Whether it was a sense of confinement, anger, or sadness, no one could tell, but Chung Myung simply gritted his teeth, refusing to look back.
"Ah...mi...ta...bul..."
Hye Yeon recited a Buddhist prayer with a trembling voice, unable to contain her emotions.
Each word seemed to pierce Chung Myung's ears.
Even Yu Yiseol, who usually remained stoic, clenched her sword tightly, the sound echoing in the silence.
Whose fault was this carnage?
"Chung Myung..."
With a sigh, Hyeon Jong placed a hand on Chung Myung's shoulder. But he stopped short of saying anything more, realizing that adding words would only make the situation more difficult to bear.
"The air is chilly."
Eventually, Hyeon Jong spoke, grasping at straws.
Chung Myung glanced briefly at the sky. It was still dark, the dawn air chilling his face.
To the degree that his body trembled.
In that moment, Yu Yiseol silently stepped forward.
Sssshh...
The wind disoriented her swing, and the sword, nestled within its sheath, emerged from the ground, slicing through the dawn air.
She knelt quietly, plunging the sword into the ground with a thud.
Thunk.
It sounded almost as harsh as severing an enemy's neck as the blade dug into the earth. With one hand on the sword's hilt and the other gripping the blade, she silently began to dig.
Chung Myung could only watch in silence.
Hye Yeon, who had been muttering Buddhist prayers with an unyielding internal turmoil, also stepped forward, kneeling and starting to dig with her hands.
*Step* *Step*
Li Songbaek approached silently, without a word, and began digging with his sword beside them.
Each with their own expression, they worked together to create graves for the fallen, their hands united in purpose.
These were the same people who had once thought they could never stand in one place forever.
Chung Myung let out a soft chuckle and looked up at the sky again. It seemed that the world's sorrow hadn't reached that high yet.
But surely it would.
Just as Chung Myung was about to take a deep breath and lift his heavy footsteps...
"Ah..."
A faint moan came from behind. Chung Myung's gaze shifted in that direction.
"Ah..."
Struggling to stand, Beok Jeong, who had approached almost unnoticed, was trembling.
All eyes were on him in that moment.
There were truly diverse emotions present—hatred, resentment, pity, and even a complex mix of uncertainty on how to regard him.
In the midst of it all, Beok Jeong, with trembling hands, tried to grasp the head monk somehow.
"Ah...mi..."
Chung Myung's teeth ground together.
"...Shut up."
"...Ta..."
"Shut your mouth!"
His wrinkled hands trembled, his complexion pale. He still couldn't fully control his body, stumbling forward with eyes half-open.
The once majestic Shaolin abbot was now pitifully unrecognizable.
Gone was the figure of a devout Buddhist adherent and the leader of the formidable force known as the Nine Sects and One Union.
All that remained was a pitiful human, groaning under the weight of his own sins.
And even that sight... disgusted Chung Myung.
Chung Myung approached Beok Jeong.
"Chung Myung."
Hyeon Jong hurriedly grabbed his shoulder, trying to restrain him. But Chung Myung, who had always respected Hyeon Jong's words, pushed his hand away this time and didn't stop his steps.
*Step*
*Step*
With each chilling step forward, Beok Jeong trembled faintly.
Eventually, Chung Myung stood right in front of Beok Jeong, glaring at him with a frigid expression.
At that moment, no one could decipher Chung Myung's thoughts.
With a face burdened as if bearing all the world's suffering, it was impossible to know what he was thinking.
Thunk.
Chung Myung grabbed Beok Jeong by the collar, forcefully pulling his face towards the gruesome scene.
"Look."
Beok Jeong's gaze was forcibly fixed.
"Don't close your eyes. Look."
With a growling voice, Beok Jeong struggled to open his eyes. Trembling, his eyes slowly opened and then quickly shut again.
"Ah, Emei... Emei... ta...bul..."
Tears streamed down Beok Jeong's eyes uncontrollably.
"Is there a Buddha here?"
A chilling voice pierced Beok Jeong's ears.
"Don't look for Buddha. This is your doing. Not Buddha's, but yours!"
Beok Jeong's legs gave out.
But Chung Myung's hand, gripping his collar, didn't allow him to collapse.
"Look."
Chung Myung forcefully pushed Beok Jeong's head in another direction.
"Look!"
Beok Jeong's eyes were filled with it. The sin he could never escape from.
A deep and profound burden, something he could never fully repay. It felt like it would crush Beok Jeong at any moment.
Beok Jeong slumped, as if his soul had left his body.
Watching this, Chung Myung bit his lip.
"Is this what you wanted?"
Why repeat it?
"Why?"
Facing such a painful outcome, why repeat the same actions? What did a name matter, or fame? They meant nothing in death.
"Just this?!"
*Crack*
The fabric in Chung Myung's grip finally tore away.
"Say something! Anything!"
It felt like his chest would burst.
If this was how it would be, he should have succeeded. He should have mocked those who couldn't achieve what he did, even in death.
If only, if only he had...!
At that moment, someone grabbed Chung Myung's hand, consumed by passion.
Chung Myung stared blankly at the face of the person holding him.
Hye Yeon, her face soaked in tears, silently held Chung Myung's arm, which was gripping Beok Jeong's collar.
She slowly shook her head, without saying a word.
"..."
Meeting Hye Yeon's eyes filled with sorrow, Chung Myung's anger dissipated. His hand, gripping Beok Jeong's collar, lost its strength.
Thud.
Beok Jeong collapsed in that spot.
Staring at Beok Jeong, who lay limp as if his soul had departed, Chung Myung turned away.
Beok Jeong wasn't there anymore. All that remained was a shell. Lost in unforgivable sins and self-blame.
In this moment of feeling whether it was empathy, camaraderie, or simply disgust, Chung Myung found it difficult to even understand himself. Despite that, he spoke with a cold voice.
"You had it too."
Beok Jeong didn't react as if he couldn't hear.
"At least... one person's worth."
Someone who would accept him as he was, without the need for honor or brilliance.
As dark clouds drifted over, obscuring the moon, it felt as if the world had been engulfed in deep darkness. Just like his stifling inner turmoil, with no way out.
As Chung Myung took a breath to move,
"Uh..."
A sound of sobbing came from behind.
"Uh..."
It wasn't a whimper but a flood of sobbing, overflowing with intensity. It poured out uncontrollably, despite efforts to suppress it.
"Uh... Uh... Uh..."
Chung Myung found this sobbing strangely familiar. It resembled someone he knew.
When he turned around, Beok Jeong was on his knees, clutching the ground.
After a long and painful movement, Beok Jeong's hand finally touched something. The pale face of a corpse, already cold.
"Kye..."
Hye Yeon had wrapped up and moved Beok Gye's body herself.
Beok Jeong's back trembled. It was an infinitely pitiful and mournful gesture.
Perhaps Beok Jeong had realized what I had done after witnessing it.
His profound sins. But even after seeing it all, he still struggled to save me until the end.
A bitter smile escaped Chung Myung's lips.
'Why always...?'
Is it only after losing something that people realize?
Why do they try so desperately to grasp what they already have, without understanding its meaning, or pursue things they don't need?
Why are they so foolish?
"Uh... Uhuhuhu... Ah... Ahhhhh!"
Beok Jeong's wailing burst out desperately.
"Ahhhh! Beok Gye! Kye-ya! Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Even those who hated and scorned Beok Jeong couldn't say anything in the face of his heart-wrenching cries.
Because even the most unsympathetic individuals could imagine the depth of that sorrow.
"Ahhhhhhhh!"
Chung Myung, who had been watching Beok Jeong with cold eyes, turned his head away.
There was no room for wasted sympathy for the dead.
"Chung Myung."
Meeting Hyeon Jong's gaze, Chung Myung nodded.
"Ceremonial sect leader... for the Taoist sect."
"Yeah."
Hyeon Jong also nodded slowly.
"Let's do that."
There was nothing the living could do for the dead. Whether it was for the Taoist sect or the Buddhist sect, it was ultimately to comfort the remaining.
Knowing this, people still clung to such futile gestures, hoping that their earnest prayers and condolences would somehow reach them.
As Chung Myung took feeble steps toward the bodies lying on the cold ground,
"Junior nephew. Ceremonial sect leader."
Yu Yiseol, who had quietly surveyed the surroundings, approached with a stern face.
"Senior sister?"
"There are... many."
Chung Myung looked at Yu Yiseol with a puzzled expression, and she added softly,
"The enemies' bodies."
Hyeon Jong frowned. Why was Yu Yiseol making such a serious remark about the bodies of the enemies on the battlefield?
But Chung Myung's face noticeably hardened. He immediately understood the meaning behind Yu Yiseol's words.
"...Many?"
It meant that the Nine Sects that had died here were stronger than they had thought.
Or... "The enemies were weaker than expected."
Was that possible? Such a thing?
In an instant, Chung Myung turned his gaze towards a particular direction.
"Surely...!"
Clouds drifted by, revealing the moon once again. Under its light, Chung Myung's eyes widened in disbelief.
❀ ❀ ❀
"There's no pursuit, sir alliance lord. They've begun burying the bodies."
"Hmm, is that so?"
Jang Ilso let out a strange smile.
"Oh, oh. How affectionate. Putting so much effort into mere pieces of meat. Perhaps we should learn something from that, Jiaming?"
Hu Jiaming didn't know how to respond. It wasn't a question meant to elicit an answer. Jang Ilso spoke again.
"However..."
"Yes?"
"If you think the war is over, isn't that too naive?"
One corner of Jang Ilso's mouth twisted.
"War doesn't inflict wounds. It heals them."
His gaze turned eastward, in the same direction Chung Myung had looked.
❀ ❀ ❀
"This place..."
A chilly gaze devoid of warmth stared at the towering mountain in front of them.
Among the Five Mountains, renowned under heaven, this mountain, known as Zhongyue, was famous not for its picturesque landscapes but for something else.
It was the most famous temple in all of under heaven, located north of Shaoshi Peak.
Mount Song, where the most renowned temple, 'Shaolin,' in under heaven was situated.
With a dry finger, the bandages wrapped around the head were removed. As the brown bandages fell to the ground, the entirety of the crimson robes became visible.
The figure at the center was tightly wrapped in red bandages, even the body exposed beyond the robes.
When he spoke, a gloomy voice that seemed to emanate from hell itself emerged.
"So, this is Shaolin."
"Master."
"Yes, I know. To avoid the nagging of the alliance lord."
A glint of bloodlust flashed in the man's eyes.
"Just to clean up the remnants... It's not a task I enjoy, but... if we've put our hand to it, we must do it thoroughly."
They began to move towards the path leading to Shaoshi Peak.
"Let's go. Today, we erase Shaolin."
The stench of blood emanated from the Blood Cult as they revealed their intentions towards Shaoli