Return of the Mount Hua Sect Chapter 1323: If That Were A Human. (3)

Ordinary people cannot understand Mount Hua’s Sword Saint.

The author’s way of acting is at once deeply human and utterly beastlike.

Supreme rationality coexists with an almost absurd ferocity.

Therefore, it cannot be interpreted or predicted.

A mere mortal likely cannot even guess what the man is thinking.

One might roughly guess the outward show, but no one can approach the intimate true intent hidden within.

Then is Ho Ga-Myung different?

Can he, unlike the countless ordinary folk, access that intent?

Not at all. Ho Ga-Myung believed himself to be no more than a common man.

There was a time he thought his talent and intellect were unmatched.

But he had long since thrown that vain pride into the compost heap.

He cannot be predicted. He cannot be understood. He cannot be guessed.

Yet he could know.

How that Mount Hua’s Sword Saint would move, how he would respond, how he would perform.

Ho Ga-Myung did not think it was due to his own specialness. He had simply seen it countless times.

How a being beyond common perception, beyond ordinary sense, thinks, acts, and lives.

‘I don’t want to admit it, but...’

Yes. It’s similar.

He had long refused to admit it, but after confronting Chung Myung in Southern Island, he had to concede.

That Mount Hua’s Sword Saint resembles Jang Ilso to an extreme degree.

Then there’s no reason to agonize.

If Jang Ilso, burdened with those he must protect, were placed in Chung Myung’s situation, how would he act?

The answer is already apparent.

People are prone to mistaken impressions.

They imagine Jang Ilso as an absolute being who toys with the world at his feet.

They say he founded the Ten Thousand People Clan, created the Four Sects Alliance, and even ruling the Southern Lands is mere play to him.

But Ho Ga-Myung, who watched Jang Ilso for a long time, knew this was all bullshit.

Jang Ilso is someone desperate about everything.

He pours his heart into even a single action, a single gesture, a single word spoken.

He feigns menace, uses hypocrisy, deceives and sacrifices everything—even himself.

Thus he finally seizes the bloody-smelling result called ‘the goal.’

There is one reason Jang Ilso could become an absolute.

‘Because he shows no weakness to anyone.’

Even when breath reaches his throat, when he’s exhausted to the point a twitch would topple him, even when his neck is at risk, Jang Ilso never stops playing the mighty self.

There were countless crises.

Even in utterly despairing moments, by refusing to lose the persona he wished to present, Jang Ilso came this far.

He has written legend beyond tale and now approaches the realm of faith.

Jang Ilso is such a person. So then...

Wouldn’t Chung Myung, who resembles Jang Ilso, be the same?

That unshakeable solidity that seems impossible to topple, that strength showing no falter even under impact, that grim reaper-like manner of slicing enemies aside...

Maybe it is an image forged through desperate artifice?

Is it not a visage he is determined to show, whether to allies or enemies?

Just as Jang Ilso endlessly shapes himself, might Chung Myung be doing the same?

‘He can’t not be tired.’

He fought the most people.

He expended the most internal qi.

He bled the most blood and bore the greatest burdens.

From that Southern Island to here, Chung Myung carried and endured all those things.

He cannot possibly not have broken down.

A human of blood and flesh cannot endure endlessly.

If he were to collapse, he should already have collapsed.

But at some point everyone began to believe otherwise.

They say Mount Hua’s Sword Saint, the man called Chung Myung, will never fall.

Both allies and even Gwi Yang who hunted him, and even Ho Ga-Myung who planned all this, half-doubted until the last moment.

It’s a phenomenon akin to faith.

An absoluteness that neither friend nor foe doubts.

This is a brilliant sculpture Chung Myung painstakingly etched into the martial world over years.

But now Ho Ga-Myung had clearly confirmed something.

That monster is, after all, human.

A fragile human of blood and flesh.

Ho Ga-Myung spoke as if driving a stake into his certainty.

“He’s already at his limit.”

Gwi Yang, with a baffled look, asked Ho Ga-Myung.

“What?”

“I confirmed his feet are dragging.”

“That’s all the reason you need?”

“It’s enough. More than enough.”

Ho Ga-Myung’s eyes gleamed coldly.

“Wild beasts do not show pain until right before death. They instinctively know the weak will die.”

“.......”

“He’s not a beast, but in the end he’s no different. He must be strong. He must not fall. He must always remain calm and steadfast. Yet this means he failed to do that.”

Ho Ga-Myung stated with certainty.

“That means he’s already collapsing.”

A hint of puzzlement appeared in Gwi Yang’s gaze.

He scrutinized Chung Myung again.

No matter how long he watched, it wasn’t easy to accept.

Chung Myung remained as ruthless and monstrous as when first seen.

Moreover, the spectacle he produced was no different from before.

Members of the Ten Thousand People Clan were being cut down as they charged.

But...

‘If you reason it out, it’s not entirely wrong.’

Was there any time to catch his breath?

He likely had no proper time to sleep, let alone to cultivate his qi.

And yet how many had already died by that sword in the meantime?

Even the easy task of reaping motionless rice with a well-sharpened sickle becomes backbreaking after a day of repetition.

But slicing people repeatedly for days on end without rest—how could one not grow tired?

The conclusion is clear: it’s absolutely impossible.

Think about it for a moment and it’s obvious.

The Ten Thousand People Clan traversed a distance that took days even without a single full battle, fighting along the way and even protecting those who followed them.

Yet before hearing Ho Ga-Myung, Gwi Yang had believed Chung Myung showed no fatigue at all.

“...It feels like being possessed by a ghost.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not that you’re stupid—he’s extraordinary.”

Gwi Yang licked his dry lips from tension.

To be honest, he still wasn’t certain.

There was a large gap between what he understood intellectually and what he saw and felt.

‘It’s the word of a commander.’

But it was the word of the Mind-Probing Inquisitor, Ho Ga-Myung.

If he said so, wasn’t it worth testing?

“What are you hesitating about?”

“...Hmm?”

“Earn your keep.”

Gwi Yang couldn’t help but laugh at Ho Ga-Myung’s words.

Frankly, this wasn’t to his taste.

Gwi Yang normally preferred a more leisurely hunt.

He liked to savor the sight of wounded game when it could no longer resist and wheezed, drawing it out before ending it.

But if forced to choose, he didn’t particularly dislike the tremor when plunging a blade into the heart of still-strong prey.

“If it’s an order, gladly.”

And anyway, he had no intention of letting them leave this gorge peacefully.

It’s merely the difference between a fight to end a life and a fight to wound.

Ssshhh.

As Gwi Yang drew his sword, the Blood Sword Troops members waiting nearby closed in behind him as if eager.

“I’ll ask one thing first.”

Ho Ga-Myung shot a displeased glance at Gwi Yang’s remark.

It was clear he didn’t want to waste time on needless talk.

But Gwi Yang asked again despite knowing that.

“Target?”

“The obvious answer.”

Ho Ga-Myung’s gaze fixed on Chung Myung.

“Mount Hua’s Sword Saint. If we can take down that one bastard, the others don’t matter.”

“Clean one.”

Gwi Yang gave a thick smile and stepped toward the gorge.

“Let’s carry it out.”

He stamped his foot into the ground.

He stamped over the shoulders of those densely lined before him and shot forward like a meteor.

Honestly, it wasn’t his preferred terrain.

A single path is burdensome for those chasing from behind.

The hunted can clearly gauge the pursuer’s position, and in such places there are certainly more disadvantages than advantages.

Moreover, in a rocky gorge like this they couldn’t use the Blood Sword Squad’s specialty: attacks that defy common sense.

So all that remained was to collide with pure force.

But precisely because of that...

‘It will become clear.’

Gwi Yang’s body tore through the air as he advanced.

The narrow contours of the gorge on both sides warped at will.

In that twisted world, only the figure of Chung Myung straight ahead remained clear and distinct.

Shuaaaaaa!

Chung Myung’s cold eyes, which were cleaving through the bodies of the Ten Thousand People Clan, met Gwi Yang’s boiling gaze head-on in the air.

“Mount Hua’s Sword Saint!”

Fwoooosh!

Gwi Yang’s sword sliced the air as he surged toward Chung Myung.

A formidable speed, and a single strike carrying tremendous force to match.

Chung Myung contorted his eyes and stamped the ground.

He then powerfully countered Gwi Yang’s incoming blade.

Kraaaang!

The clash of metal burst like an explosion.

Red and blue sword qi flew from the two blades like fireworks scattering in all directions.

“Ha!”

An indescribable heat flared in Gwi Yang’s eyes.

An intense sensation in his wrist.

It must mean the prey he sought was still very much alive.

But Gwi Yang hesitated not at all and unleashed a series of strikes.

Parararak!

The sharp, thin swords flexed and lashed like dozens of venomous serpents at Chung Myung.

The strikes bit at him as if alive, tearing at his body.

In response, Chung Myung’s sword also released dozens of sword illusions.

The writhing tips of Gwi Yang’s blade and the swift, linear point of Chung Myung’s sword collided dozens of times in the space of a mere breath.

Kakagagagagang!

A clamor like hundreds of iron beads striking a steel plate rang out.

Each strike brimmed with a desperate will and killing intent to slay the opponent.

Kwagagagak!

The moment their sword visions entwined, Gwi Yang’s charging body was thrown back.

The thin swords could not withstand the power channeled in the Dark Fragrant Plum Blossom Sword.

Fwoooosh!

Chung Myung’s flying blade sliced long from beneath Gwi Yang’s eye down to his earlobe.

The area below the earlobe was cut away and blood spouted in droplets.

But at that moment, Gwi Yang’s sword style abruptly changed.

He instantaneously poured massive internal power into a downward strike.

Chung Myung met the descending blade without yielding.

Kwoaaaang!

Inner energy collided head-on, and shockwaves radiated in all directions.

Those swept by the sudden storm were flung back and tumbled.

But the two at the center of that fearsome impact did not retreat an inch; they kept pressing and testing each other’s blades.

Gak! Gagagagagak!

The sound of steel scraping echoed.

Bruddruk!

But more distinct to their ears was the sound of hands gripping the swords twisting under strain.

With neither yielding, their gazes clashed fiercely across the blades pushing at each other.

“Kugh kugh.”

Gwi Yang’s gaze, which had been pressing down on Chung Myung, suddenly dropped downward.

Precisely, toward Chung Myung’s leg.

He could see Chung Myung’s garments around his legs steadily darkening with wetness.

Blood was welling up from within.

“Kugh kugh kugh kugh. That leg...”

A gleam of triumph filled Gwi Yang’s eyes.

“Seems the wound hasn’t healed?”

“.......”

“Huh? Mount Hua’s Sword Saint!”

Kwoaaang! Gwi Yang forced his sword down toward Chung Myung’s injured leg with all his might.

Chung Myung’s body wavered and was thrown backward for a moment.

With half his face soaked in blood, Gwi Yang let out a wild grin and surged forward.

With the ferocity of a predator that has found wounded prey.