51. Heavenly Wolf Sect (2)
Heavenly Wolf Sect (2)
51. Heavenly Wolf Sect (2)
In a desperate situation where this might become our final parting, Murong Rin had sent me a truly magnificent horse.
A thousand-ri horse—the very image of a famed steed said to run a thousand ri in a single night. This was neither a horse race nor an equestrian competition, so a true famed horse's value lay not in speed, but in stamina.
A thousand ri. Four hundred kilometers. A horse couldn't run for twenty-four hours straight, so that meant covering four hundred kilometers in eight hours. Even so, to my anxious mind, this swift horse felt unbearably slow. In the twenty-first century, even a beat-up truck could reach Busan in four hours, while a high-speed train covered the distance in barely two. A plane went without saying.
The only consolation was that this really was a monstrous animal, capable of running twelve hours a day. But physical limits were physical limits. The horse and I were both living creatures; we had to sleep and rest if we wanted to keep moving. When the sun began to set, I dismounted to let the exhausted animal rest. After spending the entire day in the saddle, I lit a fire and sat on the ground as well.
Even while resting my exhausted body, I felt as though I could hear their screams. Fiction and reality were different. I'd seen countless scenes like this in novels, but never once had I seen a protagonist forced to stop helplessly, consumed by anxiety and impatience, simply because his horse needed rest. Novels only ever showed them racing hundreds of kilometers like the wind.
Then again, those protagonists were always peerless masters or geniuses, blessed with every possible advantage and monstrous reserves of internal energy, racing faster than the wind with lightness skills to protect the people precious to them. My situation was reality. Like it or not, when I needed rest, I had to rest. No matter how anxious I was, time kept passing. After four sleepless nights of gnawing anxiety and several days of pushing forward as hard as I could, a mountain peak finally appeared in the distance.
—That place is Dong-o Peak. I once visited the site of their final moments in my childhood.—
The peak looked so gentle and familiar that it was hard to believe a legendary final battle had taken place there. I'd finally arrived, but this wasn't our destination. Our true destination was the Heavenly Wolf Sect in Liaoxi. Horses were worse than donkeys on steep climbs, and I couldn't squander all of this one's stamina going uphill. I tied it near the deserted foot of the peak and began climbing. Unlike my anxious heart, Dong-o Peak had drunk deeply of spring and burst into brilliant bloom. The indifferent beauty of nature felt almost spiteful, but I consoled myself that at least it wasn't a fiendishly treacherous mountain like Mount Hua.
—Here. Wait a moment. I will attempt the Spirit-Summoning Art.—
The ground leveled out somewhat. A modest memorial stone, heavily marked by the passing years, had weathered so badly that its inscription was nearly illegible. One of them had been a Wudang disciple, hadn't he? Had the Wudang Sect not even maintained the place? As Hwangseong chanted from within the White Feather Fan, blue light finally gathered before my eyes.
They were here. They really were. The souls of past masters truly slept in this place. I felt as though I might cry. I'd had no choice but to trust Hwangseong, yet throughout the journey I'd barely managed to contain my anxiety. And then... as the blue light slowly wriggled into human shapes, four figures emerged.
The Four Heroes of Dong-o. All of them, unable to cast aside their lingering attachments, had been bound to this place, Dong-o Peak.
—What's this? Who are you? Who has summoned my soul?—
A shaggy beard and a massive frame. A middle-aged man with an overpowering gaze that looked capable of spitting fire shouted at me.
—Huh? What's this? Flame Emperor, Moon Immortal, Heosan? Puhahaha! This is insane. So you bastards ended up as ghosts too!—
A man as bald as an egg, without so much as an eyebrow or a strand of hair. His muscles looked ready to burst and made Huangfu Gun seem puny by comparison. Judging from his clothing, he appeared to be a Buddhist martial artist.
—How shameful. I never expected immortal ascension, but I didn't know I'd be bound to the next world. Still, a Taoist who summons ghosts... Well now, Grandmaster will be quite astonished by this.—
A tranquil-looking man in Taoist robes, with none of a ghost's eeriness. He was probably Wudang's Heosan. The grandmaster he'd mentioned was the legendary Zhang Sanfeng.
—Good heavens. To think all three of you were beside me this whole time. That's more horrible than death!—
The last spirit, and the only woman among them, spoke in a sharp voice. She was fairly pretty, but the fierce set of her eyes suggested an equally vicious temper.
—I am Yeongmok of the Yeongsan Sect. A crisis has befallen my sect, and I have journeyed here to borrow the strength of the departed.—
The Spirit-Binding Art fundamentally required a spirit's cooperation. The advantage of the Spirit Vessel Art and Spirit Possession Art was that they drew on knowledge possessed by the spirit but unknown to me. The spirit therefore had to act directly rather than merely follow my instructions. An uncooperative soul would put me in danger instead of helping me.
—How insolent! We laid down our very lives for the peace of the world and struck down the Goshifa Lama. And a mere Taoist dares to summon us for his own sect's selfish desires?!—
The woman erupted in fury. The chill gathered in her eyes felt as though it could truly freeze my body solid.
—This is not selfish desire. Yeongsan Sect is a tiny, powerless sect. One of the Top Hundred Masters burned it to the ground and dragged away my master and all my Senior Sisters. I need your help. Please help me.—
—Senior sisters? Not senior brothers or junior brothers, but senior sisters? I can see filthy lust in your shameless eyes. In other words, you've summoned us to save your women?!—
Whatever had been irritating her from the start, the woman's soul began shrieking and raving like a lunatic.
—No. We have no senior or junior brothers. From the beginning, every disciple of Yeongsan Sect except me has been a woman. Since you too are a woman, I believed you could imagine the suffering of women dragged away by an unorthodox faction. I sincerely beg you. Please lend us your strength.—
Even in the face of my desperate plea, the mad bitch only cackled in boundless amusement.
—All women? How ridiculous! If those sluts called themselves martial artists, why come begging help from the dead? And if you're a man, you should protect your women with your own two hands. You want to take the easy way out by borrowing someone else's strength? You really are a textbook man—sweet-talking women into your arms, then running away and begging for help the moment real danger appears!—
The mad bitch was enjoying herself immensely. Fuck. Fine. I didn't need her. Barely suppressing my surging rage, I turned to the other spirits.
—Reverend, Yeongsan Sect is also a Taoist sect, however humble and distant a branch. For the sake of your fellow Taoists in a later generation, I beg you to lend us your strength.—
The Taoist's soul looked the most upright of them all, but at my plea, he closed his eyes and shook his head.
—I am sorry. But I cannot help you. I am already one of the dead. As a fellow Taoist, you must understand—for the dead to intervene in the affairs of the living is a violation of the natural order. Furthermore, using power of this sort will someday invite great calamity, not only for you, but for all those around you.—
Damn it. A textbook old-fart Daoist.
—Calamity has already come! I must save my sect from the calamity before my eyes, not some distant future one!—
—Hm. It may not be my place to say this as a dead bastard, but when you understand it, life and death aren't such great matters. Even now, countless people under heaven are dying and countless others are being born. I may have been a bald monk who never memorized a sutra beyond the Diamond Sutra, but if you twist heaven's mandate with a power that violates the natural order, it won't truly help your master or your Senior Sisters in the end.—
The bald monk scratched his head as he spoke. Bastards, all of them. Hwangseong had cooperated because he was our founder. I understood. If these people had truly possessed such power in life, they were never the sort who would grant a whelp like me a favor. Even Murong Hyeok-jung would probably answer the same way if I asked him now.
—What a fine mess you are in, young Taoist. Is this not a wonderful opportunity? Meet another woman, find a new love, and be done with it. Besides, if one of the Top Hundred Masters dragged away your master and Senior Sisters, they must be fairly pretty sluts. The chance to become a master's concubine doesn't come often. By now they're probably beneath him, acting coy and fawning. Think carefully about whether they truly want you to find them.—
The woman spoke with obvious delight. Fine. This was my mistake. The mistake was politely asking a pack of dead ghost bastards for help just because I was a Taoist.
—Shut up. You fucking bitch.—
—Ho. Did that strike a nerve? Your tongue's gotten awfully bold.—
—Shut up and choose. Either let your soul scatter here and disappear for good, or close your mouth, follow me, and help.—
—As expected, you're a man who's only kind to women. How could I not be overjoyed when a Taoist so diligently prepares rites to send my soul ascending to heaven?—
Even the Soul-Ascension Art, my last resort, had no effect on this bitch. Becoming a spirit didn't mean she had no lingering attachment to the world; otherwise she'd never have become an earthbound ghost. Having died once myself, I knew better than anyone the terror of losing one's very self. Most earthbound spirits should have feared ascension, because the person they were would cease to exist. Yet for this bitch, the joy of watching me despair outweighed even the terror of her ego vanishing. The Taoist and monk were taken aback, but as men of religion, they soon calmly prepared themselves as well.
Then the heavily bearded man who had spoken first, and remained silent ever since, finally opened his mouth.
—What nonsense is this?! How dare you call yourselves heroes while coldly rejecting this young Taoist's desperate plea? Were you strong from the moment you were born? Were you truly never weak? You were blessed with great sects and extraordinary masters. Do you not understand the desperation of a disciple who would cling even to dead ghosts to save his sect?
Look at him. Look at this Taoist's pitiful martial prowess. Even someone this weak means to stand against one of the Top Hundred Masters to save his sect.
Natural order? The Dao? Don't make me laugh. If you cannot understand the heart of someone willing to reach out even to the Demonic Cult to save his sect, you are unworthy to be called heroes—or even martial artists.—
Perhaps the man's frost-sharp rebuke struck home, because the Taoist and monk subtly lowered their gazes. The woman, still openly sneering, asked him,
—Flame Emperor. What a load of nonsense. In life, I never understood a single one of your thoughts, so I'll let it pass, but without a body of flesh, unable to even leave this place, just what trick do you plan to use to help this man?
Are you planning to slowly recite martial formulas for him from now on? With enough effort, perhaps he will eventually claw his way into the ranks of the masters. By then, those women will be living happily together, raising his children.—
The Flame Emperor looked briefly taken aback. Receiving a master's martial transmission someday was one of my dreams, but that obviously could not solve anything now.
—Do not worry. I will transfer your spirit into a sword, Elder. You can then wield the sword yourself, or use my body and help me directly.—
—Is that so? Now that whets the appetite! Good! That's exactly what I'd hoped for. I know best myself why I became a ghost. I did not fear death, but when I thought that I would never again be able to train or fight, to do any of it ever again, I could not cast aside my attachment.
Look, my friends! It is not natural order or the Dao you ought to be debating—it is compassion you ought to uphold! While I joyfully slaughter the enemy, you lot can bicker and fuss away, bound to this mountain peak.—
The Flame Emperor seemed to be a martial artist to his bones—a battle maniac and a training fanatic. As delighted as he was, he would surely cooperate. Hwangseong, reduced to a ghost himself, remained quietly hidden inside the White Feather Fan, cowed by the renown of a master from an earlier age. His divination had truly grasped a miraculous thread of hope.