Chapter v18c1

The Ascent of the Fire Dragon

– The Red Fire Dragon Emerges from the Earth’s End [Gen], Piercing the Clouds

– And Uniting Heaven [Qian] and Earth [Kun]

The pillar of fire that erupted from the summit of Cheonmu Peak, bridging heaven and earth, resembled a soaring fire dragon. It was a sight that seemed to defy the laws of this world. The Great Young Master, Bi, observed the magnificent and awe-inspiring spectacle in prolonged silence. He stood on a distant peak, far removed from Mount Hua. Yet, the sight of the crimson pillar bridging the heavens and earth was crystal clear even from three thousand zhang away.

“My Lord!”

The Seven Stars of Machun, his loyal followers, were also speechless at the sight. Their flames were meant to spread wide, engulfing the world, not to surge upwards, piercing the heavens.

Something was wrong. The tower of certainty, carefully constructed with meticulous planning, was crumbling, its collapse echoing silently in their ears. Even Bi, despite trying to ignore it, couldn’t escape the vivid reverberations.

“Is this a good omen, or a bad omen?”

Which hand would the goddess of fate favor?

Though heaven rarely speaks, it answers when asked.

But the vast sky they gazed upon remained silent, its mouth covered by white clouds.

* * *

The Ruler Who Resides in Darkness, Facing South

– Unfamiliar Fear

He couldn’t remember how much time had passed. It had been an immeasurable length of time since he took this seat, shrouded in darkness. The insignificant world called Jianghu was, in fact, sustained by the aftereffects of the immense grace bestowed by “them,” a grace infused with a touch of whimsy. Lately, however, that world, oblivious to this truth, was brimming with arrogance. Why bother prolonging the existence of such a trivial world, so lacking in self-awareness? Doubts had been growing within him, an unavoidable consequence. Perhaps a little intervention would improve things? It was better to shatter the bowl than let the water stagnate and rot. And for that, burning away the remnants of the past was the best solution. A little chaos and confusion might be a good experience. This thought briefly crossed the mind of the ruler who resided in darkness, facing South, the one who controlled everything here with a single finger.

Facing South. It was a position reserved solely for the Son of Heaven, a symbolic seat of power. To sit there as a non-emperor was a sacrilege. Of course, his occupation wasn’t as mundane as being an emperor. But within the realm he ruled, even the emperor’s decrees would fall to the ground, rendered powerless, like a bird with clipped wings. Every decision here, even those dictated by fate, was bound by his will.

He always remained in the shadows, observing the world of light. Sometimes, his voice took shape, influencing that world in various ways. But even then, he remained hidden, never revealing his true form.

Perhaps it was because light emerged from the depths of darkness? One could see light in darkness, but it was impossible to perceive darkness from within the light. That’s why, since ancient times, the North had been the emperor’s domain. The emperor resided in the darkness of the North, watching over the people in the bright South. Concealed in the shadows. Since time immemorial, the greatest emperors were those who made their presence unknown to the people. The ones who made the ruled forget they were being ruled were either exceptional rulers or terrifying tyrants.

Therefore, rulers had long sought to conceal themselves. And thus, taboos were created. To prevent the people from seeing or noticing them. Trees were planted alongside the paths the king traveled. “Forbidden” meant to display [示] trees. It also meant concealing what lay behind the trees. When the royal procession passed, the people had to lower their heads. Gazing beyond the light, into the darkness, became a taboo of taboos. The ruled only needed to diligently perform their assigned tasks. It was crucial to instill in them that questioning their lot was an act of transgression.

Perhaps that’s why a massive black curtain, symbolizing separation, hung between him and the young man prostrating himself three zhang away. It was black, yet thin enough to be translucent. But only a small portion was visible. On the pitch-black curtain, two large white characters were written:

滅劫.

“Destruction.” Those were the only two characters visible. No, those were the only two characters he allowed them to see. The rest was a sea of black.

Torches flickered in a long line beyond the curtain. But his figure remained hidden. The torches illuminated only the South, creating a path of light. The North, where he resided, remained shrouded in darkness. The light was too weak and feeble to dispel the darkness that filled that space, so the young man prostrating himself three zhang away from the black curtain could only see darkness.

The young man trembled with fear. Even though the tremor was imperceptible to the naked eye, anyone who knew him would have been shocked to see him like this. It was a sight unbefitting the Great Young Master, a figure often viewed with awe, the one who had earned the title of “Machun’s Greatest Genius.” His usual arrogance, his towering pride, had dissolved into the darkness, leaving behind no trace. Perhaps the darkness that filled this space revealed his true nature, a nature that was never exposed in the light? The young man bowed his head low. He was the Great Young Master Bi, who had vanished from Mount Hua after unleashing the “Firequake.” The mastermind behind the “Mount Hua Inferno,” the target of a manhunt by the entire martial world, was now trembling like a small bird caught in the talons of a hawk.

The figure behind the curtain had just received a report on the audacious actions of the insignificant insects he had dismissed. He felt no desire to speak. A heavy silence pressed down on Bi’s heart.

“Sigh…”

A soft sigh broke the silence, causing the dim lamps illuminating the darkness to flicker. Even the wind, which could seep into any crack, no matter how small, couldn’t penetrate this darkness.

“You’re not telling me you failed, are you?”

Sometimes, people misheard. Sometimes, people misspoke. He was willing to forgive a single slip of the tongue. But there was no room for error. No, such a thing was unacceptable.

“F-forgive me…”

Bi was tormented, agonizing. The realization that he, who had always strived for perfection, had failed was like a sharp, steel rake, mercilessly tearing at his mind and body. He lamented his lack of power over time. If he could only turn back time, rewind its relentless flow, he could undo the mistakes of the past. But dreams were dreams, and reality was reality. He couldn’t even raise his head, overwhelmed by the shame of crushing the expectations placed upon him.

“…”

The hammer of silence struck his shoulders, crushing him. It felt like the entire world was condemning him.

“…It seems I didn’t mishear. You’re asking me to do something I’m not accustomed to.”

He wasn’t used to hearing about failures, regardless of whether he had directly overseen the operation. This case was particularly hard to swallow. The one he had trusted most had failed him. It was unprecedented.

He hadn’t even considered the possibility of failure, so it took him a while to process it.

“I received a report that a red inferno erupted on Cheonmu Peak.”

Therefore, he had naturally assumed that success was inevitable. But his unwavering conviction had been shattered?

“That report was incomplete.”

Bi answered cautiously, his voice heavy with despair.

“And?”

“There’s an additional report that should have been included.”

“What is it?”

“Someone witnessed the fire dragon ascend afterwards.”

And Bi himself had clearly witnessed that unbelievable sight from a distance. The image, seared into his retina, remained vivid in his mind, indelible.

“Are you saying that’s the direct cause?”

Bi hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t been there himself. And although he had dispatched his intelligence gathering unit to collect information, prioritizing those who had attended the “Hwasan Convention,” they hadn’t uncovered anything useful. The situation had been so chaotic that most people had been too busy trying to survive to pay attention to their surroundings. Finding someone with the mental fortitude and ability to grasp the overall picture under such adverse conditions was no easy task.

“A sudden gust of wind blocked my vision. I couldn’t see anything because of the strong wind that threatened to blow me away.”

That was the most common testimony.

“I closed my eyes, thinking I was going to die. When I opened them again, it was all over.”

There were also useless testimonies like that from incompetent fools. Of course, it wasn’t nearly enough to reconstruct the events. All he could do was form hypotheses. But based on the meager evidence, he could only come up with weak assumptions.

“It’s just a conjecture at this point, but I’m ninety percent certain. They seem to have used some method to create a massive updraft. Originally, the fire energy was supposed to spread throughout Hongmae Valley, wreaking havoc. But it seems that, finding an escape route, it erupted upwards in an instant, just like when you prick a balloon with a needle.”

Bi’s reasoning was logical. But it wasn’t enough to explain the phenomenon.

“It was the firepower of ten wagonloads of ‘Dragon Scales’ exploding simultaneously. Its destructive power would have been enough to reduce even the Nine Great Sects to ashes! Are you saying there was someone there with the skills to control such a torrent of power?”

Reality was sometimes fickle and absurd, manifesting the impossible. In such cases, the cause of the phenomenon was more important than the phenomenon itself.

“We might have underestimated the Three Saints.”

Bi answered.

‘Come to think of it, the center of the whirlwind was where the Three Saints were. I’m sure of it.’

A testimony from one of the Hidden Shadow agents.

“Absurd! They don’t have such power!”

The voice from the darkness was unusually firm. But Bi didn’t back down.

“But we can’t be certain. Furthermore, the information we have on the Three Saints is outdated.”

Bi answered cautiously. But he still hadn’t convinced him.

“I also heard that the old lion’s whereabouts are unknown.”

It was something Bi hadn’t considered.

“N-no way…!”

Bi knew who “the old lion” referred to. He understood the implications, so his surprise was even greater.

“It’s impossible. I would have noticed such a presence…”

Bi trailed off.

“You overestimate yourself. He wouldn’t be called the Martial God Demon if you could easily discern his identity. If he wants to hide, no one can find him. I fear no one in this world. But that old man is an exception.”

Bi wanted to argue.

‘But it’s been a hundred years since then… History flows, and we can’t rule out the possibility of new figures emerging.’

But he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Well… I suppose I should commend you for making some progress.”

A sneering voice echoed through the darkness. The lamps illuminating the windless space flickered violently.

A silent but intense killing intent, hidden beneath the surface, permeated the darkness, spreading like a net.

He was smiling, unaware of it himself. It was a chilling smile, cold enough to freeze the sun.

“Gasp…”

Bi shuddered slightly.

He had heard this voice since he was born, but he still couldn’t get used to it. Every time he heard it, he felt fear stirring in the deepest recesses of his heart.

“I’ll consider it a slight amusement. But what about the key?”

He asked again.

“…”

Sometimes, silence was a valid answer. Today, there were more things he couldn’t say than things he could.

“Are you telling me you returned empty-handed, without the key or eliminating those old parasites infesting Jianghu?”

The “Fire Dragon Plan” had been in motion long before he learned of this. It was a meticulously crafted plan, ten years in the making, now reduced to ashes. Bi braced himself for the inevitable outburst. But the expected explosion of anger didn’t come.

“Hahaha, to think everything failed… It seems we’ve been outmaneuvered.”

He even seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“It seems we’ll have to stick to writing old history books for a while!”

Bi, who had boasted about writing a new history of the martial world, felt a pang of guilt. He was clearly referring to that incident.

“I apologize for my incompetence. I’ll accept any punishment. I’m sorry, Father!”

Shame overwhelmed him, preventing him from raising his head. It was the first time he had felt so incompetent.

“Why do you think you failed?”

The question was asked.

“I know your capabilities well. I created you, after all. You must have been perfectly prepared for the Three Saints! Even if you couldn’t defeat them, you wouldn’t have lost. Are you saying there was someone else there, someone you couldn’t handle?”

“They were stronger than we anticipated. But more importantly, there was an unexpected variable.”

“An unexpected variable?”

It was surprising to hear such words from Bi, who always planned meticulously, leaving no room for error.

“It’s a person.”

“A person?”

He hadn’t misheard. He had definitely said “a person,” not “a group.”

“Yes. One person, someone I couldn’t measure with my standards.”

The image of a man flashed through Bi’s mind. Long bangs covering his eyes, a perpetual sneer on his lips, and an absurd level of unpredictable action.

“What’s his name?”

“…Bi Ryu-Yeon.”