Don’t Bow Your Head. (3)
“I need... strength...”
Namgung Do-wi bit down on his lip until it seemed ready to split.
“Hold on. Just a little longer... just a little longer, and...”
He knew. He was pouring in his inner power like a madman, clutching at a hand that kept trying to slip from his grasp, stubbornly trying to keep the other man alive—but he had already understood that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save him.
This wasn’t his first time.
It wasn’t even the first time he’d been forced to watch this damned scene play out.
The hand, dried dark with blood, trembled as it reached toward his face.
“You...ng Ma...ster...”
“Yes, Jin. Just a little more. If you hold on just a little longer, reinforcements will come! Then we can return to Namgung! Until then... hold on...”
Namgung Do-wi’s face twisted into something miserable and broken.
He knew he shouldn’t look like this, but he couldn’t force the expression away.
It was an obvious lie. The speaker knew it, and the listener knew it too. They both understood how absurdly false those words were.
And yet Namgung Do-wi kept feeding him that blatant lie with frantic urgency, because there was nothing else he could do.
“Yo... Young Master...”
“Namgung Jin...”
“P-Please... survive...”
“...”
Namgung Do-wi’s hand shook uncontrollably.
He ought to be used to this by now. He’d already sent so many people off like this. And yet he never became used to it. No matter how many times he felt it, that cold, revolting sensation of warmth and strength draining from the hand he held was just as painful as the first time.
“I... I wanted to see Namgung... one more time...”
As Namgung Jin forced out the last of his words, his pupils slackened. At the same moment, the strength seeped from the hand Namgung Do-wi was holding, slipping away like water through his fingers.
“Namgung Jin!”
“Namgung Jin, you bastard!”
The men guarding his final moments burst out with fierce shouts. Voices cracked with tears, with rage they couldn’t contain, with the anguish of men cursing the heavens themselves.
But Namgung Do-wi only lowered his head and buried his forehead against Namgung Jin’s blood-crusted chest.
I can’t cry.
Thick blood ran down his split lip. He might have been able to shed blood for Namgung Jin, but he could not shed tears.
If he did, everyone would break.
His eyes were red and bloodshot as he clenched his hands hard enough to seem as though he might tear the earth open.
Couldn’t he have saved him?
Was there really no way to save him?
If he’d only received proper treatment from a competent physician in time, he wouldn’t have died. No—if they had at least brought one of the countless elixirs the family kept on hand, then maybe, if not all, at least some of them could have been saved.
But there was nothing here.
No one to heal them. No elixir to preserve their lives.
All that existed here was an empty, desolate stretch of land and the endlessly drifting, hateful river. And...
Namgung Do-wi jerked his head up, his gaze blazing with bitter loathing. Then he glared at the ships of the Saperyeon surrounding the island, and at the righteous factions on the far bank, staring at the whole scene as though watching a play from across a river.
“Ugh...”
The venom in that look may not have been aimed at Saperyeon at all, but at the Nine Sects and One Gang standing beyond them.
He understood.
All of this had been Namgung’s own doing. It was not right to shift the consequences onto others. Namgung Family alone had to bear responsibility for the countless deaths.
And yet...
Crack.
Namgung Do-wi ground his teeth.
If those people had not shouted so loudly, if they had not proclaimed righteousness and the defense of the Central Plains so proudly, he might not have resented them. If they had kept their mouths shut, perhaps he would have accepted it.
But where was the righteousness they had shouted about?
While the wounded men who had fought to protect the common people were dying on this cold, frozen ground, what exactly were those people doing?
“Urgh...”
Then a sound tugged at his nerves. Another groan from someone else suffering under wounds.
He exhaled slowly through his broken lip, then reached out to close Namgung Jin’s eyes. After that, he slowly stood.
He looked down at Namgung Jin in silence before speaking in a dry voice.
“Recover the bodies.”
“...Young Master.”
“I know how you feel. But there are still those who have not healed. If you have time to grieve the dead, then spend it saving the living.”
Who among them could hear that without feeling fury rise in their chest?
And yet not one of the Namgung sword disciples with bloodshot eyes spoke against him.
Namgung Do-wi had always been especially close to Namgung Jin. The way his shoulders trembled in tiny, relentless spasms made it clear what kind of pain he was holding back.
Namgung Do-wi turned and walked away.
“Young Master...”
The one who had reflexively tried to call him back trailed off.
They understood that Namgung Do-wi desperately needed time alone.
With weak, dragging steps, Namgung Do-wi reached the riverbank and collapsed there, as though his strength had given out all at once.
The Saperyeon fleet drifted slowly, barely shifting position, as though they had no interest in Maehwado’s situation at all, and beyond them stood the righteous factions.
When he looked back, he saw Namgung Jin’s body being carried away. He saw the others treating the wounded who still couldn’t quite grasp reality. There was no strength in their hands.
And who could blame them?
Doubt and fear that all of this might be meaningless were gnawing away at their minds, wearing them thin day after day.
How many days were left?
Three? Two?
A hollow laugh slipped through his cracked lips.
If the Maninbang and the Water Bandit Sect shoved in together onto Maehwado, then they would probably die without even putting up a proper struggle. In the five days Jang Il-so had granted them, they wouldn’t gather strength—they would only continue drying up.
“Kgh...”
Namgung Do-wi roughly scrubbed at his gaunt face. His hand, dragging over his skin as if trying to tear it off, was filled with pain.
He knew.
They would not help Namgung. That much everyone knew, not just Namgung Do-wi.
And yet what truly drove him mad was this: even though he knew they would not help, even though he knew it down to his bones, he still couldn’t throw away the last shred of hope.
“Hah...”
A sound that was neither a groan nor a sob escaped him. He looked across the river with bloodshot eyes.
“...How does it feel?”
The muttered words seemed steeped in the smell of blood.
“How does it feel to watch this place from over there...?”
He wanted to ask.
He wanted to ask so badly.
Did they know what it felt like to watch family members who had stood face-to-face with you yesterday die right before your eyes? Did they know what it felt like to watch someone’s flesh rot away while they screamed in agony, and still be unable to offer even a scrap of help?
Namgung Do-wi would probably have been the same.
If he had never gone through this, never seen it with his own eyes, never suffered through the pain, then from the opposite bank he would have been able to calmly think things through and choose the path most advantageous to Namgung.
But now he knew.
You can’t judge people by their profit.
Anyone who had gone through what he had would think the same. Anyone!
“Huu...”
But what was he supposed to do?
He had learned that truth far too late.
Just then, as Namgung Do-wi’s bloodshot body swayed, close to toppling sideways, he suddenly braced a hand on the ground and steadied himself. His hollow, listless eyes widened in an instant.
“...Th-there?”
Through the blur in his vision, he could clearly see it.
He rubbed his eyes hard, then opened them again and stared across the river.
Crack.
Namgung Do-wi bit down hard on his lip. His dazed mind snapped back into focus all at once.
The Nine Sects and One Gang on the far bank probably wouldn’t see it. They had no spare time to look left or right. But Namgung Do-wi, watching the river from this side, could see it plainly.
There, along the bank—a fair distance away from where the Nine Sects were assembled—a person in green clothing seemed to be observing this place.
The Tang Family!
It was definitely a warrior of the Sichuan Tang Family, one who had already been said to have withdrawn from the Yangtze River, now checking the situation here.
Namgung Do-wi instantly grabbed at his thigh.
No, no...
It might have been a premature conclusion. Maybe they had simply sent one person to the Yangtze to scout the situation.
But...
Namgung Do-wi sat there like a statue, not moving a muscle, and watched the Tang Family martial artist. The man carefully surveyed everything—the movements of Saperyeon and the righteous factions, even the situation inside Maehwado—before turning and walking away.
After a moment, Namgung Do-wi rose as if he’d been possessed. He stared into the distance for a long time, trying to decide whether what he had just seen was real or only a hallucination.
If the Tang Family is here...
Only after quite some time did he slowly turn around.
As he retraced his steps, the whole situation on the island came into view at once.
“Pull yourself together, you bastard! You can’t die!”
“Damn it... why only us...?”
“Khukkhukkhuk...”
Those who were sinking deeper into grief and dying one day at a time. Those tending to the wounded while suppressing their rage. The stench of rotting blood and the smell of corpses. And the foul reek of sheer despair.
Namgung Do-wi did not stop walking.
This is stupid.
He knew that.
It may not accomplish a damn thing. It may only make things worse.
He knew that too.
Then why?
The reason was simple enough. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for death to come. He had a responsibility to protect the people in this place.
He was the Young Master of the Namgung Family.
His steps quickened. And finally, he arrived before Namgung Hwang, who looked as though he had aged another ten years in the meantime.
Namgung Do-wi stood there and quietly watched him.
Namgung Hwang had exhausted every last ounce of strength pouring inner power into the wounded, and now leaned against a rock shattered by bombardment, his eyes closed. A deep remorse and crushing sense of responsibility clung to his face.
A sense of responsibility so heavy it seemed it might suffocate him.
Sensing his presence, Namgung Hwang slowly opened his eyes and looked at Namgung Do-wi.
“...What is it?”
Namgung Do-wi stared back at him without saying a word. Their gazes tangled in the air.
“You said it before, didn’t you?”
“...Said what?”
“That if you truly wanted to, you could get off this island.”
Namgung Hwang shook his head.
“I’m not going.”
A self-mocking smile touched his mouth.
“How could I, as the head of Namgung, abandon them and go anywhere? I will share their fate here. And...” He coughed. “...it would be impossible now, even if I wanted to.”
“Alone, yes.”
Namgung Hwang lifted his head slightly to look at Namgung Do-wi.
“...What are you trying to say?”
At last, having made up his mind, Namgung Do-wi fixed his father with a hard stare.
“It may be impossible for you alone, Father, but if you join forces with the elders, you should be able to send at least one person out of this island.”
“...Do-wi?”
“Jang Il-so is a Sapa, but he isn’t the kind to go back on his own word. He has his own goals, so even if we try to escape, he’ll only stop us—he won’t attack the island in retaliation. In other words...”
Namgung Do-wi continued, each word bitten off as if he were spitting them out.
“It’s worth trying to get one person out.”
“...”
“Please send me out, Father.”
Resolve and fury burned together in his eyes.
“Save my life, even if you have to throw yours away, and let me reach the other side.”
Namgung Hwang, now pale as ash, silently looked at his son.
One day, a father meets the moment when his child rises to stand at his own eye level. And right now, Namgung Hwang felt that moment with painful clarity.
So he didn’t ask.
What he meant to do. Why it had to be Namgung Do-wi and not him.
None of that mattered.
“...And the price?”
There was only one thing he wanted to know.
“As you said, this would be something the elders and I would have to stake our lives on. What would be the price for those of us who must give our lives so that we can protect everyone else, even if only for one more moment?”
Namgung Do-wi’s gaze stood firm with determination. Something Namgung Hwang no longer possessed.
“Hope.”
“...”
“Wouldn’t that be enough?”
After a brief silence, Namgung Hwang let out a short laugh.
“Not enough?”
“...”
Namgung Hwang slowly rose to his feet. In his own eyes too, that same hardened resolve—the very one his son now wore—began to take shape.
“...That’s enough.”
His hand clamped tightly onto Namgung Do-wi’s shoulder.