I Won’t Let You Down (3)
Dozens of massive ships all turned their prows at once. The force of it was extraordinary, enough to churn the once-calm surface of the Yangtze River into violent waves.
The small boat rocked beneath the oncoming swell, yet Jang Il-so, standing on its deck, looked as if he were planted on solid ground. He glanced sidelong at Shaolin and Gongdong, who were trapped in indecision, unable to move forward or back.
“Pathetic...”
Open contempt flared across his face.
Ho Ga-myeong quietly studied that expression.
If the leaders of the Nine Great Sects, if Shaolin — that beacon all of Jianghu called the Big Dipper — were truly as worthless as this, then the day Jang Il-so’s grand design came to pass would arrive all the sooner.
But the feeling on Jang Il-so’s face now was plainly closer to irritation than delight.
“You look displeased,” Ho Ga-myeong said.
“How could I not be...” Jang Il-so replied indifferently.
“When I was floundering in despair, with no hope in sight, what kept me standing was...”
For an instant, something eerie flashed across his face.
“The vow that one day I would seize everything they had and make it mine.”
“...”
“And yet...”
He cut himself off and looked at Shaolin with disdain.
“To think the true faces of those who control Jianghu are nothing more than that.”
A self-mocking laugh slipped between his red lips.
“People hide their true feelings behind reason. I’m sure they’re already inventing dozens of excuses for why they must not act. A fine set of arguments too — persuasive enough that most people couldn’t refute them.”
Jang Il-so’s smile deepened.
“But in the end, peel it all away and they’re just afraid. Men who have never once shed blood to take something for themselves can only feel the value of what they stand to lose far more keenly than the value of what they might gain.”
If anyone else had said that, Ho Ga-myeong would have dismissed it as arrogant nonsense. Shaolin might not rule the world, but they were among those who could be called masters of Jianghu. It was too simplistic a judgment to make of such men.
But at the very least, Jang Il-so alone had earned the right to say it. No one knew better than Ho Ga-myeong how brutally Jang Il-so had clawed his way up to this place.
“They’ll understand eventually,” Jang Il-so murmured.
“That those who fear losing something small will end up losing everything. I’ll make sure of it.”
Ho Ga-myeong slowly shook his head.
“By the time they understand that, they’ll already have lost everything.”
At that, Jang Il-so let out a quiet chuckle.
“Yes. Perhaps you’re right.”
Then he tipped the wine bottle in his hand, took a swig, and, as if he had already lost interest, poured the rest into the Yangtze River.
“Fine. I’ve gained everything I came for.”
The Nine Great Sects were still glaring at him as though they wanted to tear him apart on the spot. Jang Il-so found them utterly ridiculous.
For now, they would be consumed by rage toward the Evil Tyrant Alliance and toward Jang Il-so himself. But once that fury faded, they would understand what they had done.
What did a guilty man do?
Reflect? Apologize?
Not a chance!
Only a tiny handful of people could do that. Human beings would make excuses even for disasters of their own making, seize on the faults of others, and hurl blame like stones. Was that not the nature of mankind?
Jang Il-so created the crack.
But the ones who would pry it open would be none other than themselves.
Now all that remained was to wait. To wait until the wound he had created festered and festered, rotting flesh and melting bone.
Everything he had come here to accomplish was already done. What remained was nothing more than...
“Entertainment.”
Jang Il-so’s gaze shifted to Maehwado.
“Now then...”
He tilted his head slightly, and the ornaments hanging all over him chimed softly. It almost sounded like applause.
“It’s time to end this stage with the blood of that pitiable Namgung clan.”
“At once, my lord.”
Ho Ga-myeong was just about to steer the boat back toward the Black Dragon Ship when—
“No. There’s no need for that now.”
Jang Il-so raised one hand to stop him. When Ho Ga-myeong looked back in confusion, Jang Il-so curled one corner of his mouth.
“I’m bored of the Black Dragon King. Let’s return to our own boat.”
“...Yes, Alliance Lord.”
It stirred a faint suspicion, but Ho Ga-myeong did not bother asking why. Every action Jang Il-so took was grounded in calculation. There was surely a reason he could not yet grasp this time as well.
On the little boat cutting through the roughening current, Jang Il-so turned to look back again with an apathetic expression. His gaze passed over the Nine Great Sects on the riverbank and stretched farther, beyond them.
“Right?”
His inexplicable question was cast into the open air.
“Heh heh...”
A faint laugh escaped Namgung Myeong, and deep regret settled in his eyes.
“At long last...”
The final sun had risen.
He had long since abandoned hope. If they had even a shred of intention to save them — if Shaolin and the rest of the Nine Great Sects truly meant to help — they would never have stood by and watched until things had come to this.
Yes. He had told himself not to expect anything at all.
But now that this moment had finally arrived, Namgung Myeong had no choice but to admit that he had never completely let go of his attachment to them.
No, perhaps it wasn’t faith in them at all.
It was faith in the path he had walked, a path that revered the two characters for righteousness and justice. A miserable, lingering hope that what he had believed all his life had not been a complete lie.
And yet, in this instant, everything — his life included — was denied.
What, then, did we stand here for?
What enraged Namgung Myeong even more was the pathetic lingering hesitation those people were showing.
If they weren’t going to help, if they were only going to stand there with their eyes open and watch, then they should at least have the decency to turn away decisively!
What were they still doing there? Were they just going to watch their deaths and find comfort in it?
“...Clan Head.”
Namgung Myeong, swept away by a storm of terrible emotion, shut his eyes at the call. He could not even bring himself to turn around.
What was he supposed to say? He had shouted until his throat nearly tore, telling them to hold on, to keep holding on until the very end, and yet this was all the final outcome he could give them?
To be abandoned by those they had believed to be comrades walking the same road, and toyed with by a horde of Sapa scoundrels like a pack of wolves?
Just as Namgung Myeong’s head was about to bow under the weight of it all—
“You need to form ranks, Clan Head.”
At the unexpected words, he clenched his trembling jaw and looked back.
Everyone was getting to their feet.
Those tending to the wounded. Those who had forced their exhausted bodies to recover as best they could in preparation for the end. Even the injured who had been hovering on death’s doorstep just moments ago.
One and all, they were rising and lining up in orderly formation.
They braced their shaking legs with desperate force, struggling to hold together minds that felt as though they might split apart at any moment.
“...Isn’t this the end anyway?”
“...”
Namgung Pyeong looked at him and grinned crookedly.
“I don’t have a hobby of lying down and waiting for the enemy’s sword. If I’m going to die, then I’ll die fighting.”
“Pyeong...”
“He’s right.”
From behind them, a low chuckle burst out.
“And there happen to be spectators watching... We should show them how a swordsman of the Namgung clan dies.”
“Those cowards, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Namgung Myeong shut his eyes tightly.
All of this had been caused by the mistakes of Namgung Hwang and the upper leadership of the Namgung Clan. Because of those mistakes, they had even been driven to the brink of losing their lives, and yet not one of them uttered a single word of complaint.
If he were in their place, could he have remained this composed?
Namgung Myeong had no confidence he could. That was why he felt even more ashamed — and even more grateful.
“Still, this is a relief.”
A laughing voice drifted out from somewhere.
“At least the Young Patriarch isn’t here.”
“Exactly.”
“If the Young Patriarch had been here too, we really would’ve been completely finished.”
For a moment, the flustered Namgung Myeong said hurriedly, “That is not the case. The Young Patriarch—!”
“We know, Clan Head.”
Seeing the bewilderment on Namgung Myeong’s face, the swordsmen of the Namgung Clan burst out laughing.
“We all know very well that the Young Patriarch risked his life to save us — not that he ran off to save himself.”
“That’s why it’s a relief.”
“At least the clan’s line will continue.”
A fierce resolve, edged with murderous intent, slowly rose in the eyes of the Namgung swordsmen.
“We don’t even ask for revenge. But I suppose the Young Patriarch will at least look after our funeral offerings.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’ll do, then.”
Namgung Myeong lowered his head.
Who among the living did not want to survive? Who would not want to grab the hem of an enemy’s trousers and beg for their life?
But he could not.
When he thought of Namgung Dowi, who had risked everything in a desperate escape to save them; of Namgung Hwang, who was likely lying beneath the cold waters of the Yangtze River; of the elders who had died without even the chance to scream — then even if he had to die here, he could not bow to those people.
Because he was the Clan Head?
No. Because they had fought together as comrades.
Because he did not want to shame the dead who had given their lives for those still left here.
“Stupid fools.”
Namgung Myeong turned abruptly away. If he kept looking at them like this, he felt he might break down and cry. By their own words, this was the end. Then at the very least, he must not show them an ugly face.
“It will take time.”
“...”
“Perhaps a hundred years — or even more. Even if children remain in the family, restoring the prestige of the Namgung name will take that much, at the very least.”
Everyone stared fixedly at Namgung Myeong’s back, where his hand clenched tightly around his sword.
“So let us become the lamps.”
Slowly, Namgung Myeong drew his sword.
“For those who remain in the clan, the time ahead will be like wandering through a cruel darkness. If they endure that time, they will see the sun rise again in the heavens. So meet your end in a way that can become a source of pride for the descendants who must endure that long night! Prove here that the swordsmen of Namgung were never cowards!”
Everyone gripped their swords.
As warriors, one proved oneself in death.
Only now, at the very edge of the end, did they all truly understand what those words meant. With eyes stripped of hesitation, they glared at the water bandits leaping from their boats and charging onto the island.
“Form ranks!”
“Yes, sir!”
The surviving members of the Spear-Green Sword Unit at the very front shouted until their throats split.
Changtian Namgung Clan.
People die. But names remain, and they are remembered.
If this death could carry their will forward, then it would not be a meaningless death.
“In the name of Changtian and Namgung!”
Namgung Myeong roared as if spitting blood.
“Exterminate these evil bastards!”
Then, with a thunderous cry, the swordsmen of the Namgung Clan surged toward the bandits coming ashore.
Holding their ground was meaningless. What they had to show was not endurance, but resolve!
Young Patriarch!
Namgung Myeong, sword in hand, also launched himself forward like a streak of light.
Survive. Whatever it takes, survive!
May the will we show here today reach Namgung Dowi.
And may it continue to reach the Namgung children long after they have grown.
Red blood burst into the air.
The blood spraying from the bodies of the Namgung swordsmen at the front and the blood fountaining from the severed necks of the water bandits smeared Namgung Myeong’s vision scarlet.
But no screams came.
Not a single one of those who bore the Namgung name gave voice to a weak cry.
Even when their chests were cut open and their arms severed, they only clenched their teeth and swung their swords one more time.
Death. And then another life.
Amid these countless deaths, Namgung Myeong would add his own life as well!
“Namgung Myeong of the Namgung Clan is here! You bastards!”
Before anyone realized it, Namgung Myeong had vaulted over the heads of the frontmost Spear-Green Sword Unit and dropped down among the water bandits. The sword in his grip caught the sunlight and blazed with blinding brilliance.