Mount Hua Will Grow Stronger (1)
Hyun Jong’s face was grave as he watched the disciples training.
Those disciples were surrounding Chung Myung like a pack of wolves and attacking him in turn.
It was a scene of staggering violence.
Even though they were only wooden swords, the attacks exchanged in those fleeting openings were the kind that would not have been out of place killing ordinary people on the spot. Not just Chung Myung, but the disciples facing him were all pouring genuine killing intent from their eyes.
Killing intent...
Who in the world didn’t know that a sword existed to injure an opponent? And yet Hyun Jong could hardly look kindly on the sight of fellow disciples baring killing intent at one another.
“Isn’t this... a bit too rough?”
As if on cue, Unam let out a pained sigh and voiced his concern.
“Too rough...”
Hyun Jong had been thinking the same thing, so he couldn’t deny it.
This was less training than a bunch of people driven mad with frustration beating the hell out of each other. At first it had definitely not been this intense, but as the days passed, things hadn’t improved at all. If anything, they had become even more vicious.
“Shouldn’t we stop them?”
Hyun Sang, who was every bit as strict when it came to training, also spoke in concern.
“No matter how you look at it, Mount Hua is a Daoist sect. To see those who follow the Dao behaving so depravedly...”
“Enough.”
“...Sect Leader.”
But after thinking it over, Hyun Jong shook his head.
“They aren’t doing this because they don’t know any better.”
And he looked at Chung Myung, rampaging among the disciples with lowered eyes.
“It may be unpleasant to urge the one pulling the cart by telling him he’s too slow. It may also be annoying to criticize him for moving too fast. But those are still things one can say. Do you know what sort of thing should never be said?”
“I’m not sure, Sect Leader.”
“Telling him his posture on the cart is wrong.”
Hyun Jong said that while looking at Hyun Sang.
“To someone who is flogging himself to the bone, forgetting even sleep and meals just to reach his destination as quickly as possible, how could that possibly be something you say?”
“...I understand, Sect Leader. But if this continues...”
“I know.”
Hyun Jong let out a long sigh.
“You’re saying that if the disciples wear themselves out, it all becomes meaningless.”
“...Yes.”
“Chung Myung is not the sort of boy who wouldn’t know that.”
Hyun Jong looked at Chung Myung with pained eyes.
“He may care for the disciples more than any of us do. And if such a boy is going through this much hardship, should we really be throwing cold water on it instead of helping?”
“...Understood.”
Hyun Jong exhaled slowly.
He knew Unam and Hyun Sang were speaking out of concern for the disciples.
But this was not something to blame Chung Myung for. If anyone should be blamed, it was their own failure to lead the disciples properly.
Or maybe it’s just my greed.
The best way to keep all of Mount Hua’s disciples from getting hurt would be to give up every influence they had over the jianghu, close the sect gates for a long, long time, and never leave Shaanxi.
Even if the Four Hegemons Alliance pushed north in the meantime, Shaanxi would, by its location, be the place least affected by the war.
But they could not use that method. It was in no way the right path. And the moment Mount Hua gave up its involvement with the jianghu, everything the disciples had bled to build would come crashing down.
It was a terrible paradox.
If Mount Hua were still just a nameless little sect like in the old days, the war that was about to engulf the world would likely have passed it by. No one—neither the Sapa nor the righteous sects—would have paid any attention to a fallen sect in Shaanxi.
But not now.
Mount Hua was no longer a small sect forgotten by the world. It was a sect with enormous influence over the realm, and one that had to bear the responsibility of that influence.
Responsibility...
Hyun Jong closed his eyes.
If he alone had to shoulder that responsibility, then he could smile even inside a furnace. Restoring Mount Hua had been the wish of his entire life, so even if he had to throw away his own life in payment, it would not be a waste at all.
And that was precisely why it hurt so horribly.
Because he had come to understand that it would not be him paying the price for Mount Hua’s gains, but the disciples.
I don’t know.
Whether this was right or wrong.
The roots buried deep in the earth were what allowed flowers to bloom in splendor. In that sense, perhaps Mount Hua’s revival—the dream he had longed for his whole life—could only be achieved by feeding on the nourishment of countless things.
Primordial Heavenly Lord.
When he opened his eyes again after holding them shut, Chung Myung was still swinging his sword without pause. The image burned itself into his mind like an engraving.
And so that training, impossible to watch, went on for days.
As the days passed, the faces of Mount Hua’s disciples visibly withered.
It was only natural.
No matter how one put it, disciples of a martial sect did not devote all twelve shichen of the day to training.
Because Mount Hua was a Daoist sect, there were duties that had to be done as Daoists, and there were also times when they had to work to maintain a large sect like this. Even without such obligations, one did not have to squeeze out every ounce of strength throughout the entire training period.
But once Mount Hua closed its gates, everything changed.
From the moment they opened their eyes until just before sleep took them, they were pushed relentlessly without a single moment’s rest. Yet harder than the pain in the body was the need to remain tense every waking moment.
It felt as though the mind itself were being ground down by a sharp blade without end.
Sparring in which everyone drew out every shred of killing intent simply to cut down the person across from them. Even between people who might as well have been family, bad feelings were bound to accumulate. That would have been normal.
But nothing like that happened at Mount Hua. Not because their bonds were especially close—rather, because they were not given even the leisure to stew in bad feelings.
On an extreme battlefield, emotions simply disappeared.
A mind driven to its limit.
And a body driven to its limit.
Just as everyone was beginning to wonder if this kind of training wasn’t improving their skill at all, but only wearing their bodies down, it happened.
Clack!
“...”
“...”
The sharp crack rang out, and silence fell in an instant.
Yoon Jong’s pupils shook like an earthquake.
The one who had been bleeding profusely forgot even to stop the blood running from his nose and stared blankly at the sight before him, while the one who had been knocked down sprang upright and gaped.
The one who had been rushing in froze in that exact posture, and the one who had collapsed from exhaustion clenched both fists.
“Ah...”
Yoon Jong’s eyes were fixed on one place.
His wooden sword.
The wooden sword, pitted and dented here and there from the brutal training, was touching someone’s side.
“...It touched?”
Yoon Jong’s eyes shook again violently.
Someone might ask why that should be surprising—after all, they were training, so of course an attack could land.
But this was by no means something ordinary.
Because the owner of the side his wooden sword had touched was Chung Myung.
“Huh?”
Still unable to believe it, Yoon Jong blinked and slowly opened his mouth. Then, with a sudden realization, he understood.
In all the years he had trained with Chung Myung, this was the first time his sword had ever touched Chung Myung’s body.
No.
Even counting every disciple of Mount Hua, this was the first time.
“I-it touched! Damn it! It touched!”
The moment a loud shout burst from Yoon Jong’s throat—
Thud!
Chung Myung kicked him square in the pit of the stomach. Yoon Jong flew backward without even managing a cry.
But apparently he wasn’t hurt at all, because he bounced off the ground like a spring and let out a shriek.
“Aaaaaaaah! I landed it! I landed it! Aaaaaaaaah!”
At the same time, an enormous cheer exploded from the surrounding Mount Hua disciples.
“He did it! He did it! Aaaaaaaah!”
“He finally landed one on that damn bastard!”
“How’s that feel, you bastard!”
It was almost impressive, the way all of them still had that much strength left. Just moments ago they had been struggling merely to stand, yet now they were tearing at their hair, jumping in place, and shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Waaah! Sahyung!”
“Yoon Jong, you bastard!”
“Damn! I’m actually seeing that man earn his keep!”
It could not be called a great accomplishment.
Nor should it have been.
For dozens of people to charge at one person and barely manage a single successful strike was, in truth, something to be ashamed of rather than celebrated.
But that kind of common sense meant nothing to them now.
The distance that had seemed utterly impossible to cross, so vast it was almost unpleasant to even look at, had clearly narrowed in this moment.
“Tch.”
Chung Myung rubbed his side lightly with one hand.
There was a dull ache there. It was an oddly familiar sensation, yet strange all the same.
And yet...
Infuriatingly enough, it didn’t feel bad. No, if anything, the corners of his mouth kept trying to rise, and his lips trembled faintly.
Chung Myung managed his expression and opened his mouth.
“You’re acting like you’ve won because you got lucky and landed one hit. Pathetic.”
At that cold rebuke, Yoon Jong walked toward Chung Myung with a hardened face.
Then he straightened his back and stood there.
“You.”
When Yoon Jong pointed a finger at him, Chung Myung frowned slightly.
Yoon Jong stared him straight in the eye, then drew his finger across his own throat.
“You just died once.”
“...”
Chung Myung’s frozen expression twisted for a moment.
“You...”
“Wahahahahahahahahahaha! How’s that?!”
“No...”
“Wow! A corpse is talking! Hey, everyone! Come look! The corpse is talking!”
“Call a Daoist, now!”
“We’re the Daoists, you idiots!”
“Wahahaha! There’s a jiangshi here!”
Crack.
Chung Myung’s grip on the wooden sword tightened.
At the same time, veins bulged on his forehead.
“These bastard sahyungs...”
“Ha.”
At that moment, Jo Gul covered his face with one hand and shook his head.
“Damn it, I should’ve been the first one. Why the hell did sahyung get to land it?”
“It’s fine. His neck’s still attached. A side hit won’t kill you.”
“That’s right! The top spot belongs to me!”
“Ahem.”
Baek Cheon, who had been listening quietly, cleared his throat and said, “Even in a stream of cold water, there is an order from top to bottom. Still, this one should be handed to this sasu.”
“There’s no such thing as top and bottom in Mount Hua!”
“...That isn’t exactly wrong, but when Soso says it, it sounds especially odd.”
Right, youngest?
Everyone was too excited to calm down. They bounced in place, unable to contain themselves.
People did not become exhausted when things were hard. They became exhausted when they could not see hope.
For those who had been worn down to the bone, Yoon Jong’s sword had clearly shown them hope. Very small and faint, but unmistakable.
“That bastard has said it countless times.”
Baek Cheon grinned and approached Chung Myung with his sword in hand.
Then the other Mount Hua disciples began to cackle as they surrounded Chung Myung as well.
“Anything’s hard the first time.”
“The second time isn’t a big deal.”
“Right?”
“Of course.”
Chung Myung looked at the slowly closing ring of sahyungs with bewildered eyes. The way they were inching closer looked exactly like a pack of wild dogs surrounding a rabbit.
“Hah...”
Chung Myung twisted the corner of his mouth and opened his mouth.
“If you mistake luck for skill...”
But before he could finish, shouts burst from all directions.
“Luck is skill!”
“Why? Are you gonna get stabbed on the battlefield and then go cry to King Yama that you just had bad luck?”
“Who’s gonna listen to a corpse making excuses? Huh?”
“...”
People reap what they sow.
Those were all things Chung Myung had once said to them.
“Amitabha.”
At that moment, Hye Yeon, who had been quiet for quite some time, finally recited the Buddha’s name with a solemn expression befitting a monk. Apparently this sort of atmosphere was not to his liking at all...
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, benefactor. If you’re dead, lie down. I’ll even recite a sutra for you.”
“Heh heh heh...”
“Hahaha!”
“My, with so many monks and Daoists here, our Chung Myung is guaranteed a fine journey to paradise!”
Approving laughter burst out from every direction. Veins rose again and again on Chung Myung’s forehead.
“Fine...”
His eyes blazed.
“Then let’s see which one of us dies today, you damn sahyung bastards!”
“Kill him!”
“Hold him down!”
“His neck is mine!”
The disciples of Mount Hua shouted so loudly it seemed the mountain itself might split, and once again charged at Chung Myung.
A body that looked ready to collapse at any moment.
Agonizing pain rippling through every inch of them.
And yet, even in that hardship, clear smiles rested on the faces of Mount Hua’s disciples.