Chapter 62

The world seemed to stop.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I could see every last grain of dirt drifting through the air.

And then…

Whoooosh.

A flash of light.

The glow pouring from the Sword Force was beautiful—and precise. I could feel a destructive power in it that looked ready to split not only the spearhead, but my body itself, in two.

It’s over.

I had done my best. It would be a lie to say I had no regrets at all, but that wouldn’t change the outcome.

All I could do was smash into it with everything I had left.

Shwaaaak!

The spearhead tore through the wind. The Sword Force erased it.

That was the instant death came striding in.

Shreeeek! Thunk!

The Head Elder’s eyes flew wide.

A freak of unknown identity had risen at lightning speed and driven a dagger into his dantian.

“You…”

“You should’ve struck a vital acupoint.”

It was an ambush no one could have expected.

Until a moment ago, he had been nothing more than one of the countless corpses scattered around us.

But he wasn’t.

The freak had only been waiting, with extreme patience, for his moment—the moment he could avenge his child.

The Head Elder cried out like a scream.

“Lee Cheonbaek!”

“Kahahaha!”

The instant Lee Cheonbaek burst into maniacal laughter, my spearhead punched into his back.

It tore through flesh and bone, driving forward without resistance.

System

• You have defeated Lv. 75 Lee Cheonbaek!
• Level up!
• Level up!
• Level up!
• …
• All status ailments have been recovered due to the stacked effect of the level-ups!

The change came at once.

My aching muscles, my heavy feet, my empty dantian—all of them swelled with new strength.

At the same time, I knew what I had to do.

One Flash.

Once more, a white vortex erupted.

Kraaaack!

A narrow escape.

Never in my life had those four syllables hit so close to home.

I had really died and come back. I’d even seen a vision of going through hell’s immigration, sharing a passionate hug with King Yama, and snapping a commemorative photo together.

If it hadn’t been for Lee Cheonbaek, that vision would have become reality.

Good thing I saved him.

I wanted to close Lee Cheonbaek’s eyes so he could go in peace, but there was still work to do.

“So live a little nicer. Come on.”

The Head Elder let out a faint laugh at that. He looked horrific.

One Flash had swallowed his remaining arm, and it hadn’t stopped there—it had punched a hole the size of a fist through his chest.

“What a nasty-hearted brat. Have you no manners toward a dying old man?”

“The old folks I know spend their later years enjoying their grandchildren’s antics. They’re not old bastards like you, running around trying to kill their own grandchildren.”

“Why, you brat! Play at being a grandson first, then say something like that.”

He laughed heartily. He looked hollow, and yet relieved, as if he had finally shaken everything off.

“Taekyung is a good kid. If you had opened your heart first, the two of you might have had a good grandfather-grandson relationship.”

The Head Elder turned his head.

Jin Wikyung stood there, sword in hand.

“Are you planning to stab me with that sword?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’d better finish considering it quickly. I don’t have much time left.”

His words were true.

Even now, as he talked as if nothing were wrong, blood poured like a waterfall from the severed stumps of both arms and from his lower abdomen.

On top of that, there was the backlash from drawing up his innate qi.

The fact that he was still alive felt like a miracle.

“You look like you’re having a hard time.”

“No. I’m getting comfortable.”

The answer was firm.

“I was barely thirty when the Great Faction War began. After that, I never once rested easy—not even for a moment. No…”

The Head Elder went on in a strained voice.

“In truth, perhaps I’ve been tired for a very long time.”

I muttered, appalled.

“You did all that, and now you’re coming out with this?”

“Taekyung!”

Jin Wikyung sent me a look of mild reproach, but the Head Elder did not seem offended. A breathy laugh leaked from behind the lips he had pressed shut.

“Puh-huh. Yes, you’re right. Just think of it as a senile old man’s bullshit.”

“Looks like it really is time for you to die.”

“Hey! You little brat!”

“What? It’s not like I said anything wrong.”

The Head Elder watched Jin Wikyung and me bicker with a fading gaze.

“We had a time like yours too. Yes. There was definitely a time when we were like that.”

But he no longer had time left even to linger over those memories.

“Cough! Guaaack!”

The Head Elder staggered after vomiting what had to be a bowlful of blood.

He was at death’s door. Every capillary in his eyes had burst, and the blood pouring from his body had long since pooled at his feet.

Anyone could see there was no hope left for him.

He’s really dying? That Head Elder?

Everyone dies.

Hundreds of lives had vanished on this battlefield alone—perhaps more than a thousand.

But the Head Elder’s death was something I had never even been able to imagine.

That was how overwhelming his martial prowess had been. It made his current state look all the more wretched.

And that only made me more curious.

“Why are you holding on this hard?”

The Head Elder answered.

“Because I want to tell those who left before me… that I did my best.”

“Regrets?”

“None.”

He smiled broadly and thrust out his chest.

“Finish it. With your own hands.”

I raised my spear.

Jin Wikyung wore a troubled expression, but he did not try to stop me.

Shhk!

A single gust of wind passed, and the Head Elder’s knees—which had never seemed capable of buckling—touched the ground.

A peaceful smile rose on his wrinkled face.

At the final moment, his lips moved, but no sound came out.

That was all.

System

• You have defeated Lv. 95 Jin Baekyang!
• Quest Traitor completed!
• Your Level has increased greatly!
• Your Fame has increased greatly!

For a very brief moment, silence fell.

Then a colossal roar erupted—unlike anything I had ever heard.

“The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi, Jin Taekyung, has cut down the Blade of Flowers, Jin Baekyang!”

System

• You have acquired the Title Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi!

Dozens.

Maybe hundreds.

Everyone who had survived was shouting my name.

The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi.

I rather liked my new name.

“Third Young Master Jin Taekyung of the Jin Family of Taiyuan cut down the Head Elder!”

“The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi defeated the Blade of Flowers!”

“The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi…”

Wipeng gave a faint smirk.

He was the wastrel Third Young Master who had never even been called an earth dragon.

But now, there was no denying it.

He was a sleeping dragon.

If he obtained the dragon pearl, he could roam the heavens.

“What do you make of it?”

The First Elder answered.

“Do you believe that?”

“Everyone is shouting that the Head Elder is dead.”

“That is because my lord wanted it that way. A mere Third Young Master killing him? It’s laughable.”

“You can see that from here? Sharp eyes.”

“This is what comes of letting your attention wander. Hahaha.”

He was leaning diagonally against a heap of corpses.

A sword wound split him on a slant from about the shoulder to the waist, and blood poured from it in torrents.

“Surrender. If we treat you now, you can live.”

“No. This old man’s end was decided long ago. A very painful death.”

Wipeng shook his head.

“I won’t allow it.”

“My death does not require permission. Neither you nor even I can do anything about it.”

“What does that mean?”

Wipeng furrowed his brow, unable to follow, when—

“Beware Dark Heaven… Grrk.”

It happened in an instant.

Blood poured from all seven of the First Elder’s orifices. His eyes rolled back, and his entire body convulsed.

“First Elder!”

By the time Wipeng hurried over, the First Elder’s breath had already stopped.

Just as he had said, he had met a painful death. His face was twisted grotesquely.

This is…

Poison? Or a restriction?

There was no way to know yet.

Wipeng carved the single word that had become the First Elder’s last deep into his mind.

Dark Heaven. He definitely said Dark Heaven.

The only clue the First Elder had left behind.

Wipeng stared at the dead man’s face with complicated feelings, then turned away.

“I, Wipeng, cut down the First Elder!”

Despair spread across the faces of the black-clad men.

Faced with two paths—death or surrender—they chose the latter.

Clang. Clatter-clatter.

Weapons fell weakly to the ground.

It was the end of the war.

Where there were the dead, there were also those who had lived.

The Sect Leader of Gunggwimun,¹ Jin Chung, was one of them. He had climbed to the top of the cliff before the battle began.

“How hollow.”

It had been a grand scheme to which he had devoted half his life.

The result was horrific.

The Head Elder he had served as his lord, the Elders he had called brother, and the Sect Leaders of the Five Gates of Shanxi had all died.

The survivors’ last desperate struggle had ended as well.

Now, only he remained.

So this is how it ends.

Jin Chung turned around.

Fifty martial artists of Gunggwimun were waiting for his orders.

“Leave.”

An invisible stir ran through them.

One of the nearest martial artists spoke cautiously.

“Sect Leader, what do you mean…?”

“This fight is already over. I will not force you to sacrifice yourselves. Leave by this road. Scatter as widely as you can and get out of Shanxi. If you do, you may at least save your lives.”

The martial artist nodded resolutely.

“I will follow you until I die.”

“I… will remain here.”

“What?”

The confusion lasted only a moment before the martial artist’s voice began to tremble with feeling.

“Is it because of us?”

“Not at all.”

Jin Chung answered firmly, but his thoughts were different.

If I followed them, the Jin Family of Taiyuan would hunt them relentlessly.

The Five Gates of Shanxi were many, yet one.

One, yet many.

They had been created for the same purpose, but each sect had raised its martial artists in a different way.

Jin Chung had not raised them as weapons.

He had taken them in as disciples.

“Sect Leader!”

“Please lead us!”

Every one of them had been an orphan with nowhere to go.

For at least ten years—twenty or more in some cases—he had fed them, sheltered them, and taught them martial arts.

If the grand scheme had succeeded, they would have become the backbone of Shanxi’s Murim.

Now that it had failed, they were nothing more than traitors.

“Do you not understand how this is going?”

“Even if we die, we will die with you, Sect Leader.”

“You brat!”

“Please allow us.”

The martial artist who had stepped forward first slammed his forehead against the stone floor.

Then, one by one, his disciples began to kneel.

Jin Chung looked up at the sky and lamented.

“If only the grand scheme had not been delayed. If only they had stepped forward!”

Talk of them was a secret known only to the eight at the top.

To speak those words aloud was no different from deciding to share his final moments with his disciples.

This too must be heaven’s will.

Jin Chung turned his gaze from the dark night sky and helped the prostrate martial artist to his feet.

He felt endlessly sorry—and deeply moved—by the loyalty the man had shown.

“That’s enough. Get up.”

At the warmth in his voice, the martial artist lifted his head.

He flicked his tongue over the trickle of blood running down his forehead, then gave a crooked grin.

“Yes.”

Thuck!

Jin Chung stared at the martial artist with a blank look.

The shock was so great he could not even feel pain.

What in the world…?

Shwaaak!

The martial artist pulled his hand from Jin Chung’s chest.

A glow brighter than moonlight clung to it—a blood-red Force that inspired dread just to look at.

“You…”

“You already know, so why ask? Oh, and about what you just said—I’ll give you a simple answer.”

The martial artist’s smile deepened.

“Why would we step forward? Your role ends right here.”

Jin Chung’s eyes flew wide.

Them.

The unknown beings who had never revealed themselves until the very end.

Dark Heaven!

“You bastards!”

“Don’t look at me like you’ve been used. Forgotten who got you out of that hell alive?”

Jin Chung remembered the nightmare from forty years ago.

The corpses of allies covering the ground around him.

The endless army of the Demonic Cult surging in.

They had gathered around the Head Elder and prepared themselves to die.

That was before Dark Heaven appeared.

“We saved your lives and gave you a chance at revenge. What more did you want?”

He was right.

Dark Heaven had annihilated the Demonic Cult’s army, then proposed a deal.

They had accepted.

They had to have a gu planted in their heads, but they would have done anything for revenge.²

But…

“Wasn’t your real aim to use us to rule Shanxi?”

“Well, maybe that was the plan at first.”

“Then what was it all for?”

The martial artist grinned.

“A bigger picture.”

At the same time, his bloodstained hand pressed against Jin Chung’s chest.

Boom.

A small explosion went off inside Jin Chung’s body.

The energy burst his eardrums, severed his blood vessels strand by strand, and reached his heart.

Just like this…

The thought went no further.

Jin Chung’s body, already dead, flew like a bird and plunged off the cliff.

Shiiiiik! Crash!

The martial artist glanced down and grimaced.

“Ouch. That must’ve hurt.”

When he turned around, screams and blood were waiting for him.

Ten black-clad men who had appeared out of nowhere were massacring Gunggwimun’s disciples.

“Let’s finish this quickly and go.”

“As you command.”

Shreeeeek! Thud!

The martial artist turned his gaze toward the bottom of the cliff.

Screams erupted all around him, but below the cliff the air was filled with cheers and shouts.

“The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi!”

“Jin Taekyung! Jin Taekyung!”

“The Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi…”

The plan had succeeded.

But Jin Taekyung’s appearance had been a variable even he had not anticipated.

He did not like that.

Take him out, or let him be?

If he set his mind to it, he could rip him out by the roots.

His deepening gaze turned toward Jin Taekyung, ringed by cheers.

“Our youngest! My little brother!”

“Let go! Let go, you bastard!”

A snort of laughter escaped him.

I’ll let you live. For today.

The martial artist turned away.

Some fifty corpses lay like a carpet in his wake.