At some point, Shaolin’s reputation became greater as a martial sect rather than a temple.

The towering symbol of the orthodox sects, “All martial arts under heaven originate from Shaolin.”

These two phrases, often used to describe present-day Shaolin, emphasize not the Buddha’s compassion, but the strength of their martial arts.

Gak Myeong was asking if this was truly the right path. Had Shaolin not lost sight of its essence?

It was a valid question, and one that seemed necessary—a kind of self-reflection for a long-standing organization like Shaolin.

As he said, a wrong turn could lead them down the path of the Potala Palace, now deeply immersed in esoteric Buddhism, transforming into something else entirely.

However, there was one thing I couldn’t understand.

“Why are you asking me this?”

Why was Gak Myeong sharing his doubts and concerns with me, of all people? I was, after all, an outsider.

Unable to understand his reasoning, I had to ask.

Still holding his clasped-hands posture, Gak Myeong nodded.

“Because I believe the Blood Flame Sword Demon benefactor is the most appropriate person. As an outsider, you can see things those within cannot. You’re still a young warrior of the late second class, so your thinking won’t be rigid like mine.

And though your experience may be narrow, given your reputation, it surely isn’t shallow. Most importantly, you’re a martial artist who, despite the killing intent you carry, has not lost your way.”

“Ah.”

As if he’d been waiting for me to ask, the answer flowed naturally from his mouth. And upon hearing it, I understood.

The words Gak Myeong spoke were ones he had pondered for a long time.

To him, I—someone who wielded a sword heavy with killing intent, someone with a fearsome nickname yet still recognized as a martial artist of the orthodox path—perhaps represented the very contradiction Shaolin was facing.

No wonder he had rushed over upon hearing I wished to experience Shaolin’s martial arts.

The outcome of the spar didn’t matter. His sincerity was clear. And so, I pointed my drawn sword at Gak Myeong.

Gak Myeong was both a disciple of Buddha and an excellent martial artist. And between martial artists, the most genuine conversation occurs when exchanging full-force blows.

“I’m grateful that you think so highly of me, but I’m not someone who can offer a clear answer to your question.

My vision is narrow, and I’ve never carried any grand ideals… I’m just struggling to survive today.”

With that, a blood-red sword aura, thick with killing intent, began to surge around me.

Though I hadn’t released my killing intent in earnest yet, Gak Myeong seemed to understand my intent, breaking his clasped posture and assuming a stance.

I grinned crookedly at him.

“Still, if it’s that struggle you wish to witness up close… you’ve come to the right place. Watch all you like, and in return, show me the martial arts of the Vajra Warrior. If that’s still not enough, then we can talk afterward.”

As if agreeing, Gak Myeong responded not with words but by drawing out his internal energy, dyeing his entire body in golden light.

His hands, once spread for the clasped-palm greeting, were now tightly clenched fists.

A silent exchange of will through our eyes. The first to move was Gak Myeong.

Swish—

Not even a sound of footsteps. His upper body, as steady as a Buddha statue, didn’t budge an inch.

He simply drew closer in that immovable posture.

The Immovable Wisdom King Steps had been impressive to watch from the side, but facing them directly, they were even more astonishing.

It was baffling—how such movement was possible at all.

But I didn’t have the luxury to simply admire. Before I knew it, Gak Myeong had already closed the distance and swung his fist with that fierce face.

A large fist wrapped in soft golden light. I swung my sword toward it.

Kkwaang!

An explosive sound rang out as our inner energies clashed.

But neither of us was blown back. Instead, sword and fist met and quivered midair in a contest of strength.

My blood-red sword flame, blazing fiercely, clashed against the dim yet unyielding golden fist energy.

Like a starving wolf trying to bite into a fist, the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art surged with killing energy, yet it failed to pierce even a single tooth into Gak Myeong’s inner energy.

We remained locked in that clash briefly, but eventually, the balance broke.

“Kh…?”

My sword began to slowly get pushed back.

A momentary burst of force can be overcome with technique, but in pure physical strength, Gak Myeong was far superior. It was inevitable.

Enduring just enough while using the feel through my sword to read the flow of power, I instantly reversed my force.

As my blocking sword suddenly disappeared, his fist pierced through empty air.

Wooosh!

The wind grazed my ear, stinging even though I had made sure to put ample distance between us.

Normally, swinging with that much force and missing would ruin one’s stance.

But Gak Myeong’s posture remained unchanged.

His upper body, unmoving as ever. As though only his arms moved from a statue of Buddha, his other fist came flying in.

Now having gauged his strength from our earlier exchange, I angled my sword to redirect it with appropriate force.

That was the plan.

Kkwaang!

“What…?”

I had certainly meant to deflect it. And to an observer, it looked like I had.

But the impact I felt in my hand was just as heavy as before.

It was as if I had deflected the fist, but the force contained within still came directly at me.

“I see. Now I understand why Senior Seorin met him head-on with her fists. If you can’t completely dodge it, you’re better off countering directly than half-heartedly trying to avoid it.”

“The fist of the Immovable Wisdom King Fist may waver, but the Buddha’s will within does not,”

came Gak Myeong’s voice, deep like a Vajra statue rather than a Buddha now—perhaps due to his grim face.

Though I didn’t fully grasp the theory, the unmoving upper body clearly had its reasons.

It was a Buddhist-style martial art—stubborn, but carrying deep meaning.

Unlike other Shaolin martial arts that refine the basics to the extreme, however, the Immovable Wisdom King Steps and Fist incorporated complex techniques.

That unmoving upper body wasn’t built solely through external physical training.

If it were, his deflected punch earlier wouldn’t have held such power.

It likely required a blend of refined inner energy control atop his physical training.

I had only seen one technique, but since he showed me first, it was only right for me to take the next move.

As if shaking off the lingering force that flowed through my sword, I stepped back rapidly to open distance.

Then, lowering my stance, I dashed inward—unleashing my suppressed killing intent all at once.

“Namu Amitabha…”

Eyes widening at the overwhelming killing intent, Gak Myeong chanted a Buddhist phrase.

To him, it must have felt like a blade had been suddenly thrust under his chin.

Other than Gakjeong, the former abbot, he was probably the first in Shaolin to experience my killing intent this directly.

The surrounding air was saturated with my murderous aura.

With my senses heightened, I caught a faint scent of burning in the air—and took that as my cue to swing.

Sswaeeek!

Like Gak Myeong’s fist, my sword strike shot out in a straight line.

To intercept it, he too thrust out his fist—but just before we collided, my sword curved strangely downward.

Then with another sudden twist, the blade shot upward, slashing across Gak Myeong’s forearm.

Kkaduduk.

The savage inner energy of the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art tore across Gak Myeong’s arm, but his deep Buddhist inner energy and Vajra Indestructible Body prevented it from penetrating.

Still, it reached deeper than when our fists clashed. That was enough.

Ignoring the pain of his grazing punch scraping my shoulder, I swung again.

Movements driven by the Divine Sword Unity—not swinging the sword, but moving in sync with the sword’s path.

No profound meaning, no style—just pure killing intent.

A sword that wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice flesh if it meant slicing even a fraction closer to a vital point.

A ruthless, blunt sword style—a reflection of my wretched past.

I swung it for many reasons: hunger, pride, helplessness, the need to vent unspoken anger, and to protect the bonds I had finally regained.

Though in the end, it had all led to loss.

A life of constant loss, and a hunger growing in proportion.

Loss—and the yearning born from it.

That was the foundation upon which my sword was built.

So to me, the sword was not a noble teaching—but simply a necessary tool.

Of course, conveying this fully would be impossible.

Just as I could sense the unyielding nature of Gak Myeong’s martial arts but not understand what that conviction was for,

he might have felt my sword’s sense of loss and longing, but not what they were directed at.

But there was one thing that surely came through—

that martial arts do not always reflect the original intent of the art itself.

Blood Wolf Arts, the foundation of my Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art, was never meant to carry such violent killing intent.

But because it was me wielding it, it became that way.

Every sword technique I learned or stole a glance at surely had its own intent and form—but in my hands, they simply became practical tricks used as needed.

So what if the Potala Palace’s martial arts were corrupted?

As long as the one wielding them has a righteous heart, corruption is meaningless.

So what if a disciple of Buddha learns martial arts made to kill? By that logic, even a kitchen knife would be forbidden—it too can kill.

Martial arts are just tools. What matters is the heart of the one who wields them.

Whether it be political power, physical might, or financial wealth… power itself does not corrupt.

It is the person holding the power who chooses corruption.

Killing intent, martial arts—they are all part of me.

I might be able to pinch my own fingers, but those fingers will never move of their own accord to strike me.

I wield them—they do not wield me.

It was similar to what I once told Gakjeong.

But unlike him, who only showed admiration, Gak Myeong seemed genuinely moved.

His grim expression eased, and his eyes opened wide.

The fists that had relentlessly pressured me without moving his upper body stopped.

My sword, which had persistently sought out even the slightest weak point, also halted.

In the brief silence that followed, Gak Myeong spoke in a dazed voice.

“Teaching isn’t always in words, and the Buddha doesn’t dwell only in temples. What truly matters is…”

“Ah!”

As if he had achieved enlightenment, Gak Myeong began to radiate golden light across his entire body.

Then he simply sat down, as if trying to absorb that enlightenment—leaving me momentarily dumbfounded.

“What the…?”

Just when I was getting into the mood, you stop like this?

We sparred together—so why is he the only one having a breakthrough?

I couldn’t help but feel a little cheated and hollow inside, and my posture slumped without realizing it.

Tsk.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep