At some point, Shaolin's reputation had grown more as a martial sect than as a temple.
The pillar of the Orthodox Sects, Mount Tai and North Star. All martial arts under heaven originate from Shaolin.
These two phrases symbolized the Shaolin of today, and both spoke not of the Buddha's mercy, but of the supreme excellence of its martial arts.
Gak-myeong was asking whether this was truly right… whether Shaolin had forgotten its essence.
It was a question that could reasonably be raised, and I thought it was a necessary form of self-purification for a massive organization like Shaolin Temple to endure for so long.
As he said, if they took a single wrong step down the path, they could degenerate into a completely different organization, like the Potala Palace, which had become engrossed in Vajrayana.
However, there was one thing I couldn't understand.
"Why are you asking me that?"
Why was Gak-myeong pouring out his doubts and worries to me, of all people? After all, I was just an outsider.
That was the one thing I couldn't figure out, so I asked him back.
Gak-myeong nodded, still maintaining his prayerful posture.
"Because I thought the Blood Flower Sword Demon benefactor was the most suitable person. As an outsider, you can see what those within cannot. As a young rising talent, your thinking is not yet as rigid as mine. And the deeds that reach my ears are far from ordinary—your experience may be narrow, but it is not shallow. …Above all, are you not a martial artist who has carried such killing intent without losing his way?"
"Ah."
The answer came as if he had been waiting for it. Seeing that, I understood.
The words Gak-myeong had spoken were questions that had truly been weighed over a long period of deliberation before being voiced.
Even I, who wielded a sword dripping with killing intent and bore a fearsome alias, was still acknowledged as a martial artist of the Orthodox Sects—a contradiction that echoed Shaolin's own.
He must have come running the moment he heard I wished to experience Shaolin's martial arts.
Setting aside the outcome of the sparring bout, I could fully grasp how earnest and sincere he was, so I drew my sword and pointed it at Gak-myeong.
Gak-myeong was a Buddhist disciple and an outstanding martial artist, and the most honest conversation between martial artists was when they exchanged blows at full strength.
"I am grateful that the monk Gak-myeong holds me in such high regard, but I am not a man who can give a clear answer to such a question. My vision is short, and I have never harbored any grand cause. …I am merely flailing through today."
Following that, a blood-red Sword Qi, steeped in killing intent, surged and bloomed.
He had not yet fully released his killing intent, but my intention seemed to have been conveyed, as Gak-myeong released his prayer posture and settled into a stance. I curled the corners of my mouth into a grin toward him.
"However, if you wish to see that flailing up close…you have come to the right place. Watch as much as you like, and in return, show me the Vajra Guardian's martial arts. If that is not enough, then we can talk then."
"…"
As if agreeing with my words, Gak-myeong answered not with a reply but by drawing up his internal energy and dyeing his entire body in a golden light.
His two hands, which had been spread wide for the prayer posture, had already become tightly clenched fists.
A silent conversation exchanged through gazes alone. At the end of it, it was Gak-myeong who moved.
Sliding.
Even his footsteps were faint to the point of being inaudible, and his upper body stood as firm as a Buddhist statue, unshaken. From that fixed posture, like a statue, Gak-myeong simply drew closer.
The Immovable Wisdom King Step had been astonishing to watch from the side, but facing it directly, it was a footwork even more remarkable than that.
Even more so because I could not even begin to guess how such movement was possible.
But I couldn't just stand there in admiration. Gak-myeong had already closed the distance in a single stride, his fierce face twisting as he swung a fist.
A fist wrapped in a faint golden glow. I swung my sword toward that fist, which was as massive as Gak-myeong's towering frame.
KA-BOOM!
The explosion came from our internal energies repelling each other. Yet neither of us was thrown back. As if locked in a contest of strength, we simply hung in the air, blade and fist pressed together, trembling.
The Blood Sword Flame blazed fiercely, while the golden Fist Energy was so faint it seemed ready to flicker out—yet it was as solid as anything could be.
It was the energy of the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art, which gnawed at the fist like a starving wolf, but not a single tooth could sink into Gak-myeong's internal energy.
The stalemate held for a brief moment, but soon, that balance was bound to shatter.
"Kuh…"
My sword began to be pushed back, little by little.
A momentary shock could be overcome through various techniques, but in terms of raw physical strength, Gak-myeong was far superior, so this was only natural.
I held my ground as best I could, relying on the sensations at the tip of my blade to read the flow of his power. Then, in a single instant, I reversed the force I had been opposing.
The fist that had been blocked by my sword suddenly found nothing in its path, and for a moment, it pierced through empty air.
Whoosh!
The wind pressure grazed past my ear. Even though I had put a fair amount of distance between us, one ear stung with a sharp, tingling ache.
When someone swings with that much force and misses, it's only natural for their stance to crumble from the recoil.
But Gak-myeong's posture hadn't changed in the slightest from when he'd started.
His upper body remained utterly motionless. Like a silent Buddha statue moving only its arms, Gak-myeong's other hand came flying toward me.
Having gauged his strength from the previous exchange, I swung my sword at an angle with just enough force to match it this time.
I'd intended to deflect it.
KWAANG!
"This is…"
I'd clearly meant to deflect it, and outwardly it looked like I'd succeeded, but the impact felt through my hand was unchanged.
It was as if the fist had been deflected, yet the force contained within it had come straight at me all the same.
"Impressive. Now I understand why Senior Seomun Hwa-rin chose to meet it head-on so honestly. Unless you can avoid it completely, meeting it head-on is better than deflecting it half-heartedly."
"The fist of the Immovable Wisdom King may waver, but the Buddha's heart within it does not."
Perhaps it was his fierce face. At some point, Gak-myeong's voice had come to resemble a guardian king statue more than a Buddha.
I couldn't grasp the finer details, but there had to be a reason his upper body remained frozen in that immovable stance.
It was a martial art unique to the Buddhist tradition—stubborn on the surface, yet carrying a profound depth.
…But unlike the other Shaolin arts, this wasn't a method of honing fundamentals to their absolute limit.
The Immovable Wisdom King Step and the Immovable Wisdom King Fist were woven with considerably complex techniques.
That unwavering upper body wasn't built through sheer force cultivated by grueling External Arts training.
If it had been, the fist I'd just deflected wouldn't have carried the same power as a full-force strike.
This must be possible only through a combination of External Arts and the precise application of internal energy.
I'd only seen one technique so far… but still, since he'd shown his hand first, it was only proper that I make the next move.
As if dispersing the martial energy flowing through my sword, I kept retreating step by step, putting a wide distance between us.
Then I lowered my stance, quickly closed in from the inside, and released the killing intent I'd been suppressing all at once.
"Namu Amita Buddha…"
Gak-myeong's eyes flew wide open at the killing intent beyond anything he'd imagined, and he let out a Buddhist invocation. From his perspective, it must have felt like a blade was suddenly pressed against his chin.
Aside from Gakjeong, the former abbot, he might be the first person at Shaolin Temple to experience my killing intent firsthand.
Killing intent that devoured the entire surrounding area. Within my heightened senses, a faint smell of burning brushed past the tip of my nose.
Using that as my signal, I swung my sword first.
Swoosh!
Just like Gak-myeong's fist, my sword shot forward in a perfectly straight line.
Gak-myeong extended his fist to meet it, as if to block the path… but just before the two collided.
My sword traced a bizarre arc and dipped downward. Then, the blade rebounded upward in a sharp curve, slicing across Gak-myeong's forearm.
Thunk.
The fierce internal energy of the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art clawed at Gak-myeong's arm, but it couldn't pierce the profound internal energy unique to Buddhism or the body that had achieved the Indestructible Vajra Body.
…Still, I was able to cut deeper than when I'd traded blows with his fist head-on. That was enough.
I endure the sharp pain as the fist, extending without any obstruction, grazes my shoulder, and I swing the sword once more.
Movement reliant on Sword-Mind Unity. The sensation that I am not swinging the sword, but rather moving my body in accordance with the sword's path.
A sword filled with nothing but killing intent—not bearing any profound conviction, nor even pursuing elegance.
A dry, headlong sword that willingly offers up its own flesh if it means cutting even a single inch closer to a vital point.
A sword that seems to symbolize my wretched past unfolds without rest.
I swung the sword because I was hungry, because I didn't want to be looked down upon, because it was the only thing I knew how to do, to vent a resentment that had nowhere to go, and for the precious bonds that had formed anew.
…In the end, that path led only to loss.
It was a life of nothing but loss. Isn't it only natural that the longing grew in proportion to it?
Loss. And the longing that stems from it.
My sword was built upon such a foundation, and so to me, the sword was never a means of profound teaching—only a tool born of necessity.
Of course, conveying this fully would be impossible.
Just as I could sense Gak-myeong's unyielding stubbornness in his martial art, yet, not being a disciple of Buddha, could not understand what that stubbornness was directed toward.
Gak-myeong, too, might have sensed the loss and longing in my martial art, but he would be unable to know what they were directed at.
However, one thing was conveyed: a martial art need not be wielded exactly as it was intended.
The Blood Wolf Technique, the predecessor of the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art, was not originally a martial art that carried such vicious killing intent.
But it became so because I wielded it.
Even the swordsmanship I learned here and there, and the techniques I stole with my eyes, must have their original forms and true intentions.
But in my hands, they transform into simple mysteries, called forth only when and where they are needed.
What does it matter that it's a corrupted martial art from the Potala Palace? If the heart of the one who wields it is upright, then corruption is merely corruption—no problem at all.
What does it matter that a Buddhist disciple learns a martial art created for killing? By that logic, one shouldn't even pick up a kitchen knife. It, too, is more than capable of harming a person.
Martial arts are tools. What matters is not the tool, but the heart of the one who wields it.
Power, force, wealth—there are many kinds of strength besides these… but power does not corrupt a person.
It is the person who holds power who chooses to be corrupted.
Killing intent and martial arts are all a part of me. Just as I can pinch my own limbs, my limbs cannot move on their own and strike my cheek.
I may wield them, but they would never dare wield me.
There was a part of this that echoed what I had told Gakjeong before. Unlike him, who had merely been impressed, it seemed to strike Gak-myeong more deeply.
His fierce expression softened as his eyes widened.
Gak-myeong's fist, which had been pressing toward me with only his arm extended while his upper body remained still, came to a halt. My sword, which had been persistently probing for any softer spot, stopped as well.
In the brief stalemate and the silence that followed, Gak-myeong's dazed voice reached me.
"Teaching is not the only way to teach, and the Buddha does not exist only in temples. What truly matters is… ah!"
As if awakened by something, Gak-myeong's entire body emitted a blinding golden light.
He sat down right where he was, and as he began to gather his enlightenment, I was momentarily taken aback.
"No…"
Who cuts things off just as the excitement was starting to build?
And we trained together, so why does he get to have the enlightenment all to himself?
A bit of resentment and emptiness crept in, and my posture naturally went crooked.
Hoo.