Return of the Mount Hua Sect (HTL 1634+)

Crunch.

The sensation of fingers piercing through the skull was excruciatingly vivid.

The brain fluids spouting, the face of the one whose life is draining away, followed by the metallic scent of blood spreading.

Even amidst the sticky, realistic sensations, his mind gradually becomes hazy.

'What was it...?'

After throwing away the lifeless body, he thrust his left hand into the heart of another assailant. The one who couldn't even let out a dying scream, weakly swung their sword one last time. The blade grazed the left side of his face.

His pain changed. Now, it's familiar.

No. Is it really familiar?

Thick blood flowed down his cheek.

He tried to recall something, but he couldn't remember. It must have been something quite important.

Clang!

A sword flying towards his face collided with the ring on his finger. The sharp clash of metal against metal produced a sound that tore at his eardrums.

Thud!

A heavy fist struck the wide-open chest of the enemy. He glimpsed the sight of shattered ribs piercing through their back.

Slash!

In the midst of it, something sliced his side.

But he didn't bother to look back. His steps only moved forward.

"Ugh!"

With a sudden groan, someone behind him collapsed forward. As he glanced down, the glazed eyes of the fallen entered his sight for a moment.

'What's his name?'

Again, he couldn't remember. No, maybe he never knew in the first place. He had never paid attention to those who covered his back.

His gaze turned forward again. Toward the incoming enemies, and beyond them, to somewhere far away.

Where could it be? No, what could it be?

He doesn't know. He's forgotten. Maybe he never knew in the first place.

Even so, he moves forward. Because if he doesn't, he won't be able to withstand the surge rising from deep within his chest.

Inside him, a choking fire always burns.

If he stops walking, it feels like even he will be consumed by the fire. Endless hatred towards an unknown someone. A thirst so intense that he feels like scratching his throat with a knife.

Since when has he been tormented by this unknown thirst?

Splash.

He steps over the blood pooled on the ground. The faces of those rushing towards him come into view.

He reads all sorts of negative emotions indifferently.

Anger and resentment, fear and frustration. Some people scream, unable to control their rage, while others struggle desperately to suppress their urge to flee immediately.

All of these emotions blend chaotically together and boil right in front of him.

No matter how perfectly and vividly captured, a painting can never become reality. Because it is contained within a canvas.

Similar to that, everything in front of him felt distant and vague.

Bang!

The assailants who rushed at him are blown away as one mass.

Flesh bursts and bones shatter. Entrails spill out from torn bellies, and blood spurts from violently twisted necks.

Even in this horrific pandemonium, everything felt like a hazy dream.

His pale hand, drenched in blood, is adorned with an array of mismatched colorful rings. The wide robe draped over his wrist is soaked through, dyed deep red with the blood of his enemies.

It's strange.

Though it clearly belongs to him, everything felt like it wasn't his. The severe sense of incongruity made him feel nauseous.

His stomach churns and his face contorts.

Bang!

A massive sword flew from somewhere, clashing with the blue energy shield he hastily raised.

A violent pain that felt like his body would shatter spread through him, but even that couldn't restore his sense of reality.

An old man with disheveled hair attacks again, blood tears streaming from his eyes. Every time his white hair fluttered, his eerie gaze flashed fiercely.

Bang!

But there wasn't a shred of emotion in the fist that blocked the sword.

Slash!

A long wound appears on his forearm.

Slash!

A long horizontal cut is made across his chest.

Slash!

The blade grazes dangerously close to his neck again.

He could feel it through the flying sword. The painstakingly built martial skills, and the solid pride in those skills. Even the desperate heart that seemed to overflow.

Even in his haze, those emotions were distinctly felt.

He narrowed his gaze and looked beyond the old man. He saw most of the group hastily turning and fleeing.

Something that must be protected even at the cost of one's life...

Well, what do you think?.

Whirring!

Blue energy surged from his fingertips and gathered. Two rings slipped off his fingers, as if swallowing the blue flames, absorbing the energy.

Swish!

Two streaks of blue light crossed the air.

Then the sword, which had been swinging with full force, momentarily hesitated. It was just a fleeting moment, but in a life-and-death battle, even that gap is never short.

After a brief hesitation, the sword blocked the rings flying toward it.

Clang!

The sword that collided with the rings was flung back. At the same time, a pale hand pierced through the center of the old man's chest like a bolt of lightning.

The old man widened his eyes. Shock, despair, and regret swirled within his pupils.

His feeling toward that was, 'Disgusting.'

In the end, he felt regret.

Yes, at first, he would have tried to protect it somehow. Even at the cost of his own life. He must have made a firm resolve in his own way.

But at the decisive moment, he inevitably hesitated. Somehow, he faltered.

And that moment of hesitation not only ended what he was supposed to protect but also cost him his life.

A bitter smile escaped.

At the most intense moment, when everything collides, the world reveals its hidden core. That core is always filled with things so repulsive that one can hardly face them.

Bang!

The head full of white hair shattered. Brain matter and broken bones scattered.

Breathing sounds grew louder in his ears.

It was hazy. Dreamlike. Even if the blood pouring onto his skin was hot, even if the murderous intent piercing his body was sharp, even if his breath grew harsh as if his lungs would burst, it was all the same.

Only the flame within him grew more vivid.

Resentment like swallowing charcoal and hatred for something unknown.

But he didn't scream in agony, even unable to overcome it. Because nothing would change by doing so. He merely staggered forward endlessly, mocking everything in sight.

'What was it?'

Well, I can't remember. No, maybe it never existed in the first place. It doesn't matter now.

The step he took trampled over the corpse that had now turned into a lump of flesh.

Someday, everyone will reach an equally fair end.

He looked up.

The blazing sun was looking down on him. No matter how much he reached out his hand, no matter how much he shouted, he would never touch it in his lifetime. But his hand naturally reached for the sun.

As his sleeve slipped down, the hidden scars were revealed. Only then did he realize. The blood that stained his clothes was not the enemy's but entirely his own.

Severe dizziness and nausea swept over him.

But instead of collapsing, he strengthened his legs. He waved his hand a little more, and then more, toward the sun. He reached out desperately, almost pathetically.

With his vision blurred, he opened his mouth, unable to overcome the burning thirst.

***

'....'

His unfocused eyes slowly cleared. He scanned the tent from left to right.

Despite the flamboyant decorations, the roughness of the field tent was still visible.

After remaining still for a long while, he slowly raised his hand. The soft blanket slid off, revealing his bare upper body, with not a single thread on it.

Large and small scars crisscrossed his flesh. The wounds he had received in his dream were now faded scars etched into his flesh.

As if to remind him that all those events had long passed.

Jang Ilso lightly caressed the scars on his upper body with his pale fingertips.

There was no emotion or care. It didn't matter. Everyone is only interested in the splendid robe he wore. Who would care about the condition of his body beneath it?

The tent's door, not fully closed, was slightly ajar. Through the gap, he could see the sun already rising to its peak.

As he did in his dream, he slowly reached his hand towards the sun.

No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to touch it, but it was something worth reaching for.

Maybe... he felt he had said these words back then too.

Feeling an incomparably severe thirst compared to that time, he opened his mouth.

"It's a good day."

A gentle smile spread across Jang Ilso's face.

"Yes."

Jang Ilso asked with a nasal tone.

"Hmm. What's the reason?"

"We haven't identified it yet."

Since the enemies are swarming, naturally, eyes for surveillance were placed within Mount Wudang. But getting inside to find the exact cause is another matter.

"I'll find out."

"No, leave it. It doesn't matter what the reason is."

Jang Ilso chuckled.

"The important thing is the fact that there's a problem occurring. It means it's serious enough for them to panic despite knowing we're watching."

Ho Gamyeong nodded slowly in agreement. Jang Ilso hummed for a moment before asking,

"Do you know what happens if you keep fighting, getting covered in wounds, and fighting again, without getting tired?"

"Someone become like you, Ryeonju-nim."

"..."

Jang Ilso, who had been laughing joyfully, paused and looked at Ho Gamyeong with a perplexed expression. It wasn't the answer he was expecting.

"Is that wrong?"

"Well, no, it's right, but... that's not the usual case. Usually... the wounds fester."

Jang Ilso lightly scratched his cheek and laughed softly.

"When you're in the heat of the moment, you don't realize how much the cold pus is eating away at you. It's only after the fever subsides that you realize."

Jang Ilso's lips twisted.

"That all the wounds have rotted and are beyond repair."

Ho Gamyeong let out a short sigh.

There was no mistake in Jang Ilso's words that the damage wasn't just on their side.

Their incomprehensible resilience wasn't just because they were strong. It was because they had been running fiercely, unable to even look back at their wounds.

But now, they would have realized.

That their bodies were also filled with terrible wounds. And that some wounds are even more deadly because they are invisible.

Jang Ilso looked at Ho Gamyeong and asked,

"Gamyeong-ah, what do you think we should do?"

There was a faint glimmer of mischief in his eyes. After a brief pause, Ho Gamyeong spoke.

"If it were me... I wouldn't leave them in their confusion. I would press on without giving them time to recover."

"Hmm."

Jang Ilso smiled as if he found it amusing. Though it seemed like a positive reaction, Ho Gamyeong knew well that this was not a sign of approval.

"That's good too. That would certainly be fun. But... don't you want to watch a bit more?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you cut open the wounds and drain the pus, they would certainly heal. But... what if they can't?"

"..."

"Watching the helpless pigs, knowing their bodies are rotting but unable to do anything, could be quite enjoyable too."

Jang Ilso was sure. Whatever turmoil they were experiencing, they wouldn't be able to handle it.

And he was probably right. After all, it was Jang Ilso's prediction. Despite that, Ho Gamyeong couldn't let go of a single concern.

"Even the Plum Blossom Sword Demon couldn't handle..."

But as he spoke, he suddenly fell silent. A doubt crossed his mind.

Why had Jang Ilso met with him alone? Was it really because he fully trusted Ho Gamyeong's strategy to win the war by keeping him here? Really?

Of course, it could be. But was that really the only reason?

".....You've figured it out."

Jang Ilso looked at Ho Gamyeong with a gaze full of interest.

"….. that he is not someone who can do that. You came to confirm that, or rather..."

Ho Gamyeong asked with a stern face,

"…did you make it so he couldn't act?"

Jang Ilso did not give a direct answer. He then brought the cup to his lips but paused slightly. He gave a small smile and 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, that very thing... leads them into the mire, and people don't realize it."

At this moment, there was one person behind Ho Gamyeong who was watching and listening to everything.

It was a swordsman with a black mask covering his face. It was difficult to guess his expression or identity.

"What do you think?"

"..."

"Hmm?"

Jang Ilso extended the cup towards the masked person, but the masked person's hand did not move. He dared to refuse Jang Ilso's offer.

However, Jang Ilso only smiled faintly without showing any sign of displeasure.

"Oh dear, oh dear. Some people just don't know how to enjoy themselves."

The cup that had been extended was brought back by Jang Ilso, and he drank from it.

In the masked person's eyes, remnants of complex emotions swirled. They were remarkably similar to what was in Baek Cheon's eyes.