His teeth were clenched so hard they might shatter. His fists were tight enough to draw blood. A tremor wracked his body, a convulsion he couldn’t control, born of an anger so profound it felt like it could bleach the very color from his hair.
Red. The world was red. Everything his eyes fell upon was saturated in it. The once-lush green of the mountain peak was now a slick, crimson canvas, its life and nature scoured away in a single day.
Only death remained. And for what? What purpose did this ocean of blood serve?
Park Jin-hyuk’s fingers clawed at the hilt of the blade buried in his shoulder. He wrenched the broken shard of the White Lotus Sword free.
His left arm was gone, the tattered remnants of his sleeve fluttering in the wind. Though his legs were intact, they refused to obey him. A gaping hole, the size of an infant's head, had been torn through his abdomen.
And yet, he felt none of it. The agony of his body was a distant echo compared to the storm raging in his heart.
“…Sahyung Lee Kang-min.” His gaze fell on the body of Lee Kang-min of the Mount Wol Sect, cast aside like so much refuse.
Why? How could it be so cruel? Why couldn’t the dead even find the peace to close their eyes?
“Sajae…” The sight of Sajae Park Hoon, his body severed in two, burned itself into his mind.
“Sajils…”
Everyone was dead. The best and brightest of the Mount Wol Sect—all those who had sworn to ascend together, to protect their home, to make their names known across the land—were gone to a place from which there was no return.
And their Sajils had followed them into death.
Park Jin-hyuk’s jaw tightened.
A noble sacrifice. A just and glorious end. That is what others would call it. But who would dare speak such praise? Who would dare?
Park Jin-hyuk’s eyes found him—the source of it all, the architect of his fathomless rage.
There, amidst the sea of blood and gore, sat the leader of the Blood Demon Sect: the Blood Demon. The sight of that man, cross-legged and tranquil in the heart of this hellscape, stirred something cold and strange in Park Jin-hyuk. Even here, he appeared utterly serene.
No, serene was the wrong word. Dozens of swords bristled from his body. Two spears were embedded in his gut. An army of heroes had spent their lives to bring him to this state.
The final, desperate battle between the Blood Demon and the assembled elite of the great sects had ended in mutual annihilation.
Was this victory? Would the dead rest easy? No. They would not.
And even if they could, Park Jin-hyuk knew he never would. It took every last shred of his will to keep the rage from consuming what was left of his mind.
The Blood Demon’s pale, vacant eyes fluttered open, staring up at the clear blue sky.
“…Mount Wol Sect.” The name spilled from his lips. To hear those words, the words engraved upon Park Jin-hyuk’s very soul, from that demon’s mouth was a desecration.
“How unfortunate, disciple of Mount Wol Sect. If you could walk away from this, you would have quite a story to tell.”
“…Shut your filthy mouth.”
“You should be proud. After sacrificing countless lives, your sword finally reached me.”
“Shut up!” Bile rose in Park Jin-hyuk’s throat. Just hearing his sect’s name on those wretched lips made him sick.
“How unfortunate.” The Blood Demon was dying. Even a being of his power could not survive a shattered dantian and ruined organs.
This was nothing more than terminal lucidity, the final flicker of a dying flame.
But why? Why did he seem so calm in the face of his own death? To Park Jin-hyuk, this Hyeolma was an utter enigma.
“If I had but one more day, I would have ascended, become a true Blood Demon. But this, too, is fate.”
Park Jin-hyuk gripped the broken sword he’d pulled from his shoulder. The sharp edge bit deep into his palm.
One step. Then another. At the very end of this long and brutal war, Park Jin-hyuk dragged himself toward the Blood Demon.
“Remember this, disciple of Mount Wol Sect.” Hyeolma’s eyes remained hollow, even as Park Jin-hyuk loomed over him. “This is not the end. The Magyo will return. And when that day comes, the world will fall to the Magyo. The Magyo can never be stoppe—”
The Blood Demon’s head tumbled from his shoulders. With a final, desperate surge of strength, Park Jin-hyuk brought his foot down, crushing the skull under his heel. The demon’s eyes remained wide open.
“It’s over…” The war was over. The world would celebrate this victory. But Park Jin-hyuk knew the truth. There was no victory here. No one had won.
Finally, the last of his strength gave out. He collapsed, his body giving in to the inevitable.
Park Jin-hyuk tilted his head back, gazing at the sky. After all this carnage, it was still a perfect, indifferent blue.
What will happen to the Mount Wol Sect? Everyone who came to this mountain was dead. If any survived, they were likely drawing their last breaths. No sect had sacrificed more. No sect had lost more.
“Sahyung Lee Kang-min… I told you not to pour your whole soul into everything.” Now, the future of the Mount Wol Sect was buried here on this cursed mountain. The disciples had followed their masters to the grave. All that remained were children, ignorant of what had been lost.
There was only regret. A bitter, useless regret. Was there any meaning in this? Did the blood of Mount Wol Sect count for anything at all?
“I don’t know anymore, Sahyung Lee Kang-min…” Park Jin-hyuk’s world tilted as he fell onto his side.
The pure white of his robes, embroidered with the five petals of a plum blossom, spread across the blood-soaked ground before his fading eyes.
A meaningless death. A lonely end, with no one left to witness it. The great White Lotus Sword Saint of the Mount Wol Sect was dying like a stray dog in a ditch.
“…But your deaths were better than this.” At least they had someone to weep for them. He had wept for them.
I’m sorry, Sahyung Lee Kang-min. Park Jin-hyuk’s vision began to fade.
If only he had trained a little harder, could he have saved just one more person? If he had paid more attention to his masters’ scolding? If he had mastered the true Mount Wol Sword instead of just the White Lotus Sword?
No regrets… The thought was a lie. There was nothing but regret. It was all he had left.
That, and a gnawing worry for his sect.
Plum blossoms must fall to welcome the spring that follows a harsh winter. Mount Wol…
And so, the thirteenth disciple of the Great Mount Wol Sect, the White Lotus Sword Saint, Park Jin-hyuk—slayer of the Blood Demon atop the summit of the Black Wind Mountains of the Blood Demon Sect—drifted into an eternal sleep. This fleeting moment on a forgotten peak was all that remained of his legend.