Those Who Smile at Death
Ever since I took part in the Solitude ritual in the past, one thing has always stood out to me: the faces of those marching toward death for its sake are invariably bright. It isn't because they believe they won't die. They are only human, so of course a part of them still clings to the hope of victory, yet that is not the decisive reason. The true source of their smiles is the conviction that their deaths will not be meaningless. For the participants in this rite, the prosperity of the Divine Cult matters far more than their own lives. If one person's sacrifice can advance the cult, how could death possibly feel like a burden to those willing to offer their lives so readily?
In the past, I viewed the whole thing as the disgusting ceremony of a heretical cult. Though the long years in the murim world have dulled that reaction, back then I still carried the sensibilities of a modern person. I simply could not accept such barbarity in a positive light. Had the ritual held no practical value, I suspect I would have smashed it to pieces the moment I ascended to the position of Heavenly Demon.
Inside the building where the Solitude was held, a nose-stinging scent of blood hung thick in the air. It was not mere metallic stench. It was a cloying odor that had soaked into the very walls over countless years of being painted on, wiped away, and painted again, like a grudge that had taken root in the structure itself.
Perhaps the participants realized the ritual was upon them from that scent, because tension finally etched itself across their faces.
“Seol-ah. We are heading to the upper floor.”
I caught Seol-ah by the arm as she tried to follow the participants and led her upstairs, my eyes drinking in the building where the ceremony would unfold. In the past, I had seen this place only as an ominous location. I knew some mysterious power dwelled here, but I had never understood exactly what it was. I was knowledgeable about martial arts, yet utterly ignorant of sorcery.
That is no longer the case. Though I still have a long road ahead before reaching a certain realm, at the very least I can now perceive what lurks within these walls.
This is sorcery. Moreover, it is sorcery prepared with considerable effort by some unknown individual. Even the techniques once used by the Blood Cult looked complicated to my eyes, yet the array hidden here is so profound that I cannot even fully discern it. This is no trace left by an ordinary practitioner.
Hmm. If I had known, I should have brought Baru along. That fellow would have identified it for me. As things stand, all I can do is commit the sight to memory.
Upon reaching the upper floor, I stood beside Baek Hwaryeong and the elders, carefully studying the faces of those who had entered the Solitude. The silence that came from participating in one of the Divine Cult’s most important rites. Tension. Anticipation. Calculations about whom to eliminate first in the coming battle.
“Huh?”
A sponsorship message flew in while I was lost in old memories, and a sigh escaped me before I could stop it. What did they just say? Start a bet on who survives?
I knew you all were cruel and merciless, but I never imagined it ran this deep. It seems I have underestimated you.
A helpless chuckle slipped out. The moment I exhaled, all the miscellaneous thoughts that had filled my mind scattered like leaves in the wind. I drew in a deep breath.
“You people are truly wicked. Do you lot even have the right to call this seat evil?”
“What is ‘that’s just how it is’ supposed to mean?”
Is that some four-character idiom? It sounds like one, yet I have never heard the expression before.
“If you keep acting like that, this seat might start lecturing you on obscure martial arts theories instead.”
Shall I speak only in terms you cannot possibly understand? Or perhaps disable the auto-translate function and address you in the language of the murim world until you beg for mercy?
The moment I issued the threat, the chat side immediately raised the white flag.
“So that’s what you meant.”
They really turn the most trivial things into abbreviations. Is there any joy in laughing among yourselves at jokes only you understand?
“Age, you say? I’m not certain. I stopped counting once I passed a hundred.”
“You wanted a bet, correct? Wait a moment. I shall point out their characteristics for you.”
Let’s see. That one with the spiky hair, the one with pure white hair, the overly serious fellow, and…
After I roughly identified the notable traits of the Solitude participants and opened the betting, laughter exploded across the chat. It seemed my observations had struck a chord with them. I was feeling rather pleased with myself when another sponsorship alert rang out.
“Hmm. It is difficult to name a single favorite. If you asked who is the strongest, I could answer, but predicting the ultimate survivor is impossible.”
“Just because someone is good at shooting in Epic Legend does not guarantee they will take first place. It is the same principle here.”
In that game, Enry is lamentably poor with a gun, yet she does not always finish at the bottom. No matter how dirty or underhanded the methods, she sometimes survives to claim second or even first. The same applies here. Since this is not a simple one-on-one duel, it is difficult to claim that the strongest will necessarily survive. In fact, it is often harder for the strong to survive. If a clear favorite emerges, the others will tacitly agree to eliminate that person first.
“If there were an overwhelmingly powerful individual inside whom none of them could defeat even by joining forces, I could declare a favorite with confidence. But there is no such person among them.”
Therefore I cannot speak with certainty. Any one of them could become the final victor, and any one of them could become the first to fall.
“Hmm. To my eyes they are all roughly equal low-level practitioners, but if I must differentiate, that bright smiling girl appears strongest.”
Her outward appearance seems sloppy, yet her movements and the flow of inner energy within her are excellent. If they were to compete in a proper tournament, she would likely defeat them all and claim victory.
“Which also means she will be the first one targeted.”
Therefore, if I were forced to choose who might survive the Solitude, I would pick the man with the spiky hair. From experience, someone moderately strong yet inconspicuous has the highest chance of surviving. Of course, that is assuming he understands his own advantages. If he charges forward like a madman, the outcome becomes uncertain.
Watching them chatter noisily, my old thoughts completely vanished and my mood improved. Yes. Let us see whose memories will fly away and whose will be preserved.
Come to think of it, they are so obsessed with points, yet there is nothing to spend them on. I should think of something worthwhile to do with those points in the future.
*
Seol-ah quietly observed the faces of those waiting for the Solitude ritual. The man who had shouted he would become the greatest. The one who declared he would survive and become useful to the Divine Cult. The one who wished to rise to the position of elder. She committed every single face to memory.
It was a strange feeling. To Seol-ah, these people were nothing more than strangers she had met today. They had not even exchanged words. She had merely listened to their conversations one-sidedly. At most, they were passersby.
Yet she could not tear her eyes away from them.
Even though she knew they were merely NPCs inside a game, she found herself waiting for their struggle. Somehow the tension and anticipation radiating from their faces reached her, so when they swallowed nervously, she swallowed with them.
Only one among them would survive.
“It seems everyone is prepared.”
At the Heavenly Demon’s words, the participants who had been readying themselves each assumed their stances. To them, the Heavenly Demon was a living god. Facing death, they felt compelled to show even greater reverence.
The Heavenly Demon looked at them and released her energy. The inner qi of the Heavenly Demon Divine Art flooded the building, and the ferocious aura that seemed capable of tearing skin caused cold sweat to continuously break out across Seol-ah’s body.
It was hard to breathe. She felt as if she would suffocate and die at any moment. Was this what it meant to be the Heavenly Demon?
“I will say this in advance. Survive by any means necessary. The one still standing on the ground at the end shall be recognized as the strong.”
The moment those words ended, the energy the Heavenly Demon had emitted vanished as if sucked away by something.
“I shall now commence the Solitude.”
The instant the declaration fell, the martial artists gathered below began to move, each according to their own thoughts. Not a single motion among them lacked killing intent.
The very same people who had spoken of their dreams, laughed, and chatted together only moments ago were now reaching out to kill one another with smiles on their faces.
Blood sprayed. A fresh bloody scent layered itself over the thick existing stench.
Watching the scene, Seol-ah finally understood what Hwaryeong had meant when she said one could discern their Simji by observing this. When people stood before death, the most primal aspects of their humanity were inevitably revealed.
If it had been her former self, she would not have understood. But Seol-ah, who had already attained enlightenment once, could feel with painful clarity what kind of Simji each of them lived by. That was why she could not look away from those who were burning their very souls in this struggle.
As the battle within the Solitude gradually intensified, when no one remained unscathed no matter where one looked, one of those Simji burned everything it possessed and collapsed to the floor.
It was the energetic woman who had first spoken to Seol-ah.
A smile was etched upon the corpse now sprawled across the ground, turned into nothing more than an obstacle. It was the smile of someone satisfied with her own ending.
Seol-ah quietly stored that smile deep inside her heart.