Spring Scenery (1)
Spring Scenery (1)
Corpses are strewn about at the bottom of the stairs.
They were the traces of those who stayed by my side until the very end to buy me time.
All of them were spilling their blood onto the floor, their throats or chests slashed open.
The blood flowing from their wounds followed the slope of the stairs, forming puddles.
In the first place, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of Orthodox martial artists had tightly besieged the area below the stairs of my quarters, and indeed the entire cult, so there was no place left to run.
I've always been quite popular, you see.
I'm decent-looking, my martial arts are top-tier, and whenever I open my mouth, cheers erupt—you could say I'm the idol of the Jianghu.
That's probably why I've attracted so many toxic fans.
A few days ago, the martial artists of the Murim Alliance arrived before Mount Tianshan.
I heard some young genius swordsman unified everyone's opinions in an instant and brought the entire force here.
Much to my regret, that guy is the protagonist.
While I'm called names like 'Demon Head' or 'Heinous Villain,' that fellow's title is the Azure Sky Wandering Sword.
I don't know the process.
He probably made some tearful appeal or something.
Anyway, people can make a few mistakes in life, can't they? I wonder what kind of spite drives them to gather in such numbers just to kill one man like me.
Thanks to them, the headquarters of the Demonic Cult—which people once said would one day unify the Central Plains—has been miserably crushed.
And because I fought alongside it without a single moment of rest, my Dantian was also half-shattered.
Not that such things matter much at this point.
Standing barely on legs that felt like they were about to give out, I gauged the weight of the sword gripped in my right hand.
My palm was wet and slippery.
I couldn't tell if it was my blood or someone else's.
Hostility flickered in the eyes of the martial artists below, but no one stepped forward hastily.
After all, no one wants to be the one to die at the very end.
Just then, a man emerged from the crowd and stepped onto the stairs.
His facial muscles were stiff with tension.
A hazy gaze, mixed half-and-half with hatred and a desire for fame, aimed at me.
I lightly loosened my wrist and widened my stance.
Gathering what little strength I had left, I kicked off the ground in a single bound.
I pulled my arm back as far as it would go behind my back.
The sensation of a joint popping brushed past my shoulder.
Sharply... and accurately.
Like releasing a bowstring, I shot my sword forward.
Pu-uk!
The blade pierced the man's glabella precisely.
At the same time, the ominous vibration of his skull splitting was transmitted through the hilt.
Seeing him go stiff and then slowly go limp felt truly fleeting.
I kicked the man's ribcage to roll him down the stairs and pulled my sword out.
Dark red blood droplets scattered into the air.
I slowly stepped back again, creating distance.
"Did I not tell you not to approach?"
"Shut up, you Demon Head!"
"Right, I suppose I should keep my mouth shut."
Since it is said that a martial artist speaks with his sword.
The Sun-Shooting Sword Technique of the Diancang Sect is called the fastest sword under heaven.
The word 'shoot' fits better than the expression 'swing' when describing it.
It is a martial art developed to pierce and kill an opponent in a single stroke.
I'm not sure if what I learned is the orthodox version.
Since it was a sect that split off from the Diancang Sect, it felt like it had one foot in the Unorthodox side.
Regardless, the fact that I learned demonic arts didn't diminish the advantages of the sword technique.
The problem was that the disadvantages also remained intact.
A single sword thrust sent a severe recoil surging up my spine.
Normally, it would have been nothing, but my body, layered with internal injuries, had already reached its limit.
Even so, I had enough strength left to pierce the glabella of the guy who just shouted at me.
The man roared, raised his sword, and leaped up the stairs.
Thinking I would aim for his neck this time, he tried to parry my blade downward.
I twisted my wrist, shifting the angle of the blade ever so slightly.
The moment his heavy piece of iron failed to block my blade and cut through empty air, a hollow gap opened.
Simultaneously, I swung downward and lightly slashed his wrist.
With the chilling sensation of tendons snapping, his sword slammed into the floor.
I pushed the sword upward just like that and stabbed his heart.
The blade, wedging itself between the ribs, pierced his heart in an instant.
I pulled the sword out and scattered the blood on the floor to clean the blade.
A red trajectory drew a semicircle on the ground.
Taking advantage of that gap, three martial artists lunged at me simultaneously, screaming in rage.
For people who looked like they had lost their reason, it was a fairly textbook coordinated attack.
If I were only going to thrust, I wouldn't have sharpened the edges of the blade in the first place.
Even if the Sun-Shooting Sword Technique is specialized in thrusting and piercing, a sword is fundamentally a weapon meant for slashing.
I lowered my posture, bent my waist, and rotated my body.
Slipping on the pooled blood, I swung my sword in a wide arc.
The blade, carrying centrifugal force, drew a silver trajectory in the air.
Because I lacked strength, I couldn't blow their heads off entirely.
Still, I succeeded in slashing the faces of all three men at once.
They clutched their faces and rolled around, letting out wretched screams.
I looked down at the idiots who were rolling down the stairs, spraying blood everywhere after I gave them a light kick, then I adjusted my stance and exhaled.
At the same time, a silence settled over the area.
Despite so many humans being gathered before my eyes, the surroundings were eerily quiet.
Only the sound of rainwater flowing over the broken roof tiles filled the space.
Tok, todok.
No one dared to let out even a breath.
Against a dying cripple who couldn't even gather a handful of internal energy because his Dantian was shattered.
The blood tangled on the floor was hardening into dark red stains.
My vision flickered.
The muscles in my legs were ruptured; it felt like my knees would buckle at any moment.
It was during that long, dazed confrontation.
At the edge of the crowd, the wall of people parted, and someone walked out.
It was a light, cautious, and minutely trembling gait.
My vision was blurred by blood, so the silhouette wasn't clear.
However, I could recognize the person instantly.
Piercing through the terrible fishy stench, a faint but familiar scent brushed past.
The scent of sandalwood embedded in the fabric.
A white robe, now covered in blood, came into view.
Though stained with mud and bloodstains, the tailoring of the clothes was neat.
It was the daughter of the Diancang Sect leader, Yoo So-ha.
The woman, who had also been my fiancée, wore an expression that was hard to describe.
An ambiguous face that didn't look sad, yet didn't look angry either.
"It's been a long time. I've been waiting for you."
"...After committing deeds worse than a beast, it seems you've been living quite peacefully here."
"I've been well. It seems you've been well too. You've become much prettier than before."
"Shut that filthy mouth."
Our relationship hadn't been too bad, I think.
Until that day when I killed the Sect Leader of the Diancang Sect and everyone within the premises.
So-ha stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
Then, she slowly drew her sword from her waist.
The scabbard and the blade rubbed together, exhaling a cold metallic sound.
With a light gesture, she signaled the surrounding martial artists to back away.
Knowing what kind of history So-ha carried, they retreated without a word.
Or maybe they were just afraid of dying.
So-ha approached me one step at a time.
"As expected of a disgusting villain, you killed so many people and fled to the Demonic Cult. Do you not even regret it?"
"I do regret it."
"...What?"
"I regret it, and I am reflecting."
"What are you talking about now—"
The tip of the blade pointed at me vibrated minutely before stopping for a moment, just before being thrust.
As soon as the blade stopped, she kicked off the ground.
It was a much more refined posture than the trajectory I had used to pierce the Orthodox martial artist's head earlier.
Her white robe billowed in the air, descending upon my vision like a swan.
The moment the blade lunged toward my neck, I forced my wrist to twist.
I opened the flat of the sword wide and parried the tip of her blade diagonally.
Ka-ang—!
The blades collided, and a sharp clashing sound echoed through the air.
Our swords bounced off each other.
But the retreat was only for a moment.
We once again aimed our sword tips at each other's throats.
And then, the sword was thrust.
I twisted my head to dodge.
The blade grazed my cheek, and hot blood flowed down my jawline.
A second strike followed immediately.
This time, the shoulder.
I turned the flat of my sword to parry it.
Ka-ang!
The girl did not stop.
Thrusting.
Slashing.
Parrying.
Thrusting again.
Exactly as she had always been taught in the place where she was born and raised.
The sleeves of her robe fluttered.
Even while parrying the sword, I thought blankly.
Probably, if things went as they should, I would have pushed So-ha back here.
Honestly, I feel like I could still do so as much as I wanted even now.
So-ha's sword is fast.
But she has a habit of putting strength into her left foot first right before thrusting.
When her emotions are disturbed, her hand follows minutely slower than the sword.
And she always aims for the front immediately after inhaling.
I know it all.
If I set my mind to it, I could dig in, parry her sword, and slash her wrist.
That child probably knows it too.
She must know that the gap isn't bridged so easily.
However, even if I killed So-ha, all that would follow is a very angry protagonist.
Recalling such thoughts blankly, I loosened my defense.
As soon as the speed at which I parried So-ha's thrust slowed by half a beat, the blade slid through the opened gap and buried itself deep into my shoulder.
Pu-uk!
So-ha quickly pulled the blade out of my shoulder.
Blood spurted like a fountain, staining the girl's pale face red.
Just like that, she violently struck the sword held in my hand, dropping it to the floor, and immediately aimed the cold blade at my carotid artery.
I didn't bother stepping back.
If I took even one step, my throat would be pierced, and I would die anyway.
"...You are a piece of trash who deserves to die."
"I know."
"Tell me now where the Cult Leader headed. If you do, I will at least spare your life."
"I appreciate the offer, but I decline."
As soon as So-ha heard the answer, she ground her teeth with a padeudeuk sound and half-severed my ankle with her sword.
Even then, as if it wasn't enough, she pierced my shin with the tip of her blade and then kicked me over.
The girl who had slashed my leg turned to the martial artists standing behind her and spoke.
"...Take him away. There is a mountain of information we need to find out, so do not let him die under any circumstances."