We Will See Each Other Again Soon (1)
Gal Cheon-lip slowly lowered his head and looked down at his own chest.
A sword with a faint, silvery-white sheen was buried more than halfway in. The tip of it had likely pierced through his back and jutted out behind him.
Despair, fear, frustration, rage, and more.
Countless emotions surged through his eyes in an instant. But if one were to name the single most dominant among them, it would undoubtedly be shock.
“You….”
His mouth opened with difficulty.
But his jaw was trembling so violently that he couldn’t get the words out properly. In the end, blood spilled out first, before speech could.
“You….”
The blood gurgling up his throat clogged his windpipe.
Un Geom twisted the sword as if to tear it free, then let go and faced Gal Cheon-lip.
“Once upon a time,” he said.
“……”
“Even you may have had the chance to become what you wanted to be.”
Gal Cheon-lip managed to look at Un Geom through eyes already clouding over.
“If only you hadn’t been satisfied with those petty achievements.”
“……”
Un Geom seemed about to say more, then shook his head.
What he had meant to say was, I am hardly some extraordinary man myself, but shouldn’t a martial artist keep moving forward until the very moment he dies?
But such words meant nothing to this man. Gal Cheon-lip was not someone deserving of being spoken to as a fellow martial artist.
“Whether saint or villain, death treats all equally. If there is an afterlife, repent there and live on.”
Still, he did not forget his duty as a Taoist to the very end.
Gal Cheon-lip staggered backward.
It was not because Un Geom’s pressure had crushed him. He was already so close to death that even standing in place had become agony.
“I… am….”
The blood forcing its way upward blocked his mouth again. The world would not grant him even the thing he had wanted most, not in the end.
His head turned, with great effort, to the side.
Not only the Mount Hua disciples who had surrounded the place, but even the southern outlaws he had brought with him were watching his death with cold eyes. There was not a trace of warmth anywhere.
“Kheh….”
Gal Cheon-lip’s body slowly began to collapse.
“You bastards….”
Thud.
Finally, when he toppled forward, Un Geom’s sword drove even deeper into his chest. That was enough to sever the life barely clinging on.
Gal Cheon-lip died with his eyes still open, his body slowly growing cold.
Only then did a deep sigh escape Un Geom’s lips.
He had been a formidable opponent. If he had not been so rusted over that he could no longer properly make use of what he had, this would certainly have been a grueling battle.
But victory was his.
“Instructor!”
“Martial Uncle!”
Those who had come close by now hurried to check whether Un Geom had been wounded. It had been a brief battle, but fierce enough to keep every onlooker rigid with tension.
“I am fine.”
Un Geom had just nodded to reassure them when—
Step. Step.
A figure slowly walked forward.
The southern outlaws all seemed to hold their breath at his approach, as if they had forgotten how to breathe the moment they sensed his presence.
Step. Step.
With unhurried steps, Chung Myung came up, flipped Gal Cheon-lip over with the toe of his shoe, and pulled out the sword embedded in his chest.
Swish.
The chilling sound of the blade sliding free pierced everyone’s ears.
Shrrk!
Chung Myung shook the blood from the sword and turned his head to sweep his gaze over the southern outlaws, whose faces had stiffened with tension.
Flinch.
Those who met Chung Myung’s eyes visibly wavered.
“Want to keep going?”
There were countless words in the world.
But at this moment, was there any line more fitting to crush what remained of their fighting spirit?
As the battle came to a halt and the boiling blood in their heads cooled, the situation around them became brutally clear.
Gal Cheon-lip, dead with his eyes wide open. And farther back, the severed-headed Duan Hun Hyeol-su and the other masters, cold and lifeless; those who had not died were already pinned down, groaning on the ground….
And Mount Hua’s swordsmen, still glaring at them with icy, merciless killing intent.
The situation was unmistakable.
Clink.
The sound of a weapon slipping from someone’s grasp and striking the ground rang sharply through the now-silent estate.
Ripples spread farther and wider across a quiet lake. That small sound was enough to snuff out the last of their will to resist.
Weapons began dropping from the hands of the southern outlaws one after another.
They had taken up arms in the first place without any grand purpose. Once the man leading them and shouting orders was gone, there was no reason left to stake their lives on this fight.
“Useless pieces of shit.”
Chung Myung shot them a cold, contemptuous look. If he could have, he would have wanted to cut every last one of their throats, whether they resisted or not.
They were the kind he despised most: swaggering around when they had power, then groveling and begging for their lives the moment the tide turned against them.
Just as he tightened his grip on the sword in his hand, someone lightly tapped his shoulder.
He turned to find Un Geom quietly shaking his head.
“You’ve lost too much blood.”
“……I know.”
With a faint click of his tongue, Chung Myung handed the sword over to Un Geom with proper respect.
After sheathing the blade, Un Geom turned his gaze to the person walking toward them.
“Disciples, listen!”
“Yes, Sect Leader!”
Hyun Jong opened his mouth in a heavy voice.
“Cripple the martial arts of these criminals, subdue them all, and bind them. Their punishment will be decided later.”
“Yes!”
“Move the wounded to the clinic. There may still be other enemies nearby, so search the surroundings carefully and prevent any harm from coming to the innocent people in the area!”
“Yes, Sect Leader!”
No sooner had Hyun Jong finished speaking than the Mount Hua disciples moved in perfect coordination.
The southern outlaws, who had thrown away their weapons and knelt, went pale at the words “cripple their martial arts.” But after recalling the faces of the men who had been swinging their blades with murderous intent, they dared not resist.
“Ghk!”
“A, aaagh!”
The dreadful sensation of their dantians being shattered and their inner force scattering apart.
Yet the monstrous exhaustion of having every ounce of strength drain from their bodies left them too wracked to even cry out properly. Rough hands slammed them down onto the ground, and ropes brought from somewhere bound them tightly from head to toe.
Watching it all, Hong Dae-gwang’s legs gave out and he sat down hard on the spot.
As he looked at the Mount Hua swordsmen subduing the remaining outlaws and at Hyun Jong with his hands clasped behind his back, a disbelieving laugh slipped out of him.
“……Hah, hahahaha. Just like that….”
From the moment Mount Hua had revealed itself to the moment Duan Hun Hyeol-su and Gal Cheon-lip lost their heads, everything had happened in one seamless rush.
Does that even make sense?
No one knew Mount Hua’s true worth better than Hong Dae-gwang. He was the one who had recognized the value of Mount Hua when it had possessed neither fame nor strength, and had even given up the position of branch leader in Luoyang to come here.
But what had unfolded before his eyes today was absurd even to him.
Those vicious demons who had terrorized Jiangnan.
They had fallen as though they were third-rate thugs. And not to Shaolin, not to Wudang, not to Mount Zhongnan—but to Mount Hua.
That they had grown stronger, yes, that was surprising, but it was still within the realm of possibility. Mount Hua had always exceeded Hong Dae-gwang’s expectations, after all. But the reason he was stunned now was not simply because Mount Hua had become stronger.
Hyun Jong, who had been watching the disciples finish subduing the prisoners, turned around. Then he began walking briskly toward where Hong Dae-gwang stood.
Swallowing dryly, Hong Dae-gwang felt his throat constrict before he even realized it.
The sight of Hyun Jong approaching with unshaken steps, followed by the elders and Mount Hua’s swordsmen like an escort, made his body shrink back on its own.
What’s different?
In the past, Hong Dae-gwang would have greeted Hyun Jong with a laugh. He might even have joked that he was late.
But now he was straightening his posture, forgetting even the pain in his body, as if he were receiving the sect leader of Shaolin or Wudang.
If one were to express what he felt from Hyun Jong in crude words, it would have to be called “presence.”
Standing before Hong Dae-gwang and the members of the Xi'an secular clans gathered around him, Hyun Jong slowly took them all in.
Though he gave off no aggressive pressure, an oddly immense weight bore down on those facing him.
“Sect Leade—”
Someone finally could not withstand that pressure and hurried to speak, trying to offer thanks.
Hyun Jong bowed slowly, but unmistakably. Very deeply.
“Se, Sect Leader!”
“What are you doing?”
Everyone who saw it shouted in alarm. One person started to rush forward to lift Hyun Jong up, but could not bring themselves to touch him and only stamped in frustration. Another’s face instantly drained of color, and they trembled in place.
A low voice came from Hyun Jong’s bowed head.
“I am sorry.”
“……”
At that moment, everyone fell silent.
“Our sect arrived too late, and the losses suffered by the various clans were too great. Please understand with an open heart and forgive us for Mount Hua failing to do what it should have done.”
At words no one had expected, someone bit down hard on their lip.
“……Please don’t do this, Sect Leader.”
Nam Ja-myeong, the lord of Seowol Gate, spoke with a deep sigh.
“If Mount Hua had not come, everyone here would have died.”
Nam Ja-myeong, who had intended to express his gratitude, bit his lip for a moment and clenched his fist. Then he said,
“Our Seowol Gate is a branch of Mount Zhongnan. Under normal circumstances, the Sect Leader would not even have needed to save us. And yet… you bow your head to us like this. No one would have blamed Mount Hua for not coming after sealing its gates….”
Trailing off, Nam Ja-myeong clasped both hands together and extended them forward. Then he bowed deeply, truly in gratitude and respect.
“……Thank you very much for Mount Hua’s help.”
“Thank you!”
“Thank you, Sect Leader!”
The lords of the Xi'an secular clans, and their disciples alike, all cupped their fists and bowed in unison. Even those injured and in no condition to move properly thanked them sincerely, without caring for their own bodies.
Only then did Hyun Jong slowly straighten his bent back.
“We are grateful that you have shown such generosity in understanding our shortcomings.”
At those words, something difficult to name flickered across the faces of the clan lords.
It’s over.
Hong Dae-gwang realized it then.
The lords of the Xi'an secular clans—no, everyone belonging to the secular clans of Xi'an—would probably never forget this sight for the rest of their lives.
Sometimes, a single sentence can seize a person’s heart more firmly than overwhelming force. Just like this.
The Sect Leader has changed too, hasn’t he?
Gentleness, magnanimity, and an all-encompassing presence. Not one of them was lacking in the qualification to lead a great sect.
It struck him anew that Mount Hua had become a sect completely different from what it had once been. And once he understood that, Hong Dae-gwang’s eyes naturally began searching for one other person.
The one who had made all these changes possible.
“Hm?”
Then Hong Dae-gwang’s eyes narrowed slightly.
What’s he doing?
Chung Myung, who would normally have been darting about like a madman—or at the very least standing by Hyun Jong’s side—was planted in the middle of the courtyard, staring off into the distance.
“What’s he looking at?”
Baek Cheon, sharing Hong Dae-gwang’s confusion, approached and asked Chung Myung, “What are you looking at?”
“Hmph.”
Chung Myung gave a low snort and twisted the corner of his mouth into a strange expression.
“I was watching how much those brats have grown.”
“……Your brats are right in front of you.”
“No. Not those brats. The real brats.”
“Huh?”
Baek Cheon asked again, completely lost, but Chung Myung did not answer. Instead, he turned away.
“Let’s wrap this up. I want to finish quickly and go back to Mount Hua.”
“……Is he talking nonsense because he hasn’t seen people in a while, or what?”
Chung Myung’s mouth was faintly curled upward, and Baek Cheon tilted his head with a puzzled look.
“He always seems to be one step late, Sahyung.”
“Hmph.”
That snort carried a faintly sharp note of irritation.
“Disappointed?”
“About what?”
“We didn’t get to see how much Chung Myung Daoist has improved. Your younger brother too….”
“If you’ve got time to spout useless nonsense, go back and swing your sword. We haven’t even lifted the seclusion on the sect yet.”
“Yes, Sahyung. I will.”
On the outskirts of Xi'an.
A group of martial artists who had taken a road hidden from prying eyes turned back without hesitation and hurried on.
The one bringing up the rear stopped in place and looked back over his shoulder.
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon, Chung Myung Daoist.”
With a bright smile, Yi Song-baek gazed at Xi'an with visible reluctance, then turned away and hastened onward. There was spring in every step he took.