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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Entry Ceremony
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"You really got stabbed with a knife, right?"
I was admitted to the infirmary at Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple.
The attending physician, a man with a distinctive goatee beard, made a huge fuss when he first saw me carried in covered in blood.
But soon enough, upon seeing my body with hardly any wounds compared to all the blood splattered around, he tilted his head in bewilderment, utterly dumbfounded.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Once every full moon cycle, emergency musculoskeletal body repair like this is possible. Plenty of restrictions, and it's only temporary.
I touched my stomach.
The chilling sensation of that kitchen knife piercing my belly skin was still vivid.
I had no idea what Moyong Taese had written in the recommendation letter, but fortunately, I received word that the admission paperwork had gone through without a hitch, even while I was laid up in the infirmary.
There were no major external wounds, but due to anemia and some trouble walking, I ended up with an extra week of recovery time.
The scale of Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple, as glimpsed from the infirmary, was beyond anything I'd imagined.
'The nickname "another Martial World within the Martial World" really isn't an exaggeration.'
Massive, countless training grounds and practice halls radiated out from endless towering walls, giving the eerie sense that you'd stepped into another world entirely.
People streamed in and out endlessly, and I even spotted inns, dormitories, and all sorts of facilities meant just for Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple folks.
The infirmary itself was quiet.
"The entry ceremony hasn't even kicked off yet. This is your one shot at real rest. Once the 'trials' and 'promotion exams' start up at the four gates and the injured start pouring in... ugh, don't get me started. Pure hell."
The physician manning the place introduced himself as Haseo Physician.
Cheerful sort—and bored out of his mind, apparently—he kept chatting me up, and thanks to him, I picked up all sorts of info right up until discharge day on the entry ceremony morning.
"Whoa, what a natural-born martial prodigy of a body. Flex that arm for me?"
Entry ceremony morning.
As I prepped for discharge, I went through various motions at his prompting, bit by bit.
Working my arms and stretching to full range, I asked cautiously,
"That person never came back after, huh?"
"Who?"
I dredged up the memory.
"The one on the shorter side, with those striking silver eyes."
"If you mean Executioner Eunseolryeong..."
Haseo Physician smacked his fist into his palm.
"She probably forgot she even dumped you here. Bet on it."
"...What's an Executioner?"
"It's a thing. Us lowly disciples don't need to worry about it. Point is, to her, cases like yours aren't anything special. She dumps injured folks all the time and vanishes."
It stung a little, oddly.
"Lots of cases like mine?"
"Plenty of guys wear themselves out messing with her and drop. Oh, right—got a question for you anyway."
Haseo Physician's vibe turned grave.
"Not that it'd happen, obviously. But Moyong Bi, you don't exactly get along with your other brothers back home, do you?"
"Yeah... But why bring it up all of a sudden?"
Haseo Physician sighed, face twisting in complication.
"Sure, the cohort every six years was due, and this one's ten years late, so somewhat expected... Sigh. Well. Y'know..."
He couldn't quite spit it out.
After some prodding, he finally spoke.
"Word is all three Moyong Family brothers are joining this cohort at Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple. Sure, kids from the other Five Great Families enter when they're of age, but three brothers from one house all at once? Never happened."
My mind blanked white.
Even with my shallow grasp of the Martial World, I knew right away.
Way too contrived.
Doesn't add up.
I'd come here banking on it being neutral ground.
Moyong Taese pushed it hard precisely because no one could touch it.
"First you've heard, huh."
Reading my face, Haseo Physician looked concerned.
He didn't elaborate.
But already knowing I was the Moyong Family bastard, he seemed to have pieced it together.
"Don't sweat it too hard. Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple's about martial arts, yeah, but tons enter for ties to the Nine Great Sects and One Gang, big sects too. Less about targeting you, more like rivalry pulling them in. Moyong Family foots the biggest chunk of funds, so their pull's strongest, naturally."
A dull ache gripped my chest.
Haseo Physician started to speak, then clammed up.
"If it's rough, swing by. I'll keep you company."
Probably the best solace he could muster.
I smiled and bowed deep, from the heart.
Then turned and headed for the training ground where the entry ceremony awaited.
"All three Moyong Family young masters entering..."
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ I agree with the physician. They see the host as a thorn, sure—but all three brothers rushing in to off you personally? Overreach. Right.
I veered right into an alley.
"Rumor says the three brothers are at each other's throats like sworn enemies... Makes sense they'd compete among themselves."
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ My take: securing connections alongside personal martial growth and support bases. Left.
Hooked left again.
"The perfect spot to network, with every young Martial World talent gathered?"
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Bonus: off each other and it's all tidy. Accident or not. Stop.
I stopped in my tracks.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ One zhang and a half away. Right wall. Blue training uniform.
"Thought it was coincidence after all."
I stared hard at the alley mouth.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Paths overlapped three times. No coincidence.
The area buzzed with initiates heading to the training ground.
And amid them, I'd clearly spotted it.
A man under the wall, tucking a dagger into his chest pocket before vanishing clean.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Likely not entering solo—they've snuck their forces in disguised as disciples.
"...Figures. No one's that stupid."
Gam Seoin's warning came back to me.
Even the second brother—famous for being dim, flighty, and skirt-chasing—backed a solid faction you couldn't ignore.
First and third? Never underestimate.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ This much heat on a bastard like the host? Can't imagine what the purebloods are scheming among themselves.
I clenched the bundle strap biting into my shoulder.
"Nameless, when that knife plunged into my gut at the gates, know what went through my head?"
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ What'd you think?
I ground my teeth.
"I'll let other shit slide. But anyone who so much as points a blade at me once—no mercy, man, woman, kid, anyone. Patriarch of the Moyong Family? Don't give a damn. But...!"
Each word burned into my bones like a vow.
"Blood for blood. If Patriarch's my path to survival, I'll take that dogshit throne. Better I kill every bastard gunning for me than die."
Nameless went dead quiet for a stretch.
Then murmured softly in my head.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Solid resolve. Just curb the cursing. If you're gonna, do it right—no half-measures.
"...Fuck."
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ No head-cursing either. Strong intent leaks sometimes.
My head throbbed.
Probably like having a mother-in-law camped in your skull.
Before I could dwell further, a shrill voice pierced my ears.
"Attention, everyone!"
A horde of young guys and gals my age crammed toward the sound in the plaza.
Groups decked out in uniforms repping different sects.
"Don't block the road—move it."
Rubbing my shoved shoulder, I glanced back.
A pack a full head taller than me, clad in black training garb.
"Which sect? Go join your sect's crew."
They swatted the air like I was invisible and shoved past.
"That's our spot. Beat it."
"We claimed it. Find somewhere else."
Tension boiling over.
Prime real estate: front row, prime for platform spotlight.
Seat squabble morphing into sect pride clash.
"This is Diancang Sect territory. Leave nice, unless you want blood day one."
"Bull. Our Kunlun Sect kid's held it since morning—shameless much?"
"What?!"
Some crews already leaking murder vibe.
Others held sweet spots friction-free, naturally.
"Argh, reeks!"
Off to one side, Beggar's Sect brats in threadbare rags, scratching wild heads.
"What? We washed, y'know."
"Prejudice is scary stuff!"
Pushed clean to the rear, I gawked.
"...Wild."
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Shut that yap, host. Stay cool.
This was the world I'd craved entry to.
Me, who couldn't even scrape into minor sects back home.
Now sharing space with scions of the elite.
Sank in again: Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple ain't for randos—local bigwigs' heirs and famed sect juniors only.
"All eyes front. No more noise."
Chaos died.
Up on the platform: hulking muscles, black hair slicked back neat.
Entrance alone radiated crushing pressure.
"Welcome to Thousand Hands Hundred Lotuses Temple. Name's Gang Buryong—running the show here. Skip the bows. You ain't official disciples yet."
-Twitch
Honor and pride: martial artist's birthright.
Screw with it, expect backlash.
"And you're squabbling factions? Cut the chick shit. Too green to rep your sects."
Felt needlessly aggro.
Guy was cranking the harshness dial way up.
That kinda dismissal? Predictable blowback.
"Can't abide that slight on our sect!"
Gang Buryong flashed a nasty grin at the shout from the short-haired turquoise uniform guy with a headband.
"Clearing confusion: when'd I slag the sect? Slagged you and your skills, moron."
"W-what'd you say?!"
Turquoise flushed beet-red, bellowing.
"A-anyhow! Insult to a warrior! I, Diancang Sect third-gen Ryu Baksan! Skills? Got 'em. You mountain hermit frog don't know jack about real experts...!"
-Swish
Gang Buryong blurred, right in Ryu Baksan's face.
"Frog?"
-Thwack
Fist smashed cheek.
Big frame flipped neck-snapping style, cratered the dirt.
"...!"
Dead silence.
Gang Buryong brushed his knuckles.
"Yeah, every cohort, one punk like you. Yours is extra potty-mouthed, though. Seniors warn you? No hotdogging before Pahwanggun and Gang Buryong."
"Urgh...!!"
Foot grinding Ryu Baksan's skull, Gang Buryong iced,
"And that's me. Beef? Sect leader okay for deathmatch? Anytime. Gotta visit Diancang head soon separate-like. Last cohort? Solid Diancang stock. Not this gauge-blind thunderbolt staining the name."
Sheer dominance shut mouths.
Power demo: crude, killer effective.
No doubt most here packed real chops.
Uniting all these egos? Had to start rough.
'Makes sense.'
Not all cocky in the throng.
Some stone-still, clocking it cool.
'...'
A few eyes locked mine extra sharp.
A few rose.
Anxiety moldered up my gut.
"Nah... not here."