Twenty Years of Vengeance
"Kiyaaaak!"
Shwaak—
With an inhuman shriek, the fists and feet of Eumhyeol Sinma — wreathed in his Blood-Jade Gang Qi — came hurtling for the vital point at my waist.
Clang!
And my Dancheon Sword beat them aside.
"Kyaaak!"
Shwaak—
Clang—!
Again and again...
"Kyaaaaak!"
Shwaak—!
Claaang—!
And again.
A long time passed. Trading several exchanges within a single breath — that was the timescale along which masters of the highest order lived. I had no way of knowing how much time passed outside, but along that stretched-out line of time, the desperate battle between Eumhyeol Sinma and me must have run well past a full day. With tension drawn taut as a thread the slightest misstep could snap, it was time enough to exhaust even a master of the Profound Realm. Of course, I meant that Eumhyeol Sinma would be the one to tire — unlike me, after all, he had no art like the Yakseon Heart Decision to sustain him.
"Hah... hah..."
Eumhyeol Sinma fought desperately. To add my personal assessment: he fought ugly.
"This is impossible!"
Perhaps his mind had simply broken halfway — the will woven into the blood-red mist he had so proudly boasted of had shattered at a single stroke, and every attack he made was coming to nothing.
Clang— Clang— Claaang—!
Whether he had lost his focus or not, his Blood-Jade Gang Qi, flung about at random, could not get past the Dancheon Sword I held steady. Wild was exactly the word — formless, patternless swings — and my training ran far too deep to be undone by attacks like those. Had Chwipung-gae or Brother Chunbaek stood here in my place, they would have turned them aside all the same.
In contrast...
Shrrk—
The Dancheon Sword I loosed split through Eumhyeol Sinma's skin and passed on, time and time again. It was no ultimate gambit of mutual destruction, and yet Eumhyeol Sinma threw defense to the wind — his behavior looked for all the world like a rabid dog's.
"Kwaaak!"
At least seven times. By my reckoning, that was how many chances I'd had to take Eumhyeol Sinma's life beyond any doubt. The only reason he still drew breath was that I had no intention of cutting him down just yet. I would not kill him. That was not my role to play — it came down to the promise I had made with Chwipung-gae before our battle with Eumhyeol Sinma began.
I turned my gaze a fraction and saw Chwipung-gae, his face frozen stiff.
'Wait just a little longer.'
Chwipung-gae. He was the one who held the right to take Eumhyeol Sinma's life. And yet I had no intention of letting Eumhyeol Sinma off easily, either.
Shrrk—
The Dancheon Sword drew another line across Eumhyeol Sinma's skin. The feel of it was too tough to be human flesh — perhaps he had trained in some remarkable external art. But no external art in existence could overcome sword qi.
"Hah... hah..."
Sliced open all over, Eumhyeol Sinma had taken on the look of a man made of blood. He was letting his beloved blood scatter across the ground without drinking a drop of it — proof enough of how far his mind had unraveled.
"You wretches...!"
Nor could Eumhyeol Sinma's plan to slip away by sacrificing his own underlings come to anything. Every last one of his men had long since perished at Brother Chunbaek's and Chwipung-gae's hands. A man who had never once looked after those around him — I guessed he hadn't so much as noticed until every one of his underlings was dead.
"Where exactly were you looking?"
Shrrk—
At last, a strike landed that threatened no life yet could honestly be called a telling blow. The Dancheon Sword drew a line through the tendon of Eumhyeol Sinma's heel. Sever this tendon — the calcaneal tendon, as it is called — and a man can no longer walk. Even a master of the Profound Realm was, in the end, a creature of flesh and sinew, so it would be no different for him.
"Gahk!"
Thump.
Unable to bear the pain, Eumhyeol Sinma collapsed. The ankle, cut too deep, hung loose and wobbling — from this day on, he was fated to live out his life as a cripple. Not that it signified anything, given it only held true if he left this place alive.
"Any last words?"
I asked Eumhyeol Sinma. I had not suddenly turned benefactor, granting a piece of trash the chance to leave a final testament. I asked only because I knew the question would make Eumhyeol Sinma — a man who had savored nothing in life but the pain of others — all the more wretched.
"Kgh...!"
At my question, reason seemed to seep back in, and Eumhyeol Sinma's eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets. Only now did he truly grasp it: that his life hung at the edge of a cliff — or, more precisely, that it hung upon my whims.
And then...
"Spare me."
Still sprawled exactly where he had fallen, Eumhyeol Sinma groveled flat against the ground. Considering everything Eumhyeol Sinma had shown himself to be until now, it was a reversal so grotesque that even that word fell short.
A thought came to me unbidden. How many souls must have begged for their lives before that damned creature? And how much had that damned creature relished the sight?
Naturally, I had no intention of becoming the same kind of man. Any urge to sneer at Eumhyeol Sinma drained away. So did any thought of haggling meaninglessly over his life.
Shrrk—
"Kwak!"
The Dancheon Sword resolutely severed the calcaneal tendon of his remaining leg. Writhing in agony, Eumhyeol Sinma was now nothing but a helpless trunk. He would never again unfold a lightness art. No — he would never again stand upon two feet at all.
In truth, it would be more correct to say the outcome had been decided long ago. When Eumhyeol Sinma, without a shred of shame, had groveled flat. Or when the first calcaneal tendon had been severed. Or if not then, when his blood-red mist had been shattered to fragments by my will. One way or another, the matter had been settled long before. A warrior who has lost the will to fight is no threat to anyone. Now was the time to end it.
I felt Brother Chunbaek and Chwipung-gae carefully drawing close to my side. Without sparing them a glance, I advanced on Eumhyeol Sinma.
"W-wait!"
Eumhyeol Sinma, writhing in pain, spoke in desperation. No doubt he sensed that the moment I reached him, something more would happen.
"Any last words?"
I asked again.
Forcing his wavering pupils steady, Eumhyeol Sinma spoke with resolve.
"If you kill me, the Great War of Righteousness and Evil will come. Do not kill me."
There was none of his old madness in that voice. Nothing remained but a common wretch who prized his own skin. Looking at him like that, I found I could not even laugh.
"So it's perfectly fine for you to turn villages into wastelands, but it becomes a problem when we kill you?"
"Is that not the difference between the common folk and a Divine Demon?"
Still blind to his own situation, Eumhyeol Sinma answered so. A thick, clinging disgust settled over me at his words.
Shrrk—
"Kwak!"
The Dancheon Sword cut through Eumhyeol Sinma's shoulder.
"If we kill you here, will the Heavenly Demon start the Great War of Righteousness and Evil?"
"...Of course."
Bearing the pain, Eumhyeol Sinma answered.
And at the same time...
"It's a lie."
"A lie."
Chwipung-gae and I spoke as one. We had seen through to the truth. Eumhyeol Sinma's lie was far too crude to deceive seasoned informants — every bit as crude as his will. His voice, his gaze, his expression. Every one of them flagged the deceit — how could we fail to see it?
In truth, even had we found no sign of a lie in him, we would not have been fooled. The Heavenly Demon I had faced in my past life was not a man who would ignite a war of righteousness and demons to mourn a single Divine Demon.
No — none of that even mattered. Had we feared such a thing, we would never have laid plans to take Eumhyeol Sinma alive in the first place. Eumhyeol Sinma would die here, by Chwipung-gae's hand. That was the fate that had been fixed. A fate changed from my previous life — a fate I had remade with my own hands. So further conversation was meaningless.
Shrrk—
"Kwaaaaak!"
When the Dancheon Sword cut away the last shoulder, Eumhyeol Sinma had finally lost all four limbs. The Divine Demon who had reigned through strength had fallen to something less than an ordinary man.
I left him where he lay and turned away.
"It's your turn now, Chwipung-gae."
My part was done.
"Much obliged."
It also meant that Chwipung-gae's time had finally come. Unlike me, he possessed every rightful cause — even if a demon descended upon this place, no one alive could curse him for it.
Twenty years. That was how long it had taken a man who lost his wife and child to stand before his enemy at last.
Facing the four-limbed Eumhyeol Sinma, Chwipung-gae's expression was calmer than I had expected — so calm that I wondered, for a moment, whether the long years might have worn his grudge away to nothing.
Of course, I knew better. The face Chwipung-gae had worn when he first laid eyes on Eumhyeol Sinma remained vivid in my memory still.
Thud.
The beggar's shuffling gait was gone; a man strode forward with a warrior's step.
Thud.
With every step, expression drained from Chwipung-gae's face — and fear rose upon Eumhyeol Sinma's.
Thuk—
Chwipung-gae nudged Eumhyeol Sinma's body with a light kick, rolling him over.
"Ugh."
Eumhyeol Sinma's body tumbled and lay staring up at the sky. With all four limbs severed, he could offer no resistance.
Chwipung-gae watched him squirm like a worm for a long moment, and then...
"You remember Jangchun Valley?" he asked.
"...?"
Bewilderment clouded Eumhyeol Sinma's face.
I could tell. Eumhyeol Sinma did not know. He didn't understand the intent behind the question, and he didn't know any place called Jangchun Valley. Chwipung-gae must have noticed it too — my own eye for reading people came from him, after all.
"I asked whether you remember Jangchun Valley."
But Chwipung-gae asked again. He wanted to hear it confirmed from Eumhyeol Sinma's own mouth.
"...What is that?"
Eumhyeol Sinma asked back.
"I see."
With an empty look, Chwipung-gae laughed a hollow laugh. For the first time in my life, I learned that a hollow laugh and a surging tide of killing intent could coexist.
Chwipung-gae straddled the prone Eumhyeol Sinma's belly. It was the posture of a back-alley thug who had seized the upper hand in a brawl.
Wuuuum—
Immense power gathered in Chwipung-gae's hand. His life-ending ultimate art: the Jade-Crushing Divine Palm.
"...No."
But he murmured so, and let the gathered power scatter.
And in the same breath...
Thwack!
Chwipung-gae's hardened fist struck Eumhyeol Sinma's face.
Thwack!
Had it been the Jade-Crushing Divine Palm, a single blow would have ended him — but a bare fist could not so easily snap the lifeline of a hardened warrior.
Thwack!
He struck.
Thwack!
Struck again.
Thwack!
And struck again.
As if pouring out the anguish of twenty long years, Chwipung-gae's fists moved without pause.
Thwack!
This was the flesh that had resisted even my sword qi — so naturally, blood began to soak into Chwipung-gae's fists as well.
Thwack!
But Chwipung-gae did not stop, and his fists hammered Eumhyeol Sinma's face again and again.
"Sp... spare me..."
Thwack!
"Please..."
Thwack!
Whatever pleas Eumhyeol Sinma rasped through broken teeth and a swelling face, Chwipung-gae's fists did not stop.
Thwack!
And then, at last...
Crack!
A sound unlike all the others. Chwipung-gae's fist, carrying not even a thread of internal energy, had finally punched through that stubborn hide and caved in Eumhyeol Sinma's skull.
It was a gruesome, cruel sight — but Brother Chunbaek and I did not look away. We took it all in with unflinching eyes. It felt as though we had to.
"Ghhk..."
The head of Eumhyeol Sinma, still frothing at the mouth, dropped and went limp. The man who had feasted on others' agony had finally died in agony of his own — at the hands of a man who had dreamed of nothing but revenge.
"You were, in the end, such a despicable excuse for a man."
Murmuring so, Chwipung-gae covered his face with his palm.
I do not know what Chwipung-gae felt in that moment. The grief of a family lost to so despicable a man? The exultation of vengeance finally achieved? The hollowness so many avengers were said to feel?
I don't know. Even with every scrap of information gathered and understood, my experience falls short of divining what he must be feeling.
A stream of blood from the back of his hand trickled down Chwipung-gae's face. He looked, for all the world, like a father weeping tears of blood.
The fellow wanderers of the Jianghu say that revenge is empty. That revenge is futile. That nothing awaits at the end of revenge but ruin.
I found myself wanting to ask them: could they say such things, face to face, to a man who had finally seen his vengeance through?
Returning to the past does not make a man a sage. Even if I added the life of Myeong-gae to the life of Dancheon Myeong, I would still be no more than a child who had lived less than half of Chwipung-gae's years.
But this time, my choice would be the right one.
That was what I believed.