Chapter 1839 – Return of The Mount Hua Sect

 

Chapter 1839. This Is Why It’s Not Fun. (4) ❀ ❀ ❀

People are bound to change.

No matter how desperately one struggles to remain the same, the world wears them down, fading and chipping away at them. At some point, they inevitably find themselves face-to-face with a version of themselves they no longer recognize.

How much more so on the battlefield?

In a place where simply being human is not permitted, survival requires change and sacrifice. Souls burn to ash, crumbling away, and the parts once considered “self” are stripped away little by little.

Even the sight of horrific carnage, when witnessed enough times, becomes dull. The agony of loss, which once tore at the soul, numbs with countless repetition.

By discarding and enduring, one eventually comes to realize—the parts they once believed to be themselves are now nowhere to be found.

Cheong Myeong had no doubt about this. He had experienced far too much to discuss pain. He had lost too much to even speak of loss.

And yet, he came to a new realization. No matter how much one discards and loses, a person can never completely change.

When his supposedly numbed heart was crushed by an unbearable ache, he understood. Some things refuse to change, no matter how hard one tries. Some things cannot be abandoned, no matter how much one wishes to let them go.

Cheong Myeong gazed in silence at the tragedy before him.

Just moments ago, these people had been alive, breathing. They had looked at the world with shining eyes, spoken, and laughed. But now, their bodies were growing cold.

‘Lord Zhuge…’

The man who had fallen at the very front was Zhuge Zain.

A miserable end. He had died with his eyes wide open, unable to close them.

The moment Cheong Myeong met those empty eyes, he instinctively shut his own, overwhelmed by a deep sense of déjà vu pulling him into the abyss.

Dizzy. Everything felt dizzy.

“Cheong…Myeong-ah…”

A voice called out. It was not a voice demanding anything. It was merely seeking confirmation that someone was still there—that they were not alone.

That voice pulled Cheong Myeong back from the darkness, forcing him to open his eyes. The scene before him had not changed, yet a familiar expression returned to his face.

Slowly, Cheong Myeong turned.

He saw his fellow sahyungs. Once, they had seemed endlessly reliable. But now, they looked like lost children. Perhaps it was because Cheong Myeong’s own soul was too exhausted.

Their faces reflected not despair but shock—utter bewilderment. Their uncertain gazes, as if by silent agreement, all turned to Cheong Myeong at once.

Cheong Myeong felt as if he would be crushed by the weight of those eyes.

He knew what he had to say. He knew what choice he had to make.

There was no meaning in comfort. Nothing could be done here. The only option was to move forward, to pursue. Time spent mourning was time lost protecting what could still be saved.

So... he had to go. He had to turn his back on this scene, pretend nothing was wrong, and move forward.

“……”

But he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Even when he forced his mouth open, only a hoarse whisper escaped.

He could only hope that the cracks spreading across the mask he wore remained unseen.

Just as Cheong Myeong was about to bite his tongue and force himself to speak—

“……Cheong……”

His pupils trembled. Following the faint voice, he turned around as if entranced.

“……Myeong.”

Step.

His feet moved on their own. Slowly at first, then steadily, step by step, without stopping.

Amidst the field of ruined corpses, someone was struggling to rise. Their movements were so weak, they seemed ready to collapse at any moment.

Cheong Myeong’s steps quickened. 

Cplak.

Blood pooled around his ankles as he ran.

“Lord Tang!”

At the sound of Yoon Jong’s desperate cry behind him, Cheong Myeong surged forward like a streak of light. Just in time, he reached out and caught the crumbling body of Tang Gunak.

Twitch.

The moment their bodies touched, Cheong Myeong flinched violently and pulled his hand back. An overwhelming mix of unfamiliarity and terrible familiarity hit him at once.

Watching Tang Gunak collapse, Cheong Myeong hastily grabbed his shoulders.

He hadn’t imagined it. The man was cold. So cold that he could hardly believe he was still alive.

Cheong Myeong’s fingers trembled.

“Lord!”

Yoon Jong, having finally reached them, gasped in horror at the wounds covering Tang Gunak’s body.

Just being alive was already a miracle. Each wound was grave, and even worse—

A massive hole had been torn through the center of his chest.

‘This is…’

Impossible to save. No one could.

Tang Gunak’s remaining eye moved sluggishly, unable to focus, it didn’t reach Cheong Myeong at all. His gaze drifted aimlessly through the empty air.

“Are you… there…?”

Yoon Jong saw it. Cheong Myeong’s shoulders trembled as if they would collapse.

He had lost his sight. No, he couldn’t even feel that Cheong Myeong’s hands were gripping his shoulders.

“I’m here.”

Cheong Myeong forced the words out. At that, a faint relief crossed Tang Gunak’s face.

“……You are here.”

Slowly, Tang Gunak reached out a hand. Cheong Myeong instinctively grasped it firmly. Blood dripped from Tang Gunak’s hand onto Cheong Myeong’s wrist.

“What about…Pae?”

Yoon Jong reflexively looked around. Pae? Was Tang Pae among the dead? If he had been, they would have noticed immediately.

Then…

“He’s alive.”

Cheong Myeong answered without hesitation. Hearing the certainty in his voice, a fleeting relief flickered across Tang Gunak’s face.

“…That’s a relief…”

However, that relief did not last long. He cast a blank gaze in the direction where Cheong Myeong was supposedly present, and spoke with difficulty.

“Mount Hua Chivalrous Sword… You must… chase him…”

“Lord.”

“He’s… He’ll strike again… Save the others…”

Tang Gunak’s body convulsed with the effort of speaking. Cheong Myeong pulled him into his arms. His expression twisted in pain.

“Leave me behind… Go!”

“That bastard.”

Cheong Myeong spoke firmly. His devastated face was now adorned with a serene smile.

“I have already defeated him.”

Tang Gunak’s eye wavered. Cheong Myeong smiled even brighter. Even though he know Tang Gunak could not see, he hoped his warmth would reach him.

“So it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“…Is that… true?”

“Yes.”

He knew.

Tang Gunak was right. He should leave him behind. He should focus on saving those who could still be saved. Hadn’t he believed that himself?

But he couldn’t.

“That’s a... relief.”

Only then did a faint smile bloom on Tang Gunak’s lips. It was a face of genuine relief.

Yoon Jong desperately covered his mouth. Im Sobyeong turned his head to look at the distant sky.

All the disciples of Mount Hua who had shared time with Tang Gunak bowed their heads, stifling their sobs. So that Tang Gunak wouldn’t hear, so that his final moments wouldn’t be tainted with unease.

Tang Gunak deserved that much. At the very least, he had the right to a peaceful death.

“Mount Hua Chivalrous Sword.”

Cheong Myeong did not answer. No, he couldn’t answer.

Tang Gunak’s voice had grown clearer than before. Cheong Myeong knew all too well what that meant. He had seen it countless times, experienced it too many times—but it was something he would never get used to.

“The Tang family... Please take care of Pae-ya.”

“...Yes.”

“He’s a foolish child, but he’s not a bad one. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Nokrim...”

“Damn it, you’re worrying about everything. How did you even know I was here?”

At Im Sobyeong’s gruff reply, Tang Gunak struggled to smile.

“Of course... our first meeting wasn’t exactly pleasant... But that was true for everyone here.”

Cheong Myeong and Im Sobyeong both chuckled softly and nodded. Their beginning had been a bad relationship—there was no denying that.

“Even so... I...”

Tang Gunak, who had been speaking in broken intervals, suddenly stared blankly into the distance. A place no one else could see—only he could. The scenery only he could witness.

“...It was fun.”

Cheong Myeong lowered his head.

“It wasn’t... your fault... I was fortunate. To have met you.”

“Lord.”

“At last, I too...”

Tang Gunak let out a faint chuckle. Then, blood gushed from his mouth, trickling down.

“Cheong...Myeong...”

“Yes.”

“Don’t blame yourself too much. That was always regrettable. Haven’t you done enough...?”

Cheong Myeong tightened his grip on Tang Gunak’s hand without a word.

“....Thank you.”

“I... should be the one thanking you.”

Cheong Myeong never forgot.

Of all those who had not been connected within the sect, who had been the first to trust him? He would never forget—not even in death.

“Don’t worry about the Tang family. I will make sure... it finds its rightful place again.”

Tang Gunak did not say thank you again. There was no need for such words.

He simply believed. In the smallest and youngest friend he had known. The only friend in his life.

“Soso...”

Tang Gunak's voice carried a trace of fondness and regret.

“I hope... she won’t cry.”

The strength slowly drained from Tang Gunak’s hand.

Cheong Myeong clenched his teeth and held his breath. He buried his face into his shoulder, pressing down any sound—no breath, no sob—so that nothing—not a single uneasiness would remain to disturb this man’s final journey.

He prayed again and again in his heart. May his trembling would not reach Tang Gunak.

May only peace would remain.

Eventually, Tang Gunak’s movements ceased entirely. Though Cheong Myeong knew he was gone, he still gazed down at the man held in his arms.

A serene smile graced Tang Gunak’s face, as if he were merely sleeping. Cheong Myeong etched that smile, that face, into his memory. So that he would never forget it.

Only after a long while did he gently lay Tang Gunak down. He conveyed the last words he had not been able to convey to him, who was lying flat on his back.

“...Thank you for your hard work.”

At last, behind him, someone let out a choked sob. Those who could no longer hold it in released their grief in pained cries.

But there was no more time to be held captive by sorrow.

Cheong Myeong slowly stood up. He bowed his head slightly toward Tang Gunak, who now lay as if asleep. After imprinting that final image into his mind, he turned away.

“Cheong Myeong...”

His face was as composed as usual.

“Don’t cry.”

At those words, Yoon Jong bit his lip.

“Not yet. Cut off that bastard’s head and return—then.”

“....”

“Then you can cry.”

The disciples of Mount Hua wiped their tears away with rough hands and nodded resolutely. The cold determination in their eyes overtook the grief that had shaken them.

“Let’s go.”

At someone’s voice, they all turned.

Cheong Myeong had lied to Tang Gunak. And everyone here had witnessed it. But there was still time to turn that lie into truth.

The disciples of Mount Hua surged forward.

Jongli Gok, who couldn’t hide his sorrow, and Maeng So, whose eyes were reddened, also left. Only one remained. Im Sobyeong stood, staring intently at the now motionless Tang Gunak.

Did Tang Gunak truly not know it was a lie?

“...Even to the end... acting all high and mighty.”

Im Sobyeong deeply bowed to Tang Gunak. It was the first time he had ever shown such respect—from the moment they met until now.

When he lifted his head again, Im Sobyeong expression had hardened.

At last, even Im Sobyeong turned and left. Rain began to fall over the bodies left behind.

The lukewarm rain brought the faintest warmth to those growing cold.

Next Chapter

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