Chapter 179 - I Have Never Been Lonely

I climbed the mountain with Father.

It felt like only yesterday that we had climbed a mountain together just after my regression, but so much had happened since then. If I had to single out one change, it would be that my relationship with Father was far better now.

The same two people were climbing the same mountain, yet our circumstances were undoubtedly different.

“Why did you ask to go hunting?”

“I wanted to spend time with you, Father.”

Father stopped and turned to look at me. Since I meant it, I could meet his eyes calmly.

Father, seeing you sitting in your grand chair when I returned really did make me choke up.

He resumed walking and asked,

“Why have you brought so much baggage?”

“As you saw last time, we need all of it. It may be cumbersome now, but later it will keep us comfortable and give us something delicious to eat.”

Father took the lead again, and I followed quietly behind him.

When I first suggested we go hunting together, I had expected to chatter away. Yet now that I was with him, I had little to say.

Fortunately, simply walking together in silence wasn't awkward at all. In fact, it was even better—it felt as though we were having a wordless conversation.

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

I had no intention of marrying in this life either, but if I did marry and have children, would there come a day when I went hunting with my son like this? Could I become the sort of father whose son could comfortably say, “Father, let's go hunting”?

Would my son think such things as he walked behind me? And what was Father thinking right now?

After we had walked for quite a while longer, I broke the silence.

“The Martial Alliance Leader said he wanted to see you.”

Father already knew I had met him, since I had reported everything by letter.

“Was he well?”

“He was hale for his age. Forceful in temperament, and domineering in his martial arts. He was very different from the alliance leader I'd imagined.”

“He is a different man from what the rumors suggest.”

“He said he wanted to see you. When I told him you probably felt the same, he disagreed. He said you would want to kill him.”

“He knows me well.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Did you expect the leader of the Demonic Cult to miss the Martial Alliance Leader?”

“Couldn't there be courtesy toward the leader of the opposing side, or respect for him as a martial artist? Something like that?”

“There's none of that nonsense. Even respect for a martial artist only comes after fighting him.”

“Do you want to fight him?”

After a pause, Father answered.

“He is someone I would like to face at least once.”

Victory in that fight would mean the other's death. A clash between the Heavenly Demon and the Martial Alliance Leader wouldn't end with them merely brushing the dust off their clothes.

And the outcome would change the fate of all Murim. That was why such a fight could not easily come about.

I knew Father dreamed of uniting all under heaven. Since we were already discussing the alliance leader, I probed his intentions.

“If the Cult fought the orthodox factions, would the Unorthodox Alliance take our side?”

“If you think the Unorthodox Alliance is closer to us than to the orthodox factions, you are mistaken.”

“It isn't?”

“If they had to ally with either us or the Orthodox Martial Alliance, they would choose the orthodox factions.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because the Unorthodox Alliance hates us more than it hates the orthodox factions. They probably want to eliminate us and divide Murim between themselves and the orthodox factions.”

I thought Father was right. Before my regression, I had once spoken with a master from the unorthodox factions. He too had truly hated the Cult, for a simple reason: with the Demonic Cult coming to symbolize authentic evil, the Unorthodox Alliance had been reduced to an organization pursuing cheap, second-rate evil.

Why shouldn't the Unorthodox Alliance rule Murim?

It had been no more than one unorthodox master's lament and personal opinion, but at the time I had wondered whether many others in the unorthodox factions might feel similarly. Perhaps that was where the hatred for the Cult that Father spoke of had begun.

I made no particular effort to discourage Father's ambition. We would have to fight a war at least once anyway. Our enemy would simply be Hwa Mugi, rather than the Orthodox Martial Alliance or the Unorthodox Alliance.

'You must grow stronger too, Father!'

That evening, we settled in a quiet spot beside a flowing stream.

I spread a thick hide somewhere Father could comfortably recline or lie down. It was the most important item in the load I had carried.

Once I had made him a comfortable place to sleep, I lit a campfire and cooked the game we had caught.

Rather than simply sprinkling it with salt to fill our stomachs, I coated it in the seasoning I had prepared and roasted it properly. This time, I had brought not only Chef Im's secret seasoning, but plenty of vegetables and other food as well.

“How does it taste?”

“It's good.”

Of course it was. I had asked Chef Im beforehand what flavors Father liked and prepared the seasoning accordingly.

After we finished eating, I served him tea—his favorite kind, too. Watching his satisfied expression as he drank, I was glad I had prepared it.

“Have your Wind God's Four Steps reached the ninth level?”

As expected, Father had seen through my attainment at a glance.

“Yes. I gained an insight while fighting the Heavenly Mandate Society, but unfortunately it didn't lead to complete mastery.”

It felt as though I was almost there, yet still impossibly far away—truly both near and distant.

“Impatience will only slow you down.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Would you like another cup of tea?”

Father nodded, and I poured him another warm cup.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?”

We had really come a long way, for Father to ask a question like that. At moments like these, I reminded myself of one principle: never try to deceive him.

“Honestly, how could I? Naturally, I have to be careful, and I feel some pressure.”

“Then why did you ask to come?”

“Because I feel safe with you.”

Father looked at me in surprise. I calmly conveyed what was in my heart.

“I feel so secure when I'm with you. Whoever blocks our path, you'll stop them all, won't you? Even if a monster appears rather than a person, you'll protect me, won't you? Simply being with you puts my heart at ease. I don't have to protect you. I don't feel the pressure of having to win someone over to my side, or the responsibility of making someone happy because they sacrifice themselves for me. This moment, when I can stay still no matter what happens, is so comfortable. I feel safe because you're here, Father.”

Those were my utterly honest feelings. Perhaps taken aback, Father regarded me with a slightly deeper look in his eyes.

“Don't you ever feel lonely, Father?”

He snorted at my question. It wasn't one I could easily expect an answer to, but when would I have another chance to ask?

Father lay down as if to say we should sleep. After looking up at the night sky for a while, he abruptly spoke.

“I have never been lonely.”

To me, it sounded like this:

I am always lonely.

And so the first day of our hunting trip came to an end.

* * *

On the second day, we wandered about more comfortably than on the first. We barely spoke, but neither Father nor I felt the slightest awkwardness.

We simply climbed the mountain together, walked along narrow trails, then rested in a valley. Hunting wasn't our main purpose; we just strolled together and relaxed.

That evening, as I was about to roast the meat we had hunted, Father came over to me.

“I'll do it.”

“Do what? Surely you don't mean you're going to cook?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“You, Father? Cooking?”

He calmly questioned my astonishment.

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Have you ever cooked before?”

“I do, occasionally.”

I was startled by that seemingly impossible statement.

“Is there perhaps a demonic art called Cooking? That's what you mean, isn't it?”

“Nonsense!”

How could I not talk nonsense when Father was saying he cooked?

“You kill the chef when a dish isn't to your taste, don't you? Do you cook that day to atone?”

“Isn't my chef far too skilled to kill for such a reason?”

“You really cook?”

Father started cooking, as if to show me himself. And he really was skilled. Rather than roasting the meat whole, he cut out only the tastiest portions and stir-fried them with vegetables and mushrooms. He even made soup alongside it, as though proving that he really did cook regularly.

More surprising still, it tasted excellent.

“What is this? Why does it taste so good? Did you secretly pour in stone marrow elixir instead of seasoning?”

A smile flitted across Father's lips, his first since we had started up the mountain.

In that moment, I discovered a side of him I had never known.

The Heavenly Demon of this era was a Heavenly Demon who cooked.

That night, we lay on opposite sides of the campfire and talked about all sorts of things. Mostly, I brought up a topic and Father responded, and naturally the Demon Supremes came up.

“You already know, Father, but I have the Blood Heaven Saber Demon, the Wicked Laughing Demon, the Single Flower Sword Supreme, and the Drunken Demon on my side. My brother has the Demonic Buddha, the Poison King, and the Fist Demon. I've left out the young Soul-Seizing Demon for now. What do you think? My side looks stronger, doesn't it?”

“You are evenly matched.”

“Even though we have one more person?”

“Yes.”

If they were evenly matched despite being one person short, it meant one of the three—the Demonic Buddha, the Fist Demon, or the Poison King—was worth two people. Whom did Father hold in such high regard?

“Is it time to kick out the slacker on our side?”

Even at my joke, Father said nothing more on the subject. He wanted me to experience it myself and suffer a little. Just whom had he had in mind?

“Why do you want to become cult leader?”

Because it is my mission. Because it is the mission I spent a lifetime struggling for, even going so far as to regress. I will protect everything, even if it kills me.

“Because I want to learn the Nine Calamities Demonic Art.”

“Why are you so obsessed with it?”

“I'm not obsessed with the Nine Calamities Demonic Art. I'm obsessed with becoming stronger.”

“You're strong enough already. What do you intend to do with greater strength?”

“I need to grow stronger to protect everyone.”

Father, my brother, and everyone in the Heavenly Demon Hall household.

Perhaps a few more people would be added to that list now. They hadn't stepped forward in the past, but now some of the Demon Supremes would surely come forward to seek genuine revenge.

But Father's position was firm.

“I will pass on the Nine Calamities Demonic Art only to the person who will become the Heavenly Demon.”

“Then I will become the Heavenly Demon.”

My resolve was as firm as his.

Father looked at me for a moment, then turned his back and went to sleep.

'And even when I become the Heavenly Demon, I will be a different Heavenly Demon from you. One who roams freely throughout the world. Though I'll have to work much harder to make that happen.'

* * *

On the third day, Father headed for the summit of Mount Daecheon.

On our way up, I sensed a tiger's presence perhaps twice. But I pretended not to notice, leaving us an excuse to go hunting again.

If I had sensed it, Father surely had too, yet he said nothing about catching a tiger. Could he be looking forward to our next hunt as well?

“Ah, was the summit always this magnificent?”

The view from the top of Mount Daecheon truly belonged in a painting.

“When I was your age, I used to come up here whenever martial training grew difficult.”

Imagining Father standing here in his youth gave me a strange feeling.

“I should come up here now and then when my training frustrates me, too.”

“Come here a moment.”

“Yes.”

Father sat on a broad, flat rock at the summit and gave me a lecture on the Heaven-Soaring Sword Art.

I had already achieved twelfth-level complete mastery in it, and what I needed to learn now was the Wind God's Four Steps. Yet despite knowing that, Father spoke about the Heaven-Soaring Sword Art.

It was as though he was telling me that all martial arts ultimately connected as one, and that by thoroughly understanding what I knew best, I could find a clue to understanding something else.

It was a very special moment: one practitioner with twelfth-level complete mastery lecturing another at the same level on the Heaven-Soaring Sword Art.

And I experienced something new. I had naturally expected to understand everything he said, but many parts differed considerably from my own thinking. I realized that although we had reached the same complete mastery, we had taken very different paths to that destination.

Whenever something came up that I couldn't understand, I asked Father without hesitation. I didn't pretend to know what I didn't, nor did I deliberately feign ignorance. Our conversation flowed like water, following the course of my thoughts.

The discussion of martial theory that I had expected to end after a short while continued through three watches, then four. It continued for a day, then two, then into the third.

We kept talking while eating the food we had cooked, while drinking tea, and while drinking the liquor I had brought for our last day. When our food ran out, we talked as we hunted, and we discussed martial theory while roasting meat over the campfire. Both Father and I became wholly absorbed in the conversation.

Though we began with the Heaven-Soaring Sword Art, we went on to debate all manner of subjects across martial theory. It was an in-depth discussion between Father, the Heavenly Demon, and a regressor possessing the Heavenly Martial Physique.

When that long, three-day discussion finally ended, I sprang to my feet and tried performing the Wind God's Four Steps. And I knew: at last, I could properly take the four steps walked by the god of wind.

Astonished, I told Father,

“I've achieved complete mastery of the Wind God's Four Steps.”

He showed no surprise, as though he had anticipated this outcome. Father had seized me by the collar and hurled me into complete mastery.

I made a deep, formal bow to him.

“It's thanks to your profound teaching. Thank you so much, Father.”

“Get up. Let's head down.”

“Yes.”

An intense desire to run swept over me. How fast would Swift Step be at complete mastery? Could I handle that speed? How much smaller had the Central Plains become? I wanted to know it all.

“Father, let's have a race. From here to the Cult. What do you say?”

At last, I was qualified to pit myself against his Heavenly Demon's Flight Art.

Father looked at me as though the very idea was laughable. Why did I like that expression so much?

“What will you wager?”

“Our pride, of course.”

“Very well.”

Since I wouldn't mind losing, the terms were entirely in my favor. Even so, Father readily accepted. He intended to win and tease me about it.

Father and I stood side by side. Apparently, I hadn't often stood beside him and looked at his profile like this. His face felt new to me again. I was so happy in this moment, standing beside him for a race.

“All right, we start on three. One, two...”

I counted three after I had already set off. That way, if I won, Father would have an excuse.

As two lightness arts at their pinnacle began slicing through space, I heard a sound of wind unlike any I had heard in my life.