Chapter 1012

Time swept by like the wind as the horses galloped without rest.

The sunset swallowed the wilderness, and the darkness that followed pressed down on the world. Then a dim dawn crept in between them.

By the time darkness fell for the second time, Ma Junggeol’s lips, which had been moving nonstop, could finally rest.

“…And that’s what happened.”

By the end of his long story, Ma Junggeol looked as though he’d aged overnight.

He’d spent more than a full day recounting everything that had happened over the past decade or so. But I suspected the audience—growing one person at a time, starting with me—had taken an even greater toll.

Especially the pressure radiating from the giant known as the Fire King.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s what happened’? Keep talking.”

At Jeok Cheongang’s low growl, Ma Junggeol, already exhausted, looked ready to cry.

“I really am finished. I’m telling you, there’s nothing else to say.”

“If I dig around and something else comes out, it’s ten hits per syllable. Still nothing?”

“What?”

It wasn’t as if he had a stash of stories hidden away. What was there to dig for?

Ma Junggeol gave me a pleading look. I shook my head and spoke up.

“Give it a rest. And why would he say anything if it’s a hundred hits per syllable? Even if he had more to tell, he’d hold out to the death.”

“Is that so? Then I’ll lower it to ten. Spill everything.”

“Ten would still kill him.”

“Fine. One hit. That’s this old man’s final offer.”

“……You might as well tell him to make his last will. At this point, it seems like you just want to kill him.”

Jeok Cheongang frowned at my quiet objection.

“You’re too soft. Sometimes you have to squeeze a man to get even one more word out of him.”

“Look at him. You couldn’t squeeze a drop of broth out of him now.”

I wasn’t exaggerating. Ma Junggeol looked as if half his soul had left his body.

Think about it.

Ten years was easy to say. But he’d had to recall, in detail and without a wink of sleep, everything that had happened over a span long enough for mountains and rivers to change. No wonder he’d turned into a half-dried squid in just over a day.

“P-please believe me. I really told you everything. I didn’t leave a thing out.”

Ma Junggeol pleaded with tears in his eyes, and his six sworn brothers opened their mouths to back him up.

Or rather, they started to.

“What Eldest Brother said is righ—”

“Shut your mouths before I beat you. Especially you.”

The short one Jeok Cheongang had singled out froze.

“M-me?”

“Yes, you. Chatter like that one more time and you’re dead. Do you have to chime in after every sentence, you little brat?”

The short one clamped his mouth shut. Watching from beside him, the bulbous-nosed one murmured with delight.

“Finally…”

Finally what?

None of these men seemed quite right in the head, but one thing was clear.

“Mujin.”

Hyuk Mujin understood what I meant and clicked his tongue. The other members reacted much the same way, apart from Sama Pyo and Taishan, who’d joined us the day before along with the Black Dragon Demon Gate.

“Tsk. Is this really okay? It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Benefactor—no, Young Master Jin—no, Pavilion Master.”

“I think we should at least tie them up.”

“I see it differently—damn it, this miserable saddle!”

Unlike Taishan’s shoulders, which were as comfortable as a cushioned seat, Namho was perched on a saddle that bounced violently beneath him. Grimacing at the pain in his backside, he continued:

“We should follow the Pavilion Master’s orders. That’s the right call. Besides, do you think those men would dare try anything, tied up or not?”

“I suppose not.”

Hyuk Mujin nodded in agreement. Ju Hwaran and Song Ilseom then let go of the reins they’d each been holding.

Not their own reins, of course. They belonged to the Seven Masters of Baekma Bang, who had been riding close beside them, hemmed in on all sides.

“Thank you for trusting us.”

“I’m not completely trusting you yet, so there’s no need to thank me.”

That was what I told Ma Junggeol, whose eyes had filled with tears again. Privately, though, I thought otherwise.

No matter how I look at it, they’re not spies sent by Dark Heaven.

When I first overheard their Sound Transmission, the suspicions I’d set aside had come rushing back.

At first, anyway.

Now that I’d heard Ma Junggeol’s whole story, those suspicions had given way to curiosity about someone else.

The mysterious master Ma Junggeol and his sworn brothers revered as Great Sir.

—What do you think?

Jeok Cheongang’s low Sound Transmission reached my ear. I knew what he was asking, so I turned my gaze toward the road ahead and answered.

—I’m not sure.

—Are you holding back? Or…

—I really don’t know. The man they call Great Sir seems less suspicious than… strange. Unbelievably strange.

That was no exaggeration.

This mysterious Supreme Peak master had appeared out of nowhere one day and wiped out a band of mounted bandits beyond even the authorities’ control. Yet Great Sir himself remained shrouded in mystery.

They said they didn’t know his name, where he came from, or anything else about him.

The Seven Masters of Baekma Bang had served him for more than ten years. Yet none of them, Ma Junggeol included, knew who he was. Whenever we pressed them, their answers were much the same.

“No, it’s all true. That’s just what he’s like!”

“We wouldn’t dare lie to you. Please believe us.”

“You heard us talking, so you already know he’s a bit—no, more than a bit—all over the place. His name and age? Don’t even ask. They change every time. Isn’t that right, Youngest?”

“My brothers are right. Chilbok, Gaettong… Was it three years ago? He thought he was a seventeen-year-old girl named Sohyang. That’s when we gave up trying to make sense of it.”

“We don’t know when he started living in Ningxia Province, either. He just suddenly appeared, subdued the whole area with his absurd divine might, then shut himself away in his residence and wouldn’t budge. He’s been like that for nearly ten years. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

The absurd stories kept coming, like sweet potato vines that refused to end no matter how many you pulled up. Listening to them, I couldn’t help wondering:

What the hell is that guy?

Everyone had their own ambitions.

Right or wrong, everyone had some goal they’d held in their heart at least once.

But Great Sir, as they described him, fit none of the possibilities.

He hadn’t taken over Ningxia and ruled it as a mighty conqueror. Nor did he sound like a notorious fiend hiding his identity on the frontier, or a hermit master wandering where no one would find him as his life drew to a close.

If he wanted to rule as a conqueror, there’d be no reason to hole up in a cave. If he were a fiend, he’d have tried his damnedest to keep his identity hidden—or from the start, he’d have put the mounted bandits under his command.

As for a hermit master, I hardly needed to think about it.

What kind of deranged hermit would pass up a remote mountain valley with beautiful scenery and clear water to settle on a frontier where fine dust hung in the air and yellow sand blew through all year?

Even an ignoramus like me knew the famous poet Paul Valéry.¹ If he’d lived in Ningxia Province instead of France, he would’ve written, The yellow dust is blowing. Fuck, I want to die.

And it wasn’t as if he were some senile old man, or someone so close to death that finding a mountain valley wasn’t worth the trouble.

According to the Seven Masters, Great Sir washed so rarely that grime practically ran off him. Even so, what they could make out of his face and hear in his voice suggested a man around middle age.

When Ma Junggeol and his sworn brothers brought him liquor and food, he sometimes gave them a little instruction in return. And though he mostly stayed at his residence, he went out for the occasional stroll.

He said being inside all the time felt stifling. He wanted to smell other people for a change.

He must have wandered around often enough to blend into Ningxia Province without the Seven Masters making any effort to hide who he was.

Like Beggar Number One.

This is a hermit master?

Was this what it felt like to sink into a deep mire?

The more I thought about him, the more baffled and curious I became. Then Jeok Cheongang moved his lips, apparently thinking much the same thing.

—I thought I’d lived long enough to see hundreds of cartloads of madmen… but I’ve never seen anyone like this.

—Your hair’s only just started growing back.

—…Do you want to die?

—No. But I agree with you, Old Master. I can’t make sense of him.

—Could he be one of the Lord of Heaven’s minions?

—The Lord of Heaven must have people left working for him. But if you were him, would you take someone like that on?

Jeok Cheongang answered without hesitation.

—Are you mad?

—Exactly.

—Even if I took a Flame-Extinguishing Divine Fist to the head, I wouldn’t take a man like that as a subordinate. Assuming everything those vicious-looking bastards told us is true, of course.

—But you already believe them.

—That’s…

His Sound Transmission trailed off as he turned his head. The instant the Seven Masters met his gaze, they went rigid as statues. Jeok Cheongang shook his head.

—Yes, you’re right. I can tell they aren’t lying. No—they aren’t even capable of it.

That much was plain to me, and probably to everyone else.

But even if we concluded that the Seven Masters and Great Sir posed no danger to our side, the two of us couldn’t decide everything on instinct alone.

—What will you do?

Jeok Cheongang’s Sound Transmission reached me again. After a moment’s thought, I made my decision. I gradually eased up on the reins and drew level with the Seven Masters of Baekma Bang.

“W-why now? What is it this time…?”

Ma Junggeol and his sworn brothers were frightened before I’d said a word.

I studied them in silence, then asked, “How long would you need?”

“What do you mean…?”

“To bring the man you call Great Sir to where we’re headed.”

“…!”