Chapter 1742
Nowhere to be seen. (2)
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Crunch.
The sensation of fingertips piercing through the skull was disturbingly vivid.
The surging brain matter, the face of the one whose life was slipping away, followed by the metallic scent of blood spreading in the air.
Even amid the sticky, clinging reality of these sensations, his mind gradually drifted into a strange haze.
‘What was it…?’
After throwing aside the lifeless body, he drove his left hand into the heart of another opponent rushing at him. The dying man couldn’t even let out a final scream as he feebly swung his sword. The blade grazed his left cheek as it passed by.
Pain spread. It was familiar by now.
Or wasn’t it? Was it really familiar?
Thick blood trickled down his cheek.
He tried to recall something, but the memory eluded him. It must have been something quite important.
Clang!
The sword aimed at his face collided with the ring on his finger. The sharp sound of metal clashing against metal pierced his eardrums.
Boom!
His heavy fist buried itself in the center of his opponent’s wide-open chest. For a fleeting moment, he caught sight of the shattered ribcage bursting through the back.
Slash!
In the midst of it all, something sliced through his side.
But he didn’t bother to look back. His steps were only directed forward.
“Urgh!”
With a stifled groan, someone behind him collapsed forward. A quick glance down revealed the vacant eyes of the fallen, just within his line of sight.
‘What’s the name?’
He couldn’t remember. No, perhaps he had never known it to begin with. He had never paid attention to those who filled the space behind him.
His gaze shifted forward again. Towards the enemies rushing at him, and beyond them, to somewhere far away.
Where could it be? No, what could it be?
He didn’t know. He had forgotten. Perhaps he had never known from the start.
Even so, his feet continued to move forward. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to suppress the feeling that welled up from deep within his chest.
A stifling flame always burned inside him.
Rage so intense it felt like it would consume him if he stopped moving. An endless hatred directed at someone unknown. A thirst so severe that it felt as if he could tear out his own throat with a blade.
Since when had he been tormented by this unknown thirst?
Squelch.
He stepped over the blood pooled on the ground. The faces of those charging at him came into view.
He read all the negative emotions in them with a detached calmness.
Anger and resentment, fear and despair. Some howled, unable to contain their fury, while others gritted their teeth, fighting the urge to flee at any moment.
All those emotions mixed chaotically, boiling over right in front of him.
No matter how perfectly or vividly something is captured, a painting can never become reality. Because it is confined within the canvas.
Likewise, everything he saw before him felt distant and unattainable.
Boom!
The enemies who had been rushing at him were sent flying as a single mass.
Flesh burst, bones shattered. Intestines spilled from torn abdomens and blood gushed from violently twisted necks.
Even in the midst of this horrific chaos, everything felt like a hazy dream.
He could see his hand within his field of vision.
A pale hand stained with blood, adorned with rings of various colors that didn’t match each other. The wide robe draped over his wrist was soaked red with the blood of his enemies.
It was strange.
Everything was undoubtedly his, yet it all felt as if it didn’t belong to him. The intense feeling of alienation made him nauseous.
His stomach churned, and his face twisted in discomfort.
Boom!
A massive sword came flying at him from somewhere, clashing against the blue energy he hastily drawn.
The intense pain spread through his body as if it were about to break apart, but even that did not bring back any sense of reality.
An old man with disheveled hair attacked again, his eyes shedding tears of blood. Each time his white hair fluttered, his eerie gaze shone with a desperate intensity.
Boom!
Yet, there wasn’t a trace of emotion in the fist that blocked the sword.
Slash!
A long wound appeared on his wrist.
Slash!
A horizontal cut opened across his chest.
Slash!
The blade narrowly grazed past the side of his neck.
Through the oncoming strikes, he could sense it – the deeply honed martial arts, the unwavering pride in that mastery, and the overwhelming desperation behind it all.
Even in his hazy state, those emotions were vividly clear.
He narrowed his gaze, focusing on the area behind the old man. Most of the group was turning hurriedly, trying to flee.
Something worth protecting at the cost of one’s life…
Well, who knows?
Whirr!
A blue energy surged from his fingertips, gathering into a concentrated force. Two rings slipped smoothly from his fingers, as if they were absorbing those blue flames.
Boom!
Two streaks of blue light then sliced through the air.
The sword that had been swinging with full force hesitated for just a moment. It was only a split second, but in a life-or-death battle, even that moment was far too long.
After that brief hesitation, the sword clashed with the oncoming rings.
Clang!
The sword was flung backwards upon impact with the rings. At the same time, a pale hand pierced through the old man’s chest like a bolt of lightning.
The old man’s eyes widened. Within his gaze swirled shock, despair, and regret.
His own reaction to it was simply, disgust.
So even he feels regret in the end.
Yes, in the beginning, he must have been determined to protect it, no matter the cost, even if it meant risking his life. He must have firmly resolved himself.
But at the decisive moment, there’s always hesitation. No matter what, one falters.
And that fleeting hesitation not only fails to protect what should be protected, but also leads to the end of his own life.
A bitter smile crept onto his lips.
At the most intense moment, when everything clashes against everything else, the world reveals the truth it has kept hidden. That truth is always filled with things too repulsive to face.
Boom!
The old man’s white-haired head shattered completely. Brain matter and broken bones scattered in all directions.
The sound of his own breathing grew louder in his ears.
It was all blurry. He felt even more dazed.
Even when the blood pouring onto his skin was hot, even when the murderous intent piercing his body was sharp, even when his breath grew ragged as if his lungs would burst, it was the same.
Only the flames within him grew gradually more vivid.
Rage like swallowing burning coals, and hatred for something unknown.
However, he didn’t scream or lash out in a futile attempt to overcome it. Doing so would change nothing. Instead, he just staggered forward endlessly, mocking everything he saw.
‘What was it again?’
Well, he couldn’t remember. No, maybe it never existed in the first place. It didn’t matter anymore.
His next step crushed the corpse that had now become nothing more than a lump of flesh.
Eventually, everyone arrives at the same, fair conclusion.
He lifted his gaze up.
The blazing sun looked down upon him. No matter how much he reached out, no matter how much he shouted, he would never touch it in his lifetime. Yet his hand instinctively stretched towards the sun.
As his sleeve fell away, countless wounds were revealed. It was only then that he realized – the blood staining his sleeves wasn’t his enemies’ but entirely his own.
A wave of intense dizziness and nausea hit him.
But instead of collapsing, he put strength into his legs, forcing himself to stand. He waved his hand a little further, then further still, reaching desperately towards the sun.
With his vision blurring, unable to resist the burning thirst any longer, he opened his mouth…
“…”
His eyes, which had been unfocused, gradually sharpened. Slowly, he looked from left to right, taking in his surroundings.
The interior of the tent, though adorned with splendor, couldn’t completely hide the roughness of the battlefield.
After remaining still for a long time, he slowly lifted his hand. The soft blanket that had been covering his body slid off, revealing his bare torso.
Large and small scars covered his body, etched densely like a map. Even the wounds from his dreams had faded into scars now engraved on his skin.
A reminder that all of those events had long passed.
Jang Ilso lightly brushed his pale fingertips over the scars on his chest.
He felt nothing – no emotion, no concern. After all, what everyone sees is the ornate robe he wears. Who would care about the condition of the body underneath?
The tent flap, not fully closed, was slightly ajar. Through the gap, he could see the sun, already risen to its peak.
Just as in the dream, he slowly reached his hand out towards the sun.
No matter how hard he tried, he knew he wouldn’t be able to touch it, but that was precisely why it was worth reaching for.
Perhaps… he had said something like that before.
Feeling a thirst even more intense than in his dream, he opened his mouth.
“It’s a good day.”
A gentle smile appeared on Jang Ilso’s face.
❀ ❀ ❀
“Restless, aren’t they…”
Long fingers lightly tapped near the red lips.
“Is it Mount Wudang?”
“Yes.”
Jang Ilso asked, letting out a faint nasal sound.
“Hmm. What’s the reason?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet.”
With the enemies gathered there, it was natural to keep watchful eyes on Mount Wudang. But infiltrating inside to uncover the exact cause was another matter entirely.
“I’ll find out.”
“No, leave it be. What does it matter what the reason is?”
Jang Ilso chuckled softly.
“The important thing is the mere fact that there’s trouble brewing. It means the situation is serious enough that they’re causing a fuss, even knowing the enemy is watching.”
Ho Gamyeong nodded slowly in agreement. After humming to himself for a moment, Jang Ilso asked.
“If you keep fighting, over and over again, until you’re covered in wounds… and then fight some more without tiring, do you know what happens?”
“You become like Ryeonju.”
“…”
Jang Ilso, who had been laughing joyfully, suddenly paused and looked at Ho Gamyeong with a sour expression. It seemed it wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.
“…Was that wrong?”
“Hmph. No, well, you’re right, but… it’s not the usual case. Usually… the wounds start to fester.”
Jang Ilso lightly scratched his cheek and let out a low chuckle.
“When your head is burning with anger, you don’t realize it. How much the pus in your body is eating away at you. Only after some time passes, when that fever finally subsides, you do realize it.”
The corners of Jang Ilso’s mouth twisted.
“That all the wounds have already rotted beyond repair.”
Ho Gamyeong let out a short sigh.
Jang Ilso’s words, that the damage wasn’t just on their side, weren’t wrong.
The reason they had been so incomprehensibly strong wasn’t just because they were powerful. It was because they had been charging ahead so fiercely that they hadn’t even noticed their own wounds.
But now, they must have realized it.
That their bodies, too, were full of horrific injuries. And that some wounds are all the more deadly because they can’t be seen.
Jang Ilso looked at Ho Gamyeong and asked,
“Gamyeong-ah, what do you think we should do?”
There was a faint hint of mischief in his eyes. After a moment of consideration, Ho Gamyeong replied.
“If it were me… I wouldn’t let them recover from their confusion. I would strike relentlessly, giving them no time to regroup.”
“Hmmm.”
Jang Ilso smiled faintly, as if amused. It seemed like a positive reaction at first glance, but Ho Gamyeong knew well that this was not a sign of agreement.
“That could be good. It certainly could be enjoyable. But… don’t you want to watch a little longer?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you cut open the wound and squeeze out the pus, it will surely get better. But… what if they can’t do that?”
“…”
“Wouldn’t it be quite entertaining to leisurely watch those foolish pigs, who realize their bodies are rotting yet can’t do anything about it?”
Jang Ilso was clearly confident. Whatever turmoil they were experiencing, he was certain they wouldn’t be able to resolve it.
And he was probably right. It was, after all, Jang Ilso’s prediction. Yet, Ho Gamyeong couldn’t shake off one lingering concern.
“Maehwa Geomgwi couldn’t…resolve it either…?”
But just as he began to speak, he suddenly fell silent. A thought crossed his mind.
Why had Jang Ilso sought him out for a private conversation? Was it because he fully trusted Ho Gamyeong’s strategy that keeping Maehwa Geomgwi at bay was the key to winning this war? Really?
Perhaps. But was that truly the only reason?
“…You’ve figured it out.”
Jang Ilso looked at Ho Gamyeong with an intrigued expression.
“That he is not someone who could do such a thing. You came to confirm that, or rather…”
Ho Gamyeong asked with a hardened expression.
“Did you make it so he can’t intervene?”
Jang Ilso didn’t bother to answer. He brought the cup of liquor to his lips but paused slightly. Then, with a faint smile, he slowly extended the cup forward as if offering it.
“Everyone has something they can’t let go of. Something they can’t give up.”
“…”
“But sometimes, people don’t realize that such things… can drag them into the swamp.”
At that moment, there was someone silently observing and listening to everything from behind Ho Gamyeong.
It was a swordsman with his face concealed by a black mask. His expression and identity were difficult to discern.
“What do you think?”
“…”
“Hmm?”
Jang Ilso offered the cup to the mysterious figure, but the masked person’s hand remained motionless. He had dared to refuse Jang Ilso’s offer.
However, Jang Ilso only chuckled softly, showing no sign of displeasure.
“Oh dear, oh dear. You really don’t know how to enjoy the moment.”
He withdrew the offered cup and drank it himself.
In the masked person’s eyes, a storm of mixed emotions swirled. It was strikingly similar to what had once been reflected in Baek Cheon’s eyes.
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