Chapter 847

The world was vast.

Yet just as the two characters for 天下—“all under Heaven”—suggested, Heaven stood above it all.

The wide earth and the seas. The living and the dead.

Nothing could hide from Heaven.

Even birds flying with the clouds across the distant sky looked up to it. So did humans, who rose and fell without end and turned their blades on one another.

All wondered what magnificent being might dwell up there.

That was what Heaven meant to people.

An unknown realm they could only gaze at, never reach. Something they feared and revered in equal measure.

So perhaps it was only natural that the one who possessed all under Heaven came to be called the Son of Heaven.

The blue sky looking down on everything was the ultimate symbol of authority, after all.

But even the Son of Heaven is just a man. He steals another man’s favored concubine like anyone else.

Jeok Cheongang’s surprise vanished, replaced by a quiet laugh.

The Captain of the Guards looked uncomfortable at the sound. “It wasn’t exactly a funny story.”

“No? From where I’m sitting, it’s plenty funny. A man they call the Son of Heaven steals his subject’s favored concubine, and that subject gets so lovesick he’s at death’s door.”

“……!”

The Captain of the Guards was so shocked he forgot to breathe.

He’d already guessed the man was crazy, but to speak so disrespectfully of the Son of Heaven—

He hurriedly checked for anyone nearby, then managed to force the words out. “A-are you insane? I don’t know who you are, but how dare you say that about His Majesty the Emperor…!”

“What, are you scared?”

“Do you even have to ask? Good heavens, if anyone else had heard you, you’d be accused of treason on the spot.”

“Hm. Treason.”

Jeok Cheongang scratched his chin as he considered it.

Things might have been different in the past, but now he was a Master with a Disciple and a member of the Murim Alliance.

“That could be a little troublesome.”

“A little troublesome? Do you think treason is some petty offense?”

“It’s hardly grave enough to warrant exterminating a man’s nine degrees of kin.¹ The Son of Heaven is made of flesh and blood like anyone else. What does it matter if someone insults him?”

“……!”

“Look at your face. Heh heh.”

The Captain of the Guards stood frozen with his mouth agape. Jeok Cheongang slapped his knee and laughed.

He had lived for a hundred and several dozen years. He’d seen the age of warring heroes, when the blood never dried, and the birth of a new unified dynasty with his own eyes.

Awe and reverence for the Son of Heaven?

What a joke.

For a very long time, the title had meant little to Jeok Cheongang.

Just someone a little more extraordinary than most, with far greater ambition and cruelty.

That had always been his assessment. After hearing what his one and only Disciple had to say, he was more certain of it than ever.

He’d been right.

The Son of Heaven isn’t granted by Heaven; he is born amid bloodshed and countless corpses.

Jeok Cheongang suddenly remembered the stories Jin Taekyung had told him: astonishing tales of a giant iron bird taking to the sky and traveling among countless stars.

As he thought of them and watched the Captain of the Guards still standing frozen, he couldn’t help letting out another laugh.

“I understand. There are mountains of things even this old man knows nothing about. How could a youngster like you begin to imagine them?”

“Th-this old man? A youngster?”

“The world is vast, and time keeps moving. Perhaps Dongfang Shuo, who lived three thousand jiazi, could watch it all change.”²

The Captain of the Guards stared at him blankly.

The man looked about his age, yet spoke like someone from another era. Worse, the captain couldn’t make sense of a word he was saying.

“What on earth does that—”

The Captain of the Guards trailed off.

“You needn’t try to understand. Anyone listening to that would have the same question.”

“……!”

The sudden voice at his ear made the captain gasp. Instinctively, he reached for the sword at his waist to draw and swing it.

Or tried to.

Until a terrifyingly immense energy erupted from somewhere and pressed down on his entire body.

Whoosh!

A wave of qi, hot as flames and heavy as a massive boulder.

The Captain of the Guards froze, not daring even to breathe.

His head had bowed beneath the force pressing down on it. His eyes trembled with agitation as he stared at his hand, still short of the sword hilt.

H-how?

Only the unanswered question drifted through the Captain of the Guards’ mind, bleached white with shock.

How could this be?

He’d left Murim for a comfortable life in government service, but he was still a Peak master.

Nor was he some hothouse flower raised in the shelter of a prestigious sect. He’d come up as a wandering martial artist, a Peak master hardened by real combat.

He’d spent more than twenty years as a wanderer. He’d gone to war when he was barely old enough to grow peach fuzz and survived like a stubborn weed.

He might not have learned the fine martial arts taught to the disciples of great sects, but he was proud that his experience on the brink of death more than made up for it.

And yet…

If I move, I die.

He could see it clearly. Feel it.

Death’s shadow had drawn close. Before him stood a wall he could never overcome, no matter how many times he was reborn.

Drip.

At that very moment, a bead of cold sweat that had formed without his noticing ran down from the Captain of the Guards’ chin.

“It’s a hot day. That’s a bit much to put a guest through.”

Ssshhh.

At the calm voice, the heat scattered as though it had never been there.

The Captain of the Guards let out the breath he’d been holding and took several ragged breaths. In his ears, the sound of a conversation reached him.

“A guest? He’s some nobody here to make a request hardly worth calling one.”

“He’s my guest, to be precise. He came to see me.”

“What kind of guest tries to draw a sword the moment he arrives?”

“I can understand it. He was already shaken, and then someone startled him.”

“Quiet. You’re only safe thanks to this old man.”

“I wouldn’t dare compare myself to you, Sir Jeok, but my Master did teach me a thing or two. You needn’t worry.”

“No, but this brat who doesn’t even have the blood dried on his head has been talking back to me all this time—”

“As a physician, I should point out that if the blood in your head dries up, you die.”

“You—!”

The Captain of the Guards, listening to them, lifted his head in confusion.

The man Jeok Cheongang had called a wet-behind-the-ears brat had snow-white hair. He looked at the captain with kind eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“……!”

In that instant, the Captain of the Guards recognized the old man by instinct.

The old man had the bearing of an immortal, and their conversation had supplied the rest.

“D-Divine Physician?”

The old man—the Divine Physician—smiled wryly and nodded.

“Yes. I arrived late and caused you trouble without meaning to.”

“N-no! Not at all!”

The Captain of the Guards hurriedly waved his hands, then glanced nervously at Jeok Cheongang.

Meeting the Divine Physician at last was wonderful. But it was nothing beside the question of who that terrifying bald, middle-aged man might be.

Could it be…?

The scattered pieces in his mind seemed to fall into place all at once.

Jeok treated the Divine Physician, who looked well past seventy, like a child. Merely releasing his qi had been enough to bind the captain’s entire body.

No—more precisely, it was Scorching Yang Qi.

And then there was what the Divine Physician had called him.

He said “Sir Jeok.” He definitely did.

The Captain of the Guards swallowed hard.

It was absurd. A crazy thought.

But he couldn’t help it. As far as he knew, there was only one person in all the world who fit all those details.

“Th-that man… Could he be F-F-Fire—”

The Captain of the Guards stammered, unable to finish. Jeok Cheongang frowned.

“That’s right. I’m the Fire King. Not the F-F-Fire King.”

“Eek!”

“…Why does that reaction rub me the wrong way? You’d think I was the Grim Reaper.”

At Jeok Cheongang’s baffled look, the Divine Physician remembered something his Master had once told him.

“As a rule, it’s best to keep your distance from martial artists.”

“Why?”

“Of all the kinds of people in the world, they’re the most vile, violent, and—on top of that—stupid.”

“Ah, I suppose that’s true to some extent.”

“……What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. But I thought not all martial artists were like that.”

“True. But steer clear of those who follow the demonic, heterodox arts. Ninety-nine out of a hundred are idiots.”

“I’ve heard there are righteous heroes among the orthodox faction. Should I avoid them, too?”

“If you can, yes. They talk about benevolence and righteousness, but half of them are idiots.”

“Then what about martial artists who belong to neither the orthodox faction nor the ranks of those who follow the demonic, heterodox arts?”

“They’re so unruly, and so many of them are unknown, that it’s hard to judge. But based on my experience, you only need to remember two things.”

“What are they?”

“The Fire King. The Fire Gate Clan. Repeat them and burn them into your mind.”

“The Fire King. The Fire Gate Clan.”

“Once isn’t enough. This time, say them and engrave them on your heart.”

“The Fire King. The Fire Gate Clan.”

“Good. Remember those two.”

“I think I’ve heard the title Fire King before, but why do I need to remember it so well?”

“Avoid him.”

“Pardon?”

“Never meet him, no matter what. If you hear a rumor that the Fire King has appeared somewhere while I’m away, leave the entire province.”

“What? What kind of person is he that I’d have to go that far?”

“A lunatic.”

“……?”

“The Fire King—or rather, the Fire Gate Clan—are lunatics who’ve spent generations fighting orthodox martial artists and followers of the demonic, heterodox arts alike. They beat people when they’re in a bad mood, when they’re in a good mood, and some days when they’re neither happy nor upset.”

“……How can people like that exist?”

“They do. There’s a mad sect that’s spent more than three hundred years breeding—no, producing—one generation of insanely strong lunatics after another.”

The Divine Physician remembered that day clearly. His Master, renowned as the greatest assassin of all time and unfailingly composed, had used the word mad three times to impress the danger upon him.

Then why does Sir Jeok look so offended? It all sounds right to me.

He kept that thought to himself. Stopping Jeok Cheongang, who had seized the captain by the collar and begun shouting at him, came first.

“Do I look that vicious to you? Huh?”

“Eek! N-no!”

“Then why is your voice shaking? Are you mocking me for being bald?”

“Eek! I-I didn’t! Please spare me!”

“If your voice shakes one more time, every last hair on your body is going to…!”

“Sir Jeok, please. Calm down.”

The Divine Physician sighed as he stopped Jeok Cheongang, then spoke to the trembling Captain of the Guards.

“I happened to hear the gist of the situation. To get straight to the point, I can’t leave.”

“Y-yes? Why not?”

“From what you’ve told me, the City Lord is suffering from an unusual case of lovesickness. As a physician, I must tend to those who are sicker and in greater pain.”

“B-but he’s behaving nothing like himself!”

“That’s only natural. He’s had the person he loves taken from him. How could he not be suffering? If my patients improve later on, I’ll come by then, even if it’s only once…”

The Divine Physician trailed off and looked toward the slightly open door.

Hurried footsteps and ragged breathing drew closer, loud enough for everyone to hear. With them came the distinctive clank of armor, a sound seldom heard from a martial artist.

Tap-tap-tap! Clank!

Sure enough, a figure in gleaming armor soon ran up and stopped at the door, nearly collapsing.

“You…”

The Captain of the Guards’ eyes widened when he recognized a subordinate who should have been back at the City Lord’s residence. The man dragged in a ragged breath and cried out, “Th-the City Lord…!”