If there is such a thing as fate. (3)
When does one who stands on the battlefield feel the greatest terror?
Is it when they see a person’s head severed right before their eyes?
When they witness the arms and legs of a comrade – one who had promised to return alive together – flying into the air?
Or when defeat is plain obvious and no way out can be seen anymore?
No. While such moments may be despairing, they are not the most terrifying. Mere difficulty of circumstance does not in itself summon fear.
Then, when does one who stand on the battlefield feel the greatest terror?
Those who now stood on this ground could all answer that question.
It is when not the slightest hesitation can be sensed in the enemy’s attack.
A wolf chasing sheep does not waver. It is certain that the hunt will bring it no harm.
It differs from a charge that risks life for righteousness or for lofty aspirations [웅심(雄心)]. It is a predator’s rush meant solely to hunt down the pray, the charge of a butcher who feels not a flicker of hesitation.
Everyone, sensing this instinctively, turned deathly pale.
Before the turmoil swirling in their chests could even fully rise, a black swarm raced forward like lightning and bored into them.
Boooom!
A pitch-black current billowed in all directions.
Unlike the pure darkness of Wudang’s sword energy, it was impure to the extreme. The energy that was once cursed by the entire world under the name ‘demonic energy [마기(魔氣)]’ mercilessly engulfed the exhausted warriors of Cheonumaeng.
This collision dragged back an era of the past, a time when all of the Central Plains were stained crimson.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
The living were torn apart while still alive. One who should undeniably have been called a human burst into dozens of fragments of flesh. Even the pouring rain was tinged red, and human remains covered the ground.
The result was more shocking than anyone could imagine.
“Kkeeaaaagh!”
It was not the scream of the one being torn, but the roar of the one tearing them apart. With a beastlike cry, the black storm ripped the weary members of Cheonumaeng to pieces.
“Uh… uhhhhh….”
Faced with the horrific spectacle before them, the Alliance’s members froze on the spot.
It was far too atrocious.
Was Demonic Cult cursed so vehemently merely because it attacked the Central Plains? Did that desperate cry – that those who revere the demon [마(魔)] must be annihilated without leaving behind a single drop of blood – truly arise just because Demonic Cult threatened the survival of the people of the Central Plains?
Impossible. If that alone were the reason, the countless foreign tribes [이족(異族)] surrounding the Central Plains would long ago have been treated the same as Demonic Cult, bearing the full weight of its curses and grudges.
And now, the nauseatingly gruesome scene before their eyes gave the answer to that question.
It is not the Central Plains that cursed Demonic Cult. It is Demonic Cult that cursed the Central Plains. The abnormal hostility the Central Plains bears towards the Cult is nothing more than a desperate cry for survival.
The demonic beings hate the Central Plains. No – not only the Central Plains. They hate every living thing. Their rage, terrifying precisely because its origin and essence were unknown, poured out unfiltered towars all who now stood upon this earth.
Crunch!
A swarm of black-clad figures, their eyes stained blood-red, slashed their claws like fiends consumed by madness.
“Uaaaaaaah!”
They pierced chests, ripped out hearts, and bit throats with fangs drenched in blood. Unsatisfied with savagely mutilating bodies already lifeless, they hurled themselves at the next victim before the corpses could even hit the ground.
That explosive movement gradually took on a shape better described as frenzy. The more blood and flesh spilled, the more wildly those devils rampaged – just as those who once stood on the soil of the Central Plains had seen in the past.
Overwhelmed by boundless malice, the warriors of Cheonumaeng shrank back, their faces deathly pale.
“M-Monsters……!”
They had to run. To continue fighting like this was the quickest path to a meaningless death. If the result of a desperate resistance was the same as sticking out one’s neck and waiting for death, then what meaning could resistance possibly hold?
Yet in the end, no one broke into a run.
Perhaps it was because of their last scraps of pride. Perhaps the sliver of righteousness left in them seized their ankles. Or perhaps the words spoken by Tang Soso of Hwasan still lingered in their minds.
However, there was a reason clearer than any other.
That reason now stood before them: a monk in a torn kasaya and a swordsman clad in white uniform soaked with blood.
Hye Yeon, who had been hurled back by Jang Ilso’s blow, shot towards the black swarm like a lightning bolt. Close on his heels came Lee Songbaek, sword already drawn.
This sight alone kept the others from fleeing.
‘…..Why?’
In truth, advancing on the enemy is the natural duty of Just Sects’ warriors who speak of righteousness. Therefore there was no reason to be shocked.
Yet even so, none of them could hide their shock, for they had all come to know how hard it was to evoke that all-too-obvious righteous spirit against those foes.
‘Do they not feel fear?’
Impossible.
Fear dwells in everyone. Being stronger does not lessen the fear one bears.
Every life is unique and precious. To advance on the enemy even when the outcome – being trampled in agony – is plain to see, is certainly no easy thing for them either.
Yet even in this moment Hye Yeon felt not a hint of hesitation. It was not for some grand reason like courage or overcoming your fears.
It was simply familiarity – being accustomed to running headlong into despair.
“A-mi-ta-bha!”
Hye Yeon had seen it countless times – the backs of those stronger than him. And he had also seen, time and time again, the backs of those who had been weaker than he was.
The faint trembling that seeped into the shoulders of those who strode ahead without a speck of fear.
Having watched it all, Hye Yeon could now say with confidence:
What decides whether one moves forward is not the strength of the body. The mindset that can suppress the instinctive fear rising in one’s chest and still move forward in the end – in other words, strength of heart.
In this moment Hye Yeon believed firmly that such a strong heart was within him.
Boooom!
A fist filled with golden energy slammed into the enemy’s chest.
The familiar result did not follow. Though Hye Yeon’s punch had landed with perfect precision, the foe only staggered back a few steps.
Slaaaaash.
At last, a dozen streams of fierce energy rained down over him, grazing past as if to tear through him. The force, like claw marks gouged into the trunk of a huge old tree, was indescribably chilling, packed with power enough to shred even Hye Yeon’s well-honed body like paper.
Hye Yeon’s fists crossed in midair. The hand he had drawn inward in a twisting motion was then hurled outward in a single, fierce strike.
Booom!
The fist power [권력(拳力)] scattered like a spinning blade and shattered the enemy’s defense. Immediately planting his foot with precision, Hye Yeon launched his signature Divine Fist [신권(神拳)] towards the enemy’s chest.
Booom!
A sound like dozens of temple bells struck at once rang out. The cultist [마인 – a person of a demon/demonic being/follower of a demon] was flung away like a shell from a cannon, his chest caved in as he spewed dark red blood like a fountain.
The Hundred Steps Divine Fist [백보신권(百步神拳)] fired at point-blank range had, quite literally, purified the demon.
Crack!
Unfortunately, Hye Yeon was not unscathed. Three claw marks were carved deep across his shoulder, and a searing pain spread from it.
Enemies pouring out thick demonic energy rushed him like a flood; a black, turbid torrent so dense he could barely see a hand’s breadth ahead.
Even Hye Yeon, who had devoted his life to perfecting Upright Mind [정심(正心)*], felt a dizzying fear and desolation before this sight.
No matter how many times it is hammered, the human heart can never truly become steel. Hye Yeon had to feel that truth deep in his bones.
Booooom!
The reflexive punch he threw smashed into the cultist’s face, snapping his neck back so far it was nearly broken – a direct, clean hit.
Paaaaat!
Yet the cultist, neck bent grotesquely, still swung his arm. He was like a jiangshi that moved even after death. Fingers curved like a hawk’s talons, wrapped in pitch-black demonic energy, shot towards Hye Yeon.
“Oooooh!”
Gritting his teeth, Hye Yeon unleashed twelve consecutive punches.
In the most desperate instant he reached not for Divine Fist or Divine Arts, but for the root of all Shaolin’s skill – the Arhat Fist, driven to its ultimate peak, burst from his hands.
The claws wrapped in demonic energy left a black hole in Hye Yeon’s fist, wrapped in the Buddhist light. But in return he pulverized the opponent’s ribs – quite literally into dust.
But then something happened that defied all common sense.
The cultist, his ribs crushed and his organs reduced to pulp, kept shrieking like a beast as he pressed his attack on Hye Yeon.
Behind him, more cultists spewing pitch-back demonic energy surged forward, their crimson eyes flashing.
There was no end in sight.
Hye Yeon was so terrified he wanted to shut his eyes and be done with it. His heart was far too frail to overcome all of this.
Yet it did not matter. Even without a heart of steel, even without the power to overwhelm everything here… he could still remain in this place.
Whooosh!
A Supreme Kick [무상각(無上脚)] that was the embodiment of the textbook approach itself. A foot imbued with the energy of Purging Evil [파사(破邪)] cut through the wind and crushed the foe’s skull.
Immediately afterward, a tide of pitch black crashing force poured over Hye Yeon, who had lost the strength to resist.
“Oooooooh!”
At that moment, dozens of blades of sword energies flew in and formed a wall before Hye Yeon.
No – this was no mere wall of sword energy. It was the world’s firmest wall of will, raised by a single resolve to never collapse.
Boooom! Boooom!
The incoming black force raked savagely at that wall, yet though it looked ready to crumble, it endured, shielding Hye Yeon from the enemy’s claws.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”
A scream burst out, as if wrung from every fiber of his body.
In truth, Lee Songbaek was now squeezing out everything he had.
Nothing may touch him. The sword of Jongnam blocks it all. For that one purpose Lee Songbaek had honed himself with ruthless rigor.
But if that sword blocks only the attacks aimed at himself – what meaning would there be in piercing the world with a single strike?
– Your sword can block anything in the world.
‘No. You are wrong, Sect Leader.’
He must not stay there. If he did, he would have been no different from Jongnam of the past.
“It isn’t about blocking…”
Lee Songbaek clenched his teeth with all his might. Bright red blood gushed from between his lips.
“It is about protecting!”
As if trying to surpass his own limits, Lee Songbaek roared…
And at that exact moment, two figures, a man and a woman, soared through the air above his head.
Swish! Swish!
A burst of plum blossoms bloomed atop the vast sword-wall Jongnam had spread out.
The flowers that blossomed upon the unshakable wall were precarious, but for that very reason they were beautiful and deadly. They poured straight down upon the cultists.
It was the instant the devils instinctively flinched from the sudden storm of plum-blossom sword energy.
“…Let us see for ourselves.”
A pure white sword thrust up into the sky.
“Whether Heaven’s will stands with me.”
Wuuuuuuuuung!
A brilliant white sun crashed down in the very center of the black swarm of demons.
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*정심(正心) – righteous(just)/heart(mind) depending on the context. In Buddhism can imply cleansing the mind of delusion, and aligning it with truth or the Dharma. Pure state of heart and mind (inner self(心 – heart/mind/core).
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Return of the Mount Hua 
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