Welcome Back, Mount Hua Sword Hero (3)
Pour, pour.
Wine filled the cup.
Without saying a word, Chung Myung tilted the bottle and glanced across at the man sitting opposite him—the one carefully wiping a short flying dagger with a piece of pristine white ramie cloth.
“...Put the knife away. You’re ruining the taste of the wine.”
“Seriously? In the middle of a damn war, you’re worrying about the taste? If it’s drinkable, that’s enough.”
Tang Bo, having wiped every trace of oil from the dagger, arched a brow. As expected of someone from the Tang Family, he treated his weapons with almost absurd care.
“Like that makes the blade sharper?”
“Hah. If you don’t know better, keep quiet. A butcher like you, Monk-Brother, just picks up whatever sword falls on the ground and hacks away. But someone like me needs a weapon that fits the hand perfectly. Do you know how much of a masterpiece this thing is?”
“Masterpiece my ass.”
Ignoring him, Tang Bo meticulously cleaned all twelve of his flying daggers. Only after wiping them clean, grinding away the nicks, and oiling them anew did he set the shining weapons down in front of him.
Then he picked up the bottle and refilled Chung Myung’s empty cup.
“Why does our Monk-Brother look so grumpy again?”
“...”
“No, wait. Not again. You’re always grumpy. Hmm, right. It’s like a law of nature.”
“You little bastard?”
“Now, now. Want a drink? Want one?”
Tang Bo grinned and lifted his cup. Chung Myung snorted, then raised his own in return. The two cups clinked briefly in the air.
Chung Myung drained his slowly, then looked across at Tang Bo and asked, “How many died yesterday?”
“About twenty?”
“...I asked how many died, not how many you killed.”
“Five. Those damned bastards wouldn’t sit still and listen...”
Tang Bo’s face twisted in irritation. It seemed there had been quite a few casualties even among the Tang Family members he had led out.
War was like that. No matter how careful you were, no matter how hard you tried, people died anyway.
“Those son of a bitches have been going crazy lately. I barely got away with my head still attached.”
Tang Bo made a slashing motion across his throat with the edge of his hand.
“Crazy bastard.”
Chung Myung snorted.
It was a joke, really, nothing more. But in a place like this, nobody made jokes like that.
In a place where you could glance at the empty seat of the man who had been eating beside you yesterday and simply move on, death was too heavy to joke about lightly—and too featherlight to discuss seriously.
“I really almost died, you know. Ran into that Bishop bastard.”
“Mm.”
At the word Bishop, Chung Myung’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Several Bishops had already lost their heads to his sword, but the name still carried weight, still sounded threatening even to him.
“It wasn’t a proper fight, so I let it slide for the most part... but...”
Tang Bo pressed at his own jaw with his fingers.
“If we’d really gone at it, my neck would’ve been in trouble. Damn it, why was I born into the Tang Family?”
“You’re weak. Why are you blaming the Tang Family?”
“Aigoo. Our Monk-Brother really has been holed up on a mountain too long if he doesn’t know the first thing about this world. I’m not weak—the problem is the nature of flying daggers. They work fine up to a certain level, but beyond that, daggers hit a limit, you hear? They just can’t go any further.”
“You’re weak.”
“No, I mean what I’m saying is—”
“You’re weak.”
“...”
Tang Bo smiled brightly, veins bulging at his temple.
“Watch yourself on the way home. One of those blind flying daggers might end up lodged in your back.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a blind flying dagger. It’d be a dagger thrown by some blind idiot.”
“Tch. Damn it.”
Muttering under his breath, Tang Bo fiddled with the Chuhonbi laid before him. The way he kept handling it made it seem as though he was seriously considering planting it right between Chung Myung’s eyes.
“Anyway, I’ve been thinking... maybe I should try developing a usable form or something.”
“A form?”
“Yeah. Some form that can take care of those fucking Bishops, or those dog-shit Heavenly Demon bastards. You know, the ones in black clothes—those dark-clothed bastards. Ah, even better if they’re the type that carry swords.”
Chung Myung silently looked down at his own clothes.
Hm. Black, weren’t they? Very black.
He snorted.
“Stop wasting time and do what you’re already doing properly. How long’s it gonna take you to make a form and actually use it in real combat? You’ll get to try it once you’re dead.”
“Well, it’s not like I need it right away.”
“Hm?”
Tang Bo grinned.
“If I just get a rough outline, I can finish it leisurely after the war.”
“And you’re sure you’ll still be alive by then?”
“Ah, come on. I’m Tang Bo. If the underworld messengers come to drag me off, I’ll just stick a Chuhonbi right between their brows.”
“Crazy bastard.”
Tang Bo chuckled.
Staring quietly at the empty cup in his hand with a strangely subdued expression, he picked up the bottle and poured more wine into it.
“Even if I can’t make all of it myself...”
At the lowered voice, Chung Myung lifted his head and looked at Tang Bo.
Tang Bo raised his cup, turning it slowly in his hand, then tossed the wine back in one swallow.
“Someone will carry it on. Someone who inherits the Tang Family’s blood and learns the Twelve Flying Daggers.”
“...”
“If that happens, then even if one day some poor fool ends up in the same position I’m in now, he won’t have to worry the way I do, will he?”
“Hmm...”
Chung Myung was just about to say, So you’re actually thinking for once? when Tang Bo’s slightly irritated voice reached his ear.
“Then at least my descendants won’t get beaten around by some black-robed mountain monk with no grass growing on it. I could just stick a Chuhonbi in his back and...”
Sreeeek.
“Ah! Hey, hey! I’m drinking—why are you drawing your sword? Seriously, you don’t get jokes at all, do you? Did you come down from a mountain after meditating for years or what?”
“Crazy bastard...”
Chung Myung laughed softly and shoved the sword back in before lifting his cup again. The wine going down his throat tasted especially bitter.
“What’s the point of all that?”
“Pardon?”
“Descendants, or whatever...”
Chung Myung’s eyes, dark and sunken, drifted toward the window. The black clouds covering the sky looked ready to spill rain at any moment.
“What do I care about the ones who survive later? Hell, I might not even be alive tomorrow.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s not wrong either.”
Chung Myung’s dim gaze returned to Tang Bo.
“And here you are, a guy the Tang Family practically threw away, worrying about descendants.”
“Who got thrown away? It’s those bastards who couldn’t handle me!”
“...Fair enough.”
“That was an insult, wasn’t it?”
“It was praise.”
“That’s an insult!”
Tang Bo ground his teeth. Watching him, Chung Myung finally laughed.
He wasn’t laughing because it was funny. He just kept trying to laugh whenever there was something to laugh at.
Maybe that was why, in this hellish battlefield, whenever he had a little time, he kept ending up looking at Tang Bo instead of his fellow disciples.
He wouldn’t understand.
Even in a battlefield where people were slowly losing the reason to exist as human beings, it was amazing that someone could still shout and get angry and crack jokes and laugh like that.
“Still, that’s just how it is.”
“Hm?”
“Someone has to carry it on...”
Tang Bo’s eyes had gone dim as he idly stroked the edge of the Chuhonbi in his hand.
He was looking at his own reflection in the blade, and the face that stared back was swallowed in deep shadow. There was barely any expression left to read on it.
“Whoever carries it on shouldn’t repeat the mistakes the idiots before him made. At the very least, those kids ought to be better than us, wouldn’t you say?”
“...”
But as though embarrassed by how serious he had sounded, Tang Bo quickly wiped the heaviness from his face and smiled brightly again.
“Besides, they might have some boring monk nearby who’s freakishly good with a sword.”
“Bullshit.”
“What can you do? Blood’s blood. Back when I was younger, I couldn’t stand those stupid bastards either, but as I get older, I can’t help worrying about them.”
Tang Bo let out a low chuckle. Chung Myung laughed too, light and empty, and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Someone who carries it on, huh.
What a stupid thing to say.
What was there to carry on, anyway? They couldn’t even see each other’s faces anymore.
What did it matter what happened after they died? They couldn’t even save the lives of the people standing right in front of them. As time passed, all they did was lose more.
“If you’ve got time to think about that, kill one more bastard instead.”
“Pardon?”
“If there are no mistakes left to make, then it’s fine. If I cut off that Heavenly Demon bastard’s head, then at least your descendants won’t have to fight him.”
“Well... that’s true enough.”
“So don’t worry about it.”
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
Chung Myung curled one corner of his mouth.
“I’ll take that bastard’s head for you.”
“I keep telling you, that’s mine. Why do you keep saying it like that?”
Tang Bo clicked his tongue.
“Fine. If you cut off the Heavenly Demon’s head, I’ll give you a present.”
“A present?”
“Hm! I’ll let you be the very first to witness the new form I’m making! The day you stick a Chuhonbi in my back will be the day I become number one under heaven... Ah, no! I said stop drawing your sword over jokes!”
“Die, you bastard!”
“Aaaagh! The monk’s trying to kill someone!”
Amid all the dramatic squawking and exaggerated suffering, Tang Bo suddenly dispelled the sword energy Chung Myung had hurled at him in a single breath, then laughed.
“If that day comes, I won’t have any regrets.”
“...Just drink already.”
“Here. I’ll refill your cup.”
The wine trickling from the neck of the bottle slowly filled the white cup.
The two of them kept pouring drink for one another as if competing, as though they wanted to soak some parched, dried-up place deep inside themselves.
They drank until the rain that came with the night washed away yesterday’s stench of blood.
And all through the night, that was all they did.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
When Chung Myung opened his eyes, he stared blankly up at the ceiling.
His head slowly turned to the side. Sunlight was spilling through the window.
Morning?
Usually he would have snapped awake at dawn and gone straight out to train, but... now that he had finally returned to Mount Hua, it seemed the tension that had ruled his body for years had loosened at last.
Maybe that was why he had dreamed such a thing.
“...So that’s what happened.”
Right. He had forgotten.
It wasn’t important enough to remember every casual conversation in detail. No—he hadn’t known it was important.
“The first to witness it, huh...”
Chung Myung let out a soft laugh. It was the face the Plum Blossom Sword Saint used to make.
“Idiot.”
Yes, he had kept his promise to sever the Heavenly Demon’s head. He had cut it off in the most humiliating way possible.
And Tang Bo had also kept his promise. In the most foolish way possible.
Both of them were truly idiots, truly fools.
And so...
Chung Myung lifted his gaze again. This ceiling was different from the one he had seen at the drinking table.
“...I said I wouldn’t let you go through that again, and yet.”
So he had tried so hard, and if that kind of thing was going to happen all over again... then what meaning had all those deaths from back then held?
What in the world...
Bang!
At that moment, the door flew open with brutal force, and familiar faces spilled into the room. No—spilled was the right word, because they looked less like they had entered than like they had been dumped in all at once.
“Ack! What the hell, goddamn it!”
Even Chung Myung, of all people, couldn’t help but flinch at the sight.
“Aah! I told you not to push!”
“What? It’s because you wouldn’t move!”
“We said let him rest! The match wasn’t exactly easy on him!”
“Why would you wake up someone who’s sleeping!”
Watching the Five Swords sprawled over one another and bickering, Chung Myung’s face went blank. Then he covered his own face with both hands.
For these idiots...
Tang Bo. Doesn’t this feel like a waste of a perfectly good death? Hm?
“...Why?”
When Chung Myung asked weakly, Baek Cheon—who was buried at the very bottom of the pile—covered his mouth with his fist and coughed awkwardly. But even that was hopelessly lacking in dignity, considering the sajeok had him pinned down.
“No, well... I had something to ask you about yesterday’s match.”
“...”
“I still can’t make sense of the way that form was used.”
“Explain it to us.”
“...”
For a moment Chung Myung was at a loss for words. He stared at them blankly, then asked, “You came running here first thing in the morning just for that?”
“First thing in the morning? Since when is it first thing? The sun’s been up for ages!”
“If we keep putting it off, we’ll forget it again. Things like this need to be settled right away.”
A drained laugh escaped Chung Myung’s lips.
Looking at those guys with their eyes shining—no, glinting wildly—made him feel like the momentary gloom he’d just had was stupid.
“The way it was used?”
“Yeah.”
“And if I explain it, you’ll understand?”
“...”
“You can only see as much as you know. As much as you know. How am I supposed to explain what you can’t see because you’re too weak? It’s like teaching a monkey to read.”
“You son of a bitch...”
“See? I told you we wouldn’t get anything nice out of him!”
“Kah! Ptui!”
As the noisy reactions erupted around him, Chung Myung shook his head and climbed out of bed.
“If you have time to spout nonsense, go train. Don’t slack off just because you’re back at Mount Hua.”
“Everyone except you already did.”
“Hm?”
“You’re the only one who slacked off, you bastard!”
As Chung Myung turned to leave, shaking his head, Baek Cheon quietly stepped in front of him and blocked his path. Chung Myung looked up at him with a sour expression.
“What?”
“I do think it’ll be hard to understand with just your head.”
“Hm?”
“But...”
Baek Cheon’s mouth twisted.
“I think I can understand it with my body.”
“...”
“How about it? As a warm-up?”
Chung Myung opened his mouth as if he had something to say, then shut it again and shook his head.
“The place I hit you last time finally healed up?”
“It’s all healed, you bastard.”
Baek Cheon smiled triumphantly, looking as though he might actually snort through his nose. Chung Myung laughed.
“Fine. Meet me at the training ground. I’ll break whatever got broken before all over again, nicely this time.”
“Right.”
The Five Swords headed outside without another word. Jo Gul, bringing up the rear, grabbed Baek Cheon by the shoulder and lunged ahead.
“I’m first!”
“Hey, you little bastard! Since when do you have no respect for your seniors?”
“Where would you even find that in Mount Hua?”
“You’re leaving a gap.”
“Samae! Hey! Yu I-seol!”
Chung Myung stood there and watched them go. Watching the Five Swords brawl and race off, he thought he could hear the voice from his dream all over again.
— Whoever carries it on shouldn’t repeat the mistakes the idiots before him made. At the very least, those kids ought to be better than us, wouldn’t you say?
Chung Myung looked out the window, where sunlight was spilling in. Unlike before, the day was clear and bright.
“Yeah. They’re better than us.”
Better than fools like you and me.