章節 21: They call me Jun
The place was unfamiliar, a stark contrast to what it had once been. Gone was the warmth that had once surrounded it—not true warmth, mind you, for even though this was an icy region beset by constant snowstorms, the village itself had once held a kind of warmth. The warmth of knowing that the monsters lurked outside, while you were here, safely holding your family close, perhaps sipping a hot drink by the hearth, watching the smiles of your loved ones. In this small, peaceful village, you knew everyone's names and faces, from the children to the elderly, each laugh distinct, each memory familiar and cherished.
But now, silence blanketed everything. There was still warmth in the village that had changed so drastically, but it was the warmth from the burning timber of its buildings—the wood that once held behind it joy and laughter now lay in empty, blackened shells. The four walls and roofs were gone, replaced by fragments of charred wood and shattered beams, and if luck were on your side, you might see a single wall standing alone in a storm, adding to the desolate sight, amplifying the sense of cold and solitude in anyone who looked upon it.
The harsh chill seeped through, carried by the wind along with the scent of burning—the scent of charred wood, the smell of burnt bodies, the odor of blood... As you walked through the remains of the small village, the air around you grew heavier, the solitude even more profound. Though you were no stranger to icy, mountainous lands, the sight before you caused your heart to tighten. Your feet dragged over the thick snow, your breaths quickened, and you paused now and then, leaning on abandoned ruins, feeling the cold settle into your bones.
Yet, despite the destruction, something drew you to a certain place within the village, like a flame luring a moth. You couldn't see it in the midst of the wreckage, but as a seasoned martial artist, you sensed the presence—a unique aura you had felt from the very beginning. It was not wild or powerful, not fierce like fire or swift like rivers. It was simply there, calm and unremarkable, as any mortal's aura would be. And that very ordinariness sent chills through your body, making the hair on your arms stand on end. Had you seen its owner, you would have mistaken him for a poor, frail beggar scavenging from scraps. But you knew well that he had once overwhelmed you in battle, leaving you beaten and bruised.
How could an aura change and fluctuate, expand and contract, freeze solid like a mountain, and strike like countless unseen blades? It was ghostly in nature, like a phantom. Your breath grew shallow, yet you compelled your aging, frail body forward, inching toward the presence as a lost sailor seeks a lighthouse's distant glow. Until you saw him, as always cloaked in black, tall, with his long hair falling over his face. You knew he had sensed you, perhaps from the moment you moved in the forest—just as he had sensed you the day he defeated you. He stood tall, digging into the frozen earth with his bare hands, burying the blackened bodies one by one, lowering each charred form into the snow-covered ground.
You stood in solemn silence, witnessing the grim scene in the village's quiet square. Despite the savagery that lay behind it, this place still held a hint of peace. You watched a young man burying his loved ones, and remembered the many loved ones you had laid to rest by your own hand. You were no novice in the Jianghu; you were the leader of the Eastern Dragon Sect, a dragon from the east who brought with him both fortune and fury. And here you stood, silent, bearing witness in the presence of death.
You have no idea how much time has passed as you stand there, battered and bruised, your internal organs in a pitiful state. Every step sends waves of pain through your body, a sharp jolt that reverberates inside. The urge to cough up blood is overwhelming, yet you manage to restrain yourself with great effort. You feel a desperate urge to scream, to release the turmoil within, but pride and duty hold your voice in check. You look at the figure before you, silently hoping he might be the end to this long beginning.
You know well that you're on a sacred mission, one entrusted to you by the five elders. Four of them have already spread throughout the Jianghu over the years, preparing and gathering supplies. You are keenly aware that the current turmoil is just the tip of the iceberg, a mountain of impending doom that will inevitably collapse upon you. There are truths left unspoken, thoughts you dare not even entertain. To acknowledge them would mark the end, the ultimate conclusion.
Corruption has spread across the land, demons and their worshippers have resurfaced with newfound strength, and the common people are seething with bitterness. Taxes have soared to unbearable heights, food has become scarce, and plagues and droughts have arrived as unwelcome guests. You tried to uncover the cause behind these ominous events, particularly the men cloaked in black. You knew this had to be kept secret, and it was a perilous endeavor, which is why you had to undertake it yourself. Among the Trader Dragon Sect, none but you could handle this mission, being one of the ten rulers just below the five saints and the three deities. In Jianghu, information is power, and there are many sources for it, such as the Beggars' Sect and the Hao Clan. The Beggars' Sect has eyes in every corner, while the Hao Clan thrives on trade in the shadows. But relying on such sources comes at great personal risk, especially as a merchant, for information is the lifeblood of your wealth.
One of the five elders of the organization, Hao Shan, told you what transpires in the depths of night. The shipments that have come from the west to the east for years, and those men dressed in black who have moved across the land with ease, were all signs of a growing dark presence. You marveled at how the cultists of demons could operate so freely, right under the noses of the sects and clans. And what deepened your concern was the seclusion of the sects, shutting their doors to the world. Evil was festering in the shadows, while the sects and martial artists vanished, leaving you with no one and nothing to trust.
Seeking answers, you traveled east, searching for any glimmer of hope—a lifeline for the drowning. And as you continued, you met him: a man who resembled those others but somehow was different. You couldn't quite pinpoint what drew you to him, but you knew one thing for certain—he was powerful. After the battle you had with him, it was clear that he was stronger than you, perhaps even as strong as the saints.
And now, that man stands before you.
"Who... are you?!"
You ask, sensing an energy from him that resembles those other men, yet something about it is different—stronger, darker, but with a strange, refined edge to it.
The man lowers the last of the bodies into the grave, covering them with soil, and stands solemnly over them in mourning. With the sun setting behind him, the scene unfolds like a painting, colors clashing to outline the face of a young man in his twenties. Incredible. He must be a prodigy, a genius, to possess such power at such a young age.
"Wh...who...a...are you?" you gasp, doubling over in a fit of coughing. Blood speckles your hand as you cover your mouth, staring at the red liquid filling your palm. Your vision blurs as you look up, eyes desperate, knowing you must appear utterly pitiful to the man before you—a man as unfeeling as the frozen peaks of the Eastern Mountain. The sounds fade, the light dims, and in the last moments before losing consciousness, you catch a faint voice.
"They call me Jun."
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