Chapter 1644
So, Are You Enjoying This? (3)
How long did the silence last?
In the end, it was Jang Ilso who stepped back first.
With a quiet sigh, he sat down again and waved his hand dismissively.
"Let's stop here, Gamyeong-ah. I don't know if this is worth growling at each other over."
Ho Gamyeong looked at him without answering.
"You're right. I lost my composure for a moment. I acted hastily."
Jang Ilso continued calmly.
"But that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking."
Fatigue lay bare on his unadorned face.
"The best way to raise our odds isn't to cling to the impossible. It's to crush them before things spiral out of control."
"…"
"So don't talk as if I've given up entirely."
"…Is that truly so?"
"Does it not appear that way?"
Jang Ilso asked lightly, meeting Ho Gamyeong's gaze with crescent-shaped eyes.
Ho Gamyeong closed his eyes.
The tone was gentle. The composure had, at least outwardly, returned.
But the words themselves were a refusal—nothing more, nothing less.
Knowing that, Ho Gamyeong felt an emptiness quietly seep into his chest.
"…If that is Ryeonju's will, then I will follow it."
After a pause, he spoke again.
"But may I ask you one more thing?"
Jang Ilso hesitated.
Normally, he would have said, Ask anything, anytime.
Yet those words did not come.
"Do you understand, Ryeonju?"
Jang Ilso could not answer.
To others, it might have sounded vague—perhaps even laughable.
But to him, it struck cleanly at something vital.
"The reason I asked whether you were enjoying this wasn't arbitrary," Ho Gamyeong continued.
"It was because that was your original goal. The path you wished to walk."
His voice was steady, composed.
"Ryeonju… do you remember Wangsa?"
"…I do."
"Even after I took revenge, I kept thinking about him. I couldn't understand it. Why would someone who already had everything crush a humble family like mine? Why earn such hatred for something so unnecessary?"
"…"
"At the time, I didn't understand. But eventually, I did."
"You… understood?"
"Yes."
Jang Ilso frowned slightly.
"And what did you realize? That pig trampled your family for greed, did he not?"
"…No."
Jang Ilso paused.
"There was never a reason. Or rather—none was needed."
His expression stiffened.
"At some point, wealth stopped being a means. It became the goal itself. Even if it rotted unused, even if he couldn't enjoy it until death—he still had to gather more."
"…"
"So it didn't matter who stood in his way. If there was something to take, he took it. That was all."
Jang Ilso stared at Ho Gamyeong for a long time.
Then, slowly—
"…Am I now like that pig?"
A cool breeze slipped through the door, flowing between them. Ho Gamyeong rubbed his fingertips lightly.
"That isn't what I meant. I'm only asking."
"About what?"
"When you say you want to place Gangho beneath your feet before everything becomes meaningless—what does that mean to you?"
"…"
"Is there something you must achieve even if everything loses meaning? Or does holding Gangho itself still have meaning, even without anything else?"
Silence followed.
Ho Gamyeong bowed deeply.
"That is all."
He straightened.
"I'll take my leave."
"…"
"Please rest. Even the strongest martial artist has limits to the mind."
He turned toward the door.
"Gamyeong-ah."
Ho Gamyeong stopped—but did not turn.
"If I truly am a moth drawn to flame… if I'm just rushing toward a meaningless fire—what will you do?"
"…."
"Will you condemn me? Or will you turn away and say I've changed?"
Ho Gamyeong turned back.
He looked at Jang Ilso—at the unpainted face shadowed by exhaustion—and spoke quietly.
"That day."
"…"
"From the day you granted my selfish wish, I never once imagined leaving your side."
"…"
"If the day comes when you are abandoned by all, struggling in the deepest hell—"
His voice did not waver.
"The one person who will remain beside you until the end will be me."
Then, softly—
"Because that was my intention from the beginning."
He bowed.
"Rest well."
And left.
Thud.
Jang Ilso stared at the closed door, then instinctively reached for a bottle.
Only shattered glass and spilled liquor met his hand.
"Haha…"
A hollow laugh escaped.
But it didn't last.
He grabbed a shard. Blood welled, mixing with clear liquor.
As if numb to pain, he looked to the bronze mirror.
No makeup. No mask.
Only a fragile man—cracked lips, dark shadows, irritation twisting his face.
With a sharp motion, he hurled the shard.
Clang.
The mirror toppled.
"Haha… what a sorry sight."
Is it truly wrong?
Back then, he too had wanted more. Something bigger.
What was different now?
Is living like a moth so shameful?
Even if the end is burning—
isn't that better than wallowing like a pig, avoiding the flame?
He believed so.
But to survive by standing beside them—
The thought made his stomach churn.
His mind accepted it as a possibility.
But his body—his soul—rejected it.
Animosity burned, unquenched.
"Haha… Gamyeong, Gamyeong."
He slumped into his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"Why…"
His eyes closed.
Ho Gamyeong's gaze lingered in his mind—disappointment, anger, concern intertwined.
Heavy. Suffocating.
A strange déjà vu crept in.
He had seen those eyes before.
Nothing had changed.
If there was something to gain, he would take it.
He would never trade certainty for vague hope.
The lamp beside him flickered.
Outside—
"Commander."
Ho Gamyeong brushed past the greetings, cold enough to unsettle those around him.
'Ryeonju…'
He bit his lip.
— There's a certain charm in dying like this, isn't there?
Jang Ilso's voice from long ago echoed.
He had always laughed. Even with death at his throat.
And he would never change.
So why—
Why did Ho Gamyeong now see a different man?
Is the future truly so heavy that even Jang Ilso cannot laugh?
No.
That cannot be.
Even if the sky fell, Jang Ilso would laugh.
Then why?
"…Why…"
Ho Gamyeong murmured.
Nothing had changed.
Even if Jang Ilso walked an incomprehensible path, Ho Gamyeong would follow.
That much was certain.
But—
He wanted Jang Ilso to laugh, even in hell.
Better to laugh in hell than cry in heaven.
That was his way.
Ho Gamyeong wiped the blood from his lips.
"…It's different. It always was."
They were walking in the same direction—
but seeking different things.
In that case…
He turned sharply toward his office, cutting through the cold dawn wind.
Before the sun could rise.
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