Chapter 662

Was it about ten years ago? Back when I was devouring martial-arts novels, I sometimes found myself wondering.

No, more than sometimes.

What would I do if I were the protagonist of this novel?

It’s a little embarrassing to think about now, but I couldn’t help it. Anyone who’s read enough web novels comes with that feature built in.

I’d wonder whenever some idiot protagonist had a System window but never raised his Intelligence. Or whenever a female character appeared and he made an ass of himself.

If it were me…

That was how the fantasies always began.

But once I became a martial artist in the Murim, I learned that fantasy was fantasy and reality was reality.

All those masterpieces of martial fiction I’d read were nothing more than brilliantly arranged words on a page. The protagonists I’d thought were so cool didn’t exist in this world.

Old Master.

What.

There’s something I’ve been wondering about the Heavenly Demon. His surname wouldn’t happen to be Muk, would it?

…What the hell are you talking about all of a sudden? Not long ago, you were spouting off about things like the Wudang Demon Sword and the Huashan Gale Sword—titles I’ve never heard of in my life.

At first, I was sorry I’d never get to meet the protagonists from those novels, but I wasn’t disappointed. The martial artists of this world were pretty damn cool in their own right.

If anything had thoroughly shattered my fantasies, though, it was…

“We were leading the Southern Army alongside the Zhongnan Sect at the time.”

Right. Those three words that had just come out of Baeksang’s mouth.

The Zhongnan Sect.

A towering pillar of the orthodox Murim. One of the Nine Sects and One Gang. A prestigious sect that had endured for hundreds of years and shared Shaanxi Province with its eternal rival, Huashan.

No—I should probably say they used to share it.

The Sword Saint, Mae Jonghak, who had remained hidden from the world for so many years, was now the Alliance Leader. The Disciple he had taken in during his later years had gained tremendous fame, and as a result, the influence of their sect, Huashan, had grown to an extent that could not be compared to the past.

And the Zhongnan Sect?

Two of its three Supreme Peak masters are laid up and wheezing.

Jeok Cheongang had crushed the Roaring Fury Swordsman, and I’d crushed the Taeeul Merciless Sword.

At least Hyuk Sopyung, the young prodigy around my age known as the Zhongnan One Dragon, was a fairly decent guy. But so far, my impression of the Zhongnan Sect had been anything but good.

No. At least among the orthodox factions, it was the worst.

With higher-ups like that, they can forget about The Reign.

At this point, calling it the Fucknam Sect—or the Zhong-fucking-na Sect—would hardly be an exaggeration.

Well, the current Sect Leader, the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord, might be different. But from everything I’d seen and heard in the Murim, my opinion of the Zhongnan Sect didn’t seem far from everyone else’s.

And now the Zhongnan Sect comes up in this story…

I could feel it. I could feel something coming.

Just as I unconsciously furrowed my brow, Baeksang continued speaking.

“The Sect Leader of the Zhongnan Sect at the time, Venerable Wusang, was righteous and wise. He stayed calm no matter what happened and treated everyone fairly, regardless of their background. That was why the Palace Lord and I agreed that he should command the Southern Army.”

“Venerable Wusang…”

“Yes. He was the master of the Zhongnan Sect’s current Sect Leader, the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord.”

I’d heard Jeok Cheongang mention the title a few times.

Granted, Jeok Cheongang usually called the Zhongnan Sect “a bunch of ill-mannered sons of bitches.” But even he’d described Venerable Wusang as “soft, but a fine man.”

“The trouble began soon after we entered Gansu. Defeated soldiers from the surrounding areas, who had been retreating in disarray, gathered at Great Snow Mountain. There were no fewer than two thousand of them.”

“…How the hell did two thousand defeated soldiers turn up in the surrounding area?”

“Do you think they were called the Hundred Thousand Demonic Disciples for nothing? They had lost the Heavenly Demon, but their numbers were still nothing to dismiss.”

“So what happened? Was there a battle at Great Snow Mountain?”

Baeksang slowly nodded.

“It was a battle we had every reason to win. At the time, the Western Army we belonged to had Venerable Wusang, a Supreme Peak master, as well as the Palace Lord, who had only just begun to be called the Beast Miao King. We were not inferior in either the number or the quality of our troops. If anything, we had a considerable advantage.”

“Sounds like the Western Army was pretty large.”

“Over four thousand in all. The enemy had no Supreme Peak master of note, so we had no reason to avoid the fight.”

“Hmm.”

Two Supreme Peak masters the enemy didn’t have. More than twice as many troops. And they were facing a defeated force already worn down by exhaustion and despair.

Anyone could see how that fight ought to end.

But if it had been that easy, Baeksang wouldn’t have lost his only son.

“There was a trap?”

Baeksang answered my sudden question in a voice as dry as sand.

“Yes. We split into three groups and advanced into Great Snow Mountain. What awaited us wasn’t a band of defeated soldiers, but an elite strike force of the Demonic Cult.”

“…!”

“It was chaos from beginning to end. Arrows poured down like rain from above the gorge, while rocks weighing hundreds or thousands of geun¹ crushed people and blocked the narrow paths.”

“…”

“By the time we knew it was a trap, it was too late. We fought desperately. Then I looked up and realized someone who should always have been at my side was gone.”

He didn’t say the name, but I knew he wasn’t talking about the Beast Miao King.

Baekhwi.

Baeksang’s only child. The heir who would inherit everything he had.

To set an example as a great chieftain, he had taken his young child with him to the battlefield. But he had probably cherished his son more than his own life.

And then, on a battlefield painted with corpses and blood, the fine young man he had raised had vanished without a trace during the final battle.

“For the first time, I was afraid. Hwi… That child was everything to me. No, more than that.”

Baeksang’s voice was hollow.

“But I had to regain my composure, if only for the warriors under my command. First, I requested support from the Zhongnan Sect and the other orthodox martial artists who had entered the area not far away. Then I helped the Palace Lord fight the enemy.”

The ambush had caught them by surprise. The fighting had been fierce, but the Beast Miao King, Baeksang, and the Nanman warriors had refused to retreat.

They fought harder than ever and finally won, though it cost them countless lives.

“Only after the battle in the gorge ended did I learn where he had gone. He and dozens of warriors had pursued some of the enemy down a side path. I was relieved.”

“Why?” I asked.

“The path connected to territory that definitely belonged to our allies. I believed that the people who had received my request for support would have saved Hwi—that child.”

“…”

I closed my mouth.

It wasn’t anger or grief that broke a person. It was trust.

And when that trust was betrayed, despair followed. I could see it in Baeksang now.

“What do you think happened?”

I didn’t answer. He probably hadn’t expected me to. After a moment, he went on.

“He… didn’t even leave a body behind. The corpses of the warriors who went with him lay scattered everywhere, hacked apart by an enemy we couldn’t identify. Only later did I learn it was the Great Snow Fiend, the fiend who ruled Great Snow Mountain.”

“…!”

“Reinforcements? There were no such things. They said the messenger who had set out to request support had been killed by the enemy while on his way to the other allied forces. I was overwhelmed by grief and despair, unable to do anything. And it was only later that I learned the truth.”

At that moment, Baeksang’s entire body trembled.

And I saw an emotion rise in eyes that had always been cold and still.

“The messenger wasn’t killed by the enemy. He was killed by our allies.”

Anger. Hatred.

“They weren’t unable to help us. They chose not to.”

It was the quiet, desperate scream of a man whose trust had been betrayed.

“If they had come, he could have lived. But they did not come. They killed the messenger, ignored my desperate request, and chose to pursue the retreating enemy instead. Do you know why?”

What pools up will eventually overflow. Baeksang had spent decades letting it out, yet the hatred and betrayal kept filling him until they spilled over again.

As they did now.

“Because we were nothing but savages from the Outer Lands!”

“…!”

“Because we weren’t Han Chinese like them, could never become Han Chinese, and they couldn’t sacrifice themselves for savages like us!”

Boom! Crash!

A powerful, violent wave of energy whipped through the air.

The floor and walls, made from solid rock, crumbled. Streams of tangible internal energy poured from his fist and grazed my face.

Ssst!

A sharp pain stung my forehead. I felt hot blood run down it.

But I didn’t move. I only watched, waiting until Baeksang’s eyes, flashing with killing intent, turned toward me.

“The Central Plains—the Han Chinese—betrayed us. We reached out to them when they were most desperate, and after we’d fought for them at the risk of our lives for ten years, they betrayed us!”

Decades of hatred were aimed squarely at me.

Only then did I open my mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell Venerable Wusang? He would’ve brought everything to light.”

“Venerable Wusang?”

Baeksang laughed. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh, and the sound was so empty it hardly counted.

“Yes. He would have. If he’d been alive.”

“You mean…”

“His Internal Injury had flared up before the battle. He fought anyway, and the Great Snow Fiend killed him. Enraged by his death, the Zhongnan Sect killed the messenger we sent, ignored our request for help, and pursued the enemy. The dozens of other sects, large and small, assigned to the Western Army did the same.”

“What?”

“You find it hard to believe? So did I. Only one person—the Palace Lord—tried to uncover the truth of it all. But when the Great Faction War ended, every pretense and every ugly stain was buried with it.”

“…!”

“Then, while everyone but us basked in victory and peace, the messenger’s body disappeared from where it had been kept. The last piece of evidence, bearing traces of the Zhongnan Sect’s martial arts, was gone.”

These fucking lunatics.

I swallowed a groan.

I could barely breathe. If Baeksang was telling the truth, no one—not even me—could condemn his anger.

He’d fought with his life on the line, and betrayal was all he got in return.

The most fucked-up part of all this was the instinctive certainty that this long-ago incident, which had left behind not even a shred of evidence, had probably really happened.

Damn it.

When I first came to the Murim, I’d been counted among the Han Chinese. I knew how people from the Central Plains looked at the people of Nanman.

I knew how shallow human feelings could be, and how easily greed took hold.

Baeksang had kept fighting for victory even after his son disappeared. The allies he trusted hadn’t done the same.

Enraged by Venerable Wusang’s death, the Zhongnan Sect had ignored the Nanman Beast Palace’s plea and chased the enemy. The other sects of the Western Army had been blinded by fear of losing their own men and greed for credit.

And the result of everything they’d done was standing right in front of me.

“You said earlier that this land—Nanman—was rotten.”

Drip. Trickle.

In the aftermath of what had just happened, foul-smelling water poured from the cracked ceiling.

Beyond the falling water, Baeksang’s eyes gleamed coldly.

“That day, you people showed me what I had to do.”