Chapter 1867 – Return of The Mount Hua Sect

Chapter 1867. Dying Would Be Easier. (2) ❀ ❀ ❀

“Huff...”

The shock to his body was so great that the blood vessels in his eyes burst. His vision blurred so badly from internal bleeding behind his eyeballs that he could barely see—but even then, Cheong Myeong could clearly make it out.

The Dark Fragrance Plum Blossom Sword. His cherished weapon, symbolizing the connection between the Tang Family and Mount Hua, was embedded in Jang Ilso’s chest.

The stark white blade pierced through his blood-soaked clothes. The blood of the Evil Sect’s foremost warrior ran down the edge of that razor-sharp blade.

But that wasn’t all. The sensation traveling through his fingertips confirmed it—this strike had definitely been effective...

However, at that moment, Jang Ilso's palm slammed into the center of Cheong Myeong’s chest like a brand.

Kwaaaaang!

Cheong Myeong vomited blood into the air as he was violently flung backward.

“Haa...ah...”

Jang Ilso let out a groan, a mix of pain and exhaustion. As he pressed on the blackened wound, his pale hands quickly turned crimson with blood.

“Keurgh!”

Coughing up blood, Jang Ilso clutched his chest wound tightly and muttered.

“...It hurts.”

His brow furrowed. Agonizing pain surged through his body. His trembling eyes suddenly gleamed ominously.

Squeeze.

Jang Ilso spat out a blood-clotted cough, then bit down hard on his lip.

“This is a bit much, Mount Hua Chivalrous Sword... I really thought I was going to die.”

Cheong Myeong struggled to lift his upper body.

“Ptooh.”

He spat out a large clot of blood and casually wiped the dark, dead blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Then he muttered.

“...Such dramatics.”

Clack!

Cheong Myeong stabbed his sword into the ground to support himself, somehow forcing his trembling body to rise. He swayed as if he might collapse at any moment, but managed to stand, baring blood-stained teeth in a pale grin.

“You better get used to it. Dying’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more.”

“....”

“Am I wrong?”

“Tsk.”

Jang Ilso’s expression twisted faintly.

“You just can’t stop bluffing, even on the brink of death.”

Watching Cheong Myeong who looked ready to collapse at any second, Jang Ilso pushed internal energy into his right hand. Though it may appear that Jang Ilso’s injuries were worse from the outside, Cheong Myeong had suffered the more severe blow internally.

So he had to press on relentlessly before the bleeding from that strike worsened.

Just as Jang Ilso finished calculating and began to step forward—

Stagger.

Jang Ilso’s body wobbled violently. Eyes widening in shock, he looked down at his legs, dazed.

‘Did I suffer internal damage?’

He quickly circulated his energy to reassess his condition.

But it wasn’t internal injury. While the sword strike that pierced his chest had been critical, it was still only external—damage to flesh. There was no reason for his legs to suddenly stop responding.

Then why... why wouldn’t his body obey him?

“No way....”

Jang Ilso’s fingertips trembled ever so slightly.

‘You’re saying I’m scared? Me?’

Grip!

He clenched his knee tightly. His fingertips dug into his skin, sending a sharp jolt of pain.

“Damn it...”

A crushing sense of humiliation overwhelmed him.

He had survived countless brushes with death. There were even times he had faced such dire crises that he fully accepted his own death.

But now—now he was suddenly frozen in fear? That didn’t make any sense.

Just then, he heard Cheong Myeong’s voice in his ear, without a trace of emotion.

“Your body... Keurgh! Keurgh! Damn it...”

Cursing, he hacked up another bloody cough and continued.

“...Looks like your body isn’t responding either.”

Jang Ilso remained silent, glaring daggers at him.

Cheong Myeong let out a dry chuckle.

“Want me to tell you why?”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“Death is nothing. We've already come too far to be afraid of that now. Haven’t we?”

“.....”

“You're not afraid of death.”

Sraak.

Cheong Myeong’s sword scraped against the ground.

“What you really fear... is that death might stop you from finishing what you started.”

“.....”

“That fear—that the end of your life might make everything you’ve done meaningless. That’s what’s gripping you right now.”

Jang Ilso stared at him blankly, as if he’d just been struck in the back of the head.

“...Fear?”

“Yeah.”

Jang Ilso slowly tilted his head, unable to process what he’d just heard.

“That’s the same for everyone, isn’t it? Who doesn’t know that everything ends when you die?”

“Is that so?”

Cheong Myeong let out a dry chuckle.

Sraak.

His sword scratched the ground once more, relentlessly.

“There was a time I lived like you. Believing without a single doubt that everything came down to the strength of my sword.”

At those words, Cheong Myeong slowly shook his head.

“But not anymore.”

Under his swollen eyelids, a calm light shone.

“I’ve seen it. People who don’t end with death. Those who leave something behind that carries on even after they’re gone.”

Jang Ilso stared at Cheong Myeong for a long time, then let out a soft, scoffing laugh.

“Ha. And here I was wondering what nonsense you were spouting....”

“You know what?”

Cheong Myeong smiled at Jang Ilso—but the nature of that smile was completely different from Jang Ilso’s.

“You’ve already failed.”

Jang Ilso’s eyes twitched.

“Failed?”

“Yeah. Because you won't leave anything behind.”

Cheong Myeong slowly nodded, then laughed again. For some reason, laughter kept bubbling out.

There are things that must be achieved. Things you’d give anything for, just to reach the destination. But once you get what you desperately wished for... what’s left?

“There’s nothing there.”

Cheong Myeong chuckled. Each time his body shook with laughter, dark blood spurted from the holes in his body.

“Nothing at all… Nothing remains. The only thing that exists is emptiness.”

He had already experienced it.

Severing the head of the Heavenly Demon. Cheong Myeong would’ve done anything for that one goal. He had driven himself even more desperately and ruthlessly than Jang Ilso was now.

But in the final moment, all that remained in Cheong Myeong’s grasp was regret.

“What matters isn't what you achieve, but what you leave behind.”

“.…”

“Not that you’d understand, no matter how many times I say it.”

Cheong Myeong gave a faint laugh.

—No matter how much I speak, what would someone like you hear?

The way Cheong Myeong is looking at Jang Ilso now is probably not so different from how Cheong Mun looked at Cheong Myeong back then.

The buried cannot see anything. They can’t leave anything behind.

That’s why Cheong Myeong saw his past self in Jang Ilso now. Their direction might differ, but the way they pursued it was the same.

But at the very least…

“What you leave behind, huh.”

At that moment, Jang Ilso looked up at the sky, dark with storm clouds. As if trying to grasp the falling rain, he reached out his hand—and suddenly chuckled.

“You’re joking, right?”

Fwoosh—

Suddenly, Jang Ilso’s body stretched like taffy and charged at Cheong Myeong. Reflexively, Cheong Myeong tried to swing his sword, but his wounded body no longer responded to his commands.

Clang!

The half-hearted swing was slapped away effortlessly by Jang Ilso’s fist.

Thwack!

Then came the left punch, driving into Cheong Myeong’s solar plexus all the way to the wrist.

“Ugh!”

Unable to endure the shock and pain, Cheong Myeong’s mouth gaped open. Reflexively curling forward like a shrimp, he was immediately kicked away by Jang Ilso.

Kwaaang!

With a massive sound, Cheong Myeong flew backward. But Jang Ilso didn’t allow him to escape. He grabbed Cheong Myeong’s wrist as he flailed, yanked him forward, and slammed the back of his head toward the ground.

Kwaaaang!

“Gguh…”

Cheong Myeong’s body trembled violently.

“What are you leaving behind?”

Kwaaaaang!

Jang Ilso smashed Cheong Myeong’s head into the ground again. Then he grabbed his collar and lifted him up. Cheong Myeong’s limp body now looked like it was kneeling before Jang Ilso. [note: cover art???]

“What you leave behind, huh? Hahaha! That’s hilarious! Ahahahaha!”

Jang Ilso burst into mad laughter. Blood streamed down his pale face like tears. After laughing for a while, he yanked Cheong Myeong’s collar closer, bringing their faces nearly together.

Jang Ilso’s eyes, filled with madness, stared right into Cheong Myeong’s from up close.

“How naive.”

“.…”

“One can never truly know someone else’s heart. You just assume you do and take comfort in that. Because otherwise, the fear is unbearable.”

“Jang Il…”

“Leave something behind? Believe in someone else? Trust that your will shall be carried on? That others will do what you could not? You believe that? You trust someone? Anyone?”

Cheong Myeong’s body trembled faintly.

It shouldn't have been possible, but for a moment, Cheong Myeong truly felt overwhelmed by Jang Ilso.

“Believe?”

Kwaang!

Once again, Cheong Myeong was harshly kicked, rolling across the ground.

“Faith? That’s nothing more than a cheap lie—just wordplay made up by pig-like fools who can’t do anything on their own.”

“.…”

“Those who can accomplish things alone never even mention faith. Only the incompetent dress it up and talk about it like it means something.”

Cheong Myeong pushed himself up with trembling hands. Jang Ilso watched him with a strange gaze.

“You, of all people, should know that, shouldn’t you?”

Though it brimmed with hostility, that gaze also carried unbelievable trust.

Sensing it, Cheong Myeong let out a faint laugh. A “laugh” in name only—it was barely a twitch on his broken, bloodied face.

“…Yeah. I know.”

Even his hands no longer moved as he willed. Yet he forced himself up again.

Crack.

Summoning his remaining strength, he gripped his sword tightly.

“Just... how fucked up that is.”

His body was in shambles, yet he couldn’t stop the bitter laughter that kept rising.

“So let me tell you.”

“…What?”

“Anyone who says faith is worthless… is someone who hasn’t stood at the very end yet.”

He should’ve believed more.

In his final moments back then, Cheong Myeong resented Cheong Mun. He blamed him for his blind faith. For his reckless kindness.

But now, the present Cheong Myeong resents his past self.

Why couldn’t he have believed in him just a little more?

Why hadn’t he tried a bit harder to help him?

If he had...

Maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

Maybe he wouldn’t be standing here like some ghostly remnant.

Hoo…

Cheong Myeong slowly gathered what little inner energy remained.

‘How much do I have left?’

Then again, at this point— what does it even matter anymore?

All that mattered was bringing him down. Using up every last drop of strength. After that, the others would handle the rest.

Just as Cheong Myeong took a deep breath to prepare for the final moment—Jang Ilso spoke.

“Faith, huh…. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Cheong Myeong squinted. Not because he was surprised by the words, but because of the faint heat he noticed rising in Jang Ilso’s expression.

“But faith, you see… that only matters if there’s someone to give it to.”

“…..What?”

A strange sense of dread brushed across Cheong Myeong’s chest. And before he knew it—forgetting the vow he had made to himself—his gaze shifted involuntarily.

Toward the place Jang Ilso had been glancing at for a while now. Not far from here.

“Answer me.”

As Jang Ilso’s voice brushed past his ear, Cheong Myeong saw it.

The crimson tide—rushing across the black-stained land in the distance—charging straight toward them.

“Ah…”

A groan, almost like a sigh, escaped Cheong Myeong’s lips. It was still far off, but he knew what it was.

Jang Ilso’s hounds were racing toward their master with mad devotion.

“If they all die—if they're all gone—where will your faith go then?”

Jang Ilso’s voice, laced with laughter, pierced into Cheong Myeong like a frozen dagger.

‘No…’

Red Dogs—another name for despair— came rushing in.

Next Chapter

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