The Last Mercy
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
I answered calmly first, trying to buy myself a moment to cool my head.
Sa Ha-yun looked down at me with frigid eyes.
"You said you didn't ask. After saying it so clearly right behind someone's back, you were hoping I wouldn't hear?"
Her expression twisted slightly, almost into a scowl, yet remained nearly blank. It was the face of a woman truly furious.
I'd spoken to buy time, but instead my own mind only grew more muddled.
...Of all times.
It seemed that in the midst of this midsummer heat, while Gang Mu-jeong of the same sect had been diligently stoking the flames, I had gone and lit the powder keg myself.
What am I supposed to do about this?
I had never been particularly skilled with words to begin with. On top of that, though Sa Ha-yun had never intended it, I was already fretting over being dragged into Jeokmaryeong and the Guardians' Blood Calamity. My focus on the regular trials had been shot, leaving me far more vulnerable to heart demons than usual. My tongue felt a hundred times heavier than normal.
Countless plans raced through my mind, but every one of them was half-baked. My identity was already exposed and I was bound by it; compared to the days when I had operated under the name Biryu during the disciplinary trials, the restrictions were stifling.
Back then, the moment Sa Ha-yun glared at me I could have simply knocked her out cold and vanished. That option had definitely existed. But as a Ha-mu-gwan student I would keep running into her, and even after graduation I would have to keep living in this jianghu as Moyong Bi. I couldn't do that.
"What's going on back there?"
The two at the very rear had not followed, and even those at the front of the line noticed. The entire procession climbing the wooded hill came to a halt.
Things had gotten complicated.
[....]
Mumyeong, who had in a way triggered this entire mess, kept silent.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
Sa Ha-yun drew her brows together into a scowl and stared straight through me.
Mumyeong...
I screamed inwardly.
Mumyeong spoke calmly into my mind.
[Host, do you remember the large-scale dantian mutation work related to the Heavenly Snow White Ginseng a while back?]
I had no idea why he was bringing that up now. Unable to answer aloud, I recalled that strong thoughts transmitted between us and thought as hard as I could instead of speaking.
Hey! Why the hell are you bringing that up in this situation?!
[Host, listen. This is very important.]
Important?
As always, Mumyeong spoke with perfect composure.
[Ah—. Oh dear. I must have overdone it back then. Why am I suddenly so sleepy...]
—Fwoosh.
And just like that, Mumyeong vanished as abruptly as a candle flame snuffed out by a breath.
...
I blinked once.
I blinked twice.
This... this...
A sharp, stinging sensation rose at the back of my head.
...You... you son of a bitch, Mumyeong... you...
My cheeks trembled. This time, to prevent a complete disaster—or even the slightest chance of opening my mouth—I clenched my molars far harder than necessary and sealed my lips shut.
"Sa Ha-yun, what's going on?"
Gang Mu-jeong strode over, shouting. The force of it was pure who dares lay a hand on my woman.
"..."
Sa Ha-yun ignored him completely, arms folded, never taking her eyes off me for an instant. If anything, she glared even harder, as if she meant to devour me. There was not a shred of doubt or goodwill in that stare—only pure hostility.
—Whoosh.
The crackle of torch flames filled my ears. The chirping of insects rose from the undergrowth. The humid summer night air pressed down on my shoulders. Faint scents of each other's skin drifted on the breeze to my nose. A single bead of sweat slid down the nape of my neck, traced my collarbone, followed the bob of my throat as I swallowed, and soaked into the collar of my martial robes.
Then it came.
[Honestly.]
It was Mumyeong's voice—the one I had thought was already asleep.
[If you feel you can't handle it, kill her. Just as you always have.]
I forgot how to breathe.
He whispered quietly.
[A great dam never collapses all at once. Collapse always begins with the tiniest crack.]
Black mist wrapped around me.
[In a way, when you look back years from now, this tiny, completely unrelated, utterly pointless quarrel with that Jeomchang Sect woman today might circle around and become the prologue that lets the orthodox leadership learn the Host possesses the Heavenly Demon Jade, forcing you into the Guardians' Blood Calamity. And then into the situation I want least of all—your life threatened. So—]
The black dog whispered once more by my ear.
[If you feel you can't handle it.]
He whispered again.
[Tear her apart and kill her. That is the Host's true nature, after all. You have already lived in a world far too different from theirs.... The very scent you give off is already different. Never forget that a wolf mingling with sheep is an act of mercy born of goodwill, not a forgetting of instinct....]
"..."
"Tch. What the hell is wrong with this idiot?"
She had been watching my wavering eyes. Sa Ha-yun frowned, her face twisting with disappointment and contempt.
"When I saw you on the training grounds I thought you were at least a beast of a man with some backbone. Turns out you're just another fool."
I swallowed and kept silent.
"..."
"What a letdown. Fine. Whatever. You swagger around with a sword like you can beat anyone in front of you, but inside you're completely empty."
She turned on her heel and walked away.
Gang Mu-jeong ran after her, shouting.
"Sa Ha-yun, what happened?! Did that bastard say something dirty to you from behind?! That piece of shit!"
"You too—don't casually put your hand on my shoulder like that. Unless you want to die."
—Smack!
Sa Ha-yun slapped his hand away and strode off at the head of the group.
"Kh...!"
Gang Mu-jeong clutched his wrist and bit his lip. Then he came toward me.
—Whoosh.
Red torches blazed all around. I looked at him.
"You fucking bastard son who doesn't know his place...!"
"...Again?"
The first couple of times I had let it slide. But I was hearing it yet again. They always called me a bastard son, as if they had all agreed on it beforehand.
Gang Mu-jeong stared at me with eyes full of hatred and disgust.
"What, did the bastard do something to Young Lady Sa?"
Behind him I looked at the massive bulk of Han Jung-mae.
Ah. Now I get it.
I finally understood why they hated me so openly, why they came at me so freely. To them I was not a fellow orthodox disciple of Cheonsubaekryeonsa's Ha-mu-gwan. I was first and foremost the bastard son of the Moyong Family.
In the Ha-mu-gwan the differences in martial strength were not yet glaringly obvious. That made origin and background matter all the more, and those differences in status quietly shaped the relationships among the disciples. Even personal disputes routinely escalated into power struggles between sects and battles of pride between factions, so everyone tread carefully.
Even I, when dealing with Sa Ha-yun just now, had been forced to consider future relationships and backgrounds in the jianghu and could not act as freely as I had under the fake identity of a Blood Death Sect field investigator.
And into that situation had walked a bastard son who clearly had no backing whatsoever. Someone you could beat to a pulp—hell, even kill—and no one would come looking for justice. On top of that he carried the flashy Moyong surname, so even minor sects could feel the satisfaction of looking down on the Moyong Family itself.
How delicious a prey must I have looked? No wonder Ho Seo-a had gone after me with bloodshot eyes. I really was the perfect punching bag.
—Sizzle.
A red light began to gather in my eyes.
I truly thought it was rotten. This jianghu—more precisely, the orthodox sects—was rotten.
Forced into these disciplinary trials, I had wandered the world and seen it thoroughly, and I truly believed this jianghu, especially the orthodox side, was rotten to the core.
I thought of Gang Ilbi, that unremarkable righteous man in Shaanxi who had given me my moral compass, the one who used to cry out "A man must strengthen himself."
He had always longed to come to Cheonsubaekryeonsa, yet mourned that he lacked the qualifications and status, grieving over it so bitterly.
This is the true face of the orthodox sects you so passionately praised, the young sprouts who were supposed to carry that orthodoxy's future.
I clenched my fist.
Maybe it's better that you never made it here no matter how much you wanted to.
—Sizzle.
Along with the unpleasant humidity of the hot night, red energy began seeping from my eyes.
Maybe you should be grateful you never saw this side of it, so you could live out your days forever cherishing only the ideal orthodoxy of righteousness and chivalry you read about in books.
—Crack.
Black thunder-flames began to pour from the tips of my feet. But no one saw them.
Really.... Really....
It was the first serious thought I had had since entering Cheonsubaekryeonsa.
Should I just kill them all?
To me, the words "should I kill them" were not the empty threats or exaggerations common thugs spat out.
These disgusting, childish little maggot bastards...!
I lowered my gaze. Five paces ahead of the approaching Gang Mu-jeong, beneath the torchlight, a single gray pebble shimmered.
—Pivvit.
My index finger flicked at a speed invisible to the eye, and black thunder shot forth. It was the same thing that had lanced out during the fight with Ilmanhyeolje.
No one saw it. No one sensed it.
—Kakak.
The pebble burst as if crushed, and a thin line was carved into the ground. The line lay five paces in front of Gang Mu-jeong.
I considered that line the final strand of reason I had forged through training with my master Asura—the last thread of sanity I still possessed.
"The line in front of you. You'd better not cross it."
I warned him in a low voice.
"That is my last mercy."
"What? A line? Where's there a lin—"
Gang Mu-jeong looked down.
"What the hell. When was there a line? Did someone draw it just now?"
He looked bewildered. Han Jung-mae spoke from behind him.
"Someone ahead of us probably scratched it while walking past. That bastard's behind us—you think he drew it? Use some common sense."
"Hmph. Fair enough. But wait. Did this bastard son just dare give an order to a true direct disciple of the great Jeomchang Sect?"
Jealousy and the rage of being continuously ignored by Sa Ha-yun had mixed together until Gang Mu-jeong's eyes flipped.
"I've been meaning to teach you a lesson one of these days!"
He strode forward without hesitation, hand settling on the hilt of his sword.
Four paces left.
—Thud.
Enraged, Gang Mu-jeong took another step.
Three paces left.
—Rumble...
Hands still clasped behind my back, not even breathing, I stared down at the ground alone with explosive force, red energy swirling in my eyes.
Two paces left.
The fist clenched in my right hand slowly uncurled.
One pace left.
The instant Gang Mu-jeong's foot was about to cross the line—
—Tap.
A small foot stepped onto that very line.
"..."
I raised my head.
"H-hey... both of you, c-calm down... huh? Ha. Haha... Why are fellow disciples fighting like this, huh?"
The owner of that foot was the short-statured Dang Sa-mun of the Sichuan Tang Family.