Judgment
Not long ago.
At the command post of the uprising forces.
"…So then, First Young Master—you're saying there's a real chance they might strike soon?"
"Most likely."
Yeon So-hyeon gave a bitter smile.
"I can only hope they do not. That is why I sent one of our family's elders to them in advance—as a warning not to act rashly."
A warning.
That had been Yeon So-hyeon's intent in dispatching Elder Yu of the Fourth Young Master's faction ahead of time.
For the moment, at least.
"But that warning could just as easily backfire."
At the righteous martial artist's words, Yeon So-hyeon nodded heavily.
"If their arrogance—if their greed—overflows…"
Then someone among the Third Young Master's faction, whether with a large force or a small one, would surely move troops.
"…In that case, what if we fight alongside you?"
"First Young Master. The laborers may be exhausted, but we still have strength left."
The righteous martial artists stepped forward, pretending they were not tired. But Yeon So-hyeon could see the deep fatigue they could not hide on their faces.
"It is fine."
Yeon So-hyeon shook his head.
"Gather everyone and withdraw to the rearmost position—as far as possible from the Third Young Master's encampment."
The cordon completely surrounded the grounds; escape was impossible. But they could at least put enough distance between themselves and combat.
"…First Young Master."
The one who stepped forward was the righteous martial artist in charge of the explosives.
"If we can at least lure the enemy into the proper positions, simultaneous multipoint detonations could inflict heavy damage."
"That will not do."
Yeon So-hyeon immediately shook his head.
"On the contrary—you must dismantle every explosive already planted in the expected infiltration zones as well."
The leader of the poor laborers understood what Yeon So-hyeon meant and nodded in agreement.
"…You mean the enemy could use that as a pretext instead."
"Indeed."
"I understand that much. But…"
The leader looked at Yeon So-hyeon with worried eyes.
"But from everything you've said so far, First Young Master—aren't you saying you'll hold out alone against however many martial artists come?"
At those words, Yeon So-hyeon let out a short laugh.
"Hold out, is it…"
He brought the mask he was holding close to his face.
"Have you forgotten who I am?"
The white mask moved as if it had turned to liquid, clinging strangely to the skin of his face.
"……!"
At the bone-chilling aura that erupted like an explosion, everyone present recoiled as one. Centered on Yeon So-hyeon—now Amcheonjonza—frost began to form as if midwinter itself had arrived.
"It is not I who must hold out. It is the enemy."
He spoke, exhaling a breath that reeked of sulfur.
"Those who dare not know their place—those swayed by desire—all of them."
"U-uaaaaaah—!"
A young martial artist's scream rang through the wide space, and outside the building lightning struck. For an instant the interior of the unfinished structure—still nothing but outer walls—flared bright. The corpses of the laborers hanging from the high ceiling were, for a brief moment, revealed with merciless clarity in the white flash of the thunderbolt.
Drip-drip-drip—
The blood flowing from their bodies grew heavier by the second until it was nearly streaming down.
The white-masked figure—Amcheonjonza—stood beneath that falling blood, eyes closed for a moment behind the mask.
"……."
The thirst that had seemed absolute, never to vanish.
The hunger that had felt so vicious it could never be filled.
Both faded like a lie, and satiety rose in their place.
But only for a moment.
Ever since he had devoured that single old horse on Mount Beimang—ever since his long starvation had once tasted "flavor"—his guts, his demonic energy, boiled up and surged all the way into his skull.
"Devour them all!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Amcheonjonza roughly shook his head, casting off the temptation of the Jeam Jincheon Scripture once more. As if in retaliation for that formidable will, an even more tremendous hunger and thirst crashed back over him.
"G-guilty…?"
His gaze turned toward the source of the voice.
A young martial artist. Looking to be in his late twenties, and from the way he gripped his sword, almost certainly a man of Hengshan.
"This is a battlefield! If I don't kill, the other side kills me—that's what this place is!"
He leveled his sword at Amcheonjonza and shouted.
"Guilty or not guilty—by what standard, and by whose authority, is that even decided?!"
He cried out with considerable defiance. Yet the tip of his sword trembled uncontrollably, and so did his voice.
"You harbor doubt and suspicion even toward your own words."
Lips moved beneath the white mask.
"Those you cut down—were they truly nothing more than your enemies?"
At those words, the face of the poor laborer in the medical tent—the one he had ultimately failed to cut—rose before him.
"You said it could not be helped. But did you yourself ever try to understand that their circumstances truly could not be helped?"
At those words, countless faces of those he had regarded as enemies rose before him. Hollow eyes. Dark, sunken, emaciated faces without distinction. Skin without a trace of luster; bodies without a single muscle, skin hanging on bone like leather draped over a frame.
"Martial artist of the Sword Family."
Amcheonjonza asked.
"Were they truly enemies worthy of Hengshan's blades—of the Sword Family's steel?"
Amcheonjonza's words pierced straight through the young man's heart.
"Had your reason not simply gone numb, blinded by this situation?"
Step. Step.
Amcheonjonza walked toward him.
"Stay back!"
Despite the shout, the tip of the sword shook even harder.
"You must have realized it by now. I will ask once more."
Amcheonjonza stopped exactly at the distance the sword could reach and asked again.
"So then—are you guilty, or innocent?"
He came no closer. He merely stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking at the young martial artist.
"I… I…"
The faces of those he had cut down. Now the demon-like faces faded, and their true faces appeared. The faces of the poor, unable to endure hunger.
They had not been his enemies.
And their enemy had not been him.
The enemy of those poor people had not been martial artists, nor officials, nor the Sword Family. The enemy they had sought to fight was their own hunger.
The sword he had dropped, and both his hands, were submerged in that pool of blood.
"You have confessed your sin."
The moment Amcheonjonza's words ended, the vengeful spirits arrayed to his left and right howled.
"Kill that bastard!"
"Avenge our grudges!"
"I was only hungry!"
A spirit reduced to little more than bone slit open its own belly and pulled out its entrails. It held the limp organs before Yeon So-hyeon's eyes, showing that they were utterly empty.
"Contractor!"
"Amcheonjonza!"
"The only thing that can fill our empty bellies is the repayment of our grudges!"
That was the price of becoming the contractor of the Jeam Jincheon Scripture. It was the chain that bound Yeon So-hyeon from the soul outward, the constraint that forced his actions.
"Judgment!"
"Judgment! Judgment! Judgment!"
With a sickening sound, long nails of pure black burst from Amcheonjonza's hand.
"…Do you consent to judgment?"
The martial artist, now finally upright in his own heart, lifted his head and faced his fate.
"…Yes."
Amcheonjonza's nails moved toward the young man's face. If they split that face open, the sins packed inside would burst forth. Those sins would be sweet. They would soothe the endless thirst and hunger.
But.
Ssshk—
Amcheonjonza's razor-sharp nail merely scored a long line across the young martial artist's cheek. So sharp was the nail that the young man only realized he was still alive when the cut opened without his even feeling the touch, and a sharp pain raced through him.
"…I am merely the judge. I have no right to absolve your sins. However."
Looking down at the young martial artist who stared up at him with a dazed expression, Amcheonjonza—no, Yeon So-hyeon—spoke.
"I cannot stop you from atoning yourself."
Hot blood ran from the wound that cut vertically across the left side of his face as the young martial artist asked,
"…How should I atone?"
Amcheonjonza stepped back, then melted into the darkness as if seeping into it.
"The fact that you are already pondering it—that is the beginning of atonement."
The voice lingered a moment longer, circling through the air before scattering into the sound of the rain.
"……."
The being that had bound him was gone. Yet the young martial artist of Hengshan remained kneeling for a long time, unable to rise.
Amcheonjonza's eyes stretched into long trails of blue sparks as he raced like a ghost across the rooftops. Inside his mind, a voice rang out.
The voice was familiar.
The voice rebuked him.
It was the voice he had heard while still imprisoned—before he had returned as the seventeen-year-old Yeon So-hyeon. The voice that had driven him into a contract with that ancient demonic abomination known as the Jeam Jincheon Scripture. Later he had been told it was not the voice of the Jeam Jincheon Scripture itself.
Yeon So-hyeon answered coldly inside his mind to the unknown voice.
If I were to move because I could not overcome a mere reaction of the body, how would I be any different from those swayed by desire?
The roar was so great that pain stabbed and crackled through his skull.
"…Of course I know!"
Yeon So-hyeon gritted his teeth and answered as he ran.
The harder you force it down, the greater the impulse that returns later. I have already tested every method. So I reject your meddling in my life.
When Yeon So-hyeon pushed the Yangyi Heart Art to its extreme limit, the voice grew distant.
I already said I know without you telling me.
The efficacy of the Yangyi Heart Art was decreasing sharply. The erosion of the Jeam Jincheon Scripture continued without pause even now. Yeon So-hyeon had repeatedly refined and improved the Yangyi Heart Art to counter it. By this point, even the original creator of the technique would have struggled to recognize it as the same art. But the power of the Jeam Jincheon Scripture—a being of the outer cosmos—was infinite.
The limits of resisting that ceaseless erosion were gradually showing.
The voice soon faded, and Yeon So-hyeon's movement technique halted as well. He had reached his destination.
"Do not worry."
Yeon So-hyeon—Amcheonjonza—answered the voice that could no longer be heard.
"Here and now there are so many…"
From the highest rooftop in the area, his gaze turned far into the distance.
"…evildoers to devour that even if I pick and choose, there will be no end."
There, a band of martial artists melting into the darkness was advancing at high speed. They were entering a district where several thin plumes of white smoke rose from chimneys.
[Halt!]
At the scout's hand signal, the old man commanding the right wing sent a sound transmission. Before becoming a branch of the Luoyang Sword Family, he had been the hall master of the Zhanbai Martial Hall of Gansu. The old man flattened himself against the rooftop.
[Has the nature of the white smoke been confirmed?]
The scout's report returned.
[Yes, Hall Master! Confirmed by scent. As expected—smoke from cooking rice.]
[And the watch?]
[Visually, two or three men observed at each of two posts, but the watch did not appear particularly thorough.]
A man who specialized in eye techniques added his report.
[Those on watch also seem thoroughly distracted—right in the middle of eating.]
At that report, savage smiles formed on the mouths of the martial artists nearby.
[Seems the meal was distributed after the earlier battle.]
[Now is the time, Hall Master.]
[Those bastards will have lost their minds over white rice.]
The hall master ordered a messenger to report to the sect master of the Hengshan Northern Branch, who commanded the center.
[All units—draw swords.]
Dozens of martial artists concealed in the surroundings drew their matte-finished blades.
[No need to discriminate. Except for our own, cut down everyone—man or woman, young or old.]
The martial artists nodded. Confirming that all were ready, the hall master cried out through sound transmission.
[Move! Turn those vermin's meal into funeral offerings!]