Chapter 1005

Four days.

You couldn’t exactly call that a long time.

But if you’d spent all four days riding hard, barely stopping to rest and catching snatches of sleep in the saddle, that was another matter.

Rest while you can. Who knows when we’ll have another chance?

Jin Taekyung had left them with those words, then gone off to a meeting with the leadership. The Fire Dragon Pavilion members he’d left behind had followed their Pavilion Master’s orders to the letter.

Now they’d unpacked their few belongings, bathed in warm water, and settled before a sumptuous feast that had somehow already been laid out.

Naturally, Jeok Cheongang and Sama Pyo were the exceptions.

Jeok Cheongang was the Fire King, a giant of his generation. His place at the meeting needed no explanation. And as Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate, Sama Pyo belonged among the leadership too.

“Whew. I finally feel alive again.”

Ju Hwaran spoke for every member of the Fire Dragon Pavilion.

Physical exhaustion was bad enough, but mental fatigue weighed on both body and mind far more heavily.

What could they do?

For a martial artist, crossing the line between life and death was a lifelong fate. The grief and pain brought on by war were the lot of those living through troubled times.

It had always been that way, and it would stay that way.

At least everyone in the Fire Dragon Pavilion understood their circumstances—and had accepted them.

“Our Pavilion Master was right. We have to rest as much as we can while there’s time, so we’re ready for what comes next. With that in mind, let’s eat.”

At Song Ilseom’s invitation, Hyuk Mujin looked up, his cheeks already bulging with food.

“Wha’?”

“……”

“Wha’ did you jus’ say?”

“……”

“Sounded like you said somethin’.”

Song Ilseom stared at him in silence, then answered.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Go ahead and eat. The more pain you’re in, the hungrier you get.”

“Ah, okay.”

Perhaps the bump on the crown of his head was bothering him. Now that he’d paused, Hyuk Mujin took the opportunity to rub it, then buried his face in his plate again.

A moment later, he looked up and stared at Song Ilseom.

“Wait. Why’re you talkin’ down to me? I don’t like that.”

“I’ve been doing it this whole time.”

“That’s why I don’t like it. I’ve told you a bunch of times not to.”

“It’s simple. I’m older than you.”

Gulp.

Hyuk Mujin swallowed what was in his mouth and frowned.

“What a ridiculous guy. You’re only a year or two older than me.”

“Does a year or two not count as an age difference?”

“Well… I guess it does.”

“And you know perfectly well that I have more experience as a martial artist.”

“That too… I guess.”

“I’m your senior, and I’m older. So what’s the problem?”

The longer the conversation went on, the worse things got for Hyuk Mujin.

His eyes darted about as he searched for a counterargument. Then an idea came to him.

“You know how old our Captain is, right?”

“More or less.”

“He’s way younger than me.”

“So?”

“Hey, what do you mean, ‘So?’ You speak at least somewhat politely to the Captain. Why do you get to talk down to me—”

“So?”

“……Huh?”

“So. What are you going to do about it?”

“……”

There was nothing he could say to that.

As Hyuk Mujin blinked at Song Ilseom’s absurdly confident expression, anger rose from deep in his chest.

Now that he thought about it, how unfair was this?

He could put up with Jin Taekyung giving him a hard time whenever he got the chance. That much he could gladly accept as his Captain’s loyal right hand and self-proclaimed heart.

But now he was getting the same treatment from Song Ilseom—a mere wandering martial artist who’d joined them along the way. Sure, Song Ilseom was famous as hell among wanderers, and, as it turned out, he came from an impressive martial family. But still!

I mean, come on! By rank, I’m the Vice Pavilion Master of the Fire Dragon Pavilion! And the Jin Family of Taiyuan is one of the Five Great Families now!

Fire lit in Hyuk Mujin’s eyes as he glared at Song Ilseom. The roasted chicken leg he’d been holding trembled like a sword resonating with its wielder.

“Planning to throw that thing you’re holding?”

“Why? Think I can’t?”

At Hyuk Mujin’s chilly reply, Song Ilseom nodded without hesitation.

“Of course you can’t.”

“That’s right. You know me well.”

“But you’ll have to deal with what happens afterward… Wait, what did you say?”

“If you throw away food, heaven will punish you. Besides, my parents always told me to get along with the people around me.”

“……”

“What? Got something to say? Then say it quickly. I’m hungry, and I don’t want this precious food to get cold.”

Was that confidence? Cowardice?

Or both?

What is with this guy?

How could anyone be so brazen about being a coward?

Song Ilseom watched Hyuk Mujin with a thoroughly unimpressed look, then spoke.

“……Never mind. You had good parents.”

“They’re simple, good-hearted people. Thanks for the compliment.”

Hyuk Mujin replied as if he’d been waiting for those words, then set to work sweeping the food in front of him into his mouth with renewed vigor. Song Ilseom sighed inwardly.

Every last one of them is out of their minds.

They’d been told to rest and take it easy, but who would look at them and think they were about to go into battle?

A pack of beggars come to bankrupt an inn, maybe.

Or do they not feel fear at all?

Song Ilseom had spent years among wandering martial artists, where crazies were everywhere. But the people he’d been with for the past year or so were strange from top to bottom.

For example…

True madness.

They were on another level from any madman he’d met before.

And Hyuk Mujin, who was already plenty crazy himself, was merely average by Fire Dragon Pavilion standards.

First, there was Jeok Cheongang, the Fire King.

“……”

No words were needed. Just thinking about him made Song Ilseom’s breath catch.

Watching Jeok Cheongang up close had driven one point home once again: the law of the strong devouring the weak still ruled this world.

Otherwise, he’d have been dead several times over by now.

Why did Song Ilseom think that?

Simple.

Jeok Cheongang beat the living daylights out of anyone he didn’t like. Anyone at all. He was fair about it, at least.

Their sect, their principles, their age, their sex—it made no difference.

If they belonged to the orthodox faction, he’d cut them to the heart with a tongue sharper than a famous sword. If they were from the unorthodox faction or were dark-path figures, he’d look for an opening to throw a punch. As for fiends, he’d once said:

“I may as well tell you now: for many years, this old man’s wish has been to reform every fiend beneath heaven and make them good.”

Jin Taekyung had asked on everyone’s behalf if he’d gone senile. Jeok Cheongang had beaten his own Disciple senseless, then added, as brazen as ever:

“Of course, the only good fiend is a dead fiend.”

That was the kind of person Jeok Cheongang was.

Why else would his one and only Disciple say this about his own Master?

“I thought about it seriously, and helping the orthodox faction during the Great Faction War was the best move that old man ever made. Now he gets to be called a king and wreak havoc wherever he wants, all perfectly legally. Am I right, everyone?”

Jin Taekyung probably didn’t know.

Everyone had agreed with him, but the moment he turned away, they’d exchanged looks that all meant roughly the same thing.

Look who’s talking.

How does he have the nerve to say that?

Does our Captain even know what the word “conscience” means?

Sorry, Young Master Jin. This is a bit much, even for you…

Taishan hungry.

No one dared say it outright, but everyone knew the only person crazier than Jeok Cheongang was Jin Taekyung.

That guy’s the real lunatic, in more ways than one.

His martial arts were insane, and so was his temper.

Sometimes, for reasons known only to him, he’d act like a perfectly normal person. But when something rubbed him the wrong way, he could outdo even his Master, Jeok Cheongang.

In that sense, he’s even worse.

If Song Ilseom had to fight either Jeok Cheongang or Jin Taekyung, he’d choose the former without hesitation.

Because he thought Jeok Cheongang’s martial arts were no match for his Disciple’s anymore?

Wrong.

Even if Jeok Cheongang cursed him with every filthy word he knew until Song Ilseom feared qi deviation, even if his Flame-Extinguishing Divine Fist crushed Song Ilseom’s Eight Extraordinary Meridians¹, Jeok Cheongang would still be preferable.

Because he was the Fire King.

A giant known throughout the world, an old monster who had lived through ages beyond counting.

But Jin Taekyung?

……I don’t even want to think about it.

Just thinking about him made Song Ilseom’s stomach churn.

His martial prowess, now so far beyond Song Ilseom’s reach, was one thing. But his tongue, widely held to have surpassed even his Master’s, was the stuff of nightmares.

The one small comfort was that his terrifying tongue only ever seemed to show its full power against enemies.

Even aside from that, Song Ilseom was among those who got the least grief from Jin Taekyung, along with Sama Pyo and Ju Hwaran.

Even when he did something worth getting chewed out for, Jin Taekyung would just toss out a short line and turn away.

“So boring.”

Song Ilseom didn’t know exactly what the expression meant, but he could guess it wasn’t a compliment.

He said I was “so boring.” He called Sama Pyo “ten times more boring.” But he didn’t say anything to Young Lady Ju.

What else could that mean? It was obvious.

Song Ilseom had once spent a long time seriously puzzling over the exact meaning of the expression, but at some point he’d stopped caring.

Had he gotten used to it?

Maybe. Or maybe…

“Hmm.”

With that unconscious murmur, Song Ilseom surfaced from his thoughts.

Only then did he notice what was happening around him—and realize that something was terribly wrong.

“What on earth… is going on?”

It wasn’t a question directed at anyone in particular. It was closer to an exclamation of shock.

Song Ilseom froze, eyes wide. Ju Hwaran and Hyuk Mujin, both wearing serious expressions, answered in turn.

“We don’t know either. How did this happen?”

“Incredibuh! Makes no shensh!”

Ju Hwaran’s answer was full of worry. Hyuk Mujin’s was full of food.

Pth, pth!

Ordinarily, Song Ilseom would have dodged the spray of food with a quick movement. This time, he couldn’t.

Splut!

Something unpleasant touched his skin.

Hyuk Mujin froze, worried about what he’d done. But despite his fears, Song Ilseom didn’t move.

He could only stare at one person, as stunned as if he’d come face-to-face with a living dragon.

Taishan sat before a mouthwatering feast, his shoulders drooping, without moving a muscle.

“Am I seeing things?”

The disbelieving words had barely left someone’s lips when another voice answered.

“You’re seeing it right. But I’d like you to keep it down for now.”

The voice was low and subdued.

Namho, who’d sat motionless and lost in thought all this time, twitched his nose.

As if trying to catch a scent he remembered from a day not so long ago.