Returning to the Dark Moon

Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Was It Truly That Hard to Give the Great Returning Pill?

The reason the Dark Heaven Society was able to contend against the Jianghu of the Central Plains.

There was the strength of the absolute being known as Baek Cheon, but the existence of Matchless in a Single Strike also exerted a massive influence.

Because she was the former world's strongest.

The title of the world's strongest is not a mere symbol. The eyes of the contemporary Jianghu were focused on every single step the world's strongest took.

Beom Cheon and Baek Cheon are regressors. Naturally, even if they are not comrades, it is right for them to be in a cooperative relationship. Because they cannot simply kill each other.

Even so, to think it was Matchless in a Single Strike. I should have realized when Beom Cheon said someone other than me and Hwa Pyeong would participate in the sparring matches.

"Stingy bastard. Was it truly that hard to give the Great Returning Pill?"

Before I knew it, a thin, hemispherical Qi-membrane was cast around Beom Cheon and me. It was a membrane so thin and sophisticated that even the elders of Shaolin would not notice.

Sounds did not leak out. That was why I was speaking so freely, but.

Beom Cheon glanced at me and stared at the sparring stage.

"Amitabha. Since the young Buddhist disciple is so powerful, I am deeply looking forward to what the future of this temple will be. It is certain that the departed ancestors of Shaolin are watching over us."

How loathsome.

Regardless, should I take comfort in the fact that the Lesser Returning Pill is worth aiming for?

Even if I obtained the Lesser Returning Pill, it was obvious it would be handed straight over to Hwa Pyeong, but.

'Well, saving a person comes first.'

There is no particular reason why I am trying to save Hwa Pyeong's mother. It is because I once received a warm bowl of noodles from her when she ran a worn-out tavern in my childhood.

I have never forgotten that warmth and wish to repay it. This is why a person should live a kind life.

Cursed Elder Hwa. To think no one mourns him even though he is dead. Come to think of it, I also killed the flatfish who was Elder Hwa's son, so I have nothing to say.

The flatfish deserved it. How dare he act up against the Hungry God who was mired with the Inner Demon? In the first place, the flatfish becomes a main culprit who ruins the Beggar Sect along with Elder Hwa in the future. I did not split him in half with Sword Qi for no reason.

In my past life, my teacher was Elder Hwa. I acted with the thought, 'I must not become like Elder Hwa,' in whatever I did. He was an excellent negative example, and he must be rotting in the Eight Burning Hells as the price for his sins.

However, I was now in a position to receive the karma for brutally murdering the flatfish's family. According to the Trackless Divine Beggar, the high-ranking members of the Dark Heaven Society are aware of the regression.

If so, Matchless in a Single Strike must also know about me. Naturally, she must have come here to trample me.

Added to that, the judgment was made that a master of her caliber could protect me from the ambush of Peach Blossom Land.

In an instant, a monstrous roar erupted from the right side of the sparring stage. They were the gamblers who had bet their money on Matchless in a Single Strike.

Likely, the underdog odds were enormous.

"I'm rich now! Ha, to think a day like this would come in my life!"

"Sigh! I should have bet more money. I only put in a little bit for fun, and now I'm just left with regrets."

Where there is a winner in a gambling den, there is bound to be a loser.

The boos and resentment of the gamblers who had bet on the Arhat of the Eighteen reached all the way here.

"Ugh, you baldy bastard! It's my fault for trusting you."

"You called yourself an Arhat! One of Shaolin's top forces!"

Beom Cheon, with a furrowed brow, flicked his sleeve, and the man who cursed at the baldy collapsed in his seat. He had fainted.

"...I simply struck his Upper Dantian with the Zen Sleeve. He will wake up soon."

It was said along with an uncharacteristic excuse.

The baldies on the platform, including the Shaolin elders, all had hardened faces, seemingly displeased with the atmosphere overheated by gambling.

It was only natural. This was a tournament where gambling by pilgrims was exceptionally allowed. I was the one who requested it.

'There needs to be this kind of charm for more people to visit.'

In truth, many people come to see the sparring of martial monks. Because high-level fights between Jianghu masters are not easily seen.

However, there is no economic benefit for Shaolin from that alone. Taking ten percent of the profits from this gambling den was the price for opening it.

No matter how grand Shaolin was, they did not live by digging up the ground, so they needed money.

I was used to such dirty sights of the secular world.

The only baldy smiling on this platform was the Master of the Hall of Finance, who was responsible for Shaolin's finances.

I stared at the broken sparring stage for a moment. Matchless in a Single Strike met my eyes. Even her arrogant gaze suited that young body. Even though it should not be possible.

Those black pupils and upturned eyelashes. Is it because Matchless in a Single Strike is a master of Lightning Qi Arts? The words that followed were as sudden as a lightning bolt.

"I will come find you soon."

No, just don't come please.

While my heart was this troubled, the cursed gamblers were incredibly boisterous. It was truly behavior befitting those of a bottom-tier life.

They were repeatedly chanting the name Younghwa, the pseudonym of Matchless in a Single Strike.

Since I was also a bottom-tier life, I had nothing in particular to point out. The clouds flowing in the sky and the rising sun could not soothe my heart.

I let out a deep sigh and descended from the platform. It was time for me to stand on the sparring stage.

* * *

"Begin!"

My match, with one of the Four Great Vajras of Shaolin acting as the referee, began. However, a scene completely different from what I had initially expected unfolded before my eyes.

A trembling Shaolin monk met my eyes. The lapis lazuli of the sparring stage was temporarily patched and was in a somewhat broken state. I certainly expected a confident Shaolin disciple to come out.

But why was that bastard trembling so much?

If his posture was shaken, the Unmoving Mind characteristic of Shaolin would not be manifested, and the intent would not be properly loaded, so it was certain his forms would weaken.

I spun my Upper Dantian tension for a moment and realized. That was the baldy I had planted head-first into the training ground floor.

Somehow, seeing him so terrified made me feel a bit sorry, but a match is a match. It meant I had no room to consider the opponent's circumstances.

I felt the texture of the wooden sword in my grip and pointed the sword at him.

Only then did the martial monk plant his legs into the sparring stage. Was his name Hyemoon?

If he learned from me, that was the right thing to do.

'The characteristic sturdiness of Shaolin is still the same.'

A golden radiance enveloped Hyemoon's entire body. It was the Supreme Grand Ability, a divine art of the Shaolin Temple. A martial art that repelled the opponent by means of immense Buddhist power. It could be utilized not only in fist and palm methods but also in footwork.

In an instant, Hyemoon, who had clasped his hands, vanished and suddenly appeared before my eyes. Shaolin's Diamond Unmoving Movement Technique. Surprisingly, his achievement in movement was higher than his fist arts.

Hyemoon's waist pulled back, and a massive fist immediately flew toward my abdomen. It was the Arhat Fist, a fist method learned by all Shaolin monks. It was said to be a single punch of an honest routine with no mysterious variations or special subtleties.

Its power varied depending on how much training one had done.

I held the wooden sword in a reverse grip and blocked his fist. Was he indeed a genius of the thousand-year Shaolin? As the wooden sword was pushed back by about half an inch, my form also floated up and stayed in the air for a moment. Even my wrist felt tingly from Hyemoon's fist strike. This was why I intended to master the Muscle-Bone Strengthening Scripture.

I would have to strike and fix it to fit my body, but if the body was solid, the sword force would increase and it would become much easier to defend against the opponent's attack forms.

'It is also for mastering Buddhist power.'

That was secondary, though.

Was Hyemoon confident in defeating me? He did not charge at me as I was pushed back but calmly held his position. His figure stood still to the point that it was a bit awkward for me, who was preparing a counter-form.

Shaolin is often compared to a great tree. A mindset of stillness within motion, like a deep-rooted tree quietly guarding its place and occasionally moving its branches.

I bared my teeth and laughed for the first time in a while. Because an Orthodox-style one-on-one match was something I hadn't done in decades. I immediately gripped my sword properly and thought.

My Sun-Drenched Moonlight is thick with killing intent. It was because it was a sword technique polished on the battlefield. Could these Shaolin runts properly receive my sword?

With such thoughts, I took a step forward. The sound of rustling fallen leaves tickled my ears, and Star Moon Sword Qi burned vividly from the extended sword. The aftermath of the Ten Thousand Li Wind Chasing Footwork soared up in a gust of wind belatedly. Footwork, body technique, and lightfoot were collectively called "Step, Body, and Lightness", and the place most famous for this was the Beggar Sect.

Hyemoon was flustered by my unexpected speed. However, the wooden sword soared upward according to the movement of Hyemoon, who instinctively struck up with his thick hand.

I did not panic but grinned and immediately struck down with the sword toward his shoulder.

Even though it was a wooden sword, the blade became embedded because I had emitted sword Qi.

The blood that spurted out obscured my vision.

I must have developed a quite unsightly face.

Thinking such idle thoughts, I kicked Hyemoon's solid shoulder to pull the sword out and widened the distance.

The outcome was already clear. The difference in skill was also obvious even to the eyes of the commoners. I looked toward the referee while turning my gaze away from Hyemoon, who was trying to charge once more. In the first place, this match was close to a friendly sparring session.

It meant there was no reason to continue further once blood was seen.

The referee also met my eyes and nodded. He had understood my gaze.

"I announce that Wang Cho, the Drunken Sword of the Beggar Sect, has won the match!"

With that, the referee spoke to Hyemoon so only he could hear.

"It was a fight you could not win anyway. Hyemoon, did you truly think you could face a Celestial Martial Body? In this world, there are things that can be done and things that cannot. Our job as martial monks is to cut off the delusions of the masses, not to bicker with Jianghu people."

Of course, it was all heard by my sharpened ears. Was he subtly looking down on me as a "Jianghu person"? Don't even dream of becoming the Sect Leader in the future. I'll tattle on everything to Beom Cheon.

Hyemoon, who had been gloomy, straightened his chest as if he had regained his senses from that meager consolation and descended from the sparring stage. I watched him for a moment and then,

"You beggar bastard! I knew I was right in trusting you!"

"Is it even legal for a beggar to be this strong!"

I waved my hand lightly to the gamblers who were cheering for me and sat back down on the platform. Even if a beggar's martial arts were strong, he was still just a beggar brat. What a cursed world.

The next match was Hwa Pyeong's, so I could not sleep. The opponent was a second-generation disciple of Shaolin, but he wasn't one of the guys I had taught and his energy looked the weakest, so it seemed Hwa Pyeong might win if he did this and that.

Before long, the rigged gambler and the Shaolin monk stood on the sparring stage. The referee announced the start of the match first.

Hwa Pyeong, who was confusing the Shaolin monk's eyes by moving his feet nimbly, immediately thrust his sword, and the opponent, who dodged lightly, landed a light punch to his solar plexus.

Boom!

That was when the rigged gambler's waist bent like a scythe. Similarly, it was a complete defeat with no room for dispute. I ended up sighing at the vain and gruesome sight.

"That dumbass..."