I Won’t Let You Down (2)
The red sun began to rise over the Yangtze River, vast as the sea. Sunlight poured across the water, surging forward as though carried on the rolling waves themselves.
It was a scene of indescribable beauty, yet the hearts of those watching it were filling not with awe, but with a crushing weight.
As he watched the rising sun, Beopgye’s eyes trembled.
“……”
Before he knew it, five days had passed, and the sun of the promised day had risen with ruthless indifference. Beopgye slowly turned his creaking neck and looked at Beop Jeong.
“Abb—Abbot……”
But he could not bring himself to say any more.
He didn’t know what else he could possibly say.
Beopgye understood Beop Jeong’s feelings. Of everyone here, he was surely the one who understood him best.
And yet even he had believed that Beop Jeong would do something before this day’s sun rose.
Beop Jeong only turned to look behind him in silence.
The disciples of Shaolin stood like stone statues. Their faces were etched with every kind of torment. Over the past few days, they had withered half away, until they looked less like human faces than the weathered features of ancient wooden Buddhas.
The boldness they had carried when they first came to the Yangtze River already felt like a memory from another lifetime.
Monks were supposed to bear the suffering of the world. But… was this truly the suffering they were meant to bear?
The reason monks carried suffering was to save sentient beings. But who, exactly, was being saved now?
Wasn’t everyone being dragged straight into hell instead?
Beopgye looked at Beop Jeong again, his eyes bloodshot.
“Abbot.”
“……”
“Abbot!”
Only then did Beop Jeong slowly face him. Beopgye bit down hard on his lip. Beop Jeong’s face was no different from the disciples standing behind him. In that short span of time, it looked as if he had aged ten years.
But why was that?
Looking at Beop Jeong like this, Beopgye no longer felt even the faintest trace of pity.
“We… should be doing something, shouldn’t we?”
“……”
“Something! Anything! We have to do something, don’t we?”
Beop Jeong stared back at Beopgye with unfocused eyes.
“Abbot! At this rate…!”
“I know.”
“Abbot……”
“……”
Beop Jeong turned away again without answering, looking only at the Yangtze River. The fleets surrounding Maehwado stared back at them with cold indifference.
As if I wouldn’t know that.
If this entire calamity ended with the Namgung Clan’s annihilation, Shaolin would carry a wound that could never be healed. Not merely a cut from a blade, but a twisted scar burned into flesh. A scar that would remain until the very day the sect called Shaolin lost even its name.
But…
So what am I supposed to do?
He only had to take one step. Stepping toward that water was not difficult. If he gave the order, Shaolin’s disciples would charge those evil bastards without a moment’s hesitation.
But.
Would that not simply be my own satisfaction?
That place was a trap. A prepared pit of fire. Jang Il-so’s target had never been Namgung in the first place. He had cut the Namgung Clan’s limbs, taken hostages, and pressed a knife to their throats only to bait those who would come rushing to rescue them.
Yes, Shaolin.
No one could even begin to guess what malice lurked in those rippling blue waters. The moment they set foot there, everything Jang Il-so had prepared would begin tightening around Shaolin’s throat.
Why did he think so?
Because it was too obvious.
If he had wanted to, Jang Il-so could have reinforced his forces any way he pleased over the past five days. Haoman and the Black Ghost Fort had not even appeared on the Yangtze yet.
If only they had appeared here, Beop Jeong’s choice would have been far easier. There was no point throwing himself into something that was impossible in reality.
But Jang Il-so had not brought in more troops.
As though he would never shatter the faint hope Shaolin was clinging to, he maintained his forces with exquisite precision, tempting them to leap toward Namgung whenever they pleased.
Crack.
Beop Jeong ground his teeth.
A coward?
Of everyone here, the one who most wanted to attack was Beop Jeong himself. Because all the blame for what had happened here would fall on Shaolin—and on Beop Jeong.
Was it so hard to order them to attack and say that Shaolin had cast aside its life like chaff for the sake of righteousness? Was it truly so difficult to kneel before the corpses of the dead Shaolin disciples, beating his chest and crying out in anguish, proclaiming Shaolin’s sense of justice?
Then Beop Jeong would remain as the greatest man of righteousness in the land. Even if Shaolin fell, his name alone might be spoken forever in the martial world.
But what of it?
Did he not know what had become of Mount Hua, that sect which had driven itself to the brink of destruction for the sake of righteousness?
Did the martial world protect them when they were turned to ash alongside the Heavenly Demon on the peak of the 100,000 Great Mountains?
Chung Mun.
The name of the Great One’s Sword, Chung Mun, could not be forgotten even if one tried. He was a man who had given everything to save this martial world.
So was Chung Mun rejoicing now in the underworld?
Absolutely not.
He’s probably weeping bitterly.
He would likely be bleeding tears, saying they should never have made such a choice.
The phantom of Mount Hua was what was gripping Beop Jeong’s ankles now.
If that absurd thing called the Mount Hua Divine Dragon had not appeared out of nowhere, Mount Hua would surely have been ruined by now. No one in the world would have remembered the name of the Mount Hua Plum Blossom Sword Sect.
Who could force such a monstrous sacrifice onto their own sect? Who?
“Abbot!”
“You…!”
Just as Beop Jeong was about to glare at Beopgye with bloodshot eyes,
“Th-there!”
“……”
At Beopgye’s frantic gesture, he snapped his head around. And then he saw it.
Beside the enormous hull of the Black Dragon Boat, a small skiff had somehow been moored. Then one man leaped lightly from the Black Dragon Boat onto that skiff.
“Jang… Il-so…”
There was no mistaking him.
No matter the distance, that outfit was enough to seize the eye at once.
After Jang Il-so, the skiff carrying one more man slowly drew closer to them. He looked as though he were taking a leisurely boat ride on the Yangtze.
Grinding.
Someone’s teeth were audibly clenching, the sound cutting clearly into Beop Jeong’s ears.
His heart began to race faster and faster. It had been so dry that he had barely even felt its beating, but now it thundered violently, driving blood all the way to the crown of his head.
Jang Il-so, the Tyrant Lord. The source of all this!
The demon wearing human skin was slowly approaching, without even proper guards.
“You…!”
Blood vessels stood out on Beop Jeong’s face.
He strained so hard that the veins in his eyes burst, turning them scarlet.
And that rage was not his alone. Everyone stationed along the banks of the Yangtze River glared at Jang Il-so with all the malice they could muster. With killing intent alone, a normal man’s heart would have stopped dead.
Yet Jang Il-so remained utterly at ease within that murderous atmosphere.
Clatter.
The wine bottle in his hand swayed with a heavy splash of liquid.
Perched on the little skiff, he savored the hostility being hurled at him and leisurely drank straight from the bottle. Wine slid from the corner of his mouth and dripped into the Yangtze below.
“Kuhh…”
Beop Jeong could no longer contain his fury. He clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug into his palm, and tiny drops of red blood fell to the ground.
Just how far…!
How much longer did he intend to toy with them before he was satisfied?
Even the demon that the Tathagata had faced could not have been this vile!
The boat, which had been drifting so slowly toward them, finally came to a gradual stop. Barely twenty jang away. It was close enough that if Beop Jeong truly made up his mind, he could have lunged in an instant and attacked.
“Alliance Leader.”
Jang Il-so, who had been gazing calmly at the Yangtze, glanced sideways at Ho Ga-myeong. His eyebrows twitched slightly, as if showing his displeasure.
“Move a little closer. Those old men ought to hear my voice more clearly.”
“They’re not deaf from old age, but because they simply refuse to hear. This distance should be appropriate.”
“Tsk.”
Jang Il-so shook his head as though dissatisfied.
“You’re far too timid.”
“You’re simply far too reckless, Alliance Leader.”
Ho Ga-myeong gave a faint smile and added,
“And when it concerns you, Alliance Leader, I’m supposed to become a coward. Isn’t that my role? Besides, you should be valuing your precious body more carefully these days…”
“All right, all right. Enough nagging.”
Jang Il-so waved a hand as if thoroughly fed up, then slowly rose to his feet.
Jingle.
At that distance, the sound of the ornaments hanging from his body clashing together was distinctly audible. Jang Il-so stood so close that it was no exaggeration to say he was within arm’s reach, and he cast an arrogant gaze toward the Ten Great Sects’ martial artists who were glaring at him.
“You…!”
The expressions of everyone present had become so distorted that they could hardly be twisted any further.
Who here could not understand what it meant for him to approach without any proper protection, all the way to a place where he could be attacked at any moment if they simply chose to move?
Their insides churned as though they had swallowed burning charcoal whole. Everyone glared at Jang Il-so with faces like raging ogres.
And then, at that very moment,
Jang Il-so lightly raised the wine bottle in his hand and gave it a small shake.
“Care for a drink?”
His voice was languid beyond measure.
In an instant, Beop Jeong’s blood rushed upside down.
But Jang Il-so only watched Beop Jeong’s face with visible delight.
“If you’re just going to stand there with your hands folded and watch anyway, then having a sip of wine with the Yangtze’s scenery as an appetizer would be rather lovely, wouldn’t it? Don’t you think so, Ga-myeong?”
“The righteous ones would hardly know the meaning of elegance.”
“Well, yes, that’s true. Tsk tsk. What a pity. So stiff and joyless.”
With an air of regret, Jang Il-so brought the bottle to his mouth. Then, for all to see, he drank. Wine gathered at the end of his red lips and ran down his chin.
It was a scene so grotesque it nearly defied belief.
The alliance leader of the Evil Tyrant Alliance, the current mortal enemy of the Ten Great Sects, was right there before them, yet no one on this riverbank dared to move a single step and attack him.
As though their feet had been glued to the ground with paste, they could only stare blankly as Jang Il-so drank in front of their faces.
“Hmm.”
A moment later, Jang Il-so lowered the bottle from his mouth and gave a pleased murmur. The glimpse of his white teeth between those blood-red lips was truly horrifying.
“At the very least…”
He scanned everyone on the bank and let out a series of soft chuckles. The contempt in them was blatant.
“I thought you’d have at least something to show for yourselves.”
“……”
“Looks like I overestimated you. Or no, no—perhaps I underestimated you, since I never imagined you could be this miserable?”
“Ugh…”
Jang Il-so nodded slowly.
“At this point, there’s hardly any need to divide the righteous from the unrighteous. We don’t even manage to cling to our own survival as ruthlessly as you do… Hmm. It seems I’ve learned something from you instead.”
“Jang Il-so!”
It was the moment Beop Jeong roared at the top of his lungs.
“Watch carefully, you hypocrites who babble about righteousness and justice with your mouths.”
The chilling voice of Jang Il-so pressed down on them all.
Snap.
He flicked a finger lightly and shrugged.
“I’ll reward you for enduring with your feet planted there. From this moment on, Namgung will vanish from the world.”
“Y-you…!”
“Listen. To the screams. To the howls. To the grief. Right here…”
Jang Il-so’s lips curled up beautifully.
“Treasure the lives you preserved in exchange for that conscience of yours.”
A moment later, the skiff carrying him slowly turned its bow around. Jang Il-so tossed a slight glance back over his shoulder and said,
“Or perhaps… would you like to kill me now? If that’s what the great righteous men of the world can do?”
“……”
“Hahahahahahaha! Ahahahahahaha!”
Humiliation.
Defeat.
And the guilt of sin.
Amid that hell of emotions, Jang Il-so’s back, bearing the rising sun, slowly grew distant.
At that moment.
The fleets that had been arrayed in battle formation as though guarding against the Ten Great Sects all began to turn their prows at once.
Toward Maehwado, and toward the Namgung Clan survivors left there behind.