Revenge (2)
That was back when Yeobhwa was still just an ordinary boy, before he had ever received his Taoist name.
The boy had been born and raised in a respectable household in a small town. They were no martial clan of the jianghu, yet their family held enough standing within the town to be called one of its notable names.
Until then, the boy had never imagined he would become deeply entangled with the martial world.
Yes—until that day arrived.
On a new-moon night when even the moonlight held its breath, a wind of blood suddenly swept through the house. His parents, and every servant living under that roof, failed to escape the blades.
The name of the calamity that had come crashing down without warning was Paegeommun.
"What have we done to deserve this from Paegeommun?!"
Clutching her husband's corpse, his mother cried out in a voice thick with grievance.
The man who appeared to be the squad leader of the Paegeommun disciples answered her.
"Because you're distant relatives on the Sect Leader's maternal side, that's why."
He would learn the truth later: at the time, Paegeommun had been in the grip of an internal revolt. The ones who had risen against the Sect Leader were none other than Paegeommunju's maternal kin—the very people who had supported the Defeating Sword Ghost with every resource they possessed so that he might take the sect master's seat, and who had meant to wield influence over the head of a major unorthodox sect through that support.
But power is not something that can be shared. The Defeating Sword Ghost and his maternal relatives had clashed without end, until the conflict reached its peak and the maternal house finally rose in open rebellion.
Against a Peerless Expert, however, a revolt of force was meaningless. Having crushed the uprising with ease, Paegeommunju ordered the extermination of his entire maternal line—and so the disaster reached even the boy's household, distant relatives of that house.
"What kind of…"
Hearing the explanation, his mother murmured in hollow disbelief. Even if they were kin on the maternal side, the degree of relation was so remote that they might as well have been complete strangers. They had never once benefited from that connection. And yet the invaders were killing them while invoking blood—truly an absurd affair.
"You find it ridiculous, I see. Of course you would. You have nothing to do with the relatives who rebelled."
"Then why…?!"
"Because your household is one of this town's notable names. Even in a small town, a notable name is bound to possess plenty of wealth."
As Gal Sahyeok explained with a crooked smile, his mother's eyes flew wide. The extermination of the maternal house had been nothing more than a pretext. In truth, they meant to wipe out anyone with even the faintest blood tie and seize their fortunes.
And there was only one reason he was explaining all of this so kindly before their eyes.
"Leave not a single one alive!"
He intended to silence every last witness through murder.
Perhaps they had been promised a share of the plunder. The unorthodox martial artists slaughtered without hesitation, eyes gleaming with greed. Sword-light flashed in the torchlight as it swept across his mother's body; a beat later, dark blood gushed forth and the reek of blood filled the air.
The boy who had been watching that scene cried out with eyes stretched wide.
"Mother!"
The death of his last remaining blood kin left the boy's mind blank. As the unorthodox martial artists slowly closed in on the dazed child, he too was about to meet the same end as his mother—when a late-arriving interrupter intervened.
A heavy crash and the sound of someone tumbling across the ground rang out. Every gaze snapped instinctively toward the noise.
A single figure was thrashing the unorthodox martial artists to the ground as he advanced toward them.
"Wh-Who are you?!"
Gal Sahyeok shouted on reflex and raised a torch to light the surroundings. The identity of the shadow that had been hidden in the dark was revealed.
It was a martial artist of solid, powerful build. Countless sword scars marked his massive frame, and blood of unknown origin stained his clothes in chaotic blotches.
"You're Yu Unyeop? How are you still…"
The moment he confirmed the enemy's identity, shock filled Gal Sahyeok's face. The strongest guard of this household—and the priority target who should have been dealt with first when planning this operation. He had sent a large number of subordinates from the start with orders to kill the man. So why was it this man standing here instead of his men?
Don't tell me he wiped them all out?
However strong he might be, the man's martial prowess was only First-class. That was why Gal Sahyeok had sent men of matching caliber—so how was he still alive?
The guard moved faster than Gal Sahyeok could form an answer. Yu Unyeop charged in a straight line toward him, smashing every foe who tried to bar his path. He even deflected the panicked sword strike Gal Sahyeok swung at him with his bare hands, then seized the sword-wielding right arm in a grappling grip.
Crack!
Something shattered. A scream of pure agony burst from Gal Sahyeok's mouth as Yu Unyeop completely destroyed his right arm.
"Be quiet."
With that single remark, his palm strike sent Gal Sahyeok flying into a wall. A heavy thud followed, and dust billowed into the air.
Bloodied from head to toe, the guard Yu Unyeop came to the boy's side and spoke.
"Young master, come with me."
"But Father and Mother…?!"
"The master and mistress are already gone. If you remain here, you will die as well. Then this humble one will have no face with which to meet them. So hurry…!"
At that shout, the boy followed with a face on the verge of tears. The guard swung his fists and opened a path as he spoke. Leaving his parents' corpses behind, the boy followed him in order to live.
Fortunately, it was a new-moon night when one could not see a single step ahead. The deep darkness made for excellent conditions for a surprise attack—but it was equally ideal for hiding and fleeing.
"Young master, do you remember how you used to tease this humble one for speaking strangely?"
"Why bring that up all of a sudden…"
"You may already have guessed, but this humble one was a secular disciple of the Zhongnan Sect. Because of the speech habits I formed then, I received many odd looks after I left the mountain."
The guard looked at the boy and smiled gently. For some reason that smile was vivid even in the dark.
"Even so, I was happy thanks to the late master who took me in. Now it is time to repay that grace."
Before long the two of them reached a nearby pier.
"This humble one will draw their eyes. Take a small boat and hide yourself."
"You're not coming with me?"
Unyeop only smiled in answer.
"This is an identification plaque, a letter, and a pouch of travel money. Use them to make for the main mountain of the Zhongnan Sect and seek help. Then, young master—let us meet again alive."
The guard sent the small boat away. At once he engaged the unorthodox martial artists in a fierce battle to draw their attention. Curled up inside the boat, the boy prayed desperately for this nightmare to pass. The rough current that pushed the boat through the dark made his stomach churn, yet he held his breath and endured it with all his might.
As the sounds of the guard's fighting grew steadily more distant, that night of nightmare drove a nail into a corner of the boy's mind that would never come free.
Whether by luck or not, the small boat reached a region beyond Paegeommun's reach without mishap. Using the plaque and the travel money, the boy obtained the aid of Zhongnan secular disciples and finally arrived at the main mountain.
Compared to how he had lived in his household, he cut a wretched figure—yet the boy paid it no mind. He presented the plaque along with a blood letter the guard had hastily written in his own blood, and spoke.
"I—no, this humble one is Danmokjeong, who has brought a letter from Yu Unyeop, secular disciple of the Zhongnan Sect."
The boy imitated the guard's manner of speech, still vivid in his memory. The boldest person he remembered was that guard; this was a child's childish attempt to borrow the same boldness by copying him. The speech, so unsuited to his age, created an odd impression all on its own—yet the boy did not care. To keep living with stubborn resolve, even like this, was surely what his parents watching from the heavens would have wanted.
"…After that, this humble one entered the Zhongnan Sect. The rest, my martial brothers already know well enough."
With those words Yeobhwa closed his mouth. His expression was stiff, and cold sweat ran down to the point of his chin. Having dragged out nightmare memories to tell the tale, it was little wonder his complexion was poor. The account had not been particularly orderly either, tending to ramble—yet they had been able to grasp every essential point.
A purge of Paegeommunju's maternal bloodline. Senior Brother Yeobhwa's family, swept up in it.
As the executor of that purge, Gal Sahyeok had annihilated Yeobhwa's household—despite the fact that they were so distantly related as to be essentially unconnected.
In effect it was plunder under the pretext of a purge.
Judging by the Rakshasa Sword's reaction, Gal Sahyeok himself had likely prepared the plunder scheme. But even if Gal Sahyeok had drawn up the plan, it would have been the leadership of Paegeommun that approved it.
They shed the blood of people with no connection to the jianghu—and so long as wealth could be gained, it did not matter.
Matters of the martial world ought to be settled within the martial world. That was a maxim poorly observed among the unorthodox factions. When necessary, the unorthodox were perfectly willing to wring dry even those who had never learned martial arts.
For a grievance of this scale, many would have moved for revenge—but Paegeommun was a major unorthodox sect fully capable of crushing such resistance.
Cheonhwa studied the reactions of his fellow disciples. Most of them showed anger on their faces. Ordinarily, formal disciples of the orthodox path preferred not to speak of their personal pasts or grudges, so as not to bring worldly enmities into the sect. But once the story had been heard, they could not simply stand by and watch.
After all, we are fellow disciples who trained together.
Settling the grudge through revenge would be Yeobhwa's task alone. But helping him along the road that far was something fellow disciples could do.
Cheonhwa wordlessly cast his gaze across his martial siblings. Reading the meaning in that look, the disciples of the Hwa generation nodded. It was a signal that they would gladly help.
"Senior Brother Yeobhwa, thank you for telling us."
"Not at all. You listened to such a disjointed tale—if anything, this humble one is the one who should be grateful."
"Senior Brother Yeobhwa, do you intend to take revenge on Gal Sahyeok?"
"…I do. He was the direct executor—no one else—and the one who killed my parents before my eyes."
A hard resolve showed in Yeobhwa's eyes as he answered. It was the look of a man who would charge forward alone even if someone tried to stop him. Cheonhwa had no intention of stopping him anyway—but leaving him as he was would be dangerous.
"Senior Brother Yeobhwa, do you know how strong Gal Sahyeok's martial prowess is?"
"From what I have heard, he stands at the tail end of First-class martial artists and holds the post of tactician."
As expected of the object of his vengeance, he had gathered a certain amount of information. Cheonhwa called Yeonhwa over and asked her.
"Junior Sister Yeonhwa, can Senior Brother Yeobhwa face a First-class martial artist who has mastered demonic arts by himself?"
"Impossible at his current level."
Yeonhwa shook her head and stated it flatly. Unless one was an unusual case like Cheonhwa or Yeonhwa, facing a martial artist who had cultivated demonic arts was an arduous task even with a countermeasure. Yeobhwa possessed the finest natural physique among the third-generation disciples, but not enough to overwhelm the power of demonic arts.
The best way to grow strong in a short time would be to refine a spiritual medicine—but obtaining one is the problem to begin with.
And growing stronger through ordinary training would take too long while a war was underway. Another means was needed to raise Yeobhwa's martial level.
For instance, the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven, which Cheonhwa could teach actively. But Yeobhwa was a fist fighter who used hand techniques, not sword arts; teaching him sword forms would be meaningless.
Wait—what about this method?
A single idea flashed through his mind. Cheonhwa asked Yeonhwa to confirm whether it could work.
"Using the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven as the standard, what level would be required?"
"At the very least, he would need to be able to use every form from the middle section of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven for a complete victory."
"Then what if Senior Brother Yeobhwa could execute the forms of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven as fist techniques?"
"…"
Yeonhwa looked at Cheonhwa without a word. The gaze seemed to ask whether the thought that had just occurred to her was correct. Cheonhwa nodded in answer.
"I intend to convert the middle-section forms of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven into fist techniques and teach them to Senior Brother Yeobhwa."
That, after all, would be the only way Yeobhwa could achieve his revenge.