Return of the Mount Hua Sect [EN]: Chapter 1600

“Senior Brother!” Hyebang stepped out of the Hall of Reflection. Looking down at the mountain, his jaw tightened. *They actually came this far…* he thought, a cold feeling in his stomach.

‘Senior Brother! Bandits are climbing Mount Song!’

Hyebang quickly sat down, crossing his legs, and began to chant the Buddha’s name. He could feel a dangerous energy coming from the base of the mountain. It wasn’t just the noise of many people climbing; it was something darker, heavier in the air. He knew these were not ordinary bandits.

The raw bloodlust coming from them felt like it could cut skin. These were not like the wild fighters causing trouble in Henan. These were much worse. Their goal was obvious.

“Senior Brother, what to do…”

Shaolin Temple was not built to be a fortress. It was made to welcome everyone. Pilgrims came from everywhere, so the temple was open on all sides, without walls or defenses. Shaolin monks were proud of this openness, believing no one would ever attack them. But now, that pride felt like a chain around their necks, trapping them.

“Senior Brother!”

“Amitabha.”

Hyebang chanted the Buddha’s name to calm his junior brother.

“I… I don’t know what the *right* thing to do is,” Hyebang admitted, his voice low.

“…Yes?” his junior brother asked, confused.

Hyebang took a deep breath, his face becoming serious. “But we know what *must* be done.”

He spoke with a heavy heart. “Find all the pilgrims still here. Get them out. And the young monks who are still learning, and the scholars too. They must leave now.”

“Se-Senior Brother!”

Shaolin was a monastery. Though it had gained fame throughout the world for its martial prowess, not everyone within Shaolin had mastered martial arts. There were quite a few young monks who had yet to learn martial arts and those who devoted themselves solely to Buddhist doctrine.

But to evacuate them now meant…

“You don’t think we can fight them off?” the junior brother asked, his voice worried.

“They are probably sent by the Four Evil Alliances,” Hyebang replied, his voice calm but firm, as if he had already thought this through.

“Do you think people like that just came to pray?” He shook his head. “They wouldn’t come here at all if they didn’t think they could destroy Shaolin.”

“That is…”

That was correct. If it were the Overlord Jang Il-so, he would have sent those capable of erasing Shaolin from the start.

What made it even worse was that Shaolin was weak right now. Many of the strongest monks, the elders, were away fighting the troublemakers in Henan. The monks left at Shaolin were less than half their usual strength, maybe even only thirty percent.

No matter how great Shaolin was, there would be countless sects willing to challenge it with only thirty percent of its power.

“Tell the scholars to take the holy books from the Scripture Room and get them out of Shaolin!” Hyebang ordered.

“T-The holy books?” the junior brother stammered. “What about the fighting manuals… the martial arts books?”

Hyebang looked at his junior brother calmly. His eyes were peaceful, even in this chaos. “Are books about fighting more important than the Buddha’s teachings?” he asked gently.

The junior brother was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Senior Brother. The Buddha’s words are far more important.”

“Good. Then hurry,” Hyebang said firmly.

“Yes!”

As the junior brother sped away using his movement technique, Hyebang softly chanted the Buddha’s name.

*Buddha…* Hyebang thought. All he wanted was to live by the Buddha’s teachings. He wanted to get away from the Abbot, who seemed to love his own power too much, and from those monks who didn’t really live as Buddhists should. He was searching for the true ‘right way’. But the world wouldn’t let him find peace.

“Amitabha.”

Hyebang considered this to be natural as well.

*Maybe hiding in the temple wasn’t the right path for a Buddhist,* he thought. *So many people are suffering outside.* He remembered that Buddhism was about finding yourself through simple living and self-control. But you couldn’t find yourself just by sitting and meditating. Like the Buddha who looked out at the world, monks also had to help those who were suffering.

The cold, cruel bloodlust rising up the mountain felt like a punishment from the Buddha. It was as if the Buddha was angry at them for hiding in this temple, using rules and traditions as an excuse to do nothing. For someone truly seeking Buddhist wisdom, the Abbot’s power and even the great name of Shaolin meant nothing. Being patient when you should act was just ignoring the suffering of the world.

“Amitabha.”

If this is Shaolin’s fate, if we are paying for past mistakes, then we must accept it humbly. ‘I’m a little late to understand,’ he thought. *Understanding always comes late. But knowing it now is enough.*

Hyebang’s feet slowly moved.

A short while later.

The monks who knew martial arts stood in a line, facing the North Gate. Their faces were tight with fear. The bloodlust coming from outside was so strong it felt like a physical force, pressing down on them. At the same time, a terrible smell of blood filled the air. *How many people have these bandits killed to smell like this?* Hyebang wondered.

“Amitabha…” The quiet chanting of the Buddha’s name spread among the monks, a desperate attempt to calm their fear.

*BANG!* Suddenly, the strong wooden gate exploded inwards. A wave of warriors poured into Shaolin, some running through the broken gate, others leaping over the walls like animals.

These warriors were covered in dark red cloth from head to toe. They moved with a strange, unsettling energy, like they were from another world. They looked more like crazy people than trained fighters. The bloodlust coming from them was overwhelming, making the monks’ skin crawl. These were not enemies to underestimate. Hyebang felt a cold dread. They might not be able to stop them.

Despair washed over Hyebang. Without thinking, he began to chant the Buddha’s name again. ‘Amitabha.’ He knew this was too much. They couldn’t win this fight, no matter how hard they tried. *At least I got the young monks out,* he thought with a small sense of relief. He had saved innocent lives. Those who remained now were the ones who had to face the consequences. But the price they were about to pay felt too high, even for any mistakes they had made.

“Who are you?” Hyebang called out, his voice shaking slightly. A few of the red-clad warriors turned to look at him, but most ignored him completely. It was a strange, unsettling reaction, as if they barely saw him.

‘Shaolin is not welcoming visitors right now. Please leave,’ Hyebang said, trying to sound stronger. His voice was dry, and his face was pale and emotionless. *They are like walking dead,* he thought, a shiver running down his spine. They weren’t zombies, but there was something deeply wrong about them.

“Senior Brother…” a junior monk whispered, his voice like a groan of fear. Hyebang sighed. He knew it was probably pointless, but with the Abbot gone, he had to try to uphold Shaolin’s honor until the end.

But before he could speak again, a new voice cut through the air. ‘The Buddha’s will shines everywhere.’

It was a cold, grating voice, like metal scraping against metal. All eyes turned to the speaker.

A man completely covered in red bandages, with only slits for his eyes, stared directly at Hyebang. ‘If Shaolin is covered in blood today,’ the bandaged man rasped, ‘everyone will see that your words about the Buddha are just empty lies.’

The man’s words were like a punch to the gut. Hyebang’s hand clenched into a fist without him even thinking about it. There was something deeply unsettling about this man, something that made Hyebang want to step back, to run.

“Amitabha.”

Desperately trying to calm his trembling voice, Hyebang spoke to the strange man.

“I… I’ve heard stories,” Hyebang said hesitantly, “that in lands far to the west, people believe in different gods than we do here.”

“Hmph,” the bandaged man chuckled softly. ‘You Buddhists are good at playing with words. Let’s just call it what it is: you are wrong, and we are right.’

“…Amitabha.”

“It doesn’t matter what you call us,” the bandaged man continued, his voice cold. ‘Shaolin’s end is coming today. You will join your dead brothers.’

Hyebang froze. “Dead?” he whispered.

“What… what do you mean?”

‘Why do you think we are here?’ the bandaged man sneered. ‘Do you think we would attack Shaolin if we weren’t sure we could win? We already dealt with those who were away.’

Hyebang bit his lip, fear creeping into his heart. *It’s a lie. It has to be a lie.* There was no way news could travel so fast. But deep down, he knew it might be true. If these bandits were sent by the Four Evil Alliances, they wouldn’t attack Shaolin unless they were completely sure they would succeed. They wouldn’t risk attacking such a famous place if they weren’t certain of victory.

*Abbot…* Hyebang’s fingers trembled. It wasn’t just fear for his own life. It was regret. *How could things have gone so wrong?* he thought, a wave of sadness washing over him. He sighed softly. Then the bandaged man spoke again.

‘You seem to be smarter than that idiot Abbot,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘But in the end, it won’t matter. The result will be the same.’

“Even so, Shaolin will not surrender,” Hyebang said, his voice gaining strength.

“Of course not,” the Blood Cult Leader sneered. He nodded his head slightly. Suddenly, the red-clad warriors, who had been standing still like statues, roared and surged forward. It was like a dam breaking, releasing a flood of anger and bloodlust. The air itself seemed to turn red with their killing intent. Hyebang’s face hardened. This was it.

“Die!” the Blood Cult Leader screamed. ‘Today, the name of Shaolin ends!’ The Blood Cultists, like crazed zombies, let out strange, inhuman cries and charged at the Shaolin monks.

*** *** *** ‘…Shaolin?’ Hyun Jong whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Chung Myung said grimly.

Hyun Jong’s eyes widened in horror. Hye-yeon grabbed Hyun Jong’s arm, his face pale and terrified, as if he had seen a ghost. ‘Are you saying… the Four Evil Alliances are attacking Shaolin?’ he stammered.

Chung Myung clenched his jaw. ‘That’s Jang Il-so’s way,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘He always attacks the weakest point.’

Shaolin. In the whole martial world, there was no name more powerful. But even the strongest can be weak sometimes. Shaolin, confident in its strength, had sent its best fighters away to war. Now, only a few monks remained at the temple. For Jang Il-so, this was a perfect chance to strike. Why *wouldn’t* he attack Shaolin when it was so vulnerable?

“Then Shaolin is… doomed?” Hyun Jong asked, his voice filled with despair.

“D-Dojang!” Hye-yeon cried out, his voice cracking with fear.

But Chung Myung shook his head, a strange light in his eyes. “No,” he said firmly.

“…?” Hyun Jong and Hye-yeon looked at him, confused. Chung Myung looked towards the direction of Shaolin, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘We know what he’s doing,’ he said. ‘And we know how to answer.’

*** *** *** *KABOOM!* A flash of light shot down from the sky. ‘Wait!’ a voice roared. The Blood Cultists, who had been rushing forward like a wave, stopped instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. The Blood Cult Leader turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowed. Something had fallen to the ground. It was a sword. Just a simple sword, nothing special. But the Blood Cult Leader’s sharp eyes noticed a small symbol carved into the handle. He looked up, following the path of the falling sword, to the roof of the main hall. And then, a figure dropped from the roof, falling like a hawk diving for its prey.

*THUD!* The figure landed heavily, the white robes billowing around him like wings before settling down. Hyebang’s eyes went wide with shock. He knew that back. He knew that stance. Without thinking, he shouted, ‘Bae… Baek Cheon Dojang!’

*THUD.* Baek Cheon grabbed the sword he had thrown, pulling it from the ground. He didn’t even look at Hyebang. ‘I came to repay a favor…’ he said, his voice calm and strong. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, a confident smile on his face. ‘No. I came to save a friend, monk.’

As soon as Baek Cheon finished speaking, a wave of figures burst from behind the main hall, charging forward with shouts. ‘Hwaaa-SAN!’

“…Don’t waste your breath already, you idiot,’ a familiar voice grumbled.

Jo Gul and Yoon Jong appeared, leading the disciples of Hwasan and Namgung, rushing to join the fight.

Hyebang felt his knees weaken with relief. ‘You just made it, you fools!’ Jo Gul yelled, his voice loud and cheerful despite the danger. ‘What trouble are you causing now?’

Yoon Jong sighed. ‘…*You’re* the one causing trouble, Geol,’ he muttered.

Baek Cheon chuckled, seeing his friends looking as energetic and chaotic as ever. Then, his face turned serious again as he faced the Blood Cult Leader. ‘You said you would erase the name of Shaolin?’ he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“…”

‘I don’t owe Shaolin anything,’ Baek Cheon said, his voice cold, ‘but I owe something to the people *in* Shaolin.’ He pointed his sword directly at the Blood Cult Leader’s throat. ‘Come on. Let’s settle this now.’

‘…This changes things,’ the Blood Cult Leader hissed, his face contorting in anger, even the bandages seeming to tighten around his face.