Who I was in the past and who he will become in the future. (5)
The footsteps that had continued came to a halt.
A brief silence settled in.
The Dalai Lama, who had stopped, slowly lifted his head, silently looked at the sky, which was filling with the light of dawn, before turning to look back.
It was hard for anyone to know what was contained in Dalai Lama’s deep, calm eyes.
One could only feel a faint trace of regret flickering somewhere in their depth. No, perhaps it was something that ought to be called sorrow. That was all one could cautiously surmise.
Panchen Lama asked carefully.
“Master. What is it that troubles you so?”
“…”
“Are you thinking of him, perhaps?”
Dalai Lama gave no answer.
Panchen Lama placed his palms together in a deep gesture of respect towards the young man standing before him. The Dalai Lama embodies the Way of the Buddha [불도(佛道)]. Anyone can ask, but he does not answer everything. He is merely a reflecting mirror. If one desires something, instead of waiting for an answer, one must seek it oneself.
“How could I not understand the wish to bestow compassion upon sentient beings sunk in the sea of suffering? But, Master. You have already shown him the path. Now that he has refused that path, what more can we possibly do?”
Even at Panchen Lama’s words, Dalai Lama’s gaze did not waver in the slightest. After casting only a heavy look in silence for a long while, Dalai Lama finally opened his mouth slowly.
“Did I show him the path?”
“Master…….”
“Can you truly say I have opened a path by leading him not into the pit of fire but onto a bed of thorns?”
Panchen Lama could not bring himself to answer. It was not that he was at a loss for words. It was because Dalai Lama’s expression looked far too sorrowful.
“Master……”
Dalai Lama is one like a Buddha living in the human world. To him, emotion should have been nothing but a trace worn thin through endless time – so how could he now display such deep feeling?
Dalai Lama, not seeming to expect a particular answer, looked up at the sky once more.
“Morning is coming.”
At that abrupt remark, Panchen Lama hurriedly nodded.
“Yes, Master.”
“It is the nature of things that morning follows the deep night.”
“Isn’t that precisely why people can endure even the darkest nights? Because they know, no matter how long the darkness may last, dawn will eventually break and morning will arrive.”
“If one wishes, it shall be so.”
Panchen Lama, who was unconsciously about to nod again, hesitated slightly. A trace of confusion flickered across his eyes, sensing something peculiar in Dalai Lama’s voice.
“Lama.”
“Yes, Master.”
“But, if…”
Dalai Lama hesitated briefly, as if about to bring up something difficult, and then spoke with evident effort.
“What if there is someone who does not wish for the morning to come?”
Panchen Lama did not immediately grasp the meaning of those words.
“Not wish for the morning… what do you mean…”
Today, the sky seemed particularly crimson. Gazing quietly at the glowing sky, Dalai Lama spoke softly.
“To those who wish for it and to those who do not, morning comes in the end. It is like an inescapable fate.”
“Master…”
“The reason the affairs of humans are called a sea of suffering is because there are things that cannot be avoided. Just by being alive, one must endure countless hardships. Even if it is…”
Dalai Lama, trailing off for a moment, continued. His voice was filled with boundless sorrow.
“Even if it is something a person cannot bear.”
Panchen Lama found it difficult to comprehend the weight carried in his master’s words.
“What, then, should one do?”
“…”
“If a frail sentient being must face something they cannot endure… what is a person – what can such a being possibly do?”
Dalai Lama slowly lowered his gaze and looked at Panchen Lama. Then he gently closed his eyes.
“Humans can forget. The ability to forget is perhaps the only lantern granted to those who wander the sea of suffering.”
“…Are you speaking of forgetting.”
“That is precisely why it is so tragic.”
Dalai Lama muttered with his eyes closed.
“To put it another way, a person who is denied this lantern would forever wander along a path without any light.”
Dalai Lama cast a heavy gaze into the distance. It was the direction they had come from.
“I only hope… earnestly hope, that the small light he has found… will guide him.”
The remnants of emotion that had faintly risen in his eyes quietly settled into the depths once more.
❀ ❀ ❀
“Huff. Huff.”
Gasping for breath, Namgung Dowi forcibly raised the still sword upright.
‘Pathetic……’
Although Namgung’s swords were made heavier and larger than usual to embody the clan’s swordsmanship, a sword was still a sword. Its weight would not exceed three geun.
Yet now, Namgung Dowi’s body couldn’t even bear that much weight.
“Siju!”
As his consciousness grew hazy, Hye Yeon’s voice sharply pierced his ears. Snapping back to his senses, Namgung Dowi realized his head had begun to slump forward. As he jerked it back up, Hye Yeon asked worriedly.
“Would it not be better to fall back?”
Namgung Dowi let out a hollow laugh. Here he was, bleeding profusely with a hole in his stomach, yet it was this monk worrying about him instead. Truly, that monk was remarkable in his own right.
“Right. Don’t push yourself.”
Tang Soso, who added her words just then, was the same.
She had lost her dearly beloved father. No matter how composed she seemed, her insides must be churning terribly. Yet at this moment, Tang Soso’s eyes were filled only with concern and compassion for Namgung Dowi.
‘Honestly, at this rate…’
“Siju.”
“Hyaaaaaaah!”
Mustering every last bit of strength he had left, Namgung Dowi swung his sword again. A faint streak of white sword energy shot from the sword’s tip, flying towards the enemy.
Boom!
He could not tell whether it had dealt any damage. But he hoped at least he hadn’t burdened these remarkable people any further.
“…Half-dead already…”
“What are you doing.”
“Of course… I admit it. I admit it, but…”
Namgung Dowi’s gaze drifted towards Chung Myung in the distance.
“…When someone even worse off than me is still fighting, you want me to play weak? I’d rather die facedown in a puddle.”
At those words, Hye Yeon let out a small laugh. It seemed he felt the same way.
“Anyway, you just can’t talk to people who’ve got nothing but swords in their heads.”
Tang Soso shook her head with a displeased look, but she no longer tried to dissuade Namgung Dowi.
“Huff.”
Namgung Dowi desperately gripped the sword that seemed ready to slip from his grasp at any moment. His consciousness was hazy, as if it would snap the moment he relaxed even a little. His body would not move any further, either.
But Chung Myung was still fighting. In circumstances even worse than his own.
Knowing that, could he really turn tail and run? Him, the rightful heir of the Great Namgung Clan?
If he fled now and ended up dying from some stray sword, Namgung Hwang would surely strike off his head in one blow the moment he saw him in the afterlife.
Namgung Dowi let out a ragged breath as he faced the enemies before him.
“And besides… it seems they aren’t exactly eager to fight, either.”
At those words, Tang Soso nodded.
‘They all know.’
No, perhaps everyone simply wanted to see it. That fight unfolding behind their backs. The result of that petty clash of pride, now hardly worthy of being called a fierce battle.
The outcome of that fight decides everything. Everyone knew this instinctively.
Tang Soso clenched the hand she had hidden inside her sleeve.
‘Sahyeong… please don’t lose, Sahyeong.’
She hid that trembling deep inside, letting no one else see it.
⠀⠀⠀
Kwaang!
At the moment the sword and the blade, swung with full force, collided, Baek Cheon gritted his teeth hard. It wasn’t because of the pain in his wrist.
‘Damn it!’
It was because of Chung Myung and Jang Ilso, whom he kept within his sight.
Baek Cheon could tell. There was not a single shred of strength left in Chung Myung’s body. The figure standing there now was merely a shell named Chung Myung, moving solely by sheer willpower.
Stronger energy surged along Baek Cheon’s sword.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sword wrapped in crimson sword energy crashed again and again into the thick blades.
He was, in fact, driving multiple Red Dogs back. Even so, the anxiety on Baek Cheon’s face would not fade.
“Get out of the way….!”
Grinding his teeth, he once more swung his sword with all his might.
“I said move!”
Kaaang!
At that instant, the blade that struck his sword split cleanly in two with a sharp sound. Even Baek Cheon, who had unleashed the attack, had not foreseen this. Unable to gather his force back, Baek Cheon’s body staggered for a moment and leaned forward.
Paaat!
Seizing the opening, blades came flying mercilessly at him from both sides. Baek Cheon, teeth clenched, was about to thrust his sword forward, prepared to take the injury, when suddenly crimson sword energy flew in from behind his back.
Slash! Slash!
The charging Red Dogs clutched their severed throats and quickly fell back.
“You’re in a hurry.”
A familiar voice was heard. But Baek Cheon did not so much as turn his head.
“Do you not trust your Sajil?”
“……As if that could be.”
At Yu Iseol’s calm question, Baek Cheon ground his teeth.
He believed. He’d never say it out loud, but if there was anyone in the world who trusted Chung Myung the most, it would probably be Baek Cheon.
He has never once doubted Chung Myung’s victory. Even if the opponent was Jang Ilso, if it was Chung Myung, he would surely win and bring back his head.
Yes, he trusted him. But…
“It’s different…”
Baek Cheon’s grip on the sword tightened.
This was different from that. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else… an intense, indescribable premonition gripped Baek Cheon’s heart and wouldn’t let go.
He had to get over there right now. If he didn’t, something irreversible was bound to happen. Something unspeakably horrific, unbearably tragic.
The dread that misfortune might completely shatter Chung Myung filled him with anxiety. It was enough to drive him mad.
“I can’t explain it. But… I have to get over there. No matter what!”
He didn’t expect anyone to understand. In truth, Baek Cheon himself couldn’t make sense of it. How could he ask others to believe in a premonition with no basis at all?
But Yu Iseol moved at once.
“I just need to open the way, right?”
Yu Iseol stood at Baek Cheon’s side.
“Samae… did you understand?”
“Not at all.”
Yu Iseol cut him off cleanly. Baek Cheon squeezed his eyes shut. She continued, slowly.
“But I trust you, Sahyeong.”
“…”
“That’s enough.”
Baek Cheon stared blankly at Yu Iseol.
“Why?”
“No, nothing.”
Sometimes he forgot. Just as he trusted others, Baek Cheon himself could be someone others put their trust in.
Strength began to return to his weary body.
“Right. We just have to open a path.”
“I’ll go all out.”
“I’m counting on you.”
Baek Cheon bit his lip and stared straight at Chung Myung’s back.
‘Just wait a little, Chung Myung-ah.’
Whatever awaits you, you won’t face it alone.
⠀⠀⠀
Thud!
Jang Ilso’s knee drove into Chung Myung’s solar plexus.
“Guh…”
Unable to endure the pain, Chung Myung’s mouth gaped open. He thought there was nothing left to vomit, yet once again, bitter stomach acid surged up his throat.
Fwoosh!
Even then, Chung Myung’s elbow swung with precision, smashing fiercely into Jang Ilso’s jaw. Jang Ilso’s head snapped back as if his jaw might shatter. Blood sprayed from his mouth like an arrow.
Clench.
Chin drenched in blood, Jang Ilso, half-unconscious, seized a handful of Chung Myung’s hair.
Crash!
He drove his fist into Chung Myung’s face.
Crash! Crash! Crash!
Twice, three times, four.
This could no longer be called martial arts. It was no different from a street brawl between thugs. Having exhausted everything, the two of them tore into each other from the very depths of their beings.
Crack!
Just as Jang Ilso drew his fist back for another blow to Chung Myung’s face, Chung Myung stomped down with all his might on Jang Ilso’s toes.
“Grrr…”
The pain of the bones in his toes all being crushed surged in, but even so, Jang Ilso still managed to deliver one more blow.
Crash!
Jang Ilso kicked off the ground to follow immediately, but he staggered and collapsed right there. Neither his legs nor his feet would obey him anymore.
“Hah…”
Jang Ilso let out a hollow laugh.
Thud.
With trembling hands, he stubbornly pushed himself up from the ground. Even as long streams of blood kept pouring out, he managed to stand once more.
Chung Myung did the same. With no place on him left unscathed, he rose once more as if he had never fallen. He forced his swollen eyes open, but could barely see. His vision was almost completely gone – everything in front was pitch-black.
‘It’s dark.’
Darkness like a dense fog.
There was no light left. The path before him sank deep into boundless darkness.
________
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