MDR 11

Chapter – 11

On the tenth day.

It finally happened.

Who exploded?

“Whaaaat? Why hasn’t anyone come already?!”

It was Moyongjin.

“Haha…”

“Ahem…”

At Moyongjin’s furious outburst, Paeng Ijong swallowed nervously, and Moyonghyuk cleared his throat.

For ten days, Moyongjin had truly tried everything.

He visited the homes of the children who had originally been students, trying to persuade them. When the village had a market, he shamelessly demonstrated sword techniques.

He had tried absolutely everything within his power.

Although he wanted to recruit students through Paeng Ijong, that was not possible.

Moyongjin was in complete despair.

“See? I told you. Without the Paeng clan’s techniques, recruiting students in this village is impossible.”

“Still… isn’t this too much? These children have shown loyalty, and yet, just because they can’t learn the Paeng clan’s techniques, you want to just move the academy away…”

“A parent’s heart is always like that. They worry about their child’s future first. I would have sent them to the Habuk Small Academy too, if I were them.”

At the mention of “Habuk Small Academy,” Moyongjin glared at Paeng Ijong, who quickly avoided eye contact.

Habuk Small Academy.

The reason Moyong Academy had not attracted a single student was because of this.

While Moyong Academy was closed, a new “Habuk Small Academy,” directly run by the Paeng clan, had opened in the center of Jeongso Village.

There, they taught the basic Paeng clan techniques and stances, and outstanding children were sometimes taken directly into the Paeng clan.

Naturally, parents’ eyes lit up, and almost all children in Jeongso Village attended that school.

“Habuk Small Academy… Haa… Should I go burn it down…”

Moyonghyuk and Paeng Ijong dismissed his comment about burning it as a joke, but Moyongjin was serious.

In his mind, Habuk Small Academy was already blazing.

“If no students come, then there’s no money. If there’s no money, I can’t treat the Guyang Jeolmaek…”

“Money… Money is the problem. What should I do…”

He slammed his fingers on the table, but nothing came to mind.

The more he thought, the more his mind went blank.

Not a single student had enrolled, and finances were at rock bottom.

He would even need to worry about what to eat tomorrow.

And he couldn’t keep taking money from Paeng Ijong indefinitely.

Seeing his son with his forehead pressed against the table in despair, Moyonghyuk got up quietly and patted his back.

“Don’t be too anxious. I too would like to lure students away from Habuk Small Academy, but what can we do? Slowly and steadily, one day you will see the light.”

Slowly. Steadily.

Moyongjin wanted to, but time was not on his side.

The Guyang Jeolmaek didn’t give much time.

Even if one survived past twelve, living healthily was not guaranteed.

The truth was, if one didn’t solve it before fourteen, the only thing left would be death.

‘This is a chance I regained. I can’t let it slip away…’

Once willing to give up immediately, Moyongjin now clung desperately to life.

While pondering, Moyongjin recalled what his father had said earlier.

“Father…? Wait. What did you just say to me?”

“About seeing the light one day?”

“No, no. Before that.”

“Slowly and steadily?”

“No, no. The one before that.”

“Habuk Small Academy… wait, son, don’t tell me…”

Moyonghyuk was shocked to see Moyongjin’s expression, which held a smile unlike his usual, obedient self—this was the smile of Kwanma (狂魔) Cheon Girin himself.

The instinct of the Kwanma, dormant under the guise of Moyongjin, had awakened.

All because not a single student had enrolled.

“Indeed, Father. Brilliant. If there are no students in the village, we take them. How did I not think of this before? My father truly is a genius!”

Naturally, Moyonghyuk opposed the idea.

But no one could stop Moyongjin’s resolve.

Reluctantly, Moyonghyuk let him do as he pleased, and Paeng Ijong, of course, had no choice but to follow his master.

Strike while the iron is hot.

Moyongjin got up immediately and headed toward Habuk Small Academy, with Paeng Ijong accompanying him.

Moyonghyuk could not bring himself to join, leaving Paeng Ijong as his reluctant assistant.

“Are you sure this is okay? For something like this…”

“It’s enough. Even if they are from the Paeng clan, no one will recognize you. You’ve grown a bit, you wear a Jeokrip mask, and carry a sword, not the techniques. Even Paeng Yeowoon wouldn’t recognize you.”

“Hmm…”

Paeng Ijong was uneasy, even with Moyongjin’s reassurances. The school belonged to the Paeng clan, and he himself was a “Three Duke” of the clan.

‘The Paeng clan plundering the Paeng clan…’

From his perspective, it was dizzying—legendary Paeng Muak and the current Three Duke of Habuk Paeng were raiding the academy.

Though he had no choice but to obey Moyongjin, unease remained.

Moyongjin gave Paeng Ijong a strong push on the back, and laughed as he pointed to the academy’s gate.

“Do well. Got it? Once you enter, you’re no longer the Three Duke. You are Moyongjong, the new teacher of Moyong Academy. Memorized your background?”

“Moyongjong. Age 29. Survivor of the Moyong family, returning after traveling for supreme training. Master of the Thunder Feather Sword, at peak skill.”

“Perfect. From now on, you are my master, and I am your student.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t reached peak skill yet…”

“Don’t worry. People often say ‘only masters recognize other masters,’ but that’s mostly false. To tell a true master at a glance, they must have reached the Hwagyeong realm. Is there anyone in the Paeng clan at Hwagyeong? If so, only Paeng Yeowoon.”

Paeng Ijong nodded slightly.

“Still… I’m only 19. Claiming I’m 29 makes me ten years older. Young looks can’t be hidden…”

“Talk too much! Go in!”

Moyongjin kicked Paeng Ijong, causing him to lose balance and fall just as the Habuk Small Academy’s gate opened.

A man in a long robe appeared—Paeng Noil, the academy’s principal and Paeng Ijong’s cousin.

Paeng Noil saw the rushing Paeng Ijong but couldn’t dodge in time. Paeng Ijong hit Paeng Noil’s solar plexus with his elbow.

Amazingly, Paeng Ijong didn’t fall from the recoil, but Paeng Noil rolled on the ground three times, covered in the contents of a cleaning pail.

As Paeng Ijong tried to approach to explain, Moyongjin dashed forward, blocking him, and shouted loudly:

“Wow! Our peak master Moyongjong, incredible! You just sent him flying with one strike! Amazing, awesome, insane!”

It sounded as if he wanted everyone around to hear.

Meanwhile, in the Martial Alliance (Murummaeng, 武林盟)

The Murummaeng is an organization composed of the Nine Sects and martial families, coordinating conflicts in the martial world and restraining the activities of the heretical sects.

The head of this organization was the Murummaengju (Martial Alliance Chief).

Previously, the Murummaengju had little power, but after Cheon Girin assumed the position, the influence skyrocketed.

He could even move the Alliance from central Hanan to near Hangzhou at will.

Today, after a long time, the Alliance was returning from Hangzhou to Hanan.

The newly built Murummaeng Headquarters was right below Songshan, where Shaolin resided.

At first glance, it looked like the emperor’s palace rather than the martial alliance, radiating extreme luxury.

The reason the move back to Hanan took so long was the construction of this extravagant headquarters.

The most lavish spot was the artificially made island in the middle of a pond, named Shinseondo (Immortal’s Isle).

Two men were seated there, drinking.

“Congratulations, Great Master Gongsung. Or should I call you Chief?”

“Haha, please, call me whatever you like, Jangmunin.”

“How could I casually call the Martial Alliance Chief, haha.”

“Is that so? If the benefactor insists, then so be it. Namu Amitabul.”

The two, Gongsung Dae-sa of Shaolin and Cheonghwa Jin-in of Huashan, were enjoying drinks despite being a monk and a Taoist.

“It’s been twenty years since he died.”

“Precisely twenty-one, if we count exactly.”

“You remember that precisely?”

“Of course. Because of him, we are where we are now.”

“True. Though he was a scoundrel, thanks to him the alliance grew. I guess we should be grateful.”

“Grateful? He was an ignorant worm. Better he’s dead, let’s leave it at that.”

“Indeed, Master Gongsung! Hahaha!”

They bantered, but suddenly both became serious, expelling their drunkenness with inner energy.

“Here he comes.”

“I felt it too.”

Suddenly, the pond surged. A pair of monstrous figures wearing masks appeared, along with a striking foreign-looking man.

The man stepped gracefully onto Shinseondo. The masked figures bowed, shouting:

“Cheonse (Heavenly World)! Cheonse! Cheonse! Pa-cheon has descended!”

The Cheonma Shingyo (Heavenly Demon Cult), known as the heretical sect, refers to this man as Pa-cheon, i.e., Cheonma.

His pale, almost icy skin contrasted with deep black hair and piercing eyes, giving him an otherworldly, mysterious aura.

But above all, a dense aura of demonic energy radiated from him, enough to freeze even Shaolin’s Gongsung Dae-sa and Huashan’s Cheonghwa Jin-in.

He was human, yet not human.

Finally, his lips opened slowly.

“I have come to collect the price of the promise made twenty years ago.”