Save the Alliance Leader
"Kwahahaha! Now that was exhilarating."
Thanks to Yeom Gi-ha, the Sovereign of Destruction, I had for the first time since reaching the Harmony Realm unleashed my sword with everything I had — and thanks to that, I was feeling far more refreshed than I'd expected. Crossing blades with a master worthy to stand beside the Number One Under Heaven was itself a great fortune for the man I was now. How could I not know that?
But that didn't mean I was without complaints.
"You didn't keep your promise, did you?"
"What are you talking about?"
When I opened my mouth with a sulk, Yeom Gi-ha shot back a protest.
"You said you'd only use the power of the early Harmony Realm."
Since I hadn't been able to see through it, I couldn't measure that final strike's exact depth — but I knew beyond doubt that it was nothing like early Harmony Realm. Which meant the Alliance Leader of the Murim Alliance had fed outright lies to the finest late-stage master of the Righteous path.
"I used neither the Formless Sword nor the Language Sword, so how is that not early Harmony Realm?"
"Hmm..."
It was sophistry, and I knew it.
"Let's just leave it at that."
But I gave up the argument — because I'd realized that old monster simply wasn't playing on my level to begin with. It had occurred to me that the Sovereign of Destruction might well have unleashed such a marvel even confined to early Harmony Realm.
Having wrapped up the duel as though his business with me were finished, Yeom Gi-ha dropped lightly down to Singija's side.
"That one is no Demonic practitioner. Not even close."
Hearing that, I understood why he had acted as he did. I knew as well as anyone that one's martial arts inevitably bear the imprint of one's character and temperament. He had used the duel to take my measure and put me to the test.
"What's your take?" Singija asked.
"I judged as much long ago. The Black Water Gate affair alone made that plain, did it not?"
At Singija's answer, Yeom Gi-ha's eyes narrowed into triangles.
"Then why did you have me do all this?"
"'Nothing beats a sound body,' as they say."
"Boo."
"Any complaints?"
"...No."
Alliance Leader Yeom Gi-ha averted his gaze from Singija. It seemed the pecking order placed Singija above him after all — and now the Jianghu's foremost elder, the man who had just subdued the Number One Under Heaven with words alone, turned his august presence upon me.
"I have a question."
"Ask away."
I had no idea what question could possibly remain at this point, but neither did I have any reason to take a vow of silence now.
"What do you think of the Demonic Path?"
A strikingly familiar question — because it was almost identical to the one I had put to Bukgung Seol-ah not long ago.
What did I think of the Demonic Path? In truth, it was no different from asking what I thought of the Righteous path, or of the Unorthodox. Unexpectedly, the image of Wiji Han, the Overlord Martial Emperor, rose in my mind — for what I had seen in him was the overbearing dominance peculiar to the unorthodox factions, and alongside it, the profoundest paternal love. Thoughts that had drifted through my head for a long time distilled at last into words.
"I do not hate the Demonic Path."
That was the answer that came out.
"I neither reject the Unorthodox nor praise the Righteous."
"I see."
Though my words left much of their meaning between the lines, Singija seemed to grasp them without distortion. Righteous, Unorthodox, or Demonic — he understood that each was nothing more than a path. It is not the path one walks that matters. In the end, it is the person who walks it. Having walked both Dancheon Myeong's path and Myeong-gae's, that was my conclusion.
And if I were to distill that conclusion of a lifetime into a single line...
"...it would be this: the Great War of Righteousness and Evil must never come to pass."
I would say that line stands for all the rest. I realized once more that my purpose was not the eradication of the Demonic Path, but the prevention of the Great War itself.
"Hmm."
Had mentioning the Great War caught them off guard? I could feel both Singija and Yeom Gi-ha studying me with fresh intrigue.
"May I ask your reason?" Yeom Gi-ha asked — though he already knew my answer.
"Because it is a hell that must never be unleashed upon the mortal world."
To some, that would be inference and imagination. To others, a matter of values and conviction. But for me, it was a truth I had already witnessed — and I imagine there was an unusual weight in my words because of it.
"I agree."
Singija's head, nodding of its own accord, proved as much. But he had only just now arrived at his real business.
"Which is, in a sense, why I bring this up..."
For the first time, the man who had never once hesitated drew out his words — and what he finally said was this:
That was it.
"...I beg your pardon?"
It was a request beyond anything I had imagined.
Yeom Gi-ha. Alliance Leader of the Murim Alliance, the Sovereign of Destruction. If someone asked me to assess the man, I would call him a figure of mystery — and the mystery stemmed from the simple fact that, for all his renown, there was far less information on Yeom Gi-ha than his name deserved. He was the Alliance Leader of the Murim Alliance and the man spoken of as the Number One Under Heaven; one could well call him the pivot around which the entire Righteous murim turned.
Ordinarily, a figure that great and that famous is a treasure trove of information. That his temperament was as blazing and free-spirited as fire, that he stood at the vanguard of the pragmatist faction — such things were common knowledge.
That he once collapsed a hall of Mount Hua, that he burned off a Wudang elder's beard, that he left a scarlet palm print on the forehead of the former Shaolin abbot — those who knew, knew. Though it was thanks to the dedication and toil of the Murim Alliance's Special Operations Unit that such things were known at all. Above all, the endless dueling campaign he waged against the Nine Great Sects and Five Great Gates to win recognition as Alliance Leader was told and retold as a legend of the Jianghu.
And yet I would still say there was no information on Yeom Gi-ha. I could give any number of reasons.
First, there was nothing whatsoever on him before his twentieth year. By rumor, he had learned basic fist-and-foot techniques from a wandering swordsman he happened to bond with in some remote mountain village, and emerged into the Jianghu at the age of twenty — already at the Transcendent Peak, they said. But that was less information than crude rumor. Who was that wanderer? Where was that village? What martial arts he learned, and of what nature — no one knew. Which is to say, the very process by which he reached the Transcendent Peak was itself the mystery.
And to add a fact only I knew — his end was as undocumented as his beginning. Four years from now, that is, five years before the Great War of Righteousness and Evil, Yeom Gi-ha would vanish from the Jianghu without a trace. The disappearance of the Alliance Leader and Number One Under Heaven was a catastrophe of the first order.
—If the Sovereign of Destruction had been there, the face of the Great War might have...
That was the topic the Secret Pavilion's members would fall to debating whenever they had a spare moment — need I say more? In truth, I knew that one reason the Great War had been so grueling was the absence of that absolute being. In short, that was it: the Jianghu knew the deeds of Yeom Gi-ha the Sovereign of Destruction, but not the man Yeom Gi-ha himself.
Of course, I knew that my not knowing, as an information broker, did not mean no one knew. Someone out there understood Yeom Gi-ha. The foremost example was the very man who had led the Righteous murim and commanded the Great War from the front even after Yeom Gi-ha's whereabouts grew murky — Singija himself. In my days as Myeong-gae, I knew that Singija had never once spoken of where Yeom Gi-ha had gone.
"You see, we need someone to save the Alliance Leader."
But now, before me, he had opened his mouth and revealed the truth.
It seemed I had just glimpsed a secret I'd never known in my days as Myeong-gae.
"Aw, come on. I'll last longer than five years, won't I? This is Yeom Gi-ha you're talking about."
Yeom Gi-ha declared with total confidence, but—
"Silence."
"Sorry."
He was subdued. ...Anyway. That was how it went.
Leaving the sparring grounds behind, we returned to the Muyeong Pavilion. The place we stepped into was Singija's office — orderly, and utterly unpretentious. I knew that this seemingly unremarkable room was where the fate of the entire Jianghu was decided.
I had long ago assessed Yeom Gi-ha, the Sovereign of Destruction, as a Grand Master. That was the conclusion countless information organizations had reached after exhaustive study: the martial arts Yeom Gi-ha practiced were of his own creation. It was something of an open secret. The young Yeom Gi-ha, who had learned nothing but crude fist techniques and a basic mental method from some nameless wanderer, had forged a peerless divine art out of his own enlightenment — and the result was the rising master who debuted into the murim at twenty already at the Transcendent Peak, and the supreme martial artist who rose to become the Number One Under Heaven.
They say a Grand Master's road is not one of imitation but of pioneering — and so every step Yeom Gi-ha took was a step where no man had walked before. Such is the nature of an untrodden road: because one walks ahead of everyone else, it is more dangerous than any other. I admire the vision and talent of those who set their bearing on a pristine snowfield and advance one step at a time — but I also know the truth of the road they walk, that a cliff may wait a single step ahead. Following a road laid out by Yakseon, a Grand Master himself, I am perhaps the one who feels that truth more keenly than anyone. Which is why I could sense, by instinct, the problem Yeom Gi-ha faced.
"I'll need an explanation of the Alliance Leader's current condition."
"I'm entrusting this to you."
Even so, hearing the explanation was a necessary step.
"The Alliance Leader's martial art is the Fire Spirit Sky-Breaking Art. You may or may not know this, but it's one he created himself."
"It's the Fire Spirit Sky-Breaking Divine Art."
Yeom Gi-ha moved to correct him.
"Do not interrupt me mid-sentence."
"Ahem."
Unbowed by the rebuke, Yeom Gi-ha cleared his throat and pressed on. He seemed to have more he wanted to say.
"The 'Destruction' in 'Sovereign of Destruction' was taken from the divine art's name as well."
Yeom Gi-ha puffed out a proud snort as he said it. Apparently he'd been dying to get that off his chest.
"Hmm..."
Knowing his history as I did, the urge to say no, it wasn't rose strong in me — but I saw no need to mention it. Call it a form of social grace.
Singija regarded Yeom Gi-ha intently for a long moment, then—
"Shall I simply return to my desk, then?"
"...Sorry."
Yeom Gi-ha capitulated. Having subdued him with ease, Singija continued.
"As you know, the name of a martial art carries much within it."
When I nodded, Singija went on with his explanation. The energy of fire is fierce and explosively swift by nature — so it was with Yeom Gi-ha's art, rooted in the Fire Spirit. I would say that was why he achieved more, and faster, than anyone.
"In truth, 'Grand Master' isn't quite the right assessment for him. What's so impressive about an art only he himself can practice?"
"I take your meaning."
Compared with the arts of Sambong Jinin or Bodhidharma — arts that anyone might learn — his falls short.
"Boo."
Yeom Gi-ha looked thoroughly disgruntled, but he couldn't deny it.
"The problem is that the Alliance Leader's attainment climbed far too high."
A singular constitution and a talent that touched the heavens had carried him to the summit of the world — and that, it seemed, was precisely what became the problem.
"He reached an attainment no human body could sustain, and the balance of his Five Elements collapsed. Think of it as his name already sitting on the waiting list in the underworld's ledger."
My wits were hardly so dull that I failed to follow any of it — and yet one thing I could not understand.
"Why are you telling me this?"
A secret of the Murim Alliance's innermost circle — one that had never come to light even in the future I lived through.
"Because you are Yakseon's successor."
A bad feeling crept over me.
"I can hardly read the whole of his qi circulation myself. But you — you'd have some means of finding a suitable elixir, wouldn't you?"
"Hm."
I could neither confirm nor deny. I had consumed any number of elixirs over the years, but that owed nothing to any gift like Yakseon's — it was merely the privilege of a regressor. And I knew that in moments like this, the better play was to wait for the other party to spill more information rather than open my mouth too soon.
"To save the Alliance Leader's life, we need an elixir. What would it be?"
His current state was a runaway surge of Fire Spirit. Then...
"The Ten-Thousand-Year Snow Ginseng?"
A natural deduction. Harmonizing Yin against Yang was common sense, was it not?
"No." Singija shook his head.
"Power, by its nature, is subdued by greater power. In the Leader's current state, if he wrongly took an elixir of extreme Yin — his direct opposite — his qi and blood would surge beyond all bearing, and he would all too likely rupture and die."
"Ah."
Understanding arrived — and with it, I caught the answer Singija was fishing for, because his words had brushed against the Fifth Stage of the Yakseon Heart Decision.
"The Ten-Thousand-Year Supreme Blood Treasure."
"The Ten-Thousand-Year Supreme Blood Treasure."
Singija and I spoke the same name at the same moment. As if to say my quickness was only to be expected, Singija favored me with a gentle smile.
"So that's how it is."
At last, the whole picture made sense. And at the same time, the trouble weighing on my heart washed away clean — because I knew exactly where the Ten-Thousand-Year Supreme Blood Treasure lay.