I Won’t Let You Down
“Kill them all!”
The Black Dragon King unleashed a lion’s roar, flooding it with all his internal energy. By then, he seemed to have recovered his fighting spirit, and the sight of the Namgung Clan swordsmen battling on only twisted his face into something grotesque.
Damn it.
They were already exhausted beyond measure, just as they had been before. If anything, they were even worse off now.
But their eyes had changed completely. Gone was the terror of death that had swallowed them before; now their gazes burned with nothing but murderous intent.
Even so, it was not as if they could not be wiped out. The problem was that the price would only grow higher. Men who had resolved to die were always the most vicious of all.
“Idiots….”
The Black Dragon King ground his teeth.
What was the point of dragging things out if this was how it would end anyway? They had stepped forward and spouted off as if they were so clever, and in the end, had they not simply suffered greater losses for it?
With glittering eyes, the Black Dragon King glared out over the Yangtze River.
In his sight was a small skiff, slowly parting the river’s waves as it moved forward. A boat so unconcerned with the slaughter unfolding before it that it looked almost detached from the brutal scene entirely.
“...Damn it!”
What enraged him most was not Jang Il-so, who had twisted the situation beyond recognition. It was himself—him, who had suffered greater losses in the water bandits’ ranks because of Jang Il-so’s actions, yet had not dared to demand an accounting for any of it.
Grit.
It certainly hadn’t been like this between them when he first arrived at the Yangtze. So where, exactly, had everything gone wrong?
Fierce rage burned in the Black Dragon King’s eyes.
And once that rage surged up, it had to be vented somehow.
“Rip them to pieces! All of them! Don’t let them die easily! Make them feel the agony of defying the water bandits and die with it etched into their bones!”
His fury poured out indiscriminately, crashing savagely down on the innocent Namgung Clan.
Crack!
The spear-hook, its edge sharpened to a cruel point and reinforced with inner force, punched through a trained human body far too easily.
“Kk….”
Seeing blood soak through the already blood-drenched clothing, turning it a darker, uglier red, a filthy pleasure gleamed in the water bandit’s eyes.
He twisted the spear-hook still deeper. No matter how impressive a man was, the moment that hooked blade tore through his innards, he would writhe in pain and collapse right there.
However.
“Hah….”
The Namgung swordsman pierced by the spear-hook suddenly grinned. The instant blood-wet teeth were bared, the iron sword in his hand sliced through the air like a streak of light.
Fshaaat!
Crack!
The sound of bone being severed rang out dully, and the water bandit’s head sprang into the air, separated cleanly from his neck.
The swordsman, swaying forward as if he might fall, planted his blood-slick blade against the ground and forced his trembling head back up.
“Cough!”
The man who had driven the spear-hook into him was now only a headless corpse, but the hook remained lodged in his body. Without hesitation, the Namgung swordsman swung his sword and cut the shaft of the spear-hook off.
Clang!
Severing the shaft like that was a double-edged choice.
It made moving his body easier for the moment, but the remaining hooked tip would only dig deeper every time he moved.
But what did it matter?
Death was waiting for him regardless. What difference would a few ugly barbs in a corpse make?
Two spear-hooks were already buried in his body. Every one of the fingers on his left hand had been cut away, and he could no longer even feel the pain in the shoulder that had been slashed so deeply. His worst wound was in the thigh. Blood was pouring from the severed vessels like a stream.
But even that did not matter.
This is nowhere near enough.
His eyes seethed with poison.
The Clan Head died far more horribly than this!
He would not go down until at least ten spear-hooks were driven into this body. If his life was left only for death, then he had to take as many attacks as he could for the people standing beside him, for the ones behind him.
Whoosh!
Through his dimming vision, he caught a glimpse of spear-hooks flying toward him. Not one, but two… no, five?
It made no difference. No matter how many spear-hooks there were, he would not be able to block them anyway.
The Namgung swordsman named Namgung Pyo simply stamped his foot and swung his sword. An attack that abandoned defense entirely. Even if a dozen spear-hooks pierced his body, he was resolved to drag every one of the water bandits hurling them with him into hell.
Crack! Crack! Sshhk!
The sound of spear-hooks piercing flesh and the sound of a sword cleaving through bodies rang out at the same time.
“... …”
As the cold metal of a spear-hook sank into his throat, Namgung Pyo’s body slowly crumbled.
The world grew dark, and death drew near.
For a moment, he found himself relieved that it had pierced his throat. At least he would not have to scream in an undignified way.
Thud.
The sensation of the floor meeting the earth was muffled and distant. As the world continued to be swallowed by darkness, he let his body sag.
Peaceful.
So peaceful that he wanted nothing more than to rest like this. Just like this….
But then, at that very instant, Namgung Pyo’s eyes flew open. He seized the sword he had half-dropped and grabbed it again. The water bandits, already convinced he was dead, had begun trampling over him and advancing onward.
Namgung Pyo, lying face-down, bared blood-wet teeth and swung his sword.
“Aaaaaaah!”
“You bastard!”
The unexpected attack from the ground sent the water bandits collapsing while clutching at their legs. Seeing that, Namgung Pyo let out a hoarse laugh. No—he tried to laugh.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
But he could not. With dozens of spear-hooks piercing him until he looked like a hedgehog, there was no room left even for laughter.
Young Clan Head… take care…
Thud.
Another life seeped into the Yangtze.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
The Namgung Clan swordsmen were like ghosts.
Martial skill was not something so cheap that willpower alone could change it. What advanced martial arts was not resolve, but effort.
And yet the Namgung swordsmen were now overturning one of the fundamental truths of the jianghu.
They kept swinging their swords even as spear-hooks punched through their eyes. Even when spear-hooks pierced their bellies and jutted out their backs, they never once screamed.
Only cries filled with hatred spilled from their mouths.
“Die, dogs of the unorthodox sects!”
“I’ll show you how a Namgung swordsman dies!”
The water bandits had always prided themselves on their own cruelty. Had they not, in the previous battle, driven the Namgung Clan back like a pack of frightened dogs?
But now, at this very moment, they were being overwhelmed by the Namgung swordsmen, who were few in number by comparison.
Was there ever a sight that fit the words “disregarding death and charging forward” so perfectly?
One man held his own intestines in place with a single hand while swinging his sword. Another, gripping a broken blade with bare hands, flailed it like a madman. Even those who had fallen were cutting at their enemies’ ankles.
“Hell on earth” was surely a phrase created for this moment.
And in the very center of that hell, Namgung Myeong swung his sword like a madman himself.
Crack!
With a dreadful sound, a spear-hook buried itself in his shoulder. But Namgung Myeong did not even blink; with his iron sword, he severed the water bandit standing before him at the heart.
“Come on!”
Despite the fierce cry, his chest was full of sorrow.
To give up his life meant nothing. He had already been a man who should have died. When Namgung Hwang laid down his life on this Yangtze, he had been the one who should have opened the path and died first before him.
The only reason he still drew breath after all this was Namgung Hwang’s order.
But….
“Kuurk!”
Every time he heard those muffled groans clawing at his ears, it felt as if a fist were being torn from his heart piece by piece. The dying men bit down on their own tongues to avoid showing weakness to the enemy, and their groans were more agonizing than screams, more sorrowful than sobbing.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
A furious shout burst from Namgung Myeong’s mouth. His sword, once again, broke free of the Namgung sword form and began tracing frenzied arcs through the air.
One day, a warrior would die with a blade in hand. Of everyone standing here, who did not possess that resolve?
But….
How heartbreaking.
By now, tears were streaming from Namgung Myeong’s eyes.
In this lonely, desolate place where not a single hand had reached out to help them, the sight of men dying without even a scream to mark their passing was too heartbreaking, too miserable. No matter how hard he tried to hold them back, the tears kept falling.
Would the world ever understand their grief?
Would the world remember their deaths?
“Kheh….”
A voice that sounded like both a groan and a sob leaked from Namgung Myeong’s mouth.
“Uuuh…ngh….”
A groan slipped from the mouth of a Namgung swordsman whose chest had been driven through by a massive spear-hook. Another, with his arm pierced and no longer able to hold a sword, discarded the blade he had held all his life and hurled himself at the water bandits in front of him, clinging to them with his own body.
All in order to keep the person behind him alive for just one more person, one more moment.
Namgung Myeong laughed like a madman.
“Hah….”
They were outnumbered. Already surrounded on all sides. No matter how often they swung their swords, the enemy’s numbers never decreased. More men surged forward in a steady, dreadful wave than they could possibly kill.
No matter how fiercely they shouted, no matter how desperately they steeled their hearts, they could not do it alone.
Are you watching?
Namgung Myeong turned his dazed gaze toward the riverbank. Toward Shaolin and the Orthodox Sects, who were surely watching their final moments from the other side.
“You’re still watching? Still watching, you bastards?!”
Crack! Crack!
The moment his spasmodically swung sword split an enemy body apart, several spear-hooks flew toward him.
“Clan Head!”
The spear-hooks hurtled toward his face at terrifying speed.
“Protect him!”
“Protect the Clan Head!”
The Cangqiong Unit threw themselves forward to shield Namgung Myeong. They desperately struck the spear-hooks aside with their swords, or took the injuries in his place by thrusting out their arms in a panic.
Namgung Myeong screamed.
“What the hell are you doing? You stupid bastards!”
They were not supposed to die like this. Not these men, not in such a futile way. They were not the sort to die so miserably in a place like this.
Some would have become heroes of Namgung, and others would have become chivalrous knights of the world. At the very least, they were men who could have been someone’s father, someone’s friend.
So why did they have to die so pointlessly?
“U, uaaah…!”
He tried to shout and rush forward, but his legs, pierced by spear-hooks, no longer moved. Having poured all his energy into the wounded over the last few days, he was among the most exhausted men here.
As he collapsed where he stood, his eyes clearly saw it—the sight of dozens of spear-hooks piercing through the backs of the men blocking the way before him and bursting out the front.
“Ah….”
The spray of blood thrown up as the spear-hooks drove through them splattered across his face.
The moment hot blood poured onto his face, he thought he might be burned. But perhaps the thing that was truly hot was….
“Hahk….”
Laughing with self-mockery, sobbing in despair, and then tearing at his own hair, Namgung Myeong’s head suddenly drooped forward. Like a condemned criminal stretching out his neck before beheading.
He had wanted to stand tall. He had wanted to remain proud until the very last moment.
But… now it was impossible for Namgung Myeong.
Clan Head. I…
His eyes no longer even had tears left to shed.
I could not protect Namgung.
All human beings were the same.
When there was something so desperately precious that it could not be achieved by one person alone, all one could do was pray.
Close one’s eyes, bow one’s head, join one’s hands not around a sword but in supplication, and simply beg.
Please, someone….
A thick sob welled up from Namgung Myeong’s mouth.
“Someone… please, someone help me….”
His voice was cracked and raw, like metal being scraped.
“Please….”
He muttered it more desperately than any cry for mercy.
But there was no way that feeling could reach the water bandits. One of them sauntered toward the collapsed Namgung Myeong, who had crumpled to the ground as if begging forgiveness for a sin, and let out a sneer.
“Pathetic bastard.”
Clang!
The spear-hook in his hand gave a short, metallic whimper.
“Help? The name Namgung really is a joke. Even Shaolin has abandoned you—who the hell do you think is coming to save you on this Yangtze?”
He seemed to be some sort of mid-ranking officer among the water bandits, for as he began to walk slowly, the others fell into step behind him.
“You spout all that talk about righteousness and justice, but this is your true nature.”
At those words, Namgung Myeong’s shoulders trembled.
“Don’t worry. Everyone here is going to die, so the road to the underworld won’t be lonely.”
With thick mockery, the water bandit drew back the spear-hook in his hand, as though intending to pierce straight through Namgung Myeong’s skull in one blow.
“Die already!”
The taut spear-hook was loosed toward Namgung Myeong’s head—at the very instant it shot forward.
Faaaaaaat!
An ear-splitting, horrifying sonic boom burst through the air. The man throwing the spear-hook jerked in alarm and snapped his head to the side.
What?
What he saw was a giant disc.
No!
Something flying toward him with savage momentum, spinning like a disc….
A sword?
BOOOOM!
His thoughts stopped dead.
The sword had slammed into the sandbar of Plum Blossom Island, carving out a massive crater.
“... …”
Just as he was about to contort his face in disbelief, a single line appeared stretching from the top of the man’s head all the way down to his groin.
Everyone stared blankly at the scene.
“Ah….”
The water bandit, sensing the change in his own body, touched his face with trembling fingers.
Blood?
Warmth and dampness spread across his palm, red blood dotting his hand. His eyes began to shake. More and more blood soaked his fingers. Then blood began to run down his chin.
“No way….”
Shock and disbelief.
But that was all.
The wide-open eyes shifted out of alignment, top and bottom sliding apart, and then the body of the water bandit, split cleanly in two, crumpled to the ground in separate halves.
Thud.
An instant of icy silence descended over Plum Blossom Island.
It was a scene so shocking that the air, heated by battle-madness only moments before, seemed to have gone cold in an instant. The people staring blankly at it, as if bewitched, turned their heads in unison toward one place.
Toward the direction from which the sword that had crossed this vast Yangtze and saved Namgung Myeong had come.
And then they saw him.
A man standing on the riverbank where the blue waves of the Yangtze rolled in like surging tides.
A strangled groan leaked from Namgung Myeong’s mouth.
“Ah… ah….”
How could he not know?
That black martial robe.
That red emblem stitched over the left chest, like a single line of blood flowing from the heart.
Even from this distance, even through such blurred vision, the sight was absurdly, frighteningly clear.
“Mount Hua….”
At last, the name escaped Namgung Myeong’s mouth in full.
“Cheong Myeong of Mount Hua….”
Cheong Myeong glared with dark eyes at the boats floating on the Yangtze and at Plum Blossom Island beyond them.
All around him, everyone remained silent before the scene.
And on a large boat a little ways from Plum Blossom Island, a man watching from afar curved his blood-red lips into the shape of a crescent moon.
“Just as expected….”
Jang Il-so let out a delighted laugh.
“I told you he wouldn’t disappoint me.”