I Need to Make Sure (5)
Thud.
The sound of a corpse collapsing after its breath had already been severed rang out with eerie clarity.
It was a strangely out-of-place sound.
In a battlefield where men were screaming and swinging steel at one another, to hear the heavy fall of a body meant one thing: the savage flow of combat had just been cut cleanly in two.
The moment the swords of the Mount Hua Sect disciples, which had been pressing forward with ferocious momentum, came to a stop, the iron spear sect fighters didn’t even think of counterattacking. They merely stood there, dazed, and turned their heads.
What entered their eyes was the sight of their sect leader lying dead with his neck twisted grotesquely, and Heo-hyung’s body sprawled on the ground with his heart pierced through.
Their eyes, having witnessed something that should never have been possible and should never have happened, darted helplessly about, unable to settle anywhere.
The blood pouring from Heo-hyung’s pierced chest rapidly stained the ground red.
They were only looking at it, and yet it felt as if the cold of that draining blood was pressing vividly against their fingertips.
They had confirmed with their own eyes that both the sect leader and the guest he had brought with him had fallen so pathetically, and there was no way the iron spear sect fighters still retained any will to resist.
Avenging their sect leader?
That was laughable.
If they had the kind of loyalty to do that, they wouldn’t be part of the Evil Faction. They were driven by strength and profit, not loyalty or bonds.
A sect leader who could no longer protect them was worth nothing at all.
What do we do?
Just as they were wavering, unable to find their footing, it happened.
Splash.
Chung Myung flicked his sword to shake off the blood and began walking forward. The blood that had burst from Heo-hyung’s chest was crushed beneath his steps, letting out a small wet sound.
At that clean, chilling sound, everyone held their breath.
Splash. Splash.
With his sword lowered in one hand, Chung Myung walked forward indifferently, and as if by natural order, his gaze settled on Mak-wi.
Mak-wi’s face, laid bare under that gaze, had stiffened to a pale white.
He glanced at Heo-hyung’s fallen body, then turned back to Chung Myung in panic.
Heo, Heo-hyung…
It was impossible.
Heo-hyung’s martial skill was in no way inferior to his own. If one were to rank them, there was only the width of a sheet of paper between them.
And yet that Heo-hyung had been killed without even putting up a proper fight. There had been no overwhelming sword energy, no crushing force of inner power.
Just swings, thrusts, and slashes.
A handful of attacks that could only be called basic had followed one after another, and then Heo-hyung’s heart had been pierced.
How was this supposed to be explained?
To someone ignorant of martial arts, it would seem incredible. To someone with some understanding, it would seem monstrous.
But for men like Mak-wi, who were confident in their own realm? They would probably be unable to explain this sight at all. Just like Mak-wi now.
Step.
It was the sound of Chung Myung’s footfall that pulled Mak-wi, sinking deeper and deeper into thought, back to reality.
Startled, he clenched his dao, and a low voice reached his ears.
“What the hell are you making such a fuss over?”
Hearing that utterly flat voice, Mak-wi stared blankly at Chung Myung’s face.
“You were gonna die anyway.”
…
Instead of answering, Mak-wi gripped his dao tighter.
He was right.
In the end, there were only two outcomes left—one of them would die. What did it matter, right now, how strong that brat was or how he had become so strong?
The end of a life spent eating steel was usually like this. A man who lived swinging a blade as he pleased would one day meet someone stronger than himself and die. Mak-wi had always known that day would come eventually.
I just didn’t expect it to be today.
The frantic pounding in his chest gradually subsided. The fear-stricken look on his face regained its composure bit by bit, until at last it became calm as a still lake.
Step.
Seeing that expression, Chung Myung stopped walking.
Clunk.
Mak-wi tossed the dao scabbard at his waist onto the ground, then gripped his dao with both hands and leveled it at Chung Myung.
“…Georyeong……. Mak……. Wi.”
His jaw was broken, so every word came with pain and a slur in his pronunciation, but he forced them out one by one. At the very least, this name had to be delivered clearly.
“You….”
As though he understood the meaning behind it, the corner of Chung Myung’s mouth curled faintly upward.
“Chung Myung.”
“…Divine Dragon.”
Having needlessly confirmed something obvious, Mak-wi fixed Chung Myung with a solemn stare.
“L-last…… one…… all…….”
Chung Myung’s smile deepened.
“Try it.”
The Mak-wi of usual days would never have tolerated that contemptuous attitude. But right now, he wasn’t angry at all.
Was it because he knew this would probably be his last fight?
No.
It was because that man had earned the right.
The martial world was, in the end, a place ruled by the strong. The strong had the right to be arrogant. Mak-wi was one of the people who understood that better than anyone.
Tension coiled through the air. He tightened his grip on the dao until it seemed it would break.
Cold in his head, hot in his chest.
He poured every ounce of the martial arts he had built over a lifetime into the tip of his blade. What mattered now wasn’t winning or losing. It was unleashing a single, regret-free strike.
“Huuuuk!”
His foot, loaded with all his inner strength, kicked off the ground.
The world before his eyes warped for an instant. The once-clear scenery twisted and stretched, and only Chung Myung, standing directly in front of him, remained sharply in focus.
It was a realm he had never reached once in his entire life.
It was heartbreaking that he had only touched it at the very end, but even so, he could at least comfort himself that he had touched it at last.
Vrrrmm.
Every last shred of power left in his dantian gathered into his hands and settled along the dao. The weapon, unable to bear that monstrous force, rattled and shrieked in protest. It seemed as if it might burst apart at any moment, but that no longer mattered.
After all, this strike would be his last.
“Huaaahhhhh!”
A great cry burst from his throat. Dao energy condensed like a small sun, radiating heat. With not a single trace of hesitation and not a single trace of power left behind, the strike came crashing down toward Chung Myung’s head.
In that instant, Mak-wi was certain.
This was the most perfect strike of his life.
Kwaaaaaaaaaa!
It hurtled toward Chung Myung’s head with the force to split Mt. Tai itself. A shiver raced up from the tip of his tailbone. It was as though a freezing waterfall had been poured directly into his brain—an intense, intoxicating thrill.
In the midst of the greatest pleasure he had ever felt in his life, Mak-wi saw the twisted corner of Chung Myung’s mouth.
Fwaaaaaat!
Even then, Chung Myung’s sword, which had been hanging low until that very moment, shot up like a streak of light and slammed into Mak-wi’s dao.
Claaang!
When sword and dao collided, Chung Myung’s sword could not withstand the enormous force packed into the blade and was knocked backward.
Mak-wi’s eyes widened.
I win…!
For a swordsman charging at full power to meet a heavy weapon head-on was nothing short of suicide. There was no way the Mount Hua Divine Dragon wouldn’t know that, and yet for one fleeting instant, that arrogance…
And then, in that very moment, it happened.
Chung Myung’s sword swung faster than the dao had rebounded, striking it again.
Clang!
Again!
Claaang!
Again!
Clang!
Once, twice, and then dozens of times!
The sword, moving like flowing water, struck Mak-wi’s descending dao dozens of times in the blink of an eye.
Krkk!
With each impact, the power of the dao bled away little by little, until it was steadily driven backward.
By the time he realized that his own dao had been forced back to the position above the very head he had first raised it toward, Mak-wi’s mouth had fallen open.
T-that’s impossible…
How could he land dozens of sword strikes in the time it took for one dao swing? This was far beyond anything his understanding of martial arts could accept.
“Aaaagh!”
Just as Mak-wi, his eyes bloodshot, tried to force the dao down once more—
Fwaaaat!
Chung Myung’s sword moved like a bolt of light and severed the wrist holding the dao.
Slash!
White bone was exposed from the cleanly severed wrist, and blood gushed outward in a spray.
But Chung Myung’s sword did not stop there.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Upper arm, elbow, shoulder, side.
Chung Myung’s blade carved through Mak-wi’s entire body, again and again.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Thigh, ankle, the side of the neck, lower abdomen.
Having severed the muscles throughout his body in a single sweep, Chung Myung surged forward like a sudden rainstorm and stabbed Mak-wi’s upper body over and over.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
In an instant, a dozen holes were punched through Mak-wi’s chest and belly, and blood poured down like rain.
Fwoooosh!
The final blow was his heart.
Chung Myung’s sword, which pierced it in one go, left Mak-wi’s body drenched in the blood that spurted from the wound as he quietly watched him.
The only thing that still held its original color on that face smeared red with blood was his pair of eyes, dark and indifferent. Even Mak-wi, already half across the River of the Dead, felt fear at that fathomless abyss.
“…Why?”
From lips that had barely managed to open, a groan-like question slipped out.
With his breath nearly gone, that was all he could say, but Chung Myung understood exactly what he meant.
Chung Myung, his body soaked in blood, twisted the corner of his mouth and said,
“A martial artist?”
“…”
“Don’t stand there at the very end talking like you lived a proper life. You’re just trash.”
“…”
“So die like trash.”
“I…….”
Fwaaaat!
Chung Myung’s sword, drawn back out from Mak-wi’s heart, struck his neck at once and sent it flying, as if the last words weren’t even worth hearing.
“Tch.”
Chung Myung spat out the blood that had forced its way into his mouth.
A man who carried the stench of blood like a badge of honor. A butcher of men who had killed not dozens, but hundreds.
He had no right to show mercy to someone like that.
Not that I’m much different, really.
Whoosh.
Chung Myung gave a faint sneer, casually flicked the blood from his sword, and sheathed it.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, he stepped over Mak-wi’s corpse and walked toward the half-collapsed hall.
Step.
Step.
The weight in those footsteps reverberated through the entire hall.
Step.
At last, when he entered the hall, he saw Jin Yang-geon trembling like a cornered rat.
The moment their eyes met, all the color drained from Jin Yang-geon’s face.
“I… I… I am….”
His whole body shook like a leaf in a gale.
How many people could remain calm while looking at Chung Myung, drenched in blood and staring back with eyes as cold as ice? Jin Yang-geon was far too timid a man for that.
Crack.
Then, suddenly twisting his face into something hideous, Chung Myung ground his teeth and strode toward him.
“H-hik! I, I am! I am!”
Without hesitation, Chung Myung seized him by the neck, hauled Jin Yang-geon to his feet, and slammed him into the wall.
Bang!
“Keh! Khehk!”
Jin Yang-geon shuddered at the pain in his neck and back. But what truly terrified him, what truly made him want to scream, was Chung Myung’s gaze, sharp enough to tear him apart on the spot.
“I-I was wrong! Please, spare me….”
“Talk.”
Jin Yang-geon, failing to understand immediately, stared at Chung Myung with a blank expression. Then, through the narrow gap of Chung Myung’s lips, a voice like something dragged up from hell poured out.
“Talk. Where did you get that martial art?”
“M-martial art?”
Crush!
“Kuk….”
Chung Myung’s fingers dug into Jin Yang-geon’s throat. Jin Yang-geon’s face instantly began to drain to a ghastly bluish black.
Instinctively, his hands clawed at the fingers around his throat and at the arm pinning him there, but Chung Myung didn’t so much as budge, like a boulder.
“Talk. Before I kill you!”
Chung Myung’s tightly bitten lips finally split open. A thread of blood slid down his chin and dropped to the floor.