Chapter 984

The saying that words without feet can travel a thousand ri¹ was wrong. They could travel ten thousand—or even farther—in the blink of an eye.

The chain of events in the north spread with astonishing speed, and without end.

From person to person, on the beating wings of messenger eagles, and on the pounding hooves of horses driven by messengers’ hurried whips.

Before long, the fallout from the truth that had come to light was enough to shake the entire Central Plains.

“How could the Murong Family…!”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be true!”

Disbelief was the first reaction of the martial artists who heard the news.

Of course it was.

The traitors exposed before the whole world weren’t groups rooted in demonic, heterodox arts, like the Yangtze River Channel League or the Green Forest Alliance. They were none other than the Murong Family.

One of the Five Great Families.

Though based at the very edge of the north, it was a great family in the truest sense, renowned from the vast lands of Liaoning all the way to the Central Plains.

And yet that very Murong Family had supposedly joined forces with Dark Heaven.

Worse, it wasn’t the work of a handful of rogue members. Most of the family, including its Family Head, Murong Baek, had been involved.

The shock this unbelievable news dealt to those who heard it was beyond words.

“The Family Head, the Divine Spear of the Imugi, distinguished himself in the Great Faction War. Why would he—or the Murong Family—do such a thing…?”

But their disbelief lasted only a moment.

The Beggars’ Sect, the Lower District Sect, Huashan, and the Hebei Peng Family—

and the Murim Alliance, the heart of the martial world—

all officially confirmed that every word of it was true, without the slightest falsehood.

Even the giant beyond the martial world—who existed, yet might as well not have—confirmed it.

“Clear the way!”

Groups of government soldiers, some numbering dozens and others hundreds, swept through the land.

For so long, they had spent their days leaning against their spears, their faces slack with the ease of a lasting peace. Now, fully armed, they carried out their orders with sharp eyes beneath their helmets, watching every direction.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“How should I know? But with things this tense, I’d guess it has something to do with whatever happened in the Imperial Capital recently.”

“Oh, I heard about that too. You mean those bastards called Dark Heaven? I heard from a martial artist I know that they went on another rampage…”

This wasn’t happening in just one place.

Seeing the soldiers’ sudden change in demeanor, people gathered, both bewildered and on edge.

Before long, they read the proclamations the soldiers had posted all around before leaving.

Let it be known to all under Heaven, to all the people:

That was how the proclamation began. Men of letters in every province had written it in a single flowing hand. Pressed forward under the crowd’s gaze, the scholars reading it aloud found their voices trembling more and more as the recitation went on.

“…Th-therefore, I shall join forces with the martial men outside government service to make an example of the traitorous band known as Dark Heaven. This is my will and Heaven’s decree.”

Even after the lengthy recitation ended, the gathering remained silent as the grave.

Those who understood the sudden proclamation stared wide-eyed, like the scholars reading it. The country folk who didn’t understand glanced about and whispered under their breath.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“I don’t rightly know. Seems like ‘martial men who don’t belong to the government’ means martial artists, though… Couldn’t they just say it plain? Why’d they have to write it so fancy?”

They lived from day to day, earning only enough to eat.

They had been born with little chance to learn anything but hard work and how to use their bodies. Their pockets were always light, while their shoulders bore the weight of a thousand geun.² How could they be expected to read a line of writing?

But there were always people who couldn’t stand silence or ignorance.

“It is an imperial decree personally issued by His Majesty. He has declared Dark Heaven a band of traitors and announced to all his people that he will join forces with the martial artists of the world to punish them.”

Only then did people look down.

Beneath the tiny letters was a clear imprint of a seal.

It was the mark of the imperial seal, reserved for only one person in all the vast Nine Provinces—one that countless people had never even seen.

Even those who couldn’t read could tell at a glance that it was no ordinary seal.

“This is more serious than I expected. They’re even borrowing the martial world’s swords and spears.”

At the young scholar’s sudden remark, someone else murmured with a sigh.

“I’ve heard all the rumors about Dark Heaven, but… I never thought it was this bad.”

The first to hear news from every corner of the world were martial artists and merchants.

People outside those circles rarely had their ear to the ground unless they had special connections. And even when something happened, they generally saw no reason to worry.

The Great Nation stood on a firm foundation.

The countless purges and provincial warlord rebellions that had followed its founding were long over.

With the passage of time, the world had settled into peace. Even during the calamity some fifty years ago that martial artists called the Great Faction War, the common people had suffered almost no harm.

Why?

It was simple.

Even the fanatics from far to the west, who bore the chilling name of the Demonic Cult, had feared the Great Nation joining the war.

They had wanted it to be seen as nothing more than a struggle between martial-world factions.

But…

“This time will be different. Different from any other.”

When Shaolin Temple’s Abbot, once likened to a living Buddha, entered nirvana and the grounds where only the peaceful sound of wooden fish³ had once echoed ran red with blood, no one there had felt anything beyond sorrow.

It was the same when they heard that the Daoists of Qingcheng and Emei, who seemed like immortals, had fallen, and that the Sichuan Tang Clan—whose people had a reputation for being a fearsome bunch even among ordinary folk—had suffered terrible losses.

That was the Murim everyone knew.

In that cruel forest, where spears and swords ran wild in place of green trees, even venerable monks and Daoists could die at any moment.

No, there was another reason they had watched it all without much concern.

Whatever happens, surely nothing will happen to us.

They lived in different worlds, behind different walls.

The people had entrusted their safety to the Great Nation’s walls. All they had done was watch the martial artists fight their fierce battles in their own domain.

Now and then, they pitied the unlucky common folk caught up in Murim affairs and killed. But that was all.

A fire blazing hundreds of li⁴ away couldn’t warm everyone.

The people’s feelings and interest burned hot for a moment, then quickly cooled.

Compared to the whole, the victims were only a handful. The rest could wake up tomorrow just fine.

They had the Great Nation, a great and sturdy wall.

But that unshakable faith was crumbling at that very moment.

“W-wait, sirs. Then what you’re saying is…”

Gulp.

The village elder couldn’t finish. He only swallowed dryly, and the old scholar spoke in his place.

He spoke the truth no one wanted to believe or even hear.

The truth they had no choice but to face.

“That’s right. It’s exactly what you think.”

He let out a quiet sigh.

The old scholar looked down at his wrinkled hands, etched with the marks of time.

He remembered when they had been white and smooth.

He remembered his younger self, with so many possibilities before him, unable to go any farther because an age of chaos refused to end. He remembered those turbulent years.

Slowly, he continued.

“The war has already begun.”

“…!”

“…!”

Some clenched their teeth and fists. Others squeezed their eyes shut.

Soundless shock surged through the crowd like a wave.

The word war spread in every direction, carried in wide-open eyes and slackened lips.

Along broad avenues, through narrow, dark alleys, and with the hurried footsteps of those rushing to carry the unbelievable news onward.

War.

The flames of a great war that would burn everything.

At that moment, the old scholar saw it.

The darkness that had slumbered for so many years had finally awoken, painting everyone’s faces with despair.

And suddenly, he repeated in his mind an unfamiliar name from the proclamation bearing the Son of Heaven’s command.

Jin Taekyung of the Jin Family of Taiyuan.

No—the Marquis of Shangshan, Jin Taekyung.

The foremost contributor to stopping this rebellion, a martial artist still so young, yet raised to the rank of marquis.

I don’t know much about the affairs of the martial world… but one thing is certain.

The old scholar had once served in government. He could guess well enough what future awaited that young martial artist, who had achieved something without precedent—and something that would never happen again.

I don’t know who you are, but please, give it everything you have and keep moving forward. Not only for the Murim you’ve always known, but for this country as well.

Though his words would never reach him, the old scholar bowed toward the proclamation.

First, to the Son of Heaven, who watched over all things from the distant Imperial Capital.

Second, to the countless heroic souls who would shed their blood and fall to protect this world.

And lastly, to the new marquis who stood at the heart of the martial world by virtue of the solemn imperial decree.

The old scholar continued to bow.

In full view of the crowd, he did so silently, offering all the respect and sincerity he could.

And thousands of li⁴ away, in a narrow gorge, bright yellow chrysanthemums colored the landscape in every direction.

I’d heard of the Double Ninth Festival⁵ a few times in passing, but that was about all I knew.

As a Korean born and raised, I’d always observed the big holidays like Lunar New Year and Chuseok.⁶ But I didn’t have so much time on my hands that I could take an interest in the customs of those guys on the continent.

Today, though, I followed the customs of the Double Ninth Festival⁵ too.

I held more bright yellow chrysanthemums than my arms could contain, and awkwardly wore a pouch of cornelian berries at my side.

It was a way to honor those who had passed before they could celebrate the Double Ninth Festival⁵ themselves.

And we had to keep moving forward, leaving their sacrifice behind us.

Whoosh.

Wind from far away stirred the chrysanthemums in my arms.

It came out of nowhere and tugged insistently at them, as if taking them by the hand. Several petals, large and small, gave in and went along with it.

Before long, they fluttered through the air like a rain of flowers.

Riding the wind, they swam through the twists and turns of the Eight Spring Gorge, as those who had lived on this land long ago had named it.

Ah.

I swallowed the exclamation that almost escaped me.

It was beautiful and, at the same time, unbearably sad.

I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Tens of thousands of people filled the Eight Spring Gorge, and I knew they felt it too.

Watching the yellow petals fall, I found myself wondering: Even now, as they drifted farther and farther away with the wind, were they only petals? Or were they the souls of those who had willingly thrown away their lives to protect what they cherished?

There was no single right answer.

There was no need to find one.

We could believe whatever we wanted to believe. Someday, we would return here and remember them.

Each in our own way.

With laughter. With chrysanthemums and cornelian berries.

Or…

With tears.

Drip. Drip, drip.

Senses far beyond human limits sometimes told me things I didn’t want to know.

Like the tears wetting the leather shoes of a man whose head was bowed and whose body was trembling slightly.

No. Raindrops.

Yeah. That’s how it is.

I quietly looked up at the sky.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Jin Wikyung like that, or at Lee Seowol silently mourning the death of her uncle, who had been her strongest support, or at the countless others in tears.

Whoosh.

The wind blew again.

The rain of flowers rose high, then fell around everyone as if to comfort them.

Yet beneath a sky clearer than ever, countless raindrops kept falling.

The Double Ninth Festival⁵ had passed, but the chrysanthemums hadn’t withered.

I knew that those who had left and those who remained were all here together.

And I knew that because of them, the road ahead had grown wider and brighter.

Ding.

A clear chime rang through the sky, mingling with the rain of flowers.