Subjugation (2)

As I walked forward through the ranks of the subjugation force — every one of them glaring at the Winter Lord with grim, do-or-die resolve — a current of disbelief washed over me from between their shoulders, a wordless he can't be serious. But they had already watched me face Behemoth alone, so surely even this much lay within the bounds of belief.

Still, I counted myself fortunate that no one came rushing at me to protest that this was reckless folly.

But protesters did exist. Not merely one — they existed in a crowd. And their name was...

"Let's simply call you my viewers, shall we."

"Then name yourselves something decent."

It seems I have no talent for naming things, you see. You may as well suit yourselves. I am, after all, the man who named his one and only disciple after the character for wrong — and I vowed long ago never to name anything again.

"So go on. Pick something befitting."

What, I wondered, does thinking much have to do with being old? And yet — it seemed not entirely wrong.

"As the years pile up, more and more things seem to accumulate."

Time spent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠together, and time spent parting. And atop it all, the weight of passing years, wearing things slowly away.

"And so, this one finds himself lost in thought."

One day, when they came to feel it for themselves, they would understand — the impermanence of ever-accumulating years, the futility of an unending life. And yet what I refused to let slip from memory was Bia — my disciple for a lifetime.

"Well, this is something new."

True, I had already learned from the Queen that there existed beasts possessed of reason — but this one had not shed its human shape, had it? The Queen, at the very least, had been human from the waist up.

"Though 'lord' seems a misnomer. That is the shape of a knight, no?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Why one who serves another would style himself a lord, I could not say — but I understood at once why the sight had struck me as knightly.

"A sword, is it."

Folding both arms and legs together and bowing its head so the spikes along its back rose skyward, the creature's silhouette became that of a thorned blade. Given that even a hilt remained, one could well call it the sword of that entity called the Abyss.

It seemed to be offering courtesy in its own fashion, so courtesy I would return.

"This one is but a passing swordsman — Cheon Seojun."

Neither of us had much left to say, did we? And yet — Princess Sila had told me that those consumed by the Abyss became something other entirely. Then why did this one enunciate every word so crisply?

The first move belonged to the Winter Lord. It came sprinting, driving its spear-point arm forward like a lance, aiming for the left of my chest — my heart.

A rather straightforward attack. But that lance-like arm was coarse along its surface and carried a fierce rotation; should I try to deflect it, I would come off the worse for it. The weapon's own nature was troublesome enough, but the something wreathed around it was an unpleasant thing indeed. Not that any of it would avail against me.

Could I not see it all? The arc of the thrusting lance, the spin of its surface, even the thing coiled about it. I couldn't say precisely what it was, but as ever, touching it would bring no good.

"What need have I for grand movements?"

If I know the enemy's purpose and design, everything that must be guarded against and evaded — then where is the reason I should lose? That unidentifiable energy made mere evasion feel uneasy, so I gave myself room as I sidestepped and swung my sword toward its core. And when the blade, tracing a clean arc, met that core —

CLANG!

"...Clang?"

"Well, this is a surprise."

"My congratulations."

For the first time in this place, my sword had been stopped.

"Blocked is a generous word — the thing is simply too dumbly, stubbornly hard. Still, a block is a block, is it not?"

"And so, as a special treat, I shall show you my form."

An unfinished swordplay, as ever it was — yet no blade follows after the cut.

"This is the Mu-hyang Sword. Receive it."

I once dreamed of a sword that heads nowhere. A sword that turns toward nothing. A sword aimed at no one. A sword that does not cut — a sword that need never cut.

"But no such sword existed."

Such a dream was never mine to enjoy. It was, in the truest sense, Mu-hyang — the sword un-savored, never to be held. That cutting would be my destiny — that fate was forged from the memory of that day, that moment past all regret.

"Go."

So this is what happens, then, when one swings a sword properly without even feeding it internal energy. Looking down, I saw a single hairline crack running through the blade.

A sword I had used a good long while, at that. Though I had used it roughly, too. So the time had come to let it go, had it?

Shards scattered from the Winter Lord's massive body as it toppled, blanketing everything around it. If only this would put an end to the blizzard. Well — they did say the master of this snowstorm was the Winter Lord himself. If that were truly so, then this storm would die with him.

"Who on earth fed you that line about the madman of the swift blade?"

"Well, to your ears this one's speech sounds cringeworthy, no doubt — the posturing of an adolescent delusion. You may think as you like."

But Murim is a world where the strongest reign supreme — and within that, a world of victors atop victors.

And when war sweeps the land, that tendency only deepens.

"This is a form of display."

I am strong. Insanely strong. Ah — 'hella' strong, in their tongue.This one, I could kill in a single heartbeat. My strength is still brimming over. The first to step forward dies.

"Close enough. And self-suggestion besides."

I am insanely — hella — strong, so if rabble like that comes lunging at me, I simply cut it down in one stroke. That sort of trash is a single handful's worth... Something along those lines.

"It was for survival. And because that state carried on into daily life, the speech settled into the mouth and stayed there."

Murim drew no line between everyday life and battle — literally none. At meals, in sleep, on trips to the privy, even in a lover's bed. To let one's guard down was to die. That was Murim.

"Enough with this 'suspicious' business. And if one has a lover, that suffices — why on earth would anyone reach for their own sex besides?"

And as for those lechers — their heads left their shoulders long ago. Their souls are likely still drifting somewhere through the nine heavens.

"Did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you imagine this one was strong from the very beginning?"

There were times when I, too, was weak. It was not a long stretch of time, by any telling — yet to me, it never once felt short.

If only I had been a little stronger, back then... Such thoughts do come to me. No — they come often.

"Regression... hmm. I can't say I wish for it."

Why on earth do they keep typing that lewd little emoticon? You have yet to grasp, any of you, that turning back time is not always a blessing.

"The loss of time one has built is not so easily accepted."

Vanished time, vanished bonds. I could never accept such a thing.

"Lord Seojun! Are you all right!"

Princess Sila was drawing near. Best to end my reverie here.