Chapter 81 - The Most Wretched in the World (1)

1

Murmurs spread across the snowfield.

"What in the world has happened?"

"I-I'm alive...?"

"Is this paradise...?"

Members of the Demonic Cult. Warriors of the orthodox factions.

The last thing they remembered was their own death. They might remember being bitten by living corpses, but surely not becoming living corpses themselves. To them, years had passed in a single blink.

"..."

There was someone who had endured every moment of those three years.

Master stared blankly across the snowfield, her face that of someone unable to believe her own eyes.

"My disciple..."

"Yes, Master."

"Did you come not from beyond our borders, but from beyond this world...? This... this is no sorcery a mere human could possibly wield. It is an immortal's art found only in fantastical legends. Or have I died without knowing it and arrived in Peach Blossom Paradise...?"

"No. No, you haven't."

I shook my head.

"Like you, those people can no longer use martial arts. They're much weaker than they were in life. But this isn't Peach Blossom Paradise, and they have their memories from when they were alive."

"..."

"Go and see for yourself."

"..."

"Go on, Master."

CRUNCH.

Master began to walk. Soft footsteps crunched through the snow... They were the footsteps of a martial artist whose dantian had been destroyed. Of a warrior who had lost her internal energy. Of a woman left with nothing but the traces of three years battling illness.

Heavenly Demon.

My master.

With those light footsteps, you approached your followers. They were struggling to make sense of their situation.

"F-first, we must assess the present situation. Remain calm! We'll send scouts...!"

"Commander of the Blood Demons."

They froze.

The followers flinched. A group of a dozen or so Cult members fell silent. Then they looked at Master, their leader, with unfamiliar eyes.

"Heavenly Demon...?"

Master's breath grew a little thicker and whiter.

"Commander of the Blood Demons."

"..."

"It really is you."

The silence spread. At first, it was only the silence of a dozen people. But when those dozen closed their mouths, the scores around them did the same, and then the hundreds surrounding those scores fell silent.

A quiet snowfield.

"Moonshadow Demon Lord..."

"Yes."

"Ghost-Soul Flame Demon."

"Yes, my leader."

"Sword Demon..."

"Give me your command."

Master began calling her followers' names, one by one. Each person she named knelt without asking a single question.

CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

The snow sounded beneath their knees.

"But I lost you all..."

Master reached out.

"I... lost you, and lost you again."

She felt a follower's cheek. Caressed it.

"My children..."

Her fingers were trembling. Seeing their leader tremble, the Cult members hastily bowed their heads. Not looking upon what they ought not see—that seemed to be their loyalty. All one thousand followers lowered their eyes to the ground.

Of course, the Cult members were not the only ones enveloped in shock.

"... Well, now."

An old monk stroked his beard.

"Surely this humble monk laid himself to rest in a cave and crossed the river. Yet when I close my eyes, there is neither the other shore nor a grave, only a snowfield..."

"Y-you damned monk!"

"... And one demon mixed in among us. Ah, must I associate with that mortal even after closing my eyes in death? What does the Buddha wish of this humble monk?"

"Spouting nothing but obnoxious nonsense—you really are that damned monk!"

The Murim Alliance Leader ran over and threw his arms around the old monk. I could guess who he was. The man who had held out longest after Master and the Alliance Leader. He must be Shaolin's abbot.

"You've come back alive! My friend has come back alive!"

"This humble monk is not your friend."

"Ah! Surely the Jade Emperor has granted us a miracle!"

"The sound of a dog grazing on grass."

In other words, utter bullshit.

"Do not sully this humble monk's ears, mortal. I should never have let you entice me into fighting those evil heretics in the first place. I would have been better off passing away peacefully at the temple."

"Ah! The way all my joy at seeing you instantly evaporates—you truly are the damned monk I know! I want to punch you in the face!"

The martial artists of the Demonic Cult were quiet, while those of the orthodox factions were boisterous.

Each was sharing this reunion in their own way.

Time passed.

"..."

Master was the first to turn and look at me. Our gazes met. Ink-black eyes. Our hearts rode upon our gazes. An impression of my heart was being taken, engraved upon hers.

"I am..."

Master parted her lips.

Parted them and spoke to the Murim Alliance Leader.

"I am So Baekhyang, Demonic Cult Leader."

The Murim Alliance Leader, who had been sharing his feelings with his orthodox comrades, paused. He released those in his arms and turned toward Master in the distance.

Master cupped one hand over her fist in salute.

"The Heavenly Demon."

"..."

"Let this day be a blind person's deluded dream of a single night."

It was midday.

"Let me be no more than a sick woman walking in her sleep."

The snowfield's snow was eternal not because it never melted beneath the sun, but because, however often it melted, fresh snow fell endlessly to cover it.

"Let demonic rule over the world be no more than a dream passing through my sleep. Life has always belonged to those who choose to suffer the same illness, and the world has always belonged to those who choose to dream the same dream."

For a human who wished to remain white beneath the blazing sunlight, merely wishing to be born white was therefore not enough. They had to scatter white endlessly over the world. They had to be prepared to break endlessly into white fragments, to shatter and be scattered.

"I have not yet forgotten the name of the illness I chose to suffer. I have not yet lost the warmth of the dream I chose to dream. Thus I have relinquished no person, nor lost any world. Baraya! It is not the name of a martial art but the name of an illness that bears witness to my place; not the strength of internal energy but the warmth of a dream that proves who I am."

The sound of snowflakes breaking apart.

"I am here, in this very place, and only while I remain here shall I be myself."

In the sound of snow falling anew even after melting.

"I am the one who holds this seat."

Master recited her declaration of war.

"I hereby request our 990th duel."

Silence lay all around.

The once-boisterous orthodox martial world had fallen quiet.

They were Murim's last young heroes, its last great heroes. They had come to wage a great war knowing it would be their last.

How could they dare act rashly?

If the words one chooses in life's final moments are one's last testament, then they now wished to speak the last testament of orthodox Murim.

And the orthodox followers looked toward the man who would speak it on their behalf.

"Murim Alliance Leader. Of the Namgung family."

The old man saluted with fist and palm.

"Supreme Patriarch. Namgung Un. The Axe Immortal."

One thousand demonic followers faced one thousand orthodox followers.

"Your Demonic Cult made the screams of the common people its doctrine. Those screams became vengeance, and vengeance became a bloody calamity that dyed the world red. You bloodthirsty spirits of revenge! All heaven and earth have turned red, yet still you pretend to be the weak."

The man who had risen to lead Murim drew a boundary between demonic and orthodox followers with his voice alone.

"You weep endlessly, clutching the Heavenly Demon's robes. You beg her to act in your stead, to appease your rancor for you. So long as you cling to her sleeves, you call yourselves helpless commoners, sorrowful people!"

The aged Alliance Leader roared.

"Thirst! You have feet and hands of your own—how long will you find comfort in the sinister ghosts of the past? The Flower Garland teachings say that even a tree must discard its flowers to bear fruit. And what are you? Flower sellers in a garden, trading in your own pain!"

The Demonic Cult growled at his rebuke.

Its followers gripped their sword hilts hard. Venom rose, and killing intent bloomed. In response, the orthodox warriors began clashing their presence against theirs.

Neither side should have had any internal energy, yet the air over the snowfield grew murderous.

"Good."

Master lifted the corners of her mouth.

"I shall take that as acceptance of my challenge."

"Of course."

"A duel that leaves us alive, or a duel to the death?"

"To the death."

"I accept."

The two warriors lowered their salutes.

SHING!

At the same moment, one thousand demonic followers and one thousand orthodox followers drew their swords. It was midday. Fully two thousand blades caught the sun and shone brightly.

"Children of the Demonic Heaven!"

Master clenched her fist.

"You may consider today's events nothing but a deluded dream, an illusion!"

"Baraya!"

One thousand followers shouted in unison.

"You may call us an empty dream!"

"Baraya!"

"Then should we not live like a dream?"

"Agabaraya!"

"Our hearts are candle flames!"

"We shall burn this place!"

"Demonic rule over the world!"

"The common people alone shall endure!"

Master burst into laughter.

"Kill them!"

The war began.

One thousand followers charged, howling like beasts. There was no wondrous footwork. No uncanny lightness technique. They lunged like beasts and tore into their enemies like beasts. That was the holy war their doctrine demanded.

"You hypocrites! I am the Moonshadow Demon Lord, one of our Cult's Four Demon Lords! Face my blade!"

Demonic Cult, Corpse Shadow Unit.

Commander.

Moonshadow Demon Lord.

"I am Wudang's sect leader, the Perfected One of Profound Emptiness! You are a worthy opponent!"

Wudang.

Sect leader.

Perfected One of Profound Emptiness.

The two collided, shouting their epithets. Exchanging names was their sole concession to courtesy. The fight itself was utterly savage.

"Hyaaah!"

The Moonshadow Demon Lord smashed his sword hilt into the Perfected One's face.

THUD!

Teeth. Blood. White fragments flew out, and red liquid spattered.

"Raaagh!"

The Perfected One of Profound Emptiness roared, baring broken teeth. Then he stiffened his fingertips and stabbed the Moonshadow Demon Lord's eye.

SQUELCH!

"Hahahaha!" The Moonshadow Demon Lord drowned out the bursting sound with laughter. The Taoist's howl and the Cult member's laughter mingled.

Other figures in black and white swallowed the pair from view.

"One of the Four Demon Lords. Ghost-Soul Flame Demon. I shall take your head."

Demonic Cult, Spirit Consolation Unit.

Commander.

Ghost-Soul Flame Demon.

"Homage to Amitabha Buddha. I am Jomyeong."

Shaolin Temple.

Abbot.

Zen Master Jomyeong.

"As a courtesy befitting one of the Four Demon Lords, I shall grant you three moves, Abbot."

"Never forget that respect for a disciple of the Buddha!"

At the Ghost-Soul Flame Demon's words, Zen Master Jomyeong immediately lunged. He wrapped prayer beads around his fist and swung. The Ghost-Soul Flame Demon, who had promised him three moves, promptly bent down, then straightened to drive his head into Jomyeong's stomach. "Urgh!" Jomyeong groaned, then gave a hollow laugh.

"Didn't you say you'd grant me three moves?"

"Did you believe that?"

"Did I look as though I believed it?"

"Yes."

DRIP.

The sound of flowing blood intervened.

"You did."

The Ghost-Soul Flame Demon dropped heavily to his knees. His nose was broken after that vigorous headbutt. At the very moment of impact, Jomyeong had driven his knee upward as though he had expected it. Looking at the Ghost-Soul Flame Demon's face, stained all over with blood gushing from his nose, Jomyeong stroked his beard in satisfaction.

"This humble monk's acting has not grown rusty."

"You fucking sham monk..."

"Now take the remaining two moves!"

Grabbing the Ghost-Soul Flame Demon's ears, Jomyeong tried to drive his knee into him again. Instead, the Ghost-Soul Flame Demon slammed his forehead against that knee.

CRUNCH...!

The sound of a skull crushing cartilage.

"Aaargh!"

Jomyeong hopped about, clutching his knee.

"Bwahahahaha! Look at you lot! Without internal energy, you're nothing but street thugs! Well, this is your real ability! Good! With those orthodox bastards' true faces laid bare before the world, this is an auspicious day indeed!"

Demonic Cult, Assassination Unit.

Commander.

Sword Demon.

"... Vulgar. Utterly vulgar."

Mount Hua Sect.

Elder.

Ten Thousand Swords of Scattered Blossoms.

The two master swordsmen clashed blades.

CLANG!

The instant their swords struck, both cried out—"Gah!" "Urgh!"—and clutched their hands. Neither could withstand the shock of blade meeting blade.

But neither let go of his sword.

The Sword Demon grinned, baring his teeth.

"Fuck... Swallow your pride and let go, why don't you?"

Ten Thousand Swords of Scattered Blossoms answered through gritted teeth.

"That's my line..."

Their eyes met, and they clashed blades again.

CLANG!

Stifled screams.

CLANG!

Breaths swallowed in gasps.

CLANG!

Trembling hands and shoulders. At last, blood flowed from both their torn palms. Blood from their bitten lips mingled with the blood from their hands.

Yet still, neither let go of his sword.

White martial robes fluttered. Black robes swayed. Sunlight shone down, and shadows fell. Between sun and shadow, the orthodox factions and the Demonic Cult collided.

Blood burst forth.

"Demonic rule over the world! The common people alone shall endure!"

"Aaaaah! Die! Die!"

"You Moyong bastards, come out here now!"

A world left with nothing but black and white.

What flowed vividly through it was not dazzling martial arts.

It was only the red blood of human beings.

"Hhh, haha... Ahaha."

Amid it all, one laugh rang out especially red.

"Ahahahaha! Ha! Ha, ahahahaha!"

It was truly mad laughter.

"So many orthodox bastards!"

Master was shouting.

"Good. Come at me. Let us exchange sword blows!"

An ink-black shadow rampaged among the orthodox warriors. It was as though the sun were rising and setting dozens of times faster. Without any internal energy, she was merely a woman who had endured three years of illness. Yet her movements stood out unmistakably among warriors who were likewise unable to use martial arts.

"Absurd!"

Master laughed.

"Abbot of Shaolin. Did you think such petty tricks would stop me? You long-faced Taoist of Wudang. Did you dare think you could bear the karma of my Cult?"

Those words were familiar to me.

"Grief overflows the world and submerges Mount Song! Rancor blazes across heaven and earth, burning Mount Wudang! The Demonic Cult is Murim's heaven, and I am the Demonic Cult's heaven! What right have you to speak of a heaven beyond heaven?"

Yet they would have been unfamiliar to Master herself.

"You are not enough! Lackeys of the orthodox factions!"

Master roared.

"Namgung Un!"

Through the sounds of sword striking sword and flesh colliding with flesh, Master shouted.

"Where is Namgung Un?"

Laughing aloud—ahaha—Master cried,

"Bring me the Namgung family's Supreme Patriarch! Present the Murim Alliance Leader before me! However thick Murim's forests, however vast its skies, in all heaven and earth there is but one talent capable of receiving my sword! Four Demon Lords! Drag Namgung Un before me at once!"

Her laughter was red and rapturous.

"Hmm."

The old man took a step into the ever-reddening world.

"It brings back the first day of the Great War."

The Murim Alliance Leader had stripped off his upper garments. A cold winter. Without internal energy, the chill must have pierced him to the core, yet he made it his armor instead. Muscles as dry as bone hardened firmly.

"We failed to settle it that day, and the war continued into a second. We failed to finish it on the second day, and postponed it to a third. In the end, we buttoned it wrong from the very first day! Thinking back now, I should have poured everything into it from the start."

He drew a deep, long breath.

Then the Murim Alliance Leader took his stance and beckoned with his hand.

"Come at me, demon. Today, heaven's fortune is with me."

Murim Alliance.

Leader.

Axe Immortal.

"Heaven's fortune. Good."

CRUNCH.

Master stepped onto the snow.

"Today's heavenly fortune shall be nothing more than the fate of your life."

Demonic Cult.

Leader.

Heavenly Demon.

"..."

"..."

One breath.

The two glared at each other.

Half a breath.

The two stepped closer.

When their breaths crossed,

The two collided with a movement of their hands.

"..."

White.

Snowflakes scattered wildly.

"...!"

Black.

Hair streamed through the air.

Red.

Blood spattered.