Were You Hoping for Something? (4)
“…….”
Baek Cheon’s face twisted ever so slightly.
To be honest, there was no reason to lie. Yes, if he told the truth, then yes—the fact that joining this Yangtze expedition might end up playing right into Shaolin’s hands made perfect sense. Baek Cheon was still young, but in terms of experience he’d long since reached the point where he could chew up most sects’ first-generation disciples and spit them out without breaking a sweat.
Which meant it was perfectly understandable that Chung Myung, that bastard, would foam at the mouth and go into a fit the moment he heard the words “Yangtze River.”
But that did not mean Baek Cheon didn’t want to go to the Yangtze.
As a Mount Hua disciple, Baek Cheon didn’t want to get dragged into trouble on the Yangtze. As a swordsman, however, he wanted to race there this very instant.
Why?
Because what was the point of all that training if you couldn’t put it to use?
For the past three years, Baek Cheon and the rest of Mount Hua’s disciples had gone through hell—literal hell.
Mount Hua’s training had always been brutal enough that, if other sects saw it, they’d have blurted out, “Are those lunatics out of their minds?” But then that insane junior brother had gotten serious and hammered them mercilessly, making the foundations of that grueling training even harsher. So what had those three years been like?
Just thinking about it made his body tremble, his teeth grind, his legs weaken, and tears sting at the corners of his eyes.
So of course they needed proof.
They needed to crack the skulls of those bastard Saperyeon scum with plum blossom swords and shout, “This was prepared just for you!” The desire wasn’t Baek Cheon’s alone.
Wasn’t that what every Mount Hua swordsman wanted—paying back the tears they had shed over the last three years with tears of blood?
So, to be honest, he had been quietly thrilled.
Whatever the reason, if they were heading to the Yangtze, they’d end up tangled with the demonic sect bastards somehow, and then they’d be able to return every ounce of suffering right back to them!
And yet… what welcomed Baek Cheon as he descended Mount Hua with a heart full of anticipation was not the future of a swordsman rising high in the martial world, but a past he had no desire to remember.
“Uh…”
Baek Cheon opened his mouth in a voice that was more awkward than anything else, and a little shaky besides.
“Chung Myung?”
“Yeah?”
“……What is this?”
Chung Myung snickered.
“What is it? Did a young gentleman like you develop dementia or something? You’ve got eyes, don’t you?”
“I know what it is, you idiot!”
“Then why ask?”
“I’m asking why it’s here!”
Baek Cheon’s voice rose sharply. What his trembling fingertip pointed at was the dozens of carts lined up at the entrance to the Mount Hua mountain road, and Hwang Jong-ui standing in front of them with a satisfied smile.
Hwang Jong-ui, oblivious to Baek Cheon’s inner turmoil, greeted Chung Myung with a bright smile.
“It seems I arrived just in time, Dojang.”
Chung Myung beamed and grabbed his hand tightly.
“Oh, thank you so much for all your hard work.”
“It was only natural, since you asked. As you requested, I’ve reinforced these carts further. At this point, even if Mount Hua folk were to smash them with swords, they wouldn’t break in one hit.”
“Krrr! Nobody knows the quality of the Galaxy Merchant Guild’s carts better than I do. Reliable stuff!”
“Hahaha. As you can see, we made the carts larger so they can carry more goods, and we paid extra attention to the ride quality so people can sit in them comfortably. And we’ve also doubled the weight compared to before.”
At that instant, Jo Gul shot his hand up.
“Sorry to interrupt, but!”
“Please do speak, Dojang Jo Gul.”
“Normally, wouldn’t you brag about cutting the weight in half…?”
“Generally, yes. But this is a request from Dojang Chung Myung, so I gave it my all.”
In an instant, Jo Gul looked as though all life had been drained from him. He turned to Chung Myung with a face gone pale in a blink.
Chung Myung asked bluntly, “What? What’s with that face?”
“……You bastard.”
Of course. So that was how it was.
At that moment, Chung Myung turned to the Five Swords and grinned.
The expression was so wicked that even the Mount Hua disciples who hadn’t understood the situation shivered.
“Aigoo, my uncles, my senior brothers.”
“…….”
“Did you maybe expect to go to the Yangtze, wave your swords around in style, and live out some righteous hero fantasy fighting the demonic sect?”
Seeing the Mount Hua disciples flinch, Chung Myung cackled.
“Oh, wake up already, you people. I told you, didn’t I? We’re not fighting! What do you think we’re going there for? Yoon Jong sahyung!”
“To save the common people.”
“More specifically, we’re there to move those people. Move them! You know what that’s called?”
“What is it…?”
“Transportation! It’s called transportation!”
Chung Myung snorted.
“Transportation means Mount Hua! And Mount Hua means transportation!”
“Since when, you insane bastard!”
“Since always!”
The moment those words ended, all of Mount Hua’s disciples realized it at once, with deep and painful clarity.
This bastard really is going there to haul cargo.
It felt as if some lunatic had dumped a bucket of ice water onto the tiny ember burning in their chests.
Then Baek Cheon suddenly realized something and his eyes went wide.
“W-wait a second.”
“Hm?”
“When were these carts prepared?”
“I told the Galaxy Merchant Guild when I was there.”
“Th-then you knew back then that something like this would happen…?”
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
“Huh?”
Chung Myung snickered.
“Everyone’s gotten stronger lately, and their internal energy’s improved too. So I figured the carts could stand to be a little bigger than before.”
“…….”
“Since I was having them made anyway, I thought I might as well make a lot of them so we could use them for whatever. I didn’t know they’d end up being used like this, though….”
“…….”
In other words, the moment the sect gates were opened, he had already been calculating how to squeeze every last bit of use out of them?
“Demon bastard.”
“Not even a dog would bite that bastard.”
“He really chose the wrong sect. If he’d gone to the demonic path, he might’ve carved a name into martial history several times over.”
“Shut up.”
Chung Myung waved a hand as if shooing away flies.
“Stop dreaming nonsense and grab a cart already! From now on, you senior brothers are oxen. Not swordsmen—oxen! Our goal is to race to the Yangtze at top speed and carry every single commoner to a place that isn’t dangerous!”
“…….”
“Any questions?”
“……None, you bastard.”
The hearts of Mount Hua’s disciples, which had swollen with hopes of heroic deeds, were swallowed by a pitch-black darkness.
“Ahem, this cart is pretty good.”
“Let’s see… we should check whether it’s okay for the common people to ride in too.”
“That’s right, Sect Leader. It’s important.”
And that darkness deepened further when the elders casually climbed onto the carts, and the first-generation instructors, watching the mood, cleared their throats and followed after them.
Hyun Jong laughed heartily.
“Chung Myung is right. Fighting with swords is not the only way to practice righteousness. Giving people what they need most is the true path of a righteous deed. Would they rather have us fight for them, or help them?”
It was a wonderful thing to say.
It would have sounded even better if he weren’t saying it while already aboard the cart.
Sect Leader. You look extremely comfortable, don’t you?
“No time! Hurry up and get on.”
“…….”
Mount Hua’s disciples trudged forward like cattle being led to slaughter and clutched the carts. The familiar sensation at their fingertips made them even sadder.
Ah… even after three years, this still doesn’t change in our hands.
“Hahahahaha.”
Watching from the side, Hwang Jong-ui laughed in evident satisfaction.
“Normally the handles would be a bit larger, but since these are carts for Mount Hua, I paid special attention. I had the thickness of the handles made exactly the same as the grips of the swords you all use, so they should be perfectly comfortable.”
……How tearfully grateful.
Such deep consideration, Guild Leader.
“Hup!”
Chung Myung gave a light hop and climbed onto the lead cart.
“Right, then we’re going to the Yangtze in one shot! Let’s go! Run, Dong-ryong!”
“Damn it, bastard!”
“Go!”
The instant Chung Myung’s voice fell, the enormous, heavy carts shot forward at unbelievable speed, as if their weight meant nothing at all.
“The last bastards to arrive will be used as wheels, so run like your lives depend on it!”
Groans, curses, and shouts rang out in a riot of noise. The carts, now accelerated to full speed, vanished into the distance in the blink of an eye.
“Hohoho.”
Left behind, Hwang Jong-ui burst into a hearty laugh.
“May fortune be with you.”
He clasped his hands deeply toward the dust cloud fading in the distance.
* * *
Kwaaaaaang!
Namgung Do-wi’s hands were trembling. His mouth tasted of blood and bitterness, and his whole body felt heavy, like waterlogged cotton.
But he was not granted even a moment’s rest.
“Taaaat!”
He sprang from his position and knocked aside a cannonball flying toward him in one stroke.
Kwaang!
The cannonball and his sword collided with a deafening blast.
“Ghk.”
Such cannonballs were, in truth, nothing much. If he were in peak condition, he could have blown them away as if they were feathers.
But the cannonball before him now felt heavy, almost unbearable.
Goddamn…
Now he understood what it meant to be slowly starved dry.
They never rushed. They didn’t bombard this side so heavily that they were plainly overwhelmed, nor did they land more forces than necessary. They merely chipped away at the riverbank bit by bit, with just enough pressure that they never had time to plant their feet.
In short, the attacks were maddeningly lukewarm.
But when that kind of pressure continued day after day, all anyone could think was that they’d rather charge head-on and die in battle than endure this any longer.
Slowly, but surely, they were gnawing Namgung Family down to the bone.
Kwaang!
“Aaaaaaaagh!”
Somewhere, someone screamed.
Only two days ago, everyone would have snapped their heads toward the cry at once and shouted in fury. But not anymore. They had grown used to it.
By now, it was no longer unusual for someone who lost concentration to be struck by cannon fire they would normally have dodged without difficulty. On Maehwado, it had become a common sight.
Namgung Do-wi turned around with a twisted expression.
What showed on the faces of the Changgung-geomdae was not despair or rage.
It was helplessness.
Their once-spirited faces were gone. Now they looked more like men dragged to a foreign land and forced to row in the belly of a ship.
The resignation that came from facing a situation beyond all remedy sat heavy on those Changgung-geomdae faces.
We should have attacked.
He did not fail to understand Namgung Hwang’s decision. But understanding it did not mean he thought it was the best choice.
What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to handle this?
And what should he do from now on?
At that moment, another cannonball flew in from the island. Namgung Do-wi’s eyes caught sight of a Changgung squad member standing helplessly in its path, too slow to react.
Only after a beat did the man notice the cannonball closing in at point-blank range. His face went deathly pale.
His body moved before his mind could even finish thinking.
Kwaaaaaaang!
Namgung Do-wi rushed in like a streak of light and struck the cannonball aside, clenching his teeth. Perhaps because he had swung his sword in such haste that he hadn’t been able to circulate his inner energy properly, the hand gripping his sword split open and spilled bright red blood.
“Y-young master….”
Thud!
Namgung Do-wi grabbed the shoulder of the Changgung squad member he had barely saved from danger.
The man, certain a scolding was coming, shut his eyes tightly.
“Hold on a little longer!”
But what came from Namgung Do-wi’s mouth was not reprimand, but encouragement.
His voice, carrying a resonance entirely different from Namgung Hwang’s, rang thunderously across the entire island.
“Grind your teeth and endure! We are the Namgung Family! We may die fighting, but we are not allowed to give up on our own!”
“Young master!”
“The chance will come! And if it doesn’t, then I’ll create it myself! I will not let us die here without even being able to swing our swords once! So!”
Namgung Do-wi shouted in a voice burning with blood.
“Believe in me and push a little harder! Until the moment we repay them for this pain and humiliation with more than they can bear!”
One by one, light returned to the eyes of Namgung Family swordsmen whose gaze had gone dim.
They clenched their jaws and nodded. Then, with bloodshot eyes, they glared at the ships surrounding the island.
Crack.
Namgung Do-wi bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood as well, and glared at the Black Dragon Ship floating on the Yangtze.
It was a truly upright, resolute figure.
But the fingertips of the hand he had desperately hidden inside his sleeve were trembling violently.
Anyone will do, so please… please hurry.
Before this tiny ember he had barely managed to revive went out….