Having A Beginning And An End

Neither of them knew the stranger’s identity, but just one palm strike from him was enough to make them feel utterly overpowered. Even twisting away to evade, it seemed a few ribs were broken. They gnashed their teeth, indignant, but deep down they knew—meeting him head-on, victory was impossible.

“Do you want to settle this fight here and now?”

Still, Bong-cheon wanted to preserve his pride, even in death, so he bluffed. Dying wasn’t frightening—but having his dignity trampled was unbearable.

“That’s not such a bad idea.”

Seong Gon narrowed his large eyes lazily as he replied. Having already struck with the Taiyi Palm, he wasn’t threatened even if the two attacked together. In fact, he almost pitied the young man’s desperate defiance.

“I’d prefer to end things here today.”

Despite his brutish appearance, Hyeong-gwon was rational. After clashing with several masters in succession, they were also exhausted. He wasn’t reckless enough to fight a man whose true strength was unknown.

“Geum Hyeong-gwon!”

At Hyeong-gwon’s hesitant tone, Bong-cheon snapped irritably. A warrior should be willing to face death—yet this man always wanted to flee whenever the tide turned against them. Bong-cheon’s temper flared as though he might rip his comrade’s head off. Hyeong-gwon, drenched in cold sweat, scrambled to excuse himself.

“That wouldn’t be so bad either.”

Watching the two bicker while sprawled on the ground, Seong Gon muttered. If not for Jo Yang’s damn schemes, this wouldn’t have happened at all. He had no desire to escalate matters further. Someday, he would settle the score with Cheonseo Nation—but this wasn’t the time.

“Your leader—is it Gok Hae-go?”

At Seong Gon’s question, both men scowled. Gok Hae-go was more than just a senior brother—he was like a master to them. Not a man whose name should be sullied in the enemy’s mouth.

“So it is.”

Though they gave no answer, their expressions told him enough. If Gok Hae-go was involved, Cheonseo Nation’s demand for tribute was no surprise. Seong Gon pressed his voice low, forcing down his anger.

“Go back and tell Gok Hae-go: If he sets foot in Ryeo again, I’ll cut off his feet. If he dares even speak its name, I’ll cut out his tongue!”

“How dare you!”

Hot-tempered, Bong-cheon leapt from a half-raised posture, unleashing a palm strike. Though his specialty was the sword, he was adept in palm-force as well. Even from several jang¹ away, his spinning body carried him before Seong Gon in a blink.

Smash!

When their palms met, a tiny spark flared. Bong-cheon had confidence in this strike at least—what stamina could an old man have left? His internal skill, the Bukchang² Divine Art, had never been bested. Yet as the majestic force of Taiyi Divine Art surged through his palm, he realized just how small and pitiful a frog in a well he was.

“Ugh!”

As Bong-cheon gagged violently, unable to withdraw his palm, Hyeong-gwon realized the fight was lost. He scrambled up, using lightness footwork arts, and in a single bound reached Seong Gon’s face.

“Jegang!”³

Hyeong-gwon roared as he thrust out his palm. He too used Bukchang Divine Art, betting that even a supreme master couldn’t handle two attacks at once.

Thud!

But his palm didn’t strike Seong Gon’s chest—it hit the body of the spear Mita. While Seong Gon held the two at bay, Jingun had finally regained consciousness. Unable to withstand the spear’s force, Hyeong-gwon’s wrist snapped, and he fell back hard on his tailbone.

“Truly pathetic.”

At the same time, Seong Gon grimaced and pushed his palm forward. Already at his limit, Bong-cheon couldn’t withstand the rebound, flying several jang before crashing down hard on his left shoulder.

“Guh!”

The congestion he’d been forcing down surged up. Vomiting a mass of dark blood, the overdrawn qi in his dantian unraveled, and Bong-cheon collapsed unconscious.

“If Gok Hae-go asks, tell him it was Seong Gon—Grand Preceptor of Ryeo Nation and Sect Leader of the Taiyi Divine Sect—who sent the message.”

Seong Gon delivered his final words to trembling Hyeong-gwon, who couldn’t even lift his head. He’d never intended to kill them—instilling fear was enough.

Watching Hyeong-gwon carry off his fallen comrade, Seong Gon spat on the ground. A dark lump dropped from his mouth, which he quickly covered with dirt before Jingun could notice.

“Sect Leader……”

Jingun bowed his head, his face full of gloom. Looking at his disciple, Seong Gon could guess the situation without asking—if Jingun was the only one left standing, surely another child had been hurt. He wasn’t without affection for his disciples, but greater duty always drove him onward.

“Who was injured?”

“Hyunjin.”

“And what of Sect Lord Ma?”

“Yun-seon took him to Seol.”

Seong Gon gazed blankly up at the sky. It was pitch-dark, as though rain might fall tomorrow. Either way, the operation was a success. Who lived or died along the way didn’t matter. Even if his own life had been the price, it would have been the same.

“And you… are you alright?”

“Yes.”

Seong Gon studied his disciple’s desolate eyes. The image of him calmly accepting death without resistance flashed through his mind. Would it have been better not to save him? He shook his head. Not yet—Jingun couldn’t die. For the sake of greater purpose, the most useful piece had to remain alive.

“Let’s go to Seomun.”

“Yes.”

By the second day, a few sips of water were no longer enough. He stumbled, collapsed, fainted briefly, then rose to run again—the only thing keeping Yun-seon going through the grueling journey was his love for Ma Sepung.

“Master, we’ll arrive tonight. Please hold on.”

Panting yet still trying to comfort him, Yun-seon pained Ma Sepung’s heart. Most of the time he was unconscious from the agony, but whenever his eyes cracked open, he saw his grimy nape. The smell of sweat, the damp warmth of his body—it became his reason to cling to life.

“Maybe… I knew all along.”

“Sir?”

Even as consciousness slipped away, Ma Sepung wanted to let out the words he’d buried. The root of his guilt—the vile truth he had hidden for over a decade.

“I turned a blind eye. To Bu Neung-pa, whom I despised as if he were vermin for being Ryeo-born. To Jang Eun, who clearly hid much from us—I deliberately ignored it.”

That day, he could have refused Bu Neung-pa’s proposal that the vanguard depart first. He foresaw what might happen, yet he allowed it, out of cowardice—because he didn’t want to dirty his own hands.

“From the beginning, Gyeong only wanted to terrify Ryeo. Peace? Friendly relations? Bullshit… I knew it too. War is nothing but killing and being killed.”

“……”

Yun-seon’s chest surged with emotions he couldn’t name, choking her breath. He still hadn’t found a reason to live—only responsibility, duty, and guilt propped him up.

“Yun-seon, don’t be a coward. Don’t live by others’ views. If there’s fault, bear it yourself. Don’t run away…”

After rambling, Ma Sepung fainted again—by then, they had entered Yellow Stone Mountain. Yun-seon grew more desperate, for the back that had been warm against his own was now cooling.

‘No. Not yet.’

The mountain was especially rocky. He slipped, tumbled, and still had to climb a long way to reach Seol’s waiting place. His body was a wreck—there were fewer uninjured spots than wounds. His vision swam, his legs trembled, but he couldn’t rest—thinking, just a little further.

“Huh?”

In the distance, smoke billowed upward. It had to be Seol.

“Seol… Seol!”

He screamed with all his strength, but his voice only rasped around his lips, never carrying outward. Soon even that hoarse whisper ceased, and his steps began to stagger.

“Seol…”

Finally collapsing, in his fading vision he glimpsed Yun Seol running frantically toward him. Safe at last, he thought—then fell face-first to the ground.

Caw! Caw!

Hooded crows circled above, crying mournfully over Yun-seon’s fallen body. Even those clever birds couldn’t decide if he was living or dead.

“What will you do now?”

In-gyeong stood blankly, watching the blood-soaked bodies piled together. The questions that filled his head soon spread into his chest, setting his heart ablaze.

“We return to Eminent Mountain.”

Yeong-jun and the other five disciples were dumbstruck by their sect leader’s sudden command. Was he terrified by this blood-soaked carnage? Or…

“We return.”

At that moment, Yeong-jun saw in In-gyeong’s face the same resoluteness as their late Grand Master. It wasn’t fear, worry, or hesitation—it was the first decisive command issued as head of the venerable Eminent Mountain Sect.

“I shall obey!”

Yeong-jun clasped his hands and accepted the order. He moved to guard his sect leader as they turned back toward Unpyeong. Though few paid them any mind, the path was far from easy—the ground was littered with bodies, stabbed and slashed, that constantly caught their steps. And then—

“And who are you?”

Blocking their path stood none other than the infamous Seong Gon, leader of the Taiyi Divine Sect. Though it was his first time laying eyes on the man, In-gyeong knew instantly. Just his stance—those blazing eyes—radiated a pressure that made In-gyeong’s body shrink instinctively.

“I am Go In-gyeong, leader of the Eminent Mountain Sect.”

“And?”

Seong Gon jutted out his lip with feigned interest, peering down at him. Intimidated, In-gyeong swallowed hard.

“Now that I know the truth of matters, I intend to return.”

“And what truth is that?”

“I do not know.”

A spark of curiosity lit Seong Gon’s once-indifferent eyes. An amusing one, this boy. Though fear was plain on his face, he didn’t bend easily. There was spirit in him. Against his will, Seong Gon felt intrigued.

“And if I do not let you pass?”

In-gyeong signaled Yeong-jun to fall back, then quickly drew his Waning Moon Sword. He had hoped otherwise, but as expected, there was no easy escaping this Sword Demon. He didn’t know how many exchanges he could endure—but he hoped, in that time, his brothers might get away.

“Tsk, tsk. Too fine a sword for its master.”

Seong Gon snapped his thumb and finger, flicking the blade. It resonated with a hum, sending a vibration through In-gyeong’s wrist that nearly made him drop it.

“Enough. The enmity with Eminent Mountain Sect is already over.”

Seong Gon stepped aside, giving way. In ten years? Twenty? He couldn’t say how much this one’s martial skills would advance—but as sect leader, the boy’s growth would surely be worth watching.

In-gyeong’s face burned with shame, but he clenched his fists and moved forward. The five disciples trailing behind him also felt such humiliation they could have slit their own throats on the spot. And yet—

“There’s a saying in Go: if your position is weak, do not fight—choose peace. Knowing when to endure is part of being a true warrior.”

He never forgot those words from Ma Sepung at the inn. Enduring this humiliation—that was his sharpest attack in this moment.

“A fine face you wear.”

Watching In-gyeong’s retreating back, a faint smile touched Seong Gon’s lips. The rigid old Shin Yang-seon may have passed, but at least he’d left behind one treasure.

유시유종 (有始有終), Having a Beginning and an End:

To bring what is begun to its proper end.