If That Were A Human. (5)

“Wrahchaahhh!”

Jo Gul thrust at the enemies charging him one after another. His momentum hadn’t faltered at all; in fact, it had become sharper than at the start, but his expression was steadily hardening.

“Huh! Huh!”

Almost there.

The damn canyon’s end was finally in sight. Just a little more…

Jo Gul, who had pierced the throat of the attacker, exhaled heavily. His face was already drenched in sweat, and the fingertips gripping his sword began to tremble slightly.

‘Already….’

It felt as if his internal qi had run dry.

It made no sense logically.

Swordsmanship basically emphasizes thrusting. Because of that trait, Jo Gul’s swordsmanship didn’t usually consume much internal qi. In a fight like this, he should be able to repeat it day and night for three days without tiring.

But the impossible had already happened, so he couldn’t deny it.

It wasn’t just the internal qi. Everything that had been filling him felt like it was depleting rapidly. It hadn’t even been a short while since they’d started fighting properly.

‘It’s like this….’

Everything was being consumed at an alarming rate.

Stamina, internal qi, even the mental fortitude he had been confident wouldn’t fall short of anyone.

No sooner had Jo Gul shown signs of fatigue than Yoon Jong charged forward. Yoon Jong’s back was also damp with sweat.

Watching him absentmindedly, Jo Gul lightly tossed his sword into the air and vigorously shook the sweat dampening his hands.

He realized anew how brutal the pressure was to fight at the forefront, to clear the way ahead of everyone else.

“Don’t whine! There are three of us here!”

Yoon Jong and Baek Cheon must be suffering the same pressure. But he couldn’t show such weakness. And if anyone would succumb to the pressure, it would be Baek Cheon rather than them…

Reflexively glancing at Baek Cheon, Jo Gul flinched for a moment. He had expected him to be looking for an opportunity to surge forward, but Baek Cheon was unexpectedly staring somewhere behind.

“Sasuk?”

Jo Gul called out in puzzlement, but Baek Cheon seemed not to hear and just kept staring endlessly to the rear.

“Pht!”

Spitting the blood pooled in his mouth carelessly, Chung Myung glared at Gwi Yang before him.

‘What a mess.’

His body was in such a shambles it was almost out of control.

• Damn it! Does he think the body is some cart you can swap parts on when it breaks? Sahyung will kick the bucket if he keeps acting like that.

‘Back then and now, the Tang Family men are the same….’

Those physicians are all the same. They keep saying the same things.

If you’re injured you have to rest. A person’s body doesn’t conveniently heal itself.

‘Who doesn’t know that?’

If he could rest, he would. The problem is he can’t.

Chung Myung had become stronger. In just a few years he had caught up to more than half of his past level.

He had accumulated inner energy bit by bit until he no longer felt it lacking, and his swordsmanship had grown so familiar to this body that it reached a near-perfect state.

But that didn’t mean he’d perfectly recovered his past level.

What he lacked most was internal qi.

In his past life he’d spent nearly seventy years building internal qi. In this life, the time he had to accumulate it wasn’t even ten years.

He had the newly made Heavenly Violet Pill to help, but if a pill could substitute for decades of cultivation, who would bother focusing on internal qi?

This journey breaking through from Southern Island to here at the vanguard was a grueling path even for his past self. He’d endured it with an inexperienced body and inner energy, so it’s no wonder his body was giving out.

He’d focused solely on felling enemies—cut off all concern for everything else for that one purpose—and still ended up like this.

Of course, he could have chosen to fall back to tend wounds and catch his breath. Even choosing that, they would likely have made it this far.

The current Five Swords had grown enough to be proudly presented even against the damned old Mount Hua fellows, and the Heavenly Friends Alliance’s young lord men were doing their parts well enough.

So even if Chung Myung hadn’t overexerted himself, those guys would have led them and they would have reached this place.

Instead, at least thirty more disciples from the Southern Island would have died.

‘Thirty, huh.’

A sudden bitter laugh escaped Chung Myung’s lips.

It wasn’t funny at all.

Who could know better than Chung Myung how trivial human lives are, and how futile it is to scream to save a few lives amid the massive whirlpool of war?

If he were his past self, he would have prioritized preserving his own body rather than overextending himself to save those mere thirty.

If he collapsed, far more than thirty would die. That’s not coldness; it’s a rational judgment.

Yes. That’s certain. But…

• You will understand someday too.

‘It would have been better if it weren’t now, Chung Mun sahyung.’

The chuckle kept escaping him, even though he knew it wasn’t the occasion for it.

‘Why should I care about the Southern Island anyway.’

In the end, he had no choice but to admit it.

He had changed Mount Hua. He put the crumbling Mount Hua back on solid rock and instilled ambition in Mount Hua’s disciples who had been soaked in defeatism.

For Chung Myung it was a thorough return to the past.

It was about recreating the Mount Hua he treasured in his memories, the one that still felt within reach.

To be Chung Myung. To be Mount Hua’s Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

But… now he had to admit it. The person who had changed the most in that process wasn’t Mount Hua or those Five Swords guys—it was Chung Myung himself.

Through teaching and scolding those guys, Chung Myung finally came to know.

Human worth isn’t measured by social standing. Even those Chung Myung once sneered at as utterly dull were living their lives desperately—even those used as expendable goods in war and then discarded.

Trivial lives. Lives that end as mere numbers.

Each of those insignificant people had their own life. Even those he dismissed as useless were everything to someone and held immense value.

Chung Myung wanted to protect Chung Mun sahyung.

He wanted to save that damned Tang Bo, and he wanted to see that bastard Chung Jin return to Mount Hua alive and well.

He wanted to somehow send all of Mount Hua’s fellows back to Mount Hua.

If he could have done that, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do anything. Anything.

But now he knew. He’d learned.

Viewed by the vast perspective of the murim world, those utterly insignificant people—the mere numbers—were, to someone, Chung Mun, Tang Bo, and Chung Jin.

Someone would desperately want to protect them like Chung Myung did then. Someone else would be forced to live in agony for the rest of their life because of their deaths.

Thirty. A trivial number, but Chung Myung could no longer regard it as insignificant.

He would have been better off not knowing.

‘Will you sneer?’

Chung Myung suddenly wondered.

If Chung Jin heard this, how would he react? Would he laugh it off as nonsense? Or would he be surprised and laugh that Chung Myung had finally become an enlightened man?

There was no way to know.

Because Chung Jin was already dead.

“Sajil…”

Yu Yiseol’s voice came from behind. Worry subtly seeped through it. No, it was so evident he didn’t even need to strain to hear it.

Worry in Yu Yiseol’s voice.

‘Doesn’t suit him.’

But what suited even less was the man himself who made Yu Yiseol’s voice carry worry.

Chung Myung lightly shifted his grip on the Dark Fragrant Plum Blossom Sword he held.

A sharp sting.

The pain in his leg was terrible. His internal qi had already burned out long ago. Even while running he had tried to muster internal qi, but there was only so much he could do.

The wound he’d painfully cauterized and barely stopped the bleeding from would reopen the moment he moved violently.

The only fortunate thing was that he hadn’t suffered internal injuries, but that wasn’t much consolation.

Nevertheless… Chung Myung raised the corner of his mouth.

“Shall I go ahead?”

The moment Chung Myung leaned slightly forward, Gwi Yang involuntarily took a small step back. His momentum was noticeably reduced compared to before.

Gwi Yang narrowed his eyes suspiciously and checked Chung Myung’s condition several times.

‘What is this?’

The guy was already at his limit. No, he should have been at his limit already. The wounds across his body were such that even a peak master would find movement difficult.

And in reality it would be worse than it looked. The poison smeared on his sword would remain in his body in traces and continue to ravage his insides.

But Chung Myung’s momentum didn’t diminish at all. If anything, it had become more terrifying than at the start. Merely facing him felt like one’s qi being twisted and skin splitting.

‘That’s bluster.’

Gwi Yang bit his lip hard.

Ho Ga-Myung had already said it: when the guy neared his limit he’d put on bluster to hide his condition. So there was no need to be deceived by his words and actions.

Like toying with an injured beast, leisurely…

Fwaaaargh!

But at that moment Chung Myung’s figure suddenly dropped and then popped up like an apparition right before Gwi Yang’s eyes.

Gwi Yang was startled and jerked his sword up.

Kaaang!

The sword he raised reflexively managed to block the incoming Plum Blossom Sword. But the moment steel met steel, Chung Myung’s blade didn’t bounce off—instead it surged toward Gwi Yang’s neck even faster.

Feeling the sword almost touch his throat, Gwi Yang twisted his neck with all his might.

Kwaduk.

He barely avoided having his throat pierced, but couldn’t avoid being cut. The sword sliced about half a finger’s width to the side of the center of his neck, grazing the carotid artery and cutting along the side of his throat.

Gwi Yang staggered back in a daze without having time to feel the pain.

For a moment—if his reaction had been even briefly slower his throat would have been skewered. Realizing he’d just stepped into the gates of hell and escaped, Gwi Yang’s face went pale.

But Gwi Yang had also fought countless battles.

Even so, his eyes tracked Chung Myung precisely. Chung Myung’s leg was slightly bent, and the hand gripping the sword was tensed.

‘He’s coming!’

Gwi Yang snapped awake and straightened his stance.

That beast wouldn’t miss a seized opportunity. Now that Gwi Yang appeared weak, he would surely charge to cut off that lifeline this time.

As Gwi Yang drew up all his internal qi and planted his feet into the ground.

Fwaaaargh!

Chung Myung stomped the ground. Gwi Yang’s hands gripping his sword tightened with all their strength.

‘If I can just block it…’

But soon Gwi Yang’s mind went blank.

Chung Myung, having stomped the ground, moved at high speed.

Not to the front where Gwi Yang stood, but to the rear.

‘What…?’

Leaping backward, Chung Myung let out an outright sneer.

Only then did Gwi Yang realize he’d been thoroughly toyed with, but Chung Myung was already sprinting along the gaping canyon accompanied by Yu Yiseol and Tang Pae.

“You…!”

Crack!

The hand gripping the sword clenched so hard there was a sound like joints dislocating. The sound snapped Gwi Yang back to his senses and he shouted loudly.

“Pursue them! Now!”

“Yes!”

The Blood Sword Troops members, stunned by the unexpected turn and staring blankly at Chung Myung, were startled and gave chase. Catching a glimpse of their retreating backs, Gwi Yang bit his lower lip.

“Goddamn this…”

It had been momentary, but in any case the fact that he’d been thoroughly toyed with and played inside the opponent’s palm shredded Gwi Yang’s pride to pieces.

“Aaaaaargh!”

He screamed like in a fit, then immediately began to give full pursuit to Chung Myung, who was heading toward the canyon’s end.