The Heavenly Demon Copies Martial Arts - 72

"Th-this can't be…"

Ever since So Yeomgyo had sheared off one side of his goatee, Gwak Ilsan had trimmed the whole thing shorter to restore the balance. The less beard he had left, the more desperately he cherished what remained.

And now that same Gwak Ilsan was yanking at his goatee as if he meant to tear it out by the roots, roaring at the top of his lungs.

"Even if it's a duel without internal energy—! How could our junior brother—!"

This was no longer a duel.

It was an execution.

—Kwaang, kwaang, kwang, kwang-kwang-kwang…

Fists like lumps of iron slammed into Gwak Ido's face. What was left of that face no longer held any recognizable shape. The force of each descending blow ripped through my already ragged clothes, baring my upper body. Three hundred days of hellish training in Yuk-bi-dong had left every kind of scar across that flesh; half-healed wounds tore open afresh and wept bright red drops of blood.

"S-stop…"

Gwak Ido coughed the word out through a mouth missing every front tooth.

I stopped my fists.

"I—I mean, I was wrong… s-sorry…"

"…"

I raised my fist again.

"I… I'm sorry… about the woman, too… I apologize…"

I let go of his hair.

—Kwadang-tang!

Long strands poured down between my fingers in a thick sheaf. For the first time since the duel began, Gwak Ido was allowed to plant his backside on the arena floor. The legs that had been holding him up splayed uselessly to either side; the only part of him still intact was the left arm that wasn't gripping the One Shadow Severing Flash blade. The right hand that had held his sword was smashed to pieces from start to finish.

I nodded.

Mumyeong's memories were returning clearer with every passing day. As a master who had walked the jianghu long before me—as a senior—he taught me a great many things and offered no shortage of counsel.

Before the duel—no, before the death match—with Gwak Ido, Mumyeong had ordered me to finish it in the absolute shortest time possible. Gwak Ido was certain to underestimate me. Fail to exploit that overwhelming advantage, Mumyeong said, and I would be the greatest fool under heaven.

A granary could be stacked to the rafters with grain, but if you had no cooked rice in front of you right now, you starved all the same.

I didn't care what Gwak Ido's real ability was. Even if that ability could have crushed me flat, it made no difference. What mattered was this: right now he was crawling on the floor like a worm, paying the price for his carelessness—and I was still standing.

I looked down at Gwak Ido writhing on the boards. He stared back up at me with eyes that refused to believe what they were seeing.

"Impossible. I've got eyes too…. You definitely weren't this strong…."

I bent at the waist. I pushed aside the blood-soaked, ruined folds of his collar.

"…"

Fresh lipstick marks bloomed along the side of his neck. I spoke slowly.

"A man lives only the life he draws for himself. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"What…?"

Outside the arena, a sudden uproar swelled. I lifted my head and pushed myself up off one knee.

—Chajajajak.

The Jongnam Sect was on the move. A green tide sealed every exit, ringing the arena and closing in around me.

"As expected."

I had seen this coming. The Jongnam Sect had no intention of letting word of today's official duel—this humiliating page of history—spread. And the Emei Sect representative who ought to have mediated, Seo Hyemun—

"H-how can something wearing a human face commit such cruelty! Assassin scum are unfit to associate with decent people after all!"

—was jabbing a finger at me with her face flushed scarlet.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Junior Brother! Junior Brother, are you all right?! Damn it!"

Gwak Ilsan rushed over and hauled Gwak Ido up. The younger man had passed out from the agony. That once-handsome face was a pulp of blood; every limb hung broken. Veins stood out in Gwak Ilsan's eyes.

"Are you even human?!"

"I did this because I'm human."

"What did you say?!"

I snarled the words.

"I've been wondering something for a while. That trash you pull—harassing women, lying, cheating—is that how your entire sect operates, or is it just your little clique inside the Jongnam Sect?"

Gwak Ilsan stammered.

"Wh-what business is that of y—"

"Does your sect leader know you go around doing this?"

Emotion I had been crushing down with difficulty came roaring back; the black of my irises bled, little by little, toward red. Gwak Ilsan bellowed.

"None of your damn business—you're going to die here anyway! Some lowborn who can't even show his face in public! Everyone, draw!"

—Chachachang!!

The Jongnam disciples tore their swords free. Every one of them circulated internal energy and dropped into a ready stance at the same time. The air itself began to change.

"Circulating internal energy… means this isn't a duel anymore… right?"

Anger roughened my voice until it scraped.

"When you're hunting a beast, a duel is a luxury! Did you really think you could put our junior brother through that kind of unnecessary brutality and walk away clean?!"

I swept the circle with burning eyes. Jongnam blades were leveled at me from every direction.

And yet—

—Parrr.

The tips of those swords trembled, just slightly. They had already watched me fight twice. No matter how hard they denied it, they knew the truth.

"Th-this is insane."

"I mean, it's true, isn't it? He stopped the Salt Wolf King's charge, even if only for a moment. We all saw it."

"And that merciless hand-to-hand just now? He was like a ghost."

In the end, though, none of them backed down.

The Emei people…

Ordinarily, when a dispute like this flared, a neutral power stepped in to mediate. Once again the Emei contingent chose the role of bystander. They neither intervened nor took a side. With the already-expelled Seo Hyemun still holding enough voice to shout, they were nothing more than a hollow scarecrow faction—no more, no less.

I bit down on my lip.

After three hundred days of training I had succeeded in absorbing nearly every martial art I had copied, melting them into my flesh. Frost-edged fist forms, kicking arts, sword techniques—each one had dissolved into my fundamentals, granting my every basic motion optimal efficiency and power, giving me at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠last the foundation I had craved for so long. I had pushed Heaven and Earth Great Shift far enough to manifest the fourth stage.

Even so, a fight of many against one—against opponents who were fully awake to the danger—was a new kind of trial. Tension hammered against my ribs. My lips went bone-dry.

Martial artists lived and died by pride. The moment I decided to half-kill Gwak Ido, I had accepted that it would come to this. I had simply chosen not to spend the one life I had left swallowing everything, only to look back on a existence paved with regret.

"That felt good."

I glanced sideways.

"Young Master Biryu. No…"

At some point Baekho had come to stand beside me, his black cloak stirring in the air.

"Young Master Moyong Bi."

Softly—too soft for the others to catch—Baekho whispered my true name. I tugged the face mask that had slipped below my nose back into place.

"It's been a while. Not the circumstances I would have chosen for a reunion."

"You know what you start thinking when you spend your days running contracts across orthodox, unorthodox, and demonic factions?"

Baekho rolled a wrist as he spoke.

"In the end, every place people live is the same. Factions split along nothing but profit and loss. There is no justice. No righteousness. A pity, but there it is."

"Is that so."

"Young Master."

Baekho looked at me.

"Even in a mess like this, you aren't shaking at all. When the Sect Leader told me about you I half-doubted it, but with nerves like these, maybe stopping the Salt Wolf King head-on really is true."

"Maybe I've just seen too much hell in too short a time."

When I left Amyeondong, Mumyeong had said it plainly: next time, the Host's life must never again include training like Amyeondong's.

This place does clear damage to a person's mind. Even the Host would go mad if he trained there again.

My whole body was wrecked. It creaked. But more than that, my spirit hung in tatters. There was no way to put the feeling into words. It was like staring at a frayed rope with a heavy water jar hanging from it—and watching giant rats gnaw the rope from both sides.

Nothing in this world came free. If I had grown over those three hundred days, I had paid something for it. Whatever that something was, the bill always came due.

"It'd be pretty funny if I survived all that hell just to die here."

At my muttered words, Baekho let out a short chuckle.

"Strange places where you and I are the same, Young Master."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. I mean it. Aside from the Sect Leader, this is the first time I've felt this kind of connection."

The green tide tightened the noose. My head stayed fixed, but my eyes tracked every approaching figure. Baekho spoke again.

"This is going to sound completely out of nowhere, but… if I wanted to get out of here alone, I could."

"What?"

I looked at him.

"But I'm not going to."

"Why? Baekho, you're not even from the same sect. So Yeomgyo would understand. Honestly, one of her own people's lives has to matter more than some outsider like m—"

Baekho snorted a laugh.

"Does fate need a reason? Someone like me—rotten temper, ruined life, soaked in blood—finally finds a person I actually want to get close to after twenty years. How am I supposed to walk away and leave him?"

I stared at him, blank.

"You don't have friends either, do you, Young Master?"

It shouldn't have been much of a line. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still twisted something in my gut.

"If we make it out of here, I'll promote you—hobby master I serve on the side. How's that sound? Not bad, right? Plenty of people out there who'd kill to hire me."

"If you're going to serve someone, just serve them. What's this 'hobby master' nonsense?"

"Heh heh heh."

He joked, but I could feel the weight underneath the words. I reset my grip on my fists. The Jongnam disciples had drawn close enough that I could make out every feature of their faces.

I stepped in front of Baekho.

"I'll hold the front. You cover the rear, and the moment there's an opening, run. I'm used to dogfights, more or less."

As far as I knew, Baekho was not the kind of martial artist built for head-on clashes; he was a specialist assassin. A battlefield like this would get him killed without letting him show even a tenth of what he could do. It wasn't that I looked down on him. Here, it was simply better if I took the front and he supported from behind—and if a gap opened, I would run too. That was the judgment with the highest odds of winning, and of living.

"…"

Baekho looked at me without a word.

Fate had a vicious sense of humor. The first two times in my life I had ever trusted my back to someone, it hadn't been anyone from the orthodox path or my own family—it had been people from the Blood Death Sect, the ones who had killed me.

Through my spine I could feel Baekho's heart hammering fast. I swallowed dryly. Jongnam sword points wavered as their owners watched for an opening. The instant a single blade thrust forward, this place would become a sea of blood.

That taut wire of tension was about to snap when—

"Young Master, I'll take the thought kindly. No—honestly, I'm a little moved."

I turned.

"But if they get any closer than this, even I won't be able to move. So stop the pointless heroics and get on my back."

"What?"

Baekho was pointing at his own back.

"The Sect Leader isn't a fool. Why do you think she sent me alone, practically speaking?"

Without a flicker of hesitation, Baekho declared it.

"In the entire Blood Death Sect, when it comes to footwork and assassination, I am without question the strongest."

"…Hold on. Just now you said you weren't leaving alone…"

Baekho nodded.

"Right. Which is why I'm taking you with me and we're leaving together. Climb on. Now."

"……"

Half in a daze, I climbed onto his back. His cloak flared. Black cords whipped around my back and limbs and bound me flush against his body. At the unexpected move, the Jongnam disciples' eyes flew wide. Gwak Ilsan in particular shook so hard his goatee quivered as he screamed.

"G-grab them! Those bastards!"

"Before we go."

Baekho's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Goat-beard. I can't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kill you—things would get too big—but you, at least, I'm going to teach a lesson."

It sounded like water dripping.

—Ttok… ttok…

Baekho sprang lightly from his toes. First the full sole, then the ball of the foot, then the big toe, and finally the very tip—

—Pyut.

—and he became a single streak of black light hurtling forward.

—Chiiiik!

His heels left a long skid as he braked hard. I could not trust my own eyes. Behind us, the ring of Jongnam disciples who had sealed us in now stood with a clean hole punched straight through their formation.

—Chaenggeurang.

Baekho flung a short blade to the ground—teeth broken out of it, black smoke still pouring off the metal.

—Kkaaaaang!!!

Every sword standing in a straight line ahead of us split cleanly in half and sprang into the air.

"Hiiik!!"

Jongnam disciples dropped to their knees clutching truncated blades.

"M-my sword—!"

He had sheared through every weapon along that line as he passed. It was a silent declaration: if he had wanted them dead, they would already be dead.

"M-my beard! My beard again!"

Gwak Ilsan was shrieking, clutching the neatly severed half of his goatee.

Absolute footwork. I had seen any number of masters, but never footwork like this. Adjusting his hold on me, Baekho said,

"Hang on tight. We're getting out of this dog-forsaken place as fast as humanly possible. I never want to come back here again."

"What?"

Baekho said nothing more.

"Catch those bastards! If they escape it's a stain on the entire sect!"

Gwak Ilsan's scream tore through the air. The Jongnam disciples, snapping out of their daze a beat too late, hurled themselves after us.

"Hah."

Baekho gave a short laugh. His body bent like a drawn bow and slipped past everything in a heartbeat. He even used Jongnam heads as stepping-stones, launching himself into the open sky.

Overhead, sheer pink silks—the emblem of the Emei Sect—were strung like awnings, thin enough to see through, running all the way to the walls.

"H-he can't be—!"

Every breath stopped. Silence filled the air. In that instant the same impossible image flashed through every mind present—and every mind rejected it.

—Paat.

Baekho's feet landed on silk so thin the sky showed through it. Before he could sink, he kicked off as if from solid ground, and his body shot forward like a black arrow.

"That's practically Walking the Empty Sky!"

"What kind of lightness skill is that?!"

Everyone could only stand and stare like dogs that had lost the chicken, watching Baekho's figure dwindle. Gwak Ilsan and the rest, clutching a severed goatee and gaping, fell rapidly away behind us. I could only marvel at a majesty that made even my peak-level Illusory Great Body Step look like a child's game.

And then—

—Kiiing!

Without any intent of mine, both of my eyes flushed red.

I flinched and tried to shut it down. But the authority, once it had begun analyzing of its own will, would not turn off. At blistering speed it tore through the footwork Baekho was executing right before my eyes.

And the Heavenly Demon's authority whispered, in a voice dark and damp, the precise origin of the footwork the Blood Death Sect's Baekho had just used before my eyes.

The entire world stopped.

Blood Cult…?