Please Understand (3)
Hollow eyes. Lips dried and cracked to the point of flaking apart. Skin that looked like the bark of an old, weather-beaten tree. Even his face had lost all color.
Every one of those things told the story of the suffering Mangeum Daebu had endured.
But even without looking at his face, it wasn’t hard to guess what he had been through. Above all, the arm cut away just below the shoulder made his circumstances painfully clear.
Mangeum Daebu, looking haggard, stared at the man seated across from him. The one lounging half-sprawled upon the throne sat with his legs crossed, looking down at Mangeum Daebu with blatant arrogance.
It was impossible to tell whether that gaze held contempt, concern, or mockery. Perhaps it contained all of them at once.
Mangeum Daebu straightened his shoulders on purpose. If he didn’t, they kept trying to curl inward on their own.
Was it because he had a crime to answer for?
That might have been part of it, but it wasn’t all.
Jang Il-so, whom he faced after three years, was no longer the Jang Il-so he remembered.
In just three years, Jang Il-so had become someone who fit that throne far too well. So well, in fact, that even Mangeum Daebu felt himself suppressed by the force of his presence.
“...What a boring joke.”
Jang Il-so spoke in a languid voice.
“Not long after Black Dragon King lost an arm on Maehwado, now you’ve come back with your arm gone too, Mangeum Daebu. At this rate, we’ll have to hire a craftsman who makes prosthetics for the Evil Tyrant Alliance.”
“...”
When no answer came from Mangeum Daebu, Jang Il-so shook his head. There was nothing more tedious than talking to someone who couldn’t appreciate a joke.
“Fine. Go on and say your piece.”
At those words, Mangeum Daebu’s empty pupils fixed on Jang Il-so.
“Make your excuses, or try to persuade me. I don’t know whether that’ll cover for coming back after losing an arm while fighting the Demonic Sect on your own terms, though.”
The cruel gaze laced with amusement drove straight through Mangeum Daebu. It was very different from the dead look in Mangeum Daebu’s own eyes.
But right now, Mangeum Daebu didn’t especially fear that gaze. What he had experienced was too shocking for him to be afraid of it.
“...Bishop...”
Mangeum Daebu forced apart lips that would barely move.
“That thing... isn’t human.”
Jang Il-so’s eyes sank coldly.
“A fine thing to bring back in exchange for one arm.”
“...I’m not making excuses, Alliance Lord.”
Mangeum Daebu’s lips began to tremble faintly, as though even recalling that bishop was painful beyond endurance.
“Nothing worked. Nothing... Not even the sword I drove through that monster’s chest.”
The moment those words were spoken, Jang Il-so’s brows twitched.
Setting aside his personal feelings toward Mangeum Daebu, his Ghost King Twelve Styles were a sword art even Jang Il-so could not fail to acknowledge.
And yet someone existed in this world whom even that Mangeum Daebu could not wound?
This is unreal.
Jang Il-so leaned forward slightly from where he had been resting against the back of the throne.
“Tell me more.”
“In all my life... I had never faced something like that before. It wasn’t something a human could do anything about. Nothing worked... Truly, nothing.”
“There’s nothing in this world a human can’t do something about.”
Jang Il-so said it with lazy indifference.
“The martial world already drove those Demonic Sect bastards to the brink of annihilation a hundred years ago. And now what? That’s a poor joke.”
“...Does it sound like a joke?”
At Mangeum Daebu’s question, irritation flickered in Jang Il-so’s eyes for an instant.
He still thought it was ridiculous, but the fact that he couldn’t dismiss it made it all the more galling. The reason was simple: the one saying such absurd things was none other than Mangeum Daebu.
If Black Dragon King or Thousand Faces Hand had delivered this message, he could have brushed it off as the panicked rambling of a frightened fool.
But Mangeum Daebu was different. The Mangeum Daebu Jang Il-so knew was a man who would not lose his mind even with a blade at his throat.
“...Even I didn’t understand it. No... to be honest, I was simply terrified.”
“So...”
Jang Il-so’s tone turned noticeably more serious.
“You’re saying that bishop was strong enough to leave someone like you unable to do anything about him?”
Mangeum Daebu did not answer at once. He hesitated, as though he too needed to sort through his thoughts.
“...It was different.”
“Different?”
“He was definitely strong. So strong it didn’t make sense. He fought the hundred elite men I led and me at the same time, and didn’t suffer even a scratch.”
As if the scene itself were rising before him again, Mangeum Daebu shuddered violently.
“But... yes. Thinking about it now, there’s definitely something strange about it.”
“Don’t mutter to yourself. Speak properly, unless your head’s gone bad too.”
At Jang Il-so’s urging, Mangeum Daebu frowned in thought for a moment before speaking in a slightly hoarse voice.
“...I couldn’t bring out my true skill.”
At that, a strange light flashed in Jang Il-so’s eyes.
“Explain that more clearly.”
“There was nothing wrong with my body. I can’t deny that I was pressed down by his presence, but that alone doesn’t explain it. I truly did my best, and yet my sword didn’t feel like my sword. It was as if... yes, as if I were swinging it deep underwater.”
Jang Il-so slowly licked his lips.
“Demonic arts, then...”
The legends surrounding the Demonic Sect were always ridiculous.
Among them, the most absurd was the claim that despite their numbers never being particularly great, they had always driven the entire Central Plains before them.
No matter how much they were beasts surrendered to fanaticism, if they were all still people born from the same belly, there was no way learning different arts alone could cause such a vast gap.
And yet, hearing Mangeum Daebu speak now, the secret behind that strangeness seemed to be becoming a little clearer.
Mangeum Daebu added,
“...It felt like I’d run into a wall. A wall nothing could cross.”
Jang Il-so fell into thought, his face hardening.
Come to think of it, there had never been a single Sapa master who made a name for themselves in war against the Demonic Sect. Even in the previous war against them, the Sapa factions had been helplessly swept aside.
Was that simply because Sapa’s nature was to bow before the strong?
What a ridiculous thing to say.
To bow meant nothing unless survival was guaranteed in return. What meaning was there in surrendering to the Demonic Sect, who never spared those who yielded?
Back then, the absolute powers of Sapa must surely have responded to the Demonic Sect’s advance. And yet, strangely, although they would not have been greatly inferior to the orthodox factions, they had no achievements whatsoever against the Demonic Sect.
Then the interpretation became painfully obvious.
“A matter of compatibility, then.”
“...Probably.”
Jang Il-so pressed his temples lightly.
If Mangeum Daebu was right, the Demonic Sect’s martial arts might work as a kind of natural counter against Sapa.
No, not just against us.
If that were all, the Demonic Sect’s claws would never have been able to sweep across the entire martial world. It had to be something that devoured most Central Plains martial arts.
But how?
Was that even possible in reality?
Who on earth could create something like that? If it was possible, then its ability had already crossed beyond the realm of human understanding.
“...No.”
The fingers that kept pressing against Jang Il-so’s temples tightened.
No. That’s not it.
Men like Jang Il-so, when faced with any situation, first tried to grasp the cause and principle behind it. He disliked things that could not be understood.
But sometimes, it was better to focus on the phenomenon itself rather than on understanding it. If one kept denying what one could not explain, sooner or later one would trip over one’s own cleverness.
Take it as it is.
Even if it made no sense, even if it was beyond what his mind could comprehend, in this situation acceptance would lead to a better result than denial.
“How many are there?”
“I couldn’t properly confirm it.”
Jang Il-so’s brow furrowed.
“But I’m certain they weren’t numerous. There didn’t seem to be any other bishops besides the one I saw.”
“...Then it means they’re either an advance force, or a splinter group. Or perhaps they’re all that remains of the Demonic Sect.”
Mangeum Daebu nodded in agreement.
“Then the solution is simple enough. We just have to kill that bishop bastard by any means necessary.”
“Brute force won’t work. That bastard’s martial arts seemed specialized in slaughtering large numbers to the extreme.”
“Which is another way of saying you got your arm cut off and ran away from someone like that. You’ve got nerve, saying that kind of thing. You don’t know shame, do you, Daebu?”
“You’ll understand.”
Jang Il-so’s eyes narrowed for an instant.
But Mangeum Daebu didn’t even seem to notice his reaction, merely staring blankly into space as he muttered,
“If you face that monster yourself... you’ll understand that shame is a luxury. You will... definitely...”
“Tch.”
Jang Il-so clicked his tongue in annoyance and leaned back deeply in his chair again.
And of all places, Hangzhou.
In war, the most important thing was money for military spending. And of all places, the Demonic Sect had risen in the richest land of Jiangnan. If that place were reduced to ashes, it would inevitably deal a devastating blow to the money the Evil Tyrant Alliance could collect.
They had to resolve this quickly, by any means, before a single extra moment passed.
With his eyes closed, he calmly sorted through the situation.
The solution is...
How much time passed like that?
When Jang Il-so opened his eyes again, they gleamed with cold light.
“...The Dao of Immortals.”
“...”
“It’s the Dao of Immortals.”
As though he had finally found the answer, Jang Il-so gave a crooked smile.
“If those bastards truly possess some eerie power beyond common sense, then the only things that can break it are the Dao of Immortals or the Dao of Buddha. I never thought I’d end up believing such foolish talk as the power to break evil, but...”
He looked up at the ceiling, sounding almost defeated.
“Still... rather than stubbornly denying what’s already happened, I suppose it’s better to become a fool of a fanatic myself.”
With that, he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling for a while before finally rising slowly to his feet.
Mangeum Daebu watched his movement with his eyes and asked,
“What are you planning to do?”
“I need a blade.”
Jang Il-so’s eyes flashed coldly.
“The situation isn’t so simple. It doesn’t look like an enemy I can handle while dragging along two useless stumps, either. If I step in and fail, that would be the worst possible outcome. Then everything collapses. I can’t fail. Ever.”
“...”
“So I need to get my hands on a proper divine blade. One that can cleanly sever that monster’s neck.”
Mangeum Daebu was an astute man. Without any detailed explanation, he understood exactly who the “blade” Jang Il-so meant now referred to.
“Do you really think they’ll agree?”
“Hmph. What a foolish thing to say, Daebu. I’m not hoping they’ll agree.”
“...”
Jang Il-so’s oily eyes shimmered with wicked light.
“I’m going to make them agree.”
“...”
“Isn’t the world amusing? To think I’d ever end up reaching out to them like this. Hahahahat.”
His loud laughter boomed through the hall.
After laughing like that for a while, he strode forward without hesitation, his ornate jewelry clattering noisily with every step.
Mangeum Daebu could only watch his back from behind, his eyes filled with both concern and anticipation.