How Do You Want to Die? (2)
'Interesting.'
Gal Cheon-lip narrowed his eyes as he thought it over.
Most people would imagine battle as a simple matter of both sides fighting until one side was dead, but real warfare did not work that way. Once one side suffered losses amounting to a mere one-tenth of its forces, the formation would collapse, and after that there was nothing left but one-sided slaughter and pursuit.
That was why, in the classics of military strategy, a crushing defeat meant losing more than three-tenths of your army. Once a side lost that much, its morale could no longer hold.
And yet...
"Don't make me laugh, you Sapa bastards!"
"I'm still alive!"
What in the hell were these people?
So many of them had already become pitiful corpses strewn across the ground, and yet the fighting spirit in their eyes had not dimmed in the slightest. They looked ready to keep fighting until the very last man died.
Even with their legs slashed open and swords lodged in their bellies, they still hacked and swung from the ground. Even with half their throats cut and blood spraying from their mouths, they clung desperately to the enemy with flailing arms.
'Are all orthodox sect bastards like this?'
As if.
If all orthodox sects fought like this, there would not even be a name for Sapa in this world. No, there was no need to think that deeply. If that were true, the Four Hegemons Alliance would probably never have risen in the Yangtze River to begin with.
Even the great sects of fame and prestige had negotiated with Sapa because they valued their own lives. So what in the world were these people, that they were willing to throw their lives away and fight here?
"Strange," he muttered.
But no matter how strange it was, nothing would change. They could not inflict any real damage on his side. At most, they were buying a little more time.
"There must have been plenty of them who could have survived if they’d just run off while we were occupied up front. Idiots, every last one of them."
Gal Cheon-lip looked over the increasingly savage battlefield with blatant contempt.
Clang!
The Iron Ghost's face twisted.
The moment he was about to smash the head of the bastard in front of him, five swords came flying at him at once.
"Tch!"
The Iron Ghost stepped back and slapped every incoming blade away. Since he had trained in external martial arts, he could endure most swords with his body alone without suffering a fatal wound, but there was no reason to take unnecessary injuries.
Persistent bastards.
Their momentum had changed from the moment that damned beggar rushed in.
No, to be exact, it had changed the moment the words Mount Hua came out of that beggar's mouth.
From then on, these bastards had been fighting like possessed men, clinging and lunging without so much as blinking even when someone beside them was screaming and dying.
Battle was a curious thing. When one side threw its life away in a frenzy, it seemed as though the outcome should come quickly, yet it never quite worked out that way. No one wanted to lose an arm just to take the head of an opponent who was a little weaker than they were.
"Dieeeee!"
At that moment, a sword strike from one of the disciples of that damned Hwayeong Gate or whatever it was shot toward his face. Among these maniacs, the ones in those martial robes were especially wild.
"Crazy..."
Muttering through his teeth, the Iron Ghost slapped the sword away with the back of his hand and then drove his fingers, like an eagle's talons, into the hollowed-out chest of the Hwayeong Gate disciple.
Crack!
"Hhk..."
The moment he clenched his hand and tried to tear away flesh, something sharp flew toward his throat.
The Iron Ghost yanked his hand free in a flash and struck the incoming sword aside.
Bang!
Bright red blood burst out like a fountain. Yet even though his insides must have been thoroughly shaken, the attacker did not retreat in the slightest and simply swung his sword again.
Crack!
The Iron Ghost's shoulder was gouged open a little, revealing red flesh beneath.
...
Taking a step back and looking down at his shoulder, the Iron Ghost's eyes sharpened slightly.
Wi Lip-san, the Hwayeong Gate Leader, swayed as he steadied himself, forcing his trembling legs under control and leveling his sword once more.
A short laugh escaped the Iron Ghost's lips. Seeing Wi Lip-san's battered state, with cuts all over his body and blood streaming from him, he didn't even feel angry.
"...You're practically dead already."
"But I'm still alive."
"Gate Leader!"
"Gate Leader! Fall back! We'll deal with that fiend!"
The Hwayeong Gate disciples shouted themselves hoarse, but Wi Lip-san did not so much as flinch, as if he could not hear them.
"...If you're going to kill my disciples, you'll have to kill me first. That's the rule of Mount Hua's branch sect."
"How impressive. Pity your sword doesn't have half as much strength as your mouth."
"It's enough to cling to you."
"...Looks like Mount Hua teaches its people how to run their mouths before anything else."
At that sneering remark, Wi Lip-san smiled strangely.
"Not entirely wrong."
"What?"
"Come on, fiend. If even my sword can hold you back, then you won't even be able to handle a mere third-generation disciple of Mount Hua."
"Oh, really?"
Iron Ghost lunged forward in a heartbeat and slammed into Wi Lip-san. Wi Lip-san swung sharply, bringing his sword down on the man's shoulder, but the blade did not sink in even half an inch.
Instead—
Rooooar!
When the Iron Ghost's shoulder, like a charging bull, rammed into Wi Lip-san's chest, his ribs caved in. Wi Lip-san was sent flying in a spray of blood.
Thud!
"G-Gate Leadeeerrr!"
"That damn bastard hit the Gate Leader!"
"Fall back!"
Harsh shouts crashed down on the Hwayeong Gate disciples who were about to rush forward in fury. Trembling-eyed, they looked at Wi Lip-san where he lay fallen.
Wi Lip-san forced his trembling arm to brace against the ground and painfully pushed himself up. Black blood welled up from his mouth.
"...I... am still a...live."
He raised his sword and pointed it at the Iron Ghost again.
"You'll have to... get past me first, you fiend."
"Hahahaha! Good! Very good!"
The Iron Ghost burst into a loud laugh and charged at Wi Lip-san.
Whoooosh!
The sound of a spear tip splitting the air was like the cry of ghosts.
Along with that chilling wind, the sharp spearhead knocked aside the end of the Tiger Head Rod and drove into Hong Dae-gwang's chest.
Thud!
The spearhead punched more than halfway through his chest. And the spear, withdrawn with lightning speed, immediately stabbed into Hong Dae-gwang's side.
Slash!
His flank was ripped open so deeply that bone showed.
"Khaaat!"
But even with such a grievous wound, Hong Dae-gwang showed no sign of backing away.
He grabbed the spear shaft as it was being pulled back and stopped it with one hand, then swung the Tiger Head Rod at the jaw of the Revolving Spear Ghost.
"Huh?"
The Revolving Spear Ghost's face twisted in surprise as he yanked the spear hard. The spearhead sliced through Hong Dae-gwang's grip, withdrew, and knocked the Tiger Head Rod away.
Tap, tap.
He had inflicted the injuries one-sidedly, but it was the Revolving Spear Ghost who stepped back. With a deeply displeased look, he glared at Hong Dae-gwang.
'What, did I ask whether you'd still talk that way after I punched holes through your whole body?'
The answer was before him. Hong Dae-gwang was proving right now that even if a few more holes were drilled through him, he would still spout the same words.
Shoulders, chest, belly, legs.
Nearly ten holes the size of a child's fist had been bored into his body, and yet Hong Dae-gwang did not collapse. Instead, he mocked his enemy all the same.
Even though the rags draped over him had been dyed not merely red but nearly black with blood.
"Running away...? Are you... scared or something?"
"...Crazy bastard."
"Heh... you don't seem to know... beggars very well. A man with nothing... has nothing to fear... from dying."
Hong Dae-gwang's eyes flashed a sharp blue.
Seeing that, the Revolving Spear Ghost clicked his tongue.
A weakling rushing in as though they were dying together made it difficult to finish things properly. And with that bastard out front clinging on like a leech, the others had begun to find some courage as well.
Of course, that courage would not turn the tide of battle. Still, things had become noticeably more irritating than before.
"In other words..."
The Revolving Spear Ghost drew a grotesque smile across his lips.
"If I kill you in a truly miserable way, their morale will crumble too. Fine, let's see you endure. Ten holes, you can probably survive. But twenty? Thirty?"
"..."
"Let’s see if their faces stay the same when you die so horribly that not a single drop of blood remains in your body."
His spear, gleaming with a blue killing aura, shot toward Hong Dae-gwang.
Clang!
The sword he swung struck a heavy dao and was knocked aside. The blade that had deflected his sword did not lose even a shred of momentum as it flew in and raked across his throat.
A cold pain bit into his neck, but there was no time to check how deep it had gone. The moment he lost focus, there would be no need to care how badly his throat had been cut, because the answer would be obvious.
I'm powerless.
A line of blood slipped from his tightly bitten lip.
If only I were stronger...
Even as he was driven back by the blade of some Sapa bastard whose name he didn't even know, another life was dying.
If he had been stronger, could he have blocked it? Could he have saved them? Why hadn't he devoted himself more to training? Why was he not as strong as they were?
Even if it meant joining Mount Hua, he should have become strong like them. At this moment, Wi So-haeng understood something. Without strength, a person could protect nothing.
"Aaaaargh!"
I'm powerless...
Another precious life was snuffed out. The ground they stood on was already stained dark red by blood spilled by someone else.
Whose blood was it?
It belonged to those who had staked their lives on defending this place. Their dazzling spirit and courage were far too powerless before the blades of those fiends.
If he had formally entered Mount Hua and learned swordsmanship, would things be different now?
Clang!
His sword, which had blocked the incoming blade, was knocked upward. A moment later, a foot came flying in and kicked him square in the chest.
Thud!
With a shock like the world itself overturning, Wi So-haeng was sent flying in a spray of blood.
"Young Gate Leader!"
"Damn it! Young Gate Leader!"
He slammed headfirst into the ground and clawed at the dirt. The pain in his chest and head was horrifying, but the smell of blood-soaked earth flooding into his nose was even worse.
Wi So-haeng, twitching weakly, rolled himself over and painfully pushed his upper body up again.
"Aaaaargh!"
He was going to die.
"Ak So! Ak So! Aaaaargh! You damn bastards!"
Those who had been struggling to hold out were dying in sprays of blood. The wide-open eyes of the fallen, the sorrow that remained in their gaze even in death, seemed to tear at Wi So-haeng's chest.
"Ah..."
Tears began to pour from Wi So-haeng's eyes, hot and unbroken.
"Young Gate Leader."
Hwang Jong-ui, who had rushed over at some point, grabbed Wi So-haeng by the shoulder and supported him.
"Are you all right, Young Gate Leader?"
But not a single word of Hwang Jong-ui's reached Wi So-haeng's ears.
"Ahh..."
They would all die. Every last one of them.
The ones who had laughed together, fought together, and argued together. Even the ones who had competed with one another. People who had seemed like family, and at times like enemies, would all die here today.
Suppressing the grief and fury swelling inside him, Wi So-haeng clenched his teeth and forced himself up.
He knew it.
In the end, he would die.
But...
'If it were Daoist Cheong Myung, he wouldn't have complained even until the moment he died.'
Soaked with tears, Wi So-haeng gripped his sword so hard it looked like it might break. Only now did he begin to understand how much the other man had carried. How much fear he had fought through.
As he held his sword, he saw someone’s blood spray into the sky. The crimson blood visible through his blurred vision looked like blooming red plum blossoms.
He swayed as if he would collapse at any moment, then forced his body upright again. With trembling hands he clutched his sword and bit his lip until it bled.
I...
He saw Wi Lip-san being struck by the enemy's blade. Wi Lip-san's twisted face, and the blood pouring from his chest.
Crack.
With that horrifying sound, the spearhead also burst through Hong Dae-gwang's shoulder. Hong Dae-gwang, staggering while clutching the spear shaft, pierced through the haze in Wi So-haeng's eyes.
I...
"Aaaaargh!"
Another scream rang out.
Even if he could not stop them, he should not be standing behind and watching.
"I am the Young Gate Leader of Hwayeong Gate, you bastards!"
Wi So-haeng raised his sword once more and charged forward.
"Y-Young Gate Leader!"
"Young Gate Leader!"
He heard someone shouting in alarm and trying to stop him, but his eyes were fixed only on the fiend in front of him, the one driving a blade into a Hwayeong Gate disciple's stomach.
"Aaaahhh!"
He charged with a scream of burning rage and unleashed everything he had.
Swift, brilliant swordsmanship.
The most powerful sword strike he had ever executed in his life collided with the careless sweep of the enemy's dao—and was shattered in an instant.
Clang!
His sword, ripped free from his grasp, spun upward into the sky.
Ah...
For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The sword that should have been spinning at speed looked painfully sluggish in Wi So-haeng's eyes.
And then—
He could clearly see the harsh dao aura, surging toward his chest, now fully exposed because his arm had been thrown back.
Someone shouting.
Sticky sweat sliding down his face.
The tremble in his torn palm.
And, even more clearly than any of that, the smell of death itself.
I'm... not a coward.
Accepting the pain that was about to strike his chest, and the death that would follow, Wi So-haeng slowly closed his eyes.
Daoist...
Was it because he wanted revenge that he pictured that grin on the other man's face at the very last instant? Or was it simply because he wanted to see him?
Would he be able to look him in the eye in the netherworld one day and say that he had not been cowardly until the end?
The road to death was long.
He could no longer tell whether the fiend's blade had not yet cut his heart, or whether the thoughts of a man already dead were simply dragging on.
Then—
Tap.
Something lightly touched the top of his head, pulling Wi So-haeng back into reality in an instant.
A hand, slightly large and warm.
"Well done, kid."
Wi So-haeng opened his eyes.
What stood before him was not the blade that had pierced his chest, nor the hand that held it.
It was the broad back of someone in black martial robes.
"Ah..."
Wi So-haeng's eyes widened, and then his mouth fell open too.
"C-Cheong..."
How could he not know?
That back. That person.
Wi So-haeng bit his lip hard. One more word, and he felt as if his tears would burst free.
Even so, the one word he could not hold back forced its way out of his lips.
"...Daoist."
There, before him, stood the back of the person he had wanted to see more than anything.