To Bu Eunseol, who had already attained the Supreme Heavenly Realm, the projection of Formless Qi was little more than a passing breeze. Yet, as the middle-aged man unleashed the invisible pressure, a memory surfaced—the Sword Demon Wi Hyeok-gun, who had assaulted him on Hell Island with similar ferocity.

“Ugh.”

The sentiment lasted only a fleeting moment. Feigning an inability to withstand the crushing energy, Bu Eunseol deliberately stumbled, retreating several staggering steps. If his true martial prowess were exposed here, his entire infiltration would crumble.

“Do you understand what I mean?”

At the middle-aged man’s heavy question, Bu Eunseol bowed his head, his face twisted in feigned pain.

“I understand.”

Seeing that wretched, cowed appearance, the man nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“And… if you ever tire of playing the part of a wandering vagrant, come find this Pavilion Master.”

Casting a final, assessing glance at Bu Eunseol’s face, the man turned and departed without lingering attachment.

“What on earth happened?” Jong-jeong Yak approached hurriedly, her eyes wide. “Seven Strings Sect? Young Hero Seol, you were a successor of that lineage?”

Bu Eunseol, pretending to still be reeling from the shock of the Formless Qi, stumbled once more before shaking his head to clear it. “By the way, who was that person?”

Jong-jeong Yak blinked her large eyes and whispered, incredulity coloring her tone. “Do you really not know?”

“What do you mean?”

“That was Yuk Jang-cheon, the Pavilion Master in charge of the Ascending Martial Pavilion of this Alliance.”

“The Palm King, Yuk Jang-cheon?”

Bu Eunseol’s eyes widened. That massive middle-aged man was the leader commanding all martial arts instructors of the Martial Righteous Alliance—one of the legendary Four Gods and Seven Kings.

“I did not know.”

As Bu Eunseol shuddered lightly, feigning fear, Jong-jeong Yak laughed softly. “It is fine. Since he acknowledged Young Hero Seol, there won’t be any trouble for you in the future.”

Acknowledged… Good.

Hearing those words, Bu Eunseol smiled inwardly.

Indeed, the Martial Righteous Alliance lived up to its name. On the surface, it appeared lax, but beneath the veneer, it was a beast more terrifying than the Demonic Palace. The moment an external wanderer entered their ranks, they likely mobilized their entire intelligence network to excavate his background from root to branch. Finding no discrepancies, they had deployed a monster like Yuk Jang-cheon to verify Bu Eunseol’s identity personally.

Entering the Martial Emperor’s Secret Vault was fortunate.

If Bu Eunseol had merely been imitating Orthodox martial arts as he had in the past, his true nature would have been exposed instantly. But having delved into the Martial Emperor’s Secret Vault and absorbed its profound teachings, he could now unfold Orthodox techniques with more authenticity than the Orthodox practitioners themselves. It was this depth that allowed him to deceive the discerning eyes of the Palm King.

The Martial Righteous Alliance. From one to ten, nothing is easy.

The power of the Orthodox Murim surpassed the Demonic Path, and the might of the Alliance exceeded the combat power of the Demonic Palace. One misstep here meant immediate death, even for him.

“You seem very surprised,” Jong-jeong Yak noted.

Bu Eunseol forced a weary smile. “I will be fine after resting a little.”

Stumbling as if the shock still lingered in his limbs, he made his way toward his quarters.

***

Night fell before they knew it.

Jong-jeong Yak met with the Flower Secret Garden Master daily, discussing preparations for the successful Ten Righteousness Conference. With the Garden Master’s aid, she began unearthing materials to prove Dan-ri Muk’s corruption. Meanwhile, Neung Jo-un seemed to have completely lowered his guard; he no longer monitored Bu Eunseol, dedicating his time to assisting Jong-jeong Yak instead.

“If you feel stifled, you may take a walk. The guards will stop you regardless if it’s a restricted area.”

Since learning of Bu Eunseol’s alleged sect origin, Neung Jo-un’s attitude had shifted favorably. Most wandering vagrants hailed from the Demonic or Unorthodox paths, but a successor of the Seven Strings Sect—a once-famous Righteous lineage—commanded respect.

Click.

As the door latched behind Neung Jo-un, Bu Eunseol slipped out of the quarters.

I should look somewhere else today.

The mechanism in the abandoned warehouse remained the most suspicious lead, but Dan-ri Muk had altered the arrangement of the blue stone slabs just yesterday. The probability of him leaving fresh traces so soon was low, so Bu Eunseol decided to investigate the perimeter.

Shall I go a little deeper inside?

Step. Step.

Moving silently, Bu Eunseol headed toward the depths of the Eastern Gate, an area he hadn’t probed the previous day. This sector housed the residences of the Alliance Leader and masters equivalent to the Four Gods and Seven Kings.

About fifty jang should be enough.

He intended to maintain a safe distance, utilizing the Spirit Communion with the Empty Mind to observe from afar. A closer approach risked detection, and a frontal confrontation would bring down endless waves of masters he could not hope to defeat alone.

Mechanical sounds.

Approaching the Eastern Gate, Bu Eunseol pricked up his ears, his gaze settling on a specific structure. It resembled a large pagoda, emanating the faint, rhythmic grinding of hidden gears from within its walls.

There is a hidden space.

Secretly scanning the surroundings, Bu Eunseol covered his face with a cloth he had concealed in his bosom. He entered carefully, walking along a passage bathed in soft, diffused light. Reaching the end of the corridor, a wide hall revealed itself, populated by small stone coffins arranged in rows.

These are…

Examining the stone coffins closely, he saw the Dharma names of monks carved into the surfaces.

I came to a useless place.

This appeared to be a Sarira Pagoda, a repository for the sacred relics left by eminent monks affiliated with the Martial Righteous Alliance.

These can be considered precious treasures too… so there must be mechanisms.

Just as Bu Eunseol nodded faintly and turned to exit—

“Amitabha.”

A low Buddhist chant resonated from directly behind his back.

“What brings a night guest to this temple where an old man stays alone at this late hour?”

Bu Eunseol froze, shock coursing through him. It wasn’t just that someone had approached within striking distance without triggering his senses—senses honed by the Way of the Beast—but that the voice, though originating from behind, sounded as clear as if whispered directly into his ear.

A master I cannot deal with.

Muscles coiled with tension, Bu Eunseol turned his body with agonizing slowness.

There stood an old monk in faded robes, wearing a faint smile. His eyes held a clarity as pure as a boy’s, and his eyebrows, hanging long like willow branches, were dyed white as snow. He was clearly an eminent monk of Shaolin possessing immense seniority.

“I did not come with bad intentions.” Bu Eunseol gathered his hands and spoke with utmost politeness. “If you show mercy, Great Master, I will withdraw quietly.”

“Huhu. This is a Buddhist sanctuary where outsiders are absolutely forbidden.” The old monk wore an innocent smile, reminiscent of a child. “Shouldn’t I know at least your sect origin and name so this old monk can have something to say to Buddha?”

“If I were going to reveal that, I would not have worn a mask.”

“Indeed, that is true.” The old monk shook his head as if lamenting a great pity. “Then I have no choice but to ask your body directly.”

Whoosh!

The old monk waved his hands lightly, a gesture as casual as shooing away a fly. Simultaneously, a gale ferocious enough to tear skin blasted toward Bu Eunseol’s face.

Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art?

The technique was unmistakable—the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art that Gwang Yeon, Shaolin’s greatest genius, had employed. Yet, where Gwang Yeon’s execution was soft and the spread of force gradual, this old monk’s strike poured out like a collapsing mountain. The internal energy was so profound that the unique softness of Buddhist martial arts had been sublimated into overwhelming power.

Kuh.

Bu Eunseol immediately unfolded the Shadowless Supreme Speed, twisting away from the blast. But the palm force multiplied instantly, splitting into thirty-two distinct strands that wrapped around his body like a net.

I cannot avoid it.

Panic flared. To have all retreat paths severed in just two moves?

Thinking comes later.

He prepared to use the Heavenly Hand Shattering Void to dissolve the palm force in a single breath, but a thought flashed through his mind like lightning.

I must not use Demonic martial arts.

There was no hostility in the old monk’s eyes; only a faint, curious smile graced his lips. He clearly had no idea Bu Eunseol was of the Demonic Path, likely mistaking him for a talented young prospect of the Alliance.

Saaaah!

In the split second he hesitated, the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art brushed his face.

The cloth covering his features was snatched away by the old monk’s hand in a blur.

Impossible.

Shock filled Bu Eunseol’s eyes. To snatch the mask so easily while he was distracted for a mere heartbeat? If the old monk had harbored malicious intent, he could have crushed Bu Eunseol’s skull with that same motion.

Does this shabby old monk possess martial arts that look down upon the world?

“Oho.”

Looking at Bu Eunseol’s revealed face, the old monk burst into an exclamation. Although Bu Eunseol was maintaining the Face Changing Bone Altering Art by sacrificing ten percent of his internal energy, the old monk’s gaze seemed to pierce the disguise, seeing the truth beneath.

“Not only is your face shiny, but your eyes are full of righteous spirit. Filled with killing intent but no vicious nature…” The old monk laughed innocently. “Which sect produced such an outstanding disciple…”

He was convinced. The boy was Orthodox.

“Well, judging by your eyes, it seems you won’t tell me.” The monk spread his small hands wide again. “Shall we ask your body one more time?”

Whoosh!

His words were slow, but his movements were lightning. The small palms unfolded the sticky, immense pressure of the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art once more.

I cannot block it.

This force was a hundred times stronger than what Gwang Yeon had shown. It was at a level impossible to deflect with the standard Orthodox martial arts Bu Eunseol could merely mimic.

Is there no choice?

Even if the monk intended no lethal harm, taking that hit would result in severe internal injuries or unconsciousness. His investigation of the Alliance would end here.

Boom!

At that moment, sharp force erupted from Bu Eunseol’s body. Utilizing his legs and arms in concert, he poured out disparate Orthodox martial arts fused into a single mass.

He had unfolded the Qi of Thirteen Provocations, the ultimate martial art of the Martial Emperor from four hundred years ago.

“Oho.”

The old monk let out a genuine gasp. The sharp force Bu Eunseol unleashed was dismantling the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art strand by strand.

“A surprising martial art…”

Bursting into admiration, the old monk lightly waved both palms. Despite the casual motion, the force of the Qi of Thirteen Provocations vanished like melting snow.

Prajna Great Ability?

The monk hadn’t blocked the attack with a counter-technique. With the powerful, tough energy known as Prajna Great Ability, he had instantly altered the very martial principle of the incoming attack.

Is he a master of the Limitless Realm?

Bu Eunseol felt his heart might burst. To extend formless power and fundamentally change the characteristics of an enemy’s martial arts? Such ability proved the monk had reached the apex of the Murim, far surpassing the progression of the Supreme Heavenly Realm.

“Now, then… try receiving this once.”

The old monk retrieved his palms to his chest and spread them wide again.

Shinnng.

This time creating sixty-four hand shadows, he enveloped Bu Eunseol’s space. It was the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art again.

Saaaah…

But a surprising phenomenon occurred. The technique was pouring out with agonizing slowness, as if time itself had congealed.

“……!”

Bu Eunseol’s eyes trembled. The slowly unfolding palm was not simply increasing the number of shadows. For each move, the monk allocated a distinct angle and temporal flow. In essence, he was creating an entirely new martial art derived from the original.

This is…

Light flashed in Bu Eunseol’s eyes as a great realization struck him. Simultaneously, his hands lightly drew a circle—a movement reminiscent of the Wudang Sect’s Taiji Fist.

Swa-aack!

Five strands of force soared from Bu Eunseol’s body, beginning to erase the sixty-four palms one by one.

Swa-aack! Swa-aack!

The force of the Qi of Thirteen Provocations became tremendously sharp, far exceeding its previous limits, roaming the air freely like a living flood dragon. Previously, he had forcibly clumped martial arts together; now, powerful and sharp force poured out through natural, fluid movements.

Pa-pa-pa-pat!

As Bu Eunseol finally resolved the last of the sixty-four moves, the old monk’s hands slowed to a stop.

“Haa, haa.”

Bu Eunseol gasped for breath. It wasn’t physical exhaustion; it was the mental toll of realizing a new, immense martial principle and unfolding the Qi of Thirteen Provocations in a state of selflessness.

“Why…” Barely adjusting his internal breath, Bu Eunseol looked at the monk and gathered his hands. “Did you bestow such teachings upon me?”

The monk hadn’t attacked him. By unfolding the technique so slowly, he had transmitted high principles of martial arts directly into Bu Eunseol’s perception.

“You have learned various Righteous martial arts deeply enough to pour them out as a single mass, and even a strand of your internal energy is pure and thick like this poor monk’s…” The old monk stared intently into Bu Eunseol’s eyes. “How could I not bestow a lesson?”

Surely he isn’t mistaking me for a Master of Great Righteousness.

The Masters of Great Righteousness were eighteen elites raised by the Alliance, taught the secret arts of the Nine Great Sects based on their aptitude. The monk had clearly mistaken him for one of them.

“Instead, promise this old monk one thing.”

At the monk’s following words, however, Bu Eunseol realized his assumption was wrong.

“That when a great crisis comes in the future… you will become an unshakeable pillar of the Murim.” The old monk smiled gently. “No matter what position you stand in, without being shaken by anything…”

Absolute trust shone in those mysteriously bright eyes.

He was not mistaken.

Judging by his tone, the monk knew exactly who—or what—Bu Eunseol was, or at least that he was not a standard disciple. Then why transmit enlightenment? Did he recognize the Martial Emperor’s arts? Or had his Fated Life Karmic Comprehension opened, allowing him to glimpse the future?

“I understand.”

The thought was long, but the action was immediate. Seeing the benevolent light in the old monk’s eyes, Bu Eunseol involuntarily bowed deep.

“I will do so.”

“Then, it is done.”

The old monk smiled gently and turned around.

“Let us meet again if fate permits.”

He slowly disappeared into the darkness beyond the stone coffins.

“…”

Bu Eunseol stared blankly at the passage where the monk had vanished. Leaving the pagoda long after, he felt bewitched, as if he were still wandering through a dream beneath the bright moonlight.

***

The next day, Jong-jeong Yak and Neung Jo-un were still frantically organizing documents. When mealtime arrived, Bu Eunseol accompanied them to a nearby cafeteria. It was late for breakfast, and the hall was nearly empty.

“I saw a peculiar place while taking a walk last night,” Bu Eunseol said in a low voice, clearing his throat. “There was a small pagoda visible far to the east.”

Jong-jeong Yak blinked and nodded. “You mean the Golden Phoenix Pagoda. Why?”

“Does anyone live there?”

“No? That’s a place where no one lives separately.”

According to her explanation, the Golden Phoenix Pagoda enshrined the relics of outstanding masters who had protected the Righteous Murim. Naturally, it was uninhabited, visited only by sweeping cleaners who managed the grounds.

Then was the old monk a ghost?

No.

His sleeve had been torn by the aftermath of the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Art. A ghost could not tear fabric. Furthermore, why would a spirit appear to modify a Shaolin technique and offer teachings on the Qi of Thirteen Provocations?

“Was there perhaps a Buddhist ceremony held there recently?”

When Bu Eunseol changed the question, Jong-jeong Yak nodded. “How did you know? A Dharma Service hosted by Shaolin Temple is held there once a year. Not long ago, Master Hong Hyeon, called the Divine Monk, specially conducted a service.”

“Hong Hyeon…”

Sparks seemed to fly in Bu Eunseol’s eyes.

“You mean the Buddhist Sovereign among the Three Sovereigns… Master Hong Hyeon, said to be over two hundred years old?”