The Black Boatman (3)
Many faces rose before him.
Faces that had left an impression and faces that had not—either way, it had been so long that they all felt strange and distant.
The lips constantly flapping in front of him kept fouling and dizzying Choi Yeon’s ears.
Hopeless brat. Fatherless mutt. Talentless fool. Just a slick little operator… and on and on.
Thud.
Yet Choi Yeon kept planting one foot in front of the other. The whispers of people whose names he could no longer even remember were nowhere near enough to bind his steps—not when the people who trusted him were so many and so great.
Heh. It was almost enough to make him laugh.
Seeing Choi Yeon smile even under their contempt and scorn, the faces’ lips finally stilled.
It was not that they realized their words were useless and gave up.
They had merely changed tactics.
“Seo Na-yul.”
He stopped dead.
At a young girl’s name, Choi Yeon’s feet halted for the first time.
Lee Geon-woo appeared before him, red tears streaming down his face. Looking up at Choi Yeon, he drove the name in like a blade.
“You said you’d save her….”
“…….”
“So why? Why did Na-yul die? Then… then I—”
Thud.
The trembling boy’s voice cut off.
Choi Yeon stroked the child’s head with the hand that was not holding a dagger.
“…Uncle’s going to save her. So just wait, even if you’re worried.”
“Wait… worried…?”
“Can’t help but worry, right?”
Saying so, Choi Yeon smiled. In contrast, Lee Geon-woo’s face hardened like stone.
It was not disappointment or despair. Just like before, the approach had failed, so they simply switched tactics again.
This time an unwelcome, thoroughly unwelcome face appeared.
“…Really? You truly believe you can save Experiment 100?”
It was Yoo Seo-jin, strategist of Jeokryeohui.
A bitter smile hung beneath his deeply shadowed eyes.
Thud. Thud.
As Choi Yeon walked on again, Yoo Seo-jin fell into step beside him. He chattered on as if thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Do you know when I might decide to kill her? She’s a success, so I couldn’t possibly kill her? Is that it?”
“…….”
“I only said I wouldn’t kill her recklessly. I never said I wouldn’t kill her at all, you know? How about it—shall I kill one right now—”
Whoosh.
Choi Yeon swung his dagger, aiming to carve a longer smile across Yoo Seo-jin’s face. The figure scattered like smoke and reformed.
As if personally granting the wish, Yoo Seo-jin stretched his mouth into a wide, tearing grin—then wiped it away.
Because the Choi Yeon facing him was smiling too.
“What exactly do you think you can do looking like that?”
Choi Yeon simply stated the truth.
What could a mere jabbering illusion possibly accomplish?
At the obvious question, Yoo Seo-jin—or rather, the illusion wearing his shape—fell silent as if he had swallowed honey.
Then, as if fleeing, he vanished with a soft whoosh.
“Is this all? After all that talk about collapsing, or whatever…”
At the pointless display, Choi Yeon could not help a dry laugh. Gang Do-hyeon, who had claimed he would not last a moment, was just as ridiculous.
There was a limit to looking down on people. Illusions and word games like these could not hold his ankle for even a second.
To the man who had been so confident—
“Yeon-ah.”
A voice drifted from behind. Sweet enough to pull him under, it stopped Choi Yeon completely in his tracks.
“…….”
“……!”
Song Jong-in, mid-swing, stopped and looked back. In the middle of combat it was something he should never have done, yet it caused no real trouble.
The Black Boatman ahead of him, old oar in hand, was staring at the River of the Dead as well.
A flustered voice escaped the man’s lips.
“What in the world is this killing intent…?”
“Askin’ when ya already know. Clear as day it’s our squinty junior puttin’ it out.”
“This—this is that fox bastard’s killing intent?”
“Yeah.”
“Nonsense! Killing intent like this…!”
Gang Do-hyeon trailed off, unwilling to admit it.
The killing intent pouring up from the River of the Dead was nowhere near the level a C-class Dongdae Hunter could produce.
By his own experience, it was something he had only ever felt from A-class hunters—and upper ones at that…
Whoosh!
The Black Boatman swung his old oar hard, trying to scatter the thoughts from his head.
Jet-black thoughts shot out like clouds toward Song Jong-in, only to be sliced clean through in a single stroke by a blade wreathed in sword energy.
Song Jong-in did not press the attack. He simply snickered. There was no longer any need to swing his sword with wild fury.
One thrust, when the moment was right.
That would be enough.
“Black Boatman.”
“What?”
“Yer words… Seems like ya went and poked a sleepin’ lion’s whiskers.”
“Ridiculous! What lion is that fox bastard—”
Gang Do-hyeon’s shout never finished. The River of the Dead flowed on as it should, and standing alone and clear within it was Choi Yeon.
Choi Yeon was accelerating the circulation of his mana. Faster, and faster still.
Yet the flow remained perfectly smooth. Not a single flaw showed; it was as if time itself had stopped.
“……?”
What… what in the world is that?
Muttering the question, the Black Boatman stared endlessly at the current.
If not for the feet already coming toward him, Gang Do-hyeon might well have believed he had fallen into eternity himself.
“……!”
Being captivated by that circulation was a grave mistake. He failed to properly meet the sword that arrived ahead of Choi Yeon.
Thud!
The Sword Demon’s blade punched straight through Gang Do-hyeon’s heart. Before a scream could leave his throat, the clustered threads hanging from him swelled and writhed.
The jet-black ferry was desperately trying to save its master. But it should have been worrying about itself.
A raging torrent no one could withstand was already crashing down from the front.
“God… O God…!”
The Black Boatman stretched a gaunt hand toward the ferry. He earnestly called once more upon the god he had sought for so long, yet as always there was only silence.
Only the quiet ring of the blade carving through the ferry reached his ears.
And then—
“Guh… gahk…!”
Gang Do-hyeon vomited a great gush of black blood.
The lines that had been hanging from him vanished along with the ferry that was steadily scattering. The Black Boatman’s already withered body shriveled further still. The power that had circulated through his entire frame was draining away.
“This… this can’t be…!”
A man who could not accept death kept muttering vain hopes.
It was a desperate, miserable sight.
“I… dying like this? No! If I achieve the purpose God commanded even now, then again—”
“Ugly.”
“…What?”
The gaze of the bitterly shouting Gang Do-hyeon dropped with a dull thud. Eyes were looking up at the dying man.
The eyes of a human who had died long ago.
“Right. Even necromancers are scared of dyin’, huh?”
“……!”
“And with that, ya looked down on death? Heh. Pitiful, pathetic bastard!”
“…Pitiful and pathetic, you say? You dare? Fine. Good! I’ll abandon this noble goal of mine! Instead, ghost—I’ll make you a vengeful spirit!”
Thrust!
Gang Do-hyeon drove the sword already piercing his heart even deeper and unleashed his mana.
It was the thrashing of a man facing death—nothing easily stopped.
Gang Do-hyeon’s sticky mess finally reached Song Jong-in’s hand.
And then—
“……!”
Song Jong-in found himself facing a perfectly whole Gang Do-hyeon. The sword that had been in his chest was gone; the man stood leaning on the old oar like a staff.
“Ghost. Did you truly believe you could kill me?”
“…Confusion magic, huh.”
As a former B-class Hunter, Song Jong-in recognized it at once.
The Black Boatman standing before him was nothing but a smoke-thin illusion.
Concentrate every scrap of spirit and shatter it, and that would be the end—yet killing intent boiled up inside him.
Uncontrollable killing intent forced Song Jong-in’s hand around his sword.
“Slash it. Just slash it and it’s over—hurry and slash!”
Gang Do-hyeon’s mutterings kept ringing through his skull.
No… was it even Gang Do-hyeon’s voice? Somehow it sounded like his own…
“Hurry up and slash already!”
“It’s noisy, so shut yer mouth a bit!”
Whoosh! Song Jong-in swung.
The neck of the Gang Do-hyeon shouting right in front of him was severed; the body collapsed, and another Gang Do-hyeon appeared.
Then the same mutterings began again—noisily, gratingly, without end.
“…Fine. If that’s yer wish, I’ll slash ya!”
Song Jong-in cut Gang Do-hyeon down.
Gang Do-hyeon suddenly rushing in. Gang Do-hyeon leaping from the side. Gang Do-hyeon cowardly striking from behind. Every single Gang Do-hyeon that appeared, he cut them all without exception.
It was not particularly difficult. Had he not passionately wished for this for ten long years?
Being able to keep going instead of ending it in one stroke was even enjoyable.
Then—
“…….”
“…What?”
He found a Gang Do-hyeon who was not muttering. A quiet one.
Swoosh…
The figure stood with legs slightly apart. Shoulders hanging limp and powerless, it gripped the old oar.
Song Jong-in knew that posture.
Of course he did. It was exactly the stance for Chamhon.
Grit!
Song Jong-in clenched his teeth and took the same stance. He meant to drive the blade straight through the skull.
Dare to copy my Chamhon?
“…….”
In Song Jong-in’s glaring eyes was the posture itself—not the face, but the drooping shoulders and the legs standing slightly apart.
Clumsy as could be, yet familiar.
Why? Because it was almost the same motion he himself had taken on the day he first obtained Chamhon.
Was it because he recognized that?
The figure changed in an instant. His younger self stood there with a confident face.
“What’s so great about ya…”
Song Jong-in muttered like a growl. The anger did not fade in the slightest. He hated Gang Do-hyeon, but he could not forgive that past self either.
Since it had come to this, it was rather convenient. He would personally put a hole through that unlucky face that had no idea what was coming.
With that thought, Song Jong-in immediately unleashed Chamhon.
“Huh…?”
The two Chamhon never met.
The young one’s was clumsy, so that was only natural—but he could not understand why his own had failed to connect.
Had the tip of the sword shaken from anger?
Song Jong-in calmly settled his rage and used Chamhon again.
Once. Twice. The techniques crossed again and again, yet never touched.
Why?
Song Jong-in stared at his younger self and sank into thought. Times when Chamhon had failed to reach its mark were few enough to count on one hand.
The most recent one had probably been…
“…….”
In that instant the stance looked different.
Similar, yet it seemed like a posture taken by someone else entirely—not his younger self.
Someone else who could use Chamhon…?
“…Squinty junior?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
The figure answered quietly.
From the face of his younger self, Choi Yeon’s narrow eyes appeared. Not only that—an exhausted body trembling faintly came into view as well.
Looking at it, a laugh rose for no clear reason. He did not hold it back.
Puhuhuh!
“Oh my. Clumsy, ain’t it…! So damn awkward I recognized it right away.”
“Compared to Senior’s Chamhon, well… yeah.”
Hoo. Choi Yeon let out a short breath and sheathed his dagger.
Song Jong-in looked around as he did the same. Trees lay fallen here and there—apparently the Gang Do-hyeons he had been cutting down were those trees.
Not far away, the Black Boatman lay dead as well. His wide-open eyes seemed startled that he had not become a vengeful spirit.
Serves him right.
“…Hey, junior.”
“Yes, Senior.”
“Thanks. Thanks to ya I killed that bastard. Ah—and for stoppin’ me too…”
“What for. That’s just the price for the chrysanthemum wine you sent as a gift.”
“Puhah! So I got it real expensive, huh!”
“Is that so? From where I’m standing, the dried persimmons looked more expensive.”
Choi Yeon shrugged as he answered.
Since that sounded entirely right, Song Jong-in could not help bursting into laughter.
It was simply delightful.