The five individuals gathered in the main hall of Shaolin Temple were all renowned martial artists, their hearing far surpassing that of ordinary people. Thus, none of them missed the shout that echoed from somewhere outside.

The Grand Protector turned to the Left Protector and asked, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” replied the Left Protector. “What do you think is happening?”

“I’m not sure. I definitely heard something about the Sama Clan, but…”

The Left Protector, Yeon Sa-yu, glanced at the leader, who was seated in a meditative pose. The leader gave a subtle nod, signaling him to investigate the matter.

“I’ll go check it out,” Yeon Sa-yu said, bowing slightly before heading out of the hall in the direction of the noise.

Neither the leader nor the two Protectors knew what had transpired the previous day, and Namgung Gwang and Juk Gyeong-gae were equally perplexed. It seemed the Sama Clan was involved, but their motives were a mystery.

Namgung Myung continued the conversation. “The key is simple. If I can deceive the Grand Protector’s senses and get close enough to strike the leader, it’s a success. If I’m caught, it’s a failure. You don’t have a role in this.”

“But if we’re caught, maybe together we can overpower the Grand Protector,” suggested Juk Gyeong-gae.

Namgung Myung sighed. “Even if we team up, we might barely hold our own against the Grand Protector. But that’s it. Even if the leader is preoccupied with the Great Elixir, he could quickly recover and join the fight if he sacrifices some of its power and risks internal injury.”

”…Hmm.”

“Do you really think we can kill the Grand Protector and strike the leader within half a moment?”

Juk Gyeong-gae pondered. The odds were slim, especially if the Grand Protector focused solely on defense.

“That’s going to be tough.”

“Exactly. That’s why it’s best for me to approach the leader secretly. I’ll try once, and whether I succeed or fail, I’ll leave immediately. Do you understand now why you don’t have a role?”

Juk Gyeong-gae’s expression twisted with frustration. If only he were as skilled as Namgung Young or Hyun Gong, or even Dam Moo-jin, he might have been able to end the leader’s life here.

Sensing Juk Gyeong-gae’s thoughts, Namgung Myung smiled and patted his shoulder. “Of course, you do have a role.”

“What is it?”

“On your way out of the hall, keep an eye out for any movement. If we’re lucky, the Grand Protector might show a weakness.”

“Alright. I can do that.”

Juk Gyeong-gae stood up and exited through a side door. Soon, the sound of footsteps echoed around the hall.

Step, step.

Yet the Grand Protector remained unmoved, standing calmly in front of the leader. Namgung Myung watched from behind a statue, waiting for the right moment.

‘So, he’s not easily shaken…’

But Namgung Myung wasn’t in a hurry. No one is perfect. Everyone eventually reveals a flaw. No exceptions.

Hidden in the shadows, Namgung Myung quietly drew his sword.

In the village below Mount Song, the villagers were startled awake by strange cries in the middle of the night. Rubbing their sleepy eyes, they stepped outside to find others in the same state.

“What was that noise?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t a familiar voice.”

Since they were already awake, they decided to investigate the source of the commotion.

Gathering together, more than twenty villagers headed toward the sound, eventually arriving at an abandoned barn. Inside, they found dozens of strangers, five of whom were clearly Shaolin monks. One was even quite famous.

“Isn’t that the Abbot of the Precepts Hall? What brings you here?”

The Abbot urgently gestured for them to leave. “Return home immediately. No matter what you hear, do not come out.”

“What do you mean by that…?”

“Go!”

Despite the Abbot’s warning, curiosity held the villagers in place. As the Abbot struggled to send them away, a figure appeared from the mountain path, strolling leisurely.

With a full head of hair, he was clearly not a monk. His build was solid, and he carried a sword. It was the Left Protector.

The Abbot’s martial skills were not particularly impressive, nor were those of the other monks. But it was clear that the newcomer was no ordinary opponent. He was likely the leader of the Demon Sect or one of its Protectors.

While the Abbot was tense, the villagers remained calm, unable to gauge the threat. They had unwavering faith in the Shaolin monks, a belief stronger than the monks’ own confidence.

This faith was understandable. They had often witnessed the monks easily handling troublemakers around Mount Song. In their small world, the Shaolin monks were invincible.

The Left Protector approached, eyeing the Sama Clan members still bound and gagged.

‘Red-tinged hair. It must be the Sama Clan. Since I’ve found them, I might as well finish them off here.’

As the Left Protector moved toward the Sama Clan, five monks from the Precepts Hall blocked his path.

“Stop!”

The Left Protector placed a hand on his sword hilt. “I am Yeon Sa-juk, the Left Protector of the Demon Sect. Step aside, and I’ll spare you this once.”

The monks did not budge. They faced the Left Protector with unwavering eyes, though their bodies trembled with fear.

The Left Protector murmured somberly, ”…I see.”

He did not offer mercy twice. Instead, he drew his sword.

The Iron-Cutting Sword, Great Roc.

The Left Protector swung his sword. No one could follow its path, only noticing a flash of white in the moonlight. Even the monk caught in its trajectory couldn’t react.

One monk’s upper body was sliced diagonally, blood spraying violently. It wasn’t a mere wound; the Left Protector’s sword cleaved him in two.

“Oh, oh no…!”

The villagers, who had expected an easy victory, were thrown into chaos by the monk’s brutal death.

The disparity in skill was so vast that even those untrained in martial arts could sense it.

“Kill them all! Kill them!”

The Sama Clan members, driven by desperation, shouted with glee. Half of them wanted to see the monks fall, even if it meant their own deaths.

The other half were less enthusiastic but had no way to stop the frenzy. They quietly worked to free themselves, hoping to escape.

The Left Protector continued his assault. He swung his left fist like a hammer, crushing another monk’s skull and neck in an instant. It was a gruesome death, yet paradoxically, the Left Protector’s swift attacks were meant to spare his victims prolonged suffering.

He gripped his sword again as the Abbot, knowing it was hopeless, prepared to face him with bare hands.

“Stop!”

At that moment, a beggar appeared from the direction of Shaolin Temple. It was Hong Gyeol-gae.

Hong Gyeol-gae hurled a bamboo staff filled with inner energy at the Left Protector.

Thud -

The Left Protector deflected the staff with his sword, the impact echoing like a drum. Seizing the opportunity, Hong Gyeol-gae lunged forward, executing the Twin Dragons Competing for the Pearl technique.

His palms aimed for the Left Protector’s chin, a powerful move not easily countered. The Left Protector crossed his wrists to block, using Hong Gyeol-gae’s momentum to leap back, making it seem as if he had been thrown.

But the Left Protector wasn’t merely on the defensive. Twisting in mid-air, he kicked at Hong Gyeol-gae’s head. Hong Gyeol-gae quickly raised his left forearm to block the kick.

“Whoa!”

The onlookers, including the warriors of the Sama family and the monks from the Precepts Institute, were in awe. For the first time, they witnessed a true martial arts battle, with techniques exchanged in a way that seemed almost perfectly matched.

But the reality was different. Both Hong Gyeolgae and Jwa Hobum were exceptional masters, yet there was a significant gap in their skills. Hong Gyeolgae felt a throbbing pain in his left arm, as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer, and the difference in their internal energy made his insides churn.

Hong Gyeolgae was certain of one thing.

This is a loss. Even if I fight ten times, I’ll lose all ten.

‘Is there anyone who can come to my aid?’

No one. Namgung Myeong was targeting the cult leader, and his other friends were likely unaware of the events unfolding at Shaolin Temple. He had to rely solely on his own abilities, but no solution was in sight. Overcoming a set limit was something only a genius like Hyeolwoo Gak could achieve.

‘If only the young master would hurry down from the Great Hero Hall…!’

Regret gnawed at him, but there was no turning back. As Hong Gyeolgae wrestled with his unsolvable dilemma, the villagers murmured among themselves.

“That young man seems to know something… Who is he?”

A few recognized Hong Gyeolgae.

“That’s the beggar! I know who he is!” “Who?” “The young man who carried Master Damjeong back to Shaolin a few years ago!” “Oh, I remember now!” “I heard he’s an incredible master. Even though he’s not the leader, he’s the best in the Beggars’ Sect. Yes, they called him Earth Dragon Hong Jusan!” “Earth Dragon Hong Jusan!”

If they hadn’t recognized him, he might have been able to slip away with the monks from the Precepts Institute. But now that people knew who he was, fleeing was not an option.

‘Damn it.’

His hands trembled. But there was only one thing he could do now. Hong Gyeolgae shouted with all his might.

“Run away immediately!” “What?” “I’ll buy you time, even if it costs my life, so run away now!”

Martial artists rarely admit their shortcomings. For one to acknowledge the possibility of defeat meant certain loss was imminent. The idea that Hong Gyeolgae might fend off Jwa Hobum was a delusion held only by those with little understanding.

As Hong Gyeolgae took a deep breath, he shouted again.

‘Please…!’

He fought desperately.

If only his predictions were wrong for once, but as expected, the fight was overwhelmingly in Jwa Hobum’s favor. Unlike when facing Woo Hobum, who wielded a spear, Jwa Hobum had no particular advantage against Hong Gyeolgae. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Jwa Hobum’s mastery of martial arts was superior, and he didn’t even need to use his full strength.

The villagers, fleeing for their lives, kept glancing back. In that moment, Jwa Hobum’s fist slammed into Hong Gyeolgae’s chest.

Crack.

Through his fist, Jwa Hobum felt the sensation of several bones breaking.

“Ugh!”

Hong Gyeolgae coughed up blood and collapsed. With multiple ribs broken, the shards could pierce vital organs like the heart or lungs, leaving no chance of survival.

Jwa Hobum couldn’t see inside Hong Gyeolgae’s body, so he didn’t know the extent of the internal damage. But he could see Hong Gyeolgae’s chest rising and falling more slowly, blood trickling from his mouth. His faint breathing sounded like air escaping, suggesting a punctured lung.

Jwa Hobum felt a pang of regret. He realized he was supposed to kill the defeated of the Sama family, not this young beggar.

He muttered to himself.

“I didn’t mean to kill him… It would have been better if he’d just been crippled. I’m sorry.”

Hong Gyeolgae’s breathing grew fainter until it stopped altogether. Jwa Hobum gently closed Hong Gyeolgae’s wide-open eyes. The people gathered around the campfire witnessed this.

They felt sorrow for the brave young beggar who had sacrificed himself, yet they dared not approach, fearing the martial artist from the demonic cult might strike at any moment.

Jwa Hobum considered burying Hong Gyeolgae but realized there were still many men from the Sama family who hadn’t fled far.

‘…I can’t even bury him before I leave.’

With that, Jwa Hobum leapt away.

After Jwa Hobum left, a heavy silence settled around Hong Gyeolgae’s body, as if time had stopped.

Eventually, people began to gather around him. The villagers from the foot of Mount Song were not so heartless as to abandon the young man who had sacrificed himself for them.

“Is that guy gone?” “Seems like it.”

They looked at Hong Gyeolgae with grief.

One particularly sensitive person began to cry, and soon others followed, tears spreading among them.

After a bout of tears, they spoke in hushed voices.

“He was called Earth Dragon Hong Jusan, right?” ”…Yes.” “What should we do? Should we inform the Beggars’ Sect?”

A man who had been listening quietly offered his opinion.

“It’s still warm during the day. The body won’t last long. We should inform the Beggars’ Sect, but we need to handle the funeral ourselves.”

The man who spoke was the son of the village chief from the lower village of Song Mountain. Being the chief’s son and a reasonable speaker, his words carried weight.

A villager hesitantly asked.

“Should we bury him?”

The chief’s son shook his head.

“No. He died for the monks, so we should pray for his rebirth in the Pure Land, like the monks.”

“Then…?”

The chief’s son spoke in a low, steady voice.

“Bring the firewood.”