Chapter 602:
Pursuing someone isn't really that big of a deal.
Actually, martial artists' battles are packaged quite romantically, aren't they? Two martial artists crossing swords. One falls, and the other survives.
The fallen martial artist praises his opponent, saying it was a fight without regrets, and the surviving martial artist mourns his opponent's death.
Right?
What a joke.
Where's the romance in people killing people? When I'm about to die, am I supposed to admire my opponent's martial arts and acknowledge them?
Bullshit.
I don't know.
Maybe there was such a world once. But in the world I've seen, there were no such things. Those dying struggle desperately to survive somehow, and those who survive stab a sword into the back of the fallen to avoid any potential danger.
Pursuit is the same.
When battles break out, those with poor prospects run away.
Huh? Can people of Jianghu do that?
Hey, you crazy bastard. If they don't, they'll die. What's Jianghu or whatever got to do with it?
Those who teach that as a virtue are crazy bastards too.
No, what I'm saying is right.
Is being weak a sin?
And isn't weakness relative anyway? That guy has practiced martial arts for thirty years, and I've only learned for a measly ten years. Wouldn't it be stranger if I won?
So the idea that the strong one wins is all a damn lie. Who wins or loses when fighting whom is all just luck of that moment.
It's even more so during wartime.
Then damn it, if the opponent I happen to face during war is an eighty-year-old master and I'm getting my ass kicked, while the guy next to me is weaker than me but winning because he's facing a rookie who just picked up a sword?
Is that me dying because I lack skill?
You should spout words that make sense!
What?
Don't get excited?
Do I look like I'm not going to get excited right now?
Kkheum.
Anyway!
If you're fighting and things gradually turn unfavorable, if you see the angle where your neck might fall, you have to run without looking back.
What? If you're inferior in skill anyway, won't you also be inferior in Lightness Skill?
Generally, yes. But it's not always the case. When a master and novice clash, that would be true, but if the skill difference isn't that great, depending on individual characteristics, the weaker one's feet might be faster.
And dying with a sword in your back while running is better than having your neck fall off right where you stand.
So since there are many who run away, those who've done some fighting tend to experience pursuit battles to some extent.
What? Disappointed?
You're talking nonsense about disappointment.
When I'm about to die right now, where's face? I have to sell my pride and everything else and run.
Huh?
Why am I telling this story?
Kkhkhkh.
Those bastards didn't know.
Aren't the people of Hundred Sword Castle those who hid themselves from the outside and trained like crazy?
Naturally, they've hardly ever experienced such things.
So they didn't know.
What it's like to have a tiger chasing from behind.
An overwhelmingly strong opponent you can't face. That strong one is much faster than you, and you're running away with your back to such a person?
That's suicide.
But they didn't know that. So they deserved to be beaten.
***
"Heoeok! Heoeok! Heoeoook!"
His breath rises to his chin.
His legs tremble and his stomach contracts. From a while ago, he feels pain in his side as if stabbed by a sword.
'I can't stop.'
The warning that he might die of exhaustion if he doesn't stop right now and the instinct that he'll die if he stops are fiercely fighting in his head.
Not knowing what to do and unable to make a decision, his legs keep running for now. Sensation gradually disappears. The feeling of stepping on the ground becomes vague. It feels like floundering and running in water.
'He's coming! He's coming!'
Kwaaaaaaaang!
An explosion erupts from behind.
His body shrinks. As soon as he hears the explosion, hot wind rushes toward the back of his neck.
'Damn it.'
How did it come to this?
They are Hundred Sword Castle. And they are Ten Thousand Swords, Hundred Families. When they pointed their sword tips at the Central Plains after waiting for countless hours, they had absolute confidence. And that was never arrogance.
Because they had made such preparations.
There wasn't a single day they didn't train. They didn't just make efforts. They learned the greatest martial arts in the world from the greatest masters in the world.
They are strong.
Objectively, not subjectively, Hundred Sword Castle is strong.
Even with just their revealed power, Hundred Sword Castle could occupy the lowest seat among the Three Great Powers of the world. But their hidden power is more than double that.
Excluding the Demonic Cult, there exists no force anywhere in the world that can compete with Hundred Sword Castle alone. Then how could they not have pride?
Until they brought down the Righteous Alliance and killed that damn Gwon-geuk, they never doubted for a moment that all future events would flow according to their intentions.
No one believed anyone could block Hundred Sword Castle's path.
Thinking about it now, they knew nothing.
Why Jianghu was said to have endless strange people and incidents, and why new people would fill the position even if someone fell. Now it seems they understand.
They thought it would take countless years for a new tree to stand in place of the great tree called Gwon-geuk that they had felled. But who would have known that the spot where the tree disappeared would be filled not by another tree but by a monster?
Monster.
Yes, a monster.
That bastard is a monster that can only be explained by the word monster.
A monster that doesn't just block them, whom Gwon-geuk couldn't stop, whom Shaolin and Wudang, the Righteous Alliance couldn't stop, but makes them run away instead.
That monster was now chasing him.
To be precise, chasing Hundred Sword Castle including him.
They fall one by one.
The monster never hurried.
At first, he thought the number of those falling was small. Considering that monster's ability, it could have charged in madly and taken several heads at once, but such a thing didn't happen.
So he thought the monster's feet might be slow.
Just because a giant bear is stronger than a rabbit doesn't necessarily mean it's faster.
So he thought there was hope. Just a little, if they ran just a little harder, if they could just join with the main force, somehow things would work out.
But looking back now, that was a delusion.
'Damn bastard!'
He wasn't unable to run fast. He just had no intention of running fast.
Now he can understand.
Because the number of already dead has become too many to count.
What if that monster had chased at a terrifying speed from the start and cut off all their heads?
They would have collapsed.
They would have given up on formation and everything and scattered in all directions. There would have been additional casualties in the process, but the number of survivors would obviously have increased. No matter how much of a monster, he doesn't have ten bodies. He couldn't chase and catch all those running in all directions.
But the monster didn't do that.
He follows at a constant speed, picking off only those who fall behind one by one.
As a result, everyone couldn't think of anything else and ran forward, only forward.
Because they saw hope that if they just ran hard, if their speed just didn't fall behind, they could survive.
The result is this.
"Kkeueuk, kkeuk!"
He runs with all his might.
He has no choice. He knows too well what that explosion from before means.
Those who had fallen behind him were hit.
That means…
'I'm the last one.'
He never knew the day would come when he'd regret having slow Lightness Skill. He should've listened when the instructor said: all martial arts begin with your feet.
'Move! I said move!'
He feels his legs becoming heavy. Sensation disappeared long ago. Even so, his legs that had been moving fairly well gradually slow down.
The scenery that had been passing by madly, the scenery that was blurred and unrecognizable, gradually becomes clear.
Because his eyesight is improving?
That can't be.
He is slowing down.
Slowing down meant gradually getting closer to the monster pursuing from behind.
"Huuk! Huuuk! Huuk!"
He must run. He must run like his life depends on it. Then…
"Do you think you can escape by doing that?"
It was a small whisper.
But it sounded louder than thunder to his ears.
His legs no longer move. He stopped right there.
"Haa, haa…"
He breathes in and out.
His legs tremble. But it wasn't trembling from fear. He had simply exhausted all his stamina.
He slowly turns his head.
His eyes met with the one standing behind him.
"…"
What should he say?
That person.
A face where youth hasn't faded yet. Except for being somewhat good-looking, he's no different from any young man you could commonly meet in the marketplace.
He doesn't have six arms attached, nor does he have three heads or so.
Even so, it's certain that this bastard is a monster.
Above all…
Drop.
Blood flowing down his hair, blood that stained his face, blood that dyed his entire body red was proving that fact.
A wolf's usual appearance is no different from a dog.
But if that wolf is devouring human entrails and its face is completely stained red, who would compare that wolf to a dog?
This one is the same.
His outward appearance is no different from other young men. But this one was cutting open the belly of the giant called Hundred Sword Castle and chewing its entrails.
So how could he not be called a monster?
Shiver.
Strength enters his hand.
Whether it was a swordsman's pride, the hand gripping the sword hilt couldn't bear to let go of the sword.
Should he make meaningless resistance when it's hard to move even a fingertip? When it won't change anything?
'I am…'
He grits his teeth.
And draws his sword.
The sword that left the scabbard drew a perfect straight line.
He can guarantee it.
This single sword strike is the most perfect among all the swords he's wielded in his lifetime.
No thoughts, no ideas.
There's no thought that he must swing the sword strongly. There's no determination to achieve something with this sword. He just swings the sword with a swordsman's instinct.
Paradoxically, the moment he abandoned the heart to achieve something with the sword, the most perfect sword unfolded.
Thud.
At the same time, a strange sound he had never heard even once until now echoed from his neck.
It was a sound he had never heard before, but it wasn't difficult to guess what caused that sound. Just the fact that strength left the sword being swung and his vision blurred was enough to guess.
The monster was looking at him with a strange smile.
"It was a good strike."
Should he be happy?
The fact that the sword he swung at the last moment received recognition from the monster brought him faint joy.
A hollow laugh played around the falling man's lips.
Thump.
The ground and the monster's feet enter his field of vision. Feeling his gradually blurring vision, the man didn't bother to hold onto his fading consciousness. It would all be meaningless anyway.
"Have sweet dreams."
Unlike his strange appearance, the monster's voice was quite gentle.
The man, who used the last of his remaining strength to sneer, finally lost consciousness.