Chapter 1758
Because I made it this way. (3)
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“Get out.”
“Yes.”
At Heavenly Executioner’s comman, the Blood Cult Leader bowed his head to the ground and crawled backwards, distancing himself.
A fleeting expression of disgust crossed Heavenly Executioner’s eyes as he watched the scene.
‘Pathetic.’
Yet, it might be his current situation that is truly pathetic, having to command even such a lowly creature. Despite possessing the power to shake the world, he was bound by the chains of the church’s laws, only able to move his lips from afar.
The followers of the cult were forbidden from intervening in the Central Plains’ matters.
But Heavenly Executioner’s thoughts were simple.
If direct involvement was not allowed, then indirect involvement would suffice. If someone else caused chaos in the Central Plains, it wouldn’t be breaking the law.
He knew it was nothing more than a shallow wordplay.
If the doctrine were strictly applied, Heavenly Executioner would be judged as the greatest sinner of the cult, guilty of ‘unbelief.’
The thoughts of the other followers were unknown, but the Archbishop would not tolerate his actions. Perhaps the person the Archbishop had sent to judge him was already approaching, just out of sight.
Yet, Heavenly Executioner did not care.
He had proven his unwavering faith by executing the young Bishop who had violated the doctrine with his own hands, but the incident left a distinct scar on his heart.
– How much longer…
Heavenly Executioner could not answer those words.
‘Oh, Heavenly Demon.’
He believed. The Demon [마(魔)] would return. And when that happens, he would lead them all once more. This faith, wandering without direction, would surely be rewarded.
However, there was one thing he could not be certain of.
Would the descent of the Demon occur before the lives of the survivors came to an end?
His gaze grew darker.
The cult was gradually forgetting its past. Those who had not witnessed the greatness with their own eyes and had only heard of it were already harboring doubts.
Given the current state of affairs, if the descent were to occur only after the lives of the survivors had ended, the cult would never be the same.
A solution had to be found.
‘When the Demon descends to the earthly realm, the entire world shall be drenched in blood.’
This was an ancient prophecy, an absolute truth that had never been questioned. One day, as Heavenly Executioner pondered over it, a thought occurred to him.
If the Demon drenches the world in blood… then, looking at it from another perspective, wouldn’t the Demon surely descend when the world is drenched in blood?
It might be a fallacy. But Heavenly Executioner believed it was worth trying. In fact, even if it proved to be futile, it wouldn’t matter. It would be better than being trapped in an eternal waiting, doing nothing.
Thus, he resolved to use every means at his disposal to paint the land before him in crimson.
It could be said that the sacrifice was prepared for the descent of the Demon. He would even offer his faith and his life to create a world where the Demon would descend.
Heavenly Executioner bit his lip and looked out at the vast expanse of land.
‘Oh, Heavenly Demon. Can you hear me?’
Can you not hear the desperate voice of this wretched being, who longs for you so fervently that he would even terrorize those insignificant creatures?
With burning eyes, Heavenly Executioner looked over the lands of the Central Plains before finally turning away.
‘For now…’
And just as he was about to take a step to leave this place.
“Gah!”
Suddenly, his body crumpled as if struck by a deadly force.
It was as though a giant hand had forcibly crushed him.
His hunched back heaved violently.
“Urgh, urgh!”
Eventually, a torrent of dark blood poured from his mouth.
‘What…?’
Heavenly Executioner’s eyes were filled with shock.
‘What is this?’
Is it the Demon’s corruption?’
That couldn’t be it.
It was undeniable that demonic arts could harm those who practiced them, just as one cannot deny that a sword can cut a person, no matter how skilled they are in wielding it.
But Heavenly Executioner had long since surpassed such limitations.
He had reached the pinnacle of demonic arts. It was no longer the Demon that controlled him – rather, he had gained the power to control the Demon. For someone like him, to be tormented by the side effects of demonic arts was as absurd as a tiger being killed by an ant.
But if that’s the case… then what on earth is this?
“Ugh!”
Heavenly Executioner coughed up blood once more.
It was as if his very body was rebelling against him, thrashing in desperation.
‘Inner demon?’
Another possibility flashed through his mind, but he quickly shook his head.
No, this was different from an inner demon. Even before he reached the pinnacle of demonic arts, the trials of demonic cultivation – known to be far more harrowing than those experienced by practitioners of orthodox techniques – had never shaken his body like this without warning.
So then, what on earth is causing this?
Heavenly Executioner slowly turned his head back. His trembling hand hovered uncertainly in the air, unable to find its direction.
‘…Could it be?’
His eyes wavered as if an earthquake had struck.
‘Am I…?’
Was the emotion piercing his chest truly what he thought it was? Could it be that he, who had found everything in this world meaningless, was now recalling a sensation he had forgotten decades ago?
If so…
‘I must confirm it. Right now.’
In an instant, Heavenly Executioner kicked off the ground. His body shot forward like a black meteor.
To the north, towards the desolate land he had left behind.
❀ ❀ ❀
“Hmm.”
A deep concern was etched on Hwang Jong-ui’s face.
Or perhaps it was just the accumulated fatigue showing.
‘This isn’t easy.’
Hwaeum had grown far beyond what it once was. The influx of countless refugees had swelled the population to the point where it was nearly impossible to keep track of how many had settled within its boundaries.
Ensuring that these people could establish themselves and live in Hwaeum without issues was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated. Even with the support of the Alliance, it was beyond what Hwang Jong-ui and the Eunha merchant guild could manage.
“How much longer can we hold out like this, Master? We’re severely understaffed. At this rate, everyone will…”
“…I know.”
A sigh escaped from Hwang Jong-ui.
“But even so, we can’t exactly request more personnel right now, can we?”
“That’s true, but…”
The staff members bowed their heads. Hwang Jong-ui spoke again.
“The members of the Alliance who went to Wudang are fighting with their lives on the line. We can’t be complaining in the midst of that, can we?”
“You’re right, but…”
“I understand. Still, let’s push through a little longer. The war won’t last forever.”
“…Yes.”
The one who had spoken earlier grimaced before returning to his abacus. It wasn’t that he completely agreed with Hwang Jong-ui’s words. He simply knew that Hwang Jong-ui had far more responsibilities on his shoulders, making his own complaints seem insignificant in comparison.
It’s already overwhelming just to manage Hwaeum, let alone support the Alliance that went to Wudang and handle the distribution of the supplies they would need. Even if he had a hundred bodies, it wouldn’t be enough.
‘If the war ends in victory, then we could certainly expect high praise…’
The thought of being remembered as one of the founding contributors to Cheoumaeng’s control over the Central Plains was a thrilling opportunity. Perhaps, the long-dreamed-of unity of the trading world might actually be achieved.
After all, in the end, the victor of any war has always been the merchant.
‘But that’s only if people survive first.’
What meaning would honor have if no one was left alive to enjoy it? At this rate, Hwang Jong-ui might die an untimely death before the war even ends.
“…Are you certain the war won’t drag on?”
“It’s certain.”
No, to be exact, it couldn’t drag on.
The easiest way to gauge the progress of the war is by tracking the flow of funds and supplies. Neither Cheonumaeng nor Sapaeryeon had the resources to sustain this stalemate indefinitely.
Both sides were squeezing out every last bit of their resources to maintain the current standoff. Once one side runs dry, they would have no choice but to plunge into an all-out battle, with no room for retreat. For the two forces locked in this confrontation, retreating back to their respective bases was not an option.
“Then…”
The person who was about to say something else forced the words back down. Hwang Jong-ui didn’t need to hear it to know what the question was.
Can we win?
Hwang Jong-ui felt a small sense of gratitude to the person who had restrained themselves from asking the question. In the past, he would have confidently answered affirmatively, but now, even he secretly harbored doubts about Cheonumaeng.
Why has everything become so stagnant and sluggish? Cheonumaeng he once knew moved with much lighter steps.
Unable to dispel his frustration, Hwang Jong-ui let out another deep sigh. He had some idea of the reasons behind this, but there was nothing he could do about it from Hwaeum.
“We can only trust them and wait.”
“…Yes.”
Hwang Jong-ui focused his attention on the documents piled in front of him.
It was difficult, but he had to concentrate. He didn’t want to burden those fighting for the fate of the Central Plains with even the smallest additional load. He simply couldn’t allow that.
“Master.”
“What is it?”
“…A guest has arrived.”
The unexpected news made Hwang Jong-ui furrow his brow.
“A guest? This isn’t the time to be receiving visitors. Tell them to leave.”
“It’s not that simple. To be precise, he is not the guest of Eunha merchant guild, but rather the guest of the Alliance…”
A guest of the Alliance?
A look of confusion crossed Hwang Jong-ui’s face. The idea seemed absurd.
There were no individuals in the current Central Plains who could be considered ‘guests’ of Cheonumaeng. Even if there were, anyone with even a minimal understanding of the situation would have headed to Wudang, not Hwaeum.
In other words, someone who was unaware of the current state of the Central Plains yet had enough status to be called a guest of the Alliance had come to Hwaeum. It was an unbelievable situation.
“Who did you say they were?”
“Well…”
Before the answer came, Hwang Jong-ui stood up from his seat.
The person reporting kept glancing behind him, indicating that the ‘guest’ had already arrived at the door.
“Bring them in.”
“Please, come in.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than two people walked in.
One appeared ordinary, but the other was rather small in stature.
‘A boy? Or perhaps a woman?’
They were completely covered in oversized, flowing robes, making it difficult to discern their identity. Typically, no one would be allowed to reach Hwang Jong-ui’s presence without revealing their face.
This was a serious oversight by the guards at the door, and Hwang Jong-ui silently vowed to address this lapse later.
Nonetheless, he remained cautious as he calmly addressed the two visitors.
“May I ask what brings you here?”
The one with the ordinary build, perhaps sensing Hwang Jong-ui’s displeasure, hurriedly replied.
“My apologies for any disrespect.”
Hwang Jong-ui flinched slightly. The pronunciation was awkward.
The man wasn’t too familiar with the language of the Central Plains.
As he spoke, the man lightly pulled back his robe.
“Wha… What?”
Hwang Jong-ui couldn’t hide his astonishment, his eyes widening in surprise.
A crimson kasaya and a freshly shaven head. The fluent yet strangely awkward pronunciation – all these elements combined made it easy to deduce the identities of these two individuals.
“I am a monk from the Potala Palace. In the palace, I am called Panchen Lama.”
“P-Panchen…!”
Hwang Jong-ui’s eyes widened even further.
His gaze quickly shifted from Panchen Lama, the second highest figure in Potala Palace and a towering giant of the Tibetan region, to the other person.
Hwang Jong-ui had clearly seen it – when they entered through the door, Panchen Lama treated this small-statured person with the utmost reverence, almost as if serving them.
Who else in this world could be worthy of such respect from the second-in-command of the Potala Palace?
“Then, this person is…”
The small figure slowly removed the robe that had been covering their face.
As the youthful face was revealed, it was suffused with an aura of unmatched sanctity.
Hwang Jong-ui instinctively shrank back, a sense of overwhelming awe washing over him.
‘This person…’
At that moment, the young person spoke. Despite the youthfulness of their face, a deep, resonant voice flowed out calmly.
“Where is Chung Myung Dojang?”
An immense presence seemed to envelop the room, and Hwang Jong-ui’s consciousness began to blur.
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