Chapter 73 - The One Who Gathers Deaths (2)

2

Hunger.

What was hunger?

"..."

It was the seventh day of my fast.

"Hmm."

The first and second days had been the hardest. After the third day, the pain grew distant. My insides slowed. My thoughts grew sluggish. My life itself had grown a little fainter.

If a person's life was a river, its flow had diminished. It was drying into a shallow trickle, like a stream in a year of failed harvests.

Drought.

Quietly drying up, then fading away. The flow dwindling and dwindling, enduring until even the streams of pain, thought, and life had all run dry.

Was this [hunger]?

Was this the training the Heavenly Demon wanted from me?

"... No."

I uncrossed my legs and stood.

"This isn't it," I murmured. "If I just sit here, it'll all be for nothing."

I drew my sword. I pictured the sword paths of the Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven and swung my blade according to those images. Blindly.

"What are you doing?"

"Exercising."

Winter was cold. I breathed cold air. Was it because I had been drinking snow for seven days? My breath was white, like drifting snowflakes.

"I had it wrong. God, I'm an idiot... The [hunger] the Heavenly Demon spoke of isn't simply [not eating]. And it definitely isn't sitting in the lotus position and practicing fasting."

Moving my body for the first time in a week soon left me breathless. My muscles trembled. My airway tightened harshly.

"Hunger means [being unable to eat even though you want to]."

An awkward sword dance.

But sweat flowed. It was different from sitting in silence. My body began to come alive. Perhaps the amount of sweat flowing from my flesh was exactly equal to the volume of water in my life.

"This past week, I've been thinking about a farmer. A starving farmer."

What was hunger?

"What farmer would stay away from the fields because he was hungry? Hungry or not, fed or not, he has to work. He works, and still there's nothing to eat."

Wasn't that hunger?

"He swings his pickaxe. Digs the earth. But the harvest has failed. The times are cruel. No matter what he does, the earth won't yield a single grain. Nothing bears fruit—literally."

I swung my sword.

"There's nothing he can do..."

And I closed both eyes.

Earth.

I pictured earth that had dried out and turned hard and crumbly.

"... And so he starves."

A farmer struck the parched earth with his pickaxe.

THUNK!

The grains of soil would crumble, like an old cookie breaking apart.

"It hasn't rained in over half a year."

"..."

The reservoir is empty. The village well has dried up, too. There isn't a drop of water in the fields. At midday, an old man comes out and sits at the village entrance. Silently. There is no moisture in his wrinkled face, either.

"There's a drought."

The sun is hot.

One villager has already abandoned farming. Abandoned the fields. Having abandoned his work and his workplace, he has fewer reasons not to abandon his home. He takes his children and leaves for the coast.

"But this farmer still hasn't let go."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't think the sea will be any different. Because he doesn't know how to catch fish. In the end, you have to make a living with the tricks you've learned, and the farmer has only learned how to steal food from the earth. His father, and his father's father, and his father before him..."

One day.

Two days.

Three days.

The farmer goes out to the fields. Though it brings him nothing, he goes as though reporting for work. In the evening, he climbs the hill behind the village and strips bark from the few trees that are edible.

"Now there's hardly any bark left, either."

The villagers have stripped it all away.

When he looks back after descending the hill, all the trees stand naked and white. From a distance, it looks like a forest of birches.

Hunger was something that turned the whole world white.

"But..."

The farmer swung his pickaxe at the bare earth.

And I swung my sword through empty air.

"I can't eat even this bark."

He has a family.

"Even though it's been over a week since I last ate so much as bark."

He has children.

"So?"

As pickaxe stroke followed pickaxe stroke, and sword stroke followed sword stroke, the attendant spirit asked,

"So what are you going to do?"

"First, I go to the village well."

He barely manages to scoop a handful of water into a dipper from the well, its bottom exposed.

"I simmer the scraps of bark in that water. Add little leaves and things... and boil it."

The green scent of leaves.

The musty smell of bark wafts up with the steam.

The farmer swallows.

'I'm hungry.'

I swallow, too.

'I want to eat.'

I want to bite into the bark and tear it apart.

The bark simmers. It absorbs the smell of water and the fragrance of leaves. It looks as though it would taste sweet. I want to tear into it with my teeth. Rich broth would seep out and run down. It would smell of earth. Brown food.

Tree bark was earth you could eat.

'I want to eat.'

But he holds back.

'I have to give it to the children... At least this much. I have to.'

The children whine. They are crying.

The bark their father boiled for them. The bark he barely managed to bring them without eating it himself—the children hate it. They shake their heads. Complain as they eat.

They overturn it.

'Ah.'

Before he knew what he was doing, the farmer slapped his child's cheek.

As the farmer swung his arm, I swung my sword.

'This isn't right.'

The farmer turns his back on his children.

'This isn't who I am.'

... I'm not someone who hits his children. I'm not that kind of man. It's just that the failed harvest has been so cruel. It's been so long since I put proper food in my mouth that my nerves have worn thin. I've become oversensitive. I've gone too far...

'This wasn't what my life was supposed to be.'

The farmer picks up the bark.

What was hunger?

Since the world began, there had been countless years of failed harvests.

And each time, there had been farmers, farmers, farmers, countless farmers.

There had been countless hungers.

「Fight while feeling hunger.」

Could hunger have gestures of its own?

「Every stroke of your sword must be a gesture born of hunger.」

Yes.

Hunger had gestures.

「Recall the voices and groans of the hungry, their arm movements, their footwork, everything.」

That gesture was the farmer slapping his child's cheek.

That gesture was the farmer storming out of his house and throwing the bark into the yard.

That gesture was the farmer returning and handing his children the dirt-covered bark.

「Recall them and plant them in your heart.」

Since the world began, some farmers would have struck their children, while others would have stroked their children's cheeks and whispered apologies. Some would have beaten their children to death. Some survived until the next year, while others died alongside their children.

So it had been, and so it would be. And yet...

「Make them a single intent.」

Not one of those gestures was free of hunger.

「Ground yourself in that intent.」

「Swing your sword through hunger alone.」

I swung my sword with the gesture that had struck a child in anger and anguish.

I swung my sword with the gesture that had cast bark onto the ground, and with it, cast away life.

I swung my sword with the gesture that had returned and handed the bark to the children again.

「Only then does the Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven unleash its true power.」

Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven.

First Form.

Flowing Sword of Death by Starvation.

"..."

I slowly opened my eyes.

The white daylight over the snowfield had turned into pitch-black midnight.

My entire body was soaked in sweat. Only once I was drenched did I feel hungry. Starving. An unbearable emptiness gnawed at my belly. That emptiness was like an insect sprouting teeth, crunching and munching on my insides.

'This is hunger.'

It hurt.

'This is starvation.'

Demonic arts.

Nails that clawed at the world.

The cave walls were covered in claw marks. Had a violent gale swept through? My sword strokes were clearly carved into the stone walls. Stalactites and stalagmites had been sliced clean through, too.

My blade had cut walls and pillars made of stone.

Even though I had put almost no aura into it.

'But... it's still not enough.'

Just now, I had touched the edge of the divine art.

I had felt it clearly.

The sword paths pictured in my mind. The imagery drawn in my heart. The feeling, the sensation of those two aligning had unmistakably reached my fingertips.

That was why I knew.

"It's still clumsy."

The place my fingertips had lightly touched was not the summit of mastery, but, at best, the entrance.

"Are you out of your fucking mind...?"

The attendant spirit stared at me, appalled.

"Oh, why are you calling me crazy again? I'm training properly this time."

"Properly, my ass. Even those bastards practicing sexual arts train more properly than you."

The attendant spirit heaved sigh after sigh.

"This is why the clueless ones are scarier. You little zombie bird. You're truly a one-of-a-kind lunatic. Your heart and soul belong to the orthodox factions, but you're sitting here circulating the Demonic Cult's internal arts. Good grief."

"Uh, I still don't really know martial arts fiction terminology. What's wrong with that?"

"This martial-arts-illiterate fuck..." the attendant spirit muttered. "He has no idea how utterly bizarre this is. God, I'm going to lose my mind."

"Explain it so I can understand, would you?"

"In short, you're an orthodox master using demonic arts. Want me to be more precise? [You're an orthodox master who only knows how to use demonic arts.] Zombie, doesn't that make your brain freeze and your nose clog?"

"Hmm."

I raised my left hand and pinched my nose.

"I guess it does feel clogged."

"He's gone mad after starving for over a week... No, he was mad to begin with... What did I do in a past life to end up haunting a nutcase like this...?" the attendant spirit lamented.

"Now he's got me all unsettled, too. Wow, how the hell am I supposed to teach this guy my martial arts? If I teach him the way I taught old man Markus, I think we're fucked. What do I do...?"

Ah, I'm hungry.

I want a Choco Pie.

A Choco Pie that tastes of chocolate when you bite into it. A Choco Pie with chewy white marshmallow inside. I want to sip and slurp warm milk while munching on just one Choco Pie.

What was hunger?

Thus spoke Gongja: hunger was a Choco Pie.

A delicious, nutritious Choco Pie.

"... Hey, you're thinking about something else right now, aren't you?"

"No? I'm thinking about martial arts."

"Don't bullshit me. You've got the look of someone thinking something idiotic. I don't even need to check."

Why did this guy know me so well? Was he a stalker? Come to think of it, an attendant spirit was a ghost that constantly trailed behind you. In English, you could call it a ghost stalker. Thinking of it that way made me feel a little uncomfortable.

What a creepy stalker.

"It's true. Really, truly true. Did you spend your whole life getting lied to before you died?"

"Then tell me. What exactly were you thinking about martial arts?"

The stalker pressed me. Even the way he obsessed over little details was just like a stalker. Despite being built like a gorilla. Hurry up and pass on, ghost gorilla stalker.

I put on a solemn expression.

"First, I was thinking I'd head down the mountain for a bit."

"Down the mountain? Why? Are you finally going to show that Heavenly Demon what you're made of?"

"Oh, come on."

I waved a hand.

"I've only just reached the entrance to the Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven. What good would it do to kill myself and go back to her now? All I'd get is something like [Hmm, at least the boy has some promise]."

"Huh? Then what's the problem? Getting her recognition is enough."

"Enough for what? It's not enough for anything."

I left the cave.

"Do you know how crushed and hurt I was when the Heavenly Demon dismissed me as someone who'd never really gone hungry? I hold grudges. Mere recognition could never soothe my wounds."

"This kid is creepy..."

"The reaction I want is [Amazing]."

A startled face.

I wanted to see the Heavenly Demon astonished by my sword.

"[You overflow with talent. No, it positively explodes from you! I failed to recognize that you were my fateful opportunity. My eyes must have failed me for a moment. I apologize.]"

Hmm.

Just imagining it made me feel better.

The Heavenly Demon's face then would be as sweet as a Choco Pie.

"Well? Nice picture, right? Even you have to agree, Mr. Sword Emperor."

"You creepy, deranged little fuck..."

I descended the snowy mountain and headed for the snowfield.

"I realized something while performing the Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven earlier. Compared to the people of this era, I really haven't gone hungry. I imagined a farmer boiling bark, but exactly what kind of bark was it? How should you boil it? I couldn't picture those details accurately."

Because I had never done it.

"The clearer the imagery I conjure, the more powerful the divine art becomes. The reason my martial arts are still weak despite learning the [Divine Art of the Demonic Heaven] skill is simply that my imagery is clumsy. So..."

I stopped in the snow.

"From now on, I'm going to fill in what my imagination lacks."

"How? Are you actually going to boil some bark or something?"

"No. There's a much better way."

I grinned.

"Rebirth of a Hundred Ghosts."

Moonlight shone down. The snowfield was bathed in silver.

Suddenly, a cloud covered the moon. What was a cloud in the night sky became shade upon the snowfield. Little by little. Like an insect with teeth, the shade bit into the snowfield, one mouthful at a time.

The moon, swallowed by shade.

[Activating skill.]

A moment later, the cloud receded.

But the shade over the snowfield did not disappear. Even in the moonlight, the snow was no longer silver. As though a moon once swallowed could never return, countless shadows lay across the snow.

"My liege."

One of the shadows spoke.

"Did you call for me?"

Hungry Ghost dropped to one knee.

CRUNCH.

The snow made a small sound as her knee crushed it. Behind her stood thousands of skeletons.

"Hmm."

I nodded.

"Hungry Ghost, I have a task for all of you."

"Command us."

"This world is falling to ruin. Its humans have all become spirits and corpses, wandering the realms of the dead. Well. Perhaps it's more or less like the Aegim Empire you once destroyed."

"..."

Hungry Ghost lowered her head a little further.

"My order is simple. Scatter. Scatter and gather starving corpses for me."

"Starving corpses... my liege?"

"Yes."

I gazed out at the endless snowy night.

"Somewhere out here, there must be villages and farming communities. Find them. Find the corpses of those who starved to death there and bring them here. The corpses can move, so they'll resist, but there are over four thousand of you. Overwhelm them with numbers."

"How many..."

Hungry Ghost spoke cautiously.

"How many corpses shall we bring...?"

"One hundred and twelve."

"..."

People who carried the trauma of starvation.

I would learn their hunger.

When I had learned and mastered all their starvation,

only then would I draw closer to the Heavenly Demon.