Chapter 128
Chapter 128: Alive(2)
A Long-Ago Past Life
‘When I was learning blacksmith work from the Iron Instrument God's son.’
"……"
The Iron Instrument God's son was hammering iron with bloodshot eyes, driven by his desire to avenge his father.
Clang! Clang—!
Every time he brought the hammer down, sparks flew—giving the impression of blood spattering.
It was a desperate sight, his very soul being burned away in the forging, and so I wanted to give him some rest.
"Why not take a break and continue after."
"I'm fine."
But he didn't stop.
His once-powerful body was growing gaunt, leaving behind nothing but a thirst for vengeance.
"The Iron Instrument God's sword is truly extraordinary, the more you look at it."
Pause.
The Iron Instrument God's son stopped his hammering.
"……Is that so."
It was only because his father had been mentioned that he finally stopped.
I pointed to one of the Iron Instrument God's Righteous Swords hanging on the wall.
"I can recognize the Iron Instrument God's work just by looking at it, but the world uses other methods to tell them apart."
"I……have also heard of them."
Like the Heon Do Eun Gong dagger I carried, the Iron Instrument God had engraved a sword name into his works—though some works bore no engraving at all.
The Iron Instrument God's swords were treasures of the age, and whenever one of his unengraved blades was discovered, people would flock together to determine its authenticity.
In general, his swords would not so much as scratch when struck by another blade—but there were other smiths with that level of skill besides the Iron Instrument God.
And so there existed a special method for distinguishing his swords.
It was simply to cut something living.
In ordinary cases, when a person or beast is cut, blood and fat cling thickly and rust will follow. Careful maintenance is therefore essential.
But the Iron Instrument God's swords repelled blood and fat. It wasn't a matter of the material. Even if blood and fat touched the blade, they would simply drip away—and if you swung the weapon to shake it off, they vanished naturally. It was as though the sword itself were swallowing the blood and fat whole.
Perhaps because of that special property, wounds dealt by it also healed poorly.
"Ha……. I am still far from reaching my father."
The Iron Instrument God's son let out a short sigh.
Though he had inherited the art of working metal from his father, he had not reached his father's renown.
He spoke with a voice laced with regret.
"My father used to say. That a great sword grows by drinking blood."
"That is true."
"He said that depending on whether the blood a sword first drinks is that of a wicked person or a righteous one, its nature changes accordingly."
It was something I had never heard before.
I leaned in and listened carefully.
"He said that when a sword cuts people and takes lives—cutting again and again, drinking deep of blood—then at that point, a spirit comes to dwell within the sword."
"……"
The Iron Instrument God's son set down his hammer and walked toward his father's work hanging on the wall.
"My father spent his whole life pursuing a stronger sword. Then in his later years, he said he kept having the same dream."
"What kind of dream?"
"He said the countless people who had died by his swords came to visit him every night."
"Hm."
Click—.
He took the Iron Instrument God's sword from the wall and held it in his hand.
"He said the victims who appeared in his dream each carried the weapons he himself had made, and used them to stab and cut him……"
He sank into a chair and quietly ran his hands over the sword.
"He said it had been a life full of regret. That long ago, when his father was still a boy, he had failed to properly uphold the teachings given to him by his master and someone else."
It seemed that in trying to give him rest, I had instead stirred up heavy memories.
I scooped cold water from a gourd and held it out to him.
He took the gourd and spoke.
"In the end, he said he would lose his life to a sword he himself had made—just like in the dream……"
His voice trailed off.
"That was why he returned to forging Righteous Swords. He would recover the swords he had scattered throughout Gangho, and even if a renowned master came offering a fortune for one, he would not give it. But in the end……It came to pass just as he had said."
What killed the Iron Instrument God was the Evil Path Alliance Leader's Demon Sword Sahyeoldo—the very Demon Sword he himself had made.
Srrring—.
The Iron Instrument God's son drew his sword.
The clear ring of the blade seemed to cool the scorching heat of the forge.
"What a magnificent sword."
"It is the sword my father completed just days before he passed. Meaning this sword has never once drunk blood."
"……"
"My father's final work—the one that holds everything within it."
Click.
He sheathed the sword and rose from his seat, holding it out to me.
"Please let the first blood this sword drinks be the Evil Path Alliance Leader's."
"……!"
After a long, long time had passed, I finally used the sword I had received from him to sever the Evil Path Alliance Leader's leg and take the Sahyeoldo—but in the end, I failed to take his head.
I returned to him carrying a sword that had drunk blood.
The forge had been reduced to ruin, and beside it stood a single neglected burial mound.
A small mound with not even a gravestone.
I could tell it was the grave of the Iron Instrument God's son, who had poured out every last bit of his strength and died.
"……I'm sorry for being late."
I offered the sword at his grave, and it became his gravestone.
***
Tower 36th floor — Secret Vault
"I've wasted too much time."
Not much time remained.
I swept up everything in sight.
I took the night-glow pearls hanging from the ceiling, and didn't miss the scrolls rolled up on the bookshelves.
I hadn't unrolled them, but they appeared to be hanging scrolls or paintings.
‘If they're works of art, I'll either hang them in the poison herb field or sell them.’
Now only a few odds and ends remained.
On the floor were toys.
‘Were these what Bae Geum-sang played with as a child?’
There was also a torn old piece of clothing, a broken back scratcher, and several old trinkets.
While the trinkets were neatly packed away in a box, the back scratcher looked as though it had been deliberately broken and stomped on multiple times. On top of that, at the end of the back scratcher were old bloodstains.
‘Why is he keeping something like this?’
It couldn't be called a treasure by any stretch, but there was no time to deliberate.
I swept it all into the sack, just like the Iron Instrument God's Vicious Sword.
If I missed anything, the bonus mission completion might not trigger.
With everything in the sack—
Clatter—.
Something fell.
"A key?"
It was a key cast from metal—the material being black iron.
Meaning it was something very important.
In that moment, something came to mind.
What I had found with great difficulty on Floor 35.
"The Stone Chest!"
Ding!
【Bonus Mission Success】
【Raid the Secret Vault of the Wunbo Trading House.】
① Mission (36th floor) deemed a success!
② Happiness Points +1,500,000
③ 1/3 of the Eight Great Extreme Poisons ‘Bangu Blood Plasma’ Fragment is awarded.
④ All Bangu Blood Plasma pieces collected.
【Time taken to complete mission: 9 minutes 40 seconds】
【Overwhelming Completion (GOLD)!】
【Murim Tower 36th floor turns golden.】
【The entire world turns its attention to France's tower.】
I returned to the poison herb field.
"Master, are you finished?"
Omar came over to speak to me, but without answering, I walked over and picked up the Stone Chest I had acquired on 35th floor.
The reason the Tower had gone out of its way to get me into 36th floor's Secret Vault—it had to be here, inside this Stone Chest.
When I inserted the black iron key, the Stone Chest opened with a click—.
Inside the Stone Chest was a small figurine crudely carved from wood.
A man with a round belly, and a woman.
And the two of them holding a boy tightly in an embrace.
The craftsmanship was nothing like that of the fine stone statues in Bae Geum-sang's treasure vault.
‘Bae Geum-sang made this.’
I had a feeling.
A father and a mother.
And the boy would be Bae Geum-sang himself.
This was the image of the true family Bae Geum-sang had longed for.
"Huu."
And then letters emerged.
A diary and correspondence.
The unsteady, sprawling handwriting was a diary Bae Geum-sang had written as a child.
"Haa."
His father inflicting violence upon Bae Geum-sang.
His rage over it.
And his mother, who was having an affair.
Bae Geum-sang witnessed that scene.
Bae Geum-sang's childhood was not beautiful.
The contents of the diary changed little by little.
Bae Geum-sang had come to see his mother as a woman.
‘Disgusting bastard!’
I threw the diary.
‘This can't be what it wanted to show me.’
I picked up the remaining letters.
Two letters.
The first was a letter Bae Geum-sang had written to some woman.
—On a moonlit night, even the cool breeze curling at the eaves' edge cannot match your smile.In your grace, I perceived the shadow of my mother, and so my heart aches all the more deeply.On this path through Gangho where I cannot see even one step ahead, only you illuminate my heart like a lantern—and so I could not hide this feeling, and have taken up my brush.The clarity in your gaze was lovelier than the moonlight over hills and streams,and your bearing resembled the spirit of the plum blossom that blooms unbroken even beneath frost and snow.I, Bae Geum-sang, merely sharpen my sword again today, dreaming of the day I might one day stand by your side.
‘How ridiculous.’
A childhood of abuse.
The warped affection toward his mother had clearly transformed into an obsession with the woman in the letter.
The literary expression is needlessly refined.
Come to think of it, the stone statue of his own mother had changed too—he must have been projecting this woman onto it.
I felt a strangely unclean sensation.
I unfolded the remaining letter—
And in that instant, it felt as though my breath might stop.
—The Beauty Supreme of Sichuan Province is the mistress of the Sacheondang Family, but she is a woman who should have originally become mine.After the Sacheondang Family's annihilation, the world reported that she had already departed to the other side, yet I have obtained information at a great price of gold confirming she is alive.She is a woman blessed by heaven with beauty, and the very pillar of the Sacheondang Family.There is no chance that her traces have vanished like dust—she must be hiding somewhere.I command you!Follow the veins of Murim, trace her tracks, and discreetly set people to uncover her trail.Even rumors will suffice—report every one to me, and the moment her location is confirmed, relay it to me at once.
……Mother.
She's alive?!
***
Near Versailles, Before France's Murim Tower
The sky over Versailles had sunk to an ashen grey.
A night so full of clouds that even the moon was nowhere to be seen.
The toll of bells filling the city spread a heavy sorrow through the air.
More than one hundred thousand people had gathered, eyes anxiously fixed on the clock.
[The Resurrection of the Nameless Hero]
The time that had been promised to announce his survival now had only minutes left.
It was not a religious event, yet some people sang hymns, and some prayed to the sky.
In truth, it had never been said that it would be this Murim Tower in France that would announce the Nameless Hero's survival.
Yet they gathered here as though drawn by faith.
Broadcast stations had assembled, cameras numbering in the hundreds.
Personal streamers held up phones and cameras, filming the people, the Murim Tower, and the clock.
And now with little more than two minutes remaining—
What little hope had remained on people's faces faded away.
Among those dressed in black—
From someone's lips, a low and deep funeral song began to flow.
One by one, those who knew it—every person in France—began to follow along.
The resonance of mourning seeped into the old stone floor of the Palace of Versailles.
Not a single person hid their tears.
Tonight, they had ultimately gathered to commemorate the death of the Nameless Hero.
For that existence without even a name to leave behind—yet remembered by all.
The funeral song grew louder and louder.
Their grief reached the Murim Tower standing tall before Versailles.
That tower soaring as though to pierce the sky—a symbol of challenge and sacrifice.
Among its floors, the golden light of the 34th and 35th shone with a sadness that seemed to bear witness to the Nameless Hero's footsteps.
People looked up at that golden light and their eyes grew red once more.
Tick—.
The clock finally struck midnight.
The rumor that had spread.
The Nameless Hero's promise had not been kept.
The funeral song stopped—
"Let us go home now……"
People began to turn away, one by one.
At that moment—. Whoosh!
36th floor of the tower blazed into a dazzling golden light.
[1 Year : 2 Months : 11 Days……]
The French Murim Tower's time extended by two more months.
"……!"
In that instant, something impossible to put into words exploded through the crowd.
"Waaaaah—!"
"Aaaaaah!"
People trembled with emotion and joy, throwing their arms around one another.
White people embraced Black people.
French people embraced refugees, jumping up and down like children.
The war cry of one hundred thousand people transformed into an arrow that pierced the dark night sky—
And somehow, through the clouds that had gathered, the full moon revealed itself.
Beneath the moonlight.
On the faces of people filled with joy, tears streamed down their cheeks.
Park Jae-yeol let out a quiet groan.
His tightly clenched fists trembled.
His lips had gone pale.
The golden tower glowing in a blue-tinted shimmer under the moonlight.
Park Jae-yeol felt as though that light were exposing his shame and gouging into his chest.
Tremble, tremble, tremble, tremble.
Rage and sorrow.
His body shook with self-derision.
"Your Excellency."
Pyeon Jae-yeong, who had been standing beside him, quietly called out.
"……Let us go back."
Park Jae-yeol tore his gaze away from the golden tower with great effort.
It was an expression I had never seen before.
At first he had denied it, then raged, then tried to bargain, then fallen into despair.
The final stage—acceptance—he had ultimately never reached.
It wasn't quite anger, yet it was more than sadness—
Park Jae-yeol's face, unable to bring himself to accept it, was twisted in devastation.
Pyeon Jae-yeong approached him.
"It's……all over."
In that moment.
Thud—.
Park Jae-yeol's body crumbled as he sank to the ground.
Head bowed low.
Park Jae-yeol parted his trembling lips.
"Contact Chief Han, and ask him to pass on these words to Kim Tae-yang."
Park Jae-yeol slowly raised his head.
"That I have lost."
The expression that had been unable to find its footing finally became calm.