he truly seemed unfazed.

To take one more step beyond the hundred-foot pole.

It was a famous saying in Zen Buddhism. That one must take yet another step even in peril, to reach higher. It was all the more poetic given that Shaolin was the very cradle of Zen in the Central Plains.

“To compete in cultivation...?”

Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head as though he’d heard something strange. Soon after, he followed Wonmu’s lead, while the one-armed blind man adjusted his bamboo hat with a quiet smile.

*

They began to ascend the steep mountain path in reverse, but Jeong Yeon-shin found himself far more focused on the Four Diamond Guardian ahead than on the sharp rocks beneath their feet. The more he saw, the more peculiar it was.

A body like diamond.

Born with a physique similar to that of the Jeong Family Core Skill, then trained in the Tendon Transformation Method of Bodhidharma. In terms of external martial arts alone, he might surpass Jeong Yeon-shin.

“It is quite far, but distance is not an issue.”

Every word and action brought to mind the Dharma King Jeong Yeon-shin had once encountered in the north. But the dignity was different—he truly suited the title of Great One.

The Four Diamond Guardian, Master Wonmu.

“Right now, not even my spiritual power can resist Chunhamok’s ability... As a junior of the Way, I am simply grateful for your grace. Once I attain realization, I will return swiftly, no matter the distance, to assist in Master Wonjeok’s matter.”

“Truly, how wonderful! You are indeed the great wilderness itself, and I am but a reed leaf in the wind of Master Bodhidharma. Even a journey of dozens of miles is but a moment.”

The great wilderness, indeed...

They dashed together across the vast mid-slopes of Sungsan—but only briefly.

There it is.

What had looked like a speck now grew larger and larger, until it became a pitch-black cave. A gap in the mountain that might have been used by hibernating animals. As soon as it entered his vision, Jeong Yeon-shin found himself standing at the cave’s mouth.

Fwaaah!

A headwind scraped over the rocky floor.

The cracked earth hissed as dust blew by, but Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t tear his gaze away. Even as a strange martial pressure surged from deep beneath the Sungsan cliffs, it was the same.

Anyone would be the same in his shoes.

Whether the Grand Purity Alliance was seeking to take even Sungsan after occupying Luoyang—or whether a martial god had come, lured by the words “All martial arts under heaven come from Shaolin”—

Huff—

“......”

Inside the pitch-dark cave.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood before a shadow that flickered like incense smoke from a temple sachet. The halo that had first formed in his heart had stopped spinning of its own accord.

In that instant, the spiritual flame in his upper dantian flared to life and carved four letters into his mind:

Bodhidharma.