Chapter 662
Has it been about ten years? Back when I was obsessed with martial arts novels, I used to have thoughts like that from time to time.
No—honestly, pretty often.
‘If I were the protagonist of this novel, what would I do?’
Looking back now, it’s kind of embarrassing to admit—but it couldn’t be helped. Any reader who’s spent enough time on web novels probably has that same default setting built in.
For example, whenever some dumb protagonist refused to raise his intelligence stat despite having a system window, or whenever he made a fool of himself the moment a female character appeared—every time, I’d think:
‘If it were me…’
But once I actually became a martial artist, I realized something. Imagination was imagination, and reality was reality.
All those masterpieces of martial arts novels I’d read were nothing more than beautifully arranged letters on a page, and the heroes I’d admired so much didn’t exist in this world.
‘Hey, old man.’
‘What.’
‘I was just wondering about the Heavenly Demon. Was his last name perhaps Muk?’
‘…What kind of bullshit are you on about now? Weren’t you rambling about some nonsense like Wudang Demon Sword and Mount Hua Gale Sword not long ago?’
At first, I was disappointed that I’d never meet any of those novel protagonists. But that didn’t mean I was let down—because the martial artists of this world were just as impressive in their own ways.
Still, if there was one thing that completely shattered my fantasy, it was this—
“The ones leading the Southern Army alongside us back then were the Zhongnan Sect.”
Yes. Those three words that had just left Baek Sang’s mouth.
‘Zhongnan Sect.’
One of the Nine Great Sects of the orthodox Murim. For hundreds of years, it had stood proudly alongside Mount Hua Sect, sharing control of Shaanxi Province as one of the two greatest righteous schools.
Well, I guess I should say ‘used to share.’
The Sword Saint Ma Jonghak—who had long remained unseen—was now the Alliance Leader of Murim, and his later-in-life disciple had achieved enormous fame. Because of that, the Mount Hua Sect’s influence had grown beyond comparison.
And Zhongnan Sect?
‘Two of their three transcendents are currently bedridden and groaning.’
The Roaring Sword Guest was wrecked by Jeok Cheon-Gang, and the Supreme Emotionless Sword was broken—by me.
The only decent one I’d met among their younger generation was Hyuk Sopyeong, the “One Dragon of Zhongnan,” but overall, the image of Zhongnan Sect wasn’t great.
At least among the orthodox factions, it was the worst.
‘If the leaders are that messed up, how can they ever dream of ruling the world?’
At this point, they might as well be called the “Crapnan Sect.” Or the “Zhongshit Sect.”
Well, maybe their current Sect Leader, the Wind and Cloud Sword Lord, is different—but based on everything I’ve seen and heard in Murim, my personal impression and the world’s evaluation of them aren’t that far apart.
‘And if Zhongnan Sect is being mentioned here and now…’
I can already sense where this is going.
I frowned unconsciously as Baek Sang’s voice continued.
“The Sect Leader of the Zhongnan Sect at that time, the Supreme Saint, was both righteous and wise. He handled all matters calmly, regardless of one’s background. That’s why both I and the Palace Lord supported him as the Commander of the Southern Army.”
“The Supreme Saint… You mean…”
“Yes. The master of the current Zhongnan Sect Leader, the Wind and Cloud Sword Lord.”
I’d heard that name before through Jeok Cheon-Gang.
Although Jeok Cheon-Gang usually referred to the Zhongnan Sect as “a bunch of rude bastards,” even he had called the Supreme Saint “soft-hearted but respectable.”
“The problem began right after we entered Gansu Province. The retreating remnants of nearby forces gathered at Mount Daxueshan. Their number reached two thousand.”
“…Two thousand? From nearby stragglers?”
“Do you think they called them a hundred thousand demonic soldiers for nothing? They may have lost the Heavenly Demon, but their numbers were still formidable.”
“So, a battle broke out at Daxueshan?”
Baek Sang slowly nodded.
“It was a battle we could’ve won. The Western Army we belonged to had two transcendents—the Supreme Saint, and the Palace Lord, who was just beginning to be called the Beast Miao King. Our forces were not inferior in number or quality—in fact, we were far superior.”
“From how you’re saying it, the Western Army must’ve been huge.”
“Roughly four thousand men in total. The enemy had no transcendents. There was no reason for us to avoid battle.”
“Huh…”
Two transcendents against none, twice the manpower, and the enemy were exhausted fugitives.
Anyone would’ve thought it was an easy fight.
But if it had been that easy, Baek Sang wouldn’t have lost his only son.
“There was a trap, wasn’t there?”
At my sudden question, Baek Sang replied with a dry, sand-like voice.
“Yes. When our forces split into three groups to attack Daxueshan, what awaited us wasn’t scattered stragglers—it was the elite strike squad of the Demonic Cult.”
Everything was chaos. Arrows rained from the cliffs like a storm, and boulders weighing hundreds of geun crushed men and blocked the narrow path.
“We realized it was a trap, but it was already too late. As I fought desperately, I suddenly looked around—and the person who should’ve been by my side was gone.”
He didn’t say the name, but I knew instinctively who he meant.
Not the Beast Miao King.
‘Baek Hwi.’
Baek Sang’s only child, the heir he intended to pass everything to.
As a great chieftain, he had brought his son to the battlefield to set an example—but he must’ve cherished the boy more than his own life.
Yet amid the battlefield soaked in blood and corpses, his grown son vanished without a trace during the final battle.
“For the first time, I was afraid. Hwi was my everything. No—he was more than that.”
His voice grew hollow.
“But I had to regain my composure—for the sake of my warriors. I sent requests for support to the Zhongnan Sect and other orthodox allies nearby, and I fought alongside the Palace Lord.”
An unexpected ambush. A desperate battle. Yet the Beast Miao King, Baek Sang, and the Southern warriors did not retreat.
They fought harder than ever and finally secured victory—though at a terrible cost.
“It was only after the battle in the gorge ended that I learned my son had chased after a group of fleeing enemies with several dozen warriors through a side path. I was relieved.”
I asked quietly, “Why?”
“Because that side path led through friendly territory. I believed those who received my request for aid would’ve reached him in time to save him.”
I said nothing. Because it’s not anger or grief that destroys a person—it’s trust.
And when that trust is betrayed, that’s when despair begins—just like the man before me.
“What do you think happened?”
I didn’t answer. He likely didn’t expect me to. After a brief silence, Baek Sang continued.
“My son… his body was never found. Only the mutilated corpses of warriors torn apart by an unknown enemy remained. Later, I learned the culprit was a demon known as the Snow Ghost, who ruled Mount Daxueshan.”
“…The support troops?”
“There were none. The messenger I sent for help was killed by enemies while en route to our allies—or so I thought. But later, I learned the truth.”
Baek Sang’s entire body trembled.
And I saw it—something surfacing behind the usually cold stillness in his eyes.
“…That it wasn’t the enemy who killed the messenger, but our own allies.”
It was rage. And hatred.
“They didn’t fail to send help. They chose not to.”
It was the quiet, desperate cry of a man betrayed by his faith.
“If they had come, my son could’ve been saved. But they didn’t. They silenced my plea for help, killed the messenger, and chose instead to chase down the fleeing demons. Do you know why?”
When a vessel is full, it overflows. After decades, Baek Sang’s heart—overflowing with resentment and betrayal—burst open once more.
“Because we were nothing more than barbarians from beyond the Great Wall!”
“Because we weren’t Han! Because we could never become Han! And they would never risk their lives for barbarians like us!”
Boom! Crash!
A violent surge of internal energy erupted. The stone walls and floor cracked apart, and the tangible force from his fist brushed past my face.
Drip.
I felt a stinging pain as a hot line of blood ran down my forehead.
But I didn’t move. I just watched.
Until Baek Sang’s murderous eyes turned toward me.
“The Central Plains—the Han—betrayed us. We extended our hands when they were desperate, but they repaid us with betrayal after we fought and bled for ten years!”
The hatred of decades bore down upon me.
Only then did I open my mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell the Supreme Saint? He would’ve uncovered the truth.”
“The Supreme Saint?”
Baek Sang laughed—a hollow, broken sound.
“Yes, perhaps he would have… if he were still alive.”
“What do you mean…”
“He went into battle while already suffering severe internal injuries and was killed by the Snow Ghost. The enraged Zhongnan Sect then executed our messenger, ignored our plea for aid, and pursued the enemy. The other sects under the Western Army were no different.”
“What?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? It was for me too. Only one person—the Palace Lord—tried to uncover the truth. But when the Great War between the righteous and demonic sects ended, everything was buried beneath victory and glory.”
“And while everyone else basked in their triumph and peace, the messenger’s body disappeared. The final evidence—the traces of Zhongnan Sect’s martial arts—vanished as well.”
Those insane bastards…
I bit back a curse.
I could hardly breathe. If Baek Sang’s words were true, then none of us had any right to condemn his fury.
‘They fought with their lives, only to be repaid with betrayal.’
And the worst part? Deep down, it all felt too real.
‘Damn it…’
After coming to Murim, I’d learned all too well how the people of the Central Plains saw those outside their borders—and how fragile human greed and loyalty really were.
Even after losing his son, Baek Sang kept fighting for victory—but the allies he trusted were no allies at all.
The Supreme Saint died. The Zhongnan Sect ignored the Beast Grave Palace’s plea and chased glory. The other sects, blinded by fear of casualties and hunger for merit, followed suit.
And the result of their choices stood right before me now.
“You said earlier that this land—the Southern Barbarians—is rotten.”
Drip… drip…
Water leaked through the cracked ceiling, foul and dark.
Beyond it, Baek Sang’s eyes gleamed cold.
“That day, your kind taught me what I had to become.”