I’m going to show them what true despair is. (2)
Beop Jong’s face had gone completely pale.
“H-How…”
Even though he could see the approaching fleet with his own eyes, he wanted nothing more than to deny the entire scene outright.
How could this be possible?
How could it be – of all times – that just as Shaolin arrived, Maninbang would show up as well?
‘A coincidence?’
A coincidence?
If so, then it could only be called a cruel joke played by the heavens.
As if the heavens themselves had orchestrated this, just to see how much more despair he could endure.
But Beop Jong didn’t believe this was a coincidence.
The reason was simple.
Because the man standing at the prow of that ship was none other than Paegun.
Paegun Jang Ilso.
The very same man who had displayed horrifying cunningness during the Yangtze River Disaster.
Wasn’t the chill he had felt back then in distant Henan still vivid in his memory?
A coincidence?
There could be no such thing as coincidence when it came to Jang Ilso. Absolutely not!
“A-Abbot!”
“…”
Even as Beop Jong stood as if spellbound, staring at the ships, the fleet drew steadily closer to Maehwado.
“Abbot!”
Beop Gye called out again, more urgently this time.
His voice, thick with anxiety, pierced Beop Jong’s ears.
“If we delay any longer, it will truly become irreversible! If those ships reach Maehwado…!”
There was no way Beop Jong didn’t understand the meaning behind those words.
Namgung clan had already surpassed its limits.
Even calling them a candle in the wind would feel too peaceful compared to their current state.
If, in such a situation, it was not Shaolin but Maninbang that reached Maehwado first – wasn’t the outcome obvious?
They had to head for the island immediately.
Before those ships could block Shaolin’s path.
“We must arrive first! Before Maninbang does!”
Those ships were fast – undoubtedly so.
But there was still some distance.
If they dove into the water right now, they could reach the island before the fleet.
The pirates who might hinder them on the water – or beneath it – were still mostly tied up on Maehwado.
So they hadn’t missed their chance yet.
At least, that’s what Beop Gye believed.
But.
“…And what if we do arrive?”
“…Excuse me?”
Beop Jong’s words caught Beop Gye off guard, and he turned with a puzzled expression.
Beop Jong’s face had turned to stone, his gaze flicking coldly between the fleet and Maehwado.
“If we…”
He paused for a moment.
That brief silence felt unbearably long to Beop Gye.
“…If we reach that island first – what then?”
“Well…”
Beop Gye couldn’t finish his sentence so easily.
Was it because he had no answer?
No.
It was because, in Beop Jong’s voice, he sensed something he had never heard before.
“…Why is Namgung in such a state? Isn’t it because they were trapped on that island?”
“But Abbot! If we leave them be, Namgung clan will be annihilated!”
Annihilation.
That word clearly set Beop Jong’s mind into turmoil.
His trembling shoulders spoke volumes of the inner conflict raging within him.
But still…
Grit.
Beop Jong bit down hard on his lower lip.
His teeth sank in, and blood trickled down his chin, dripping to the ground.
Even his toes, straining with tension, dug into the earth.
Then he spoke.
“Stand down.”
“A-Abbot!”
“Did you not hear me say stand down? All Shaolin disciples are to fall back from the river! We will wait here!”
“Abbot! What do you mean…!”
“Silence your mouth at once!”
Beop Gye shouted in protest, but Beop Jong rebuked him even more harshly.
“Ugh…”
Unable to defy the command, a groan of helpless agony escaped Beop Gye’s lips.
To him, Namgung clan was not just one of the Five Great Families.
They were comrades who had shared the disgrace of the Yangtze River Disaster.
And now, his own Abbot was telling him to stand by and watch those comrades be slaughtered.
Beop Jong’s fingers trembled violently.
Clearly, this decision was not easy for him either.
“…If we move towards Maehwado now, we’ll walk straight into Paegun’s trap. For all we know, this entire situation could be a ploy to lure Shaolin in.”
Beop Gye wanted – desperately, truly – to ask:
If this was really a trap, then why hadn’t Jang Ilso ambushed them after Shaolin had landed on Maehwado?
Why show himself so openly now?
But he couldn’t say it out loud.
Because he was terrified the disciples around them might hear those words.
And perhaps… it was because saying those words out loud would reveal Beop Jong’s true intentions under this clear sky.
He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to confirm it.
“We… Shaolin…”
With blood-stained lips, Beop Jong voiced his decision.
“We will stay here… and observe the situation.”
His final words faded into a whisper, barely audible.
But even without hearing it clearly, everyone knew what decision had been made.
“…Amitabha.”
In contrast to his fading voice, the Buddhist chant rang out clearly, and pierced the ears of Shaolin’s disciples, who could no longer bring themselves to look directly at the island.
“…”
Namgung Hwang stared blankly across the river.
He could clearly see them.
Shaolin, who had seemed ready to leap into the water at any moment to come to their rescue, now hesitating… slowly stepping back… re-forming their lines.
“What…”
What were they doing?
Why had they stopped? What could possibly needed to be done over there?
“Why…”
A murmur, unmistakable, echoed faintly.
A heavy silence fell.
So heavy that it was hard to believe that only moments ago, the island had been filled with wild beasts tearing each other apart.
“Why… why aren’t they coming?”
“What in the world…”
Even now, the swordsmen of Namgung clan clung to the faintest glimmer of hope. There had to be some reason. It was only a brief delay. Surely soon Shaolin would cross the river to come to their aid.
They believed so.
No – there was no path left except to believe.
Even Namgung Hwang, at this moment, didn’t doubt for a second that Shaolin would cross the river to save them.
But then.
“Wh-What’s that ship?”
A single voice muttered the words, and like ripples across water, they spread.
The attention that had been entirely consumed by Shaolin suddenly shifted to the side.
Only then did everyone see it – the fleet drawing closer to the island.
In that moment, everyone present understood what was truly happening here. Not with reason, but with instinct.
The eyes of Namgung clan wavered violently.
Filled with disbelief and fear, they slowly turned their gaze back towards the opposite shore – their chins trembling pitifully, as if they lacked the courage to face the truth.
But the moment to confront reality comes for everyone, without fail.
When their anxious eyes finally returned to Shaolin’s position, they saw it.
Shaolin – stationed far back from the riverbank, holding their positions.
What cast Namgung into true despair were not the footsteps of Shaolin stepping back, as if they had no intention of coming any closer.
No.
What truly drove them into despair was the absence of the eye contact.
Shaolin monks – who should have been watching, eyes blazing – had no light in their eyes.
They weren’t looking.
Shaolin – the very Shaolin known as the Northern Star of Gangho, unmatched beneath the heavens, who bowed before no sect – their Arhats now stood with heads bowed, like sinners.
As if they could not bear to meet their eyes.
Even at this distance, the guilt was so heavy that Shaolin could not bear to meet the eyes of Namgung clan – as if simply looking at them was too great of a burden.
How could they not understand?
Even a fool would know what was happening now.
They had been… abandoned.
“Uuh…”
“Ah…”
What pushes a person into the deepest despair is always hope.
A person does not despair where there is no hope at all – because in such places, hopelessness is simply expected.
But when a person glimpses even a thread of hope, they cling to it with all their might.
And only when they realize that hope was a mirage – that’s when they truly collapse.
“Uhh… Ugh…”
An indescribable, overwhelming despair began to descend upon Namgung clan.
The realization that the allies they had trusted had forsaken them – that Shaolin had turned away from their deaths – hurled them into an abyss of despair the likes of which they had never experienced in their lives.
“Ahh…”
Groans, like the panting of fatally wounded beasts, slipped through their lips.
And perhaps it wasn’t so different. For now, they truly were wounded beasts, and the only thing left was death. Now that the lifeline called Shaolin had been cut, all that remained was an endless fall.
There was no longer the will – nor the rage – to swing their swords. Their limbs felt heavy, like they didn’t even belong to them. They just wanted to let everything go.
The terror of despair is what makes people collapse. One by one, they were being sucked helplessly into a dark, bottomless pit so suffocating it was terrifying to even look down into it.
But even in that moment, there was one man who, instead of despair, unleashed his fury.
“Beop Joooooooong!”
From the mouth of the wounded tiger – Namgung Hwang – came a desperate roar.
“Beop Jong! Beop Jooooooooong! Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
A blood-boiling howl tore from his throat. The blood vessels in both his eyes burst, and his hoarse voice shrieked like twisted iron.
At the very moment when everyone else groaned beneath the crushing weight of despair – he finally arrived.
The one who viewed this entire swamp of suffering as nothing more than a game.
Kwoooong!
A massive ship rammed into the sandbar.
Namgung clan, Surochae, even Namgung Hwang and the Black Dragon King – all turned to watch the spectacle.
“Hmmmm…”
A low, nasal voice slipped out lazily. It was a small sound, yet it carried eerily clear across the entire island.
Soon, a man appeared with graceful steps.
“…”
Namgung Hwang stared at that figure with bloodshot eyes.
It was the man who, three years ago, had mocked them and vanished from the Yangtze.
He hadn’t changed at all.
A splendid crimson robe adorned with strange golden embroidery.
Pale, porcelain-white skin. Hair perfectly swept up without a strand out of place. A magnificent coronet. And jewelry – excessive and dazzling in every detail.
Clack.
Jang Ilso lightly jumped from the ship onto solid ground, slowly straightening his slightly bent body.
Clink.
The ornaments he wore clinked together, and the sound forcibly dragged memories from three years ago back into the minds of those watching.
That sound awakened nightmares. It summoned fear.
Namgung Hwang’s gaze fixed on Jang Ilso’s lips.
“How strange,”
Jang Ilso said, in the most familiar and gentle voice imaginable.
“It’s been quite a while, but no one looks particularly glad to see me.”
His lips, as red as blood, curved like a crescent moon.
Words flowing from that ominous and eerie mouth sounded nothing short of terrifying.
Namgung Hwang shut his eyes tightly.
“But I’m so… delighted to see you. Hahahah!”
And he thought:
It might’ve been better to die by the Black Dragon King’s hand.
Better than to be toyed with by this devil…
________
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Return of the Mount Hua 
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