Chapter 353: War, Buddha, Palm (1)
In Tibet, they practiced bird burial.
Bird burial referred to placing a corpse out in the open field after death.
Then birds came and consumed the body. Hence the name bird burial.
Of course, that was not the only form of burial.
There was pagoda burial, where a body was laid to rest beneath a stone pagoda, and cremation, where the body was burned.
But the most common was bird burial.
People from the Central Plains would see it as barbaric and point fingers.
They’d say funerals are solemn and dignified rituals to honor the dead, so how could one let scavenging birds tear apart a corpse?
Yet, there was a reason why bird burial was widespread in Tibet.
First, practical reasons. Tibet was at high altitude, with cold, thin air.
As a result, corpses did not decompose easily. The land was rocky and barren, making burial difficult.
Cremation also failed to produce enough heat due to the thin air.
There were also religious reasons.
Another name for bird burial was sky burial.
It meant returning the body to the sky.
According to the teachings of the Buddhist scriptures, the human body was nothing more than an empty shell.
When a person died, the funeral was overseen by a lama monk.
An old scripture also called the “Book of the Dead,” known as the “Bardo Thödol,” was chanted in verses to commemorate the deceased.
After that, the body of the departed was offered to the sky.
On the path of departure, the body was offered to the heavens and given to vultures as an act of almsgiving.
Vultures with wingspans easily greater than a human’s consumed the corpse from the skies.
Piiiiiik—
There were vultures casting black shadows as they flew across this sky.
When someone died, vultures crept in from somewhere.
There were even times when vultures gathered despite no one having died yet.
They had caught the scent of death.
Even mere birds of the air could sense that many people would soon die and bleed.
Just then, a small stone brushed past the side of a vulture.
Swaek—
Startled, the vulture flapped its wings and soared higher into the air.
The vulture had already been flying high enough.
But it was clearly a stone hurled by a human hand.
“Damn, I missed that one.”
“Heh, what a dumbass.”
“Ptuh!”
It was none other than a stone thrown by a bandit of the Mad Wind Army.
On the ground, the bandits swarmed like clouds.
Don’t imagine them as those desert bandits with no discipline and poor gear.
The Mad Wind Army was different.
They had warhorses of the desert that ran freely even on deep, sinking sands.
Their figures atop those horses were the very image of fierce valor.
They had not shoddy armor, but breastplates woven from iron scales.
Even their horses were armored to block incoming arrows.
Attached to their saddles were nets made of iron wire and things like crossbows.
Their individual martial prowess was exceptional as well.
For mere bandits, their cultivation levels were not low.
All the bandits were at least first-rate martial artists.
A squad leader was a Peak expert, and the commander was a Supreme Peak master.
Their combat power rivaled that of any major sect.
When those riders moved freely across the battlefield, coordinating their attacks on horseback, there was nothing in the world to fear.
“Hey, you!”
At that moment, someone threw a stone at the head of the bandit who had earlier thrown a rock at the vulture.
“Ugh!”
The bandit, struck on the back of the head, grumbled as he turned his head and then gasped in shock.
There was someone who could instill fear in them.
It was the Cardinal of the Evil Cult currently leading them.
Mang-hon twisted his lips into a smirk.
“Fire the signal arrow.”
The terrifying presence Mang-hon had demonstrated upon his arrival, how could anyone witness that and not be afraid?
The bandit received the signal arrow from Mang-hon.
“H-hurk!”
He tried to draw his bow, but recoiled in shock.
The arrowhead of the signal arrow was shaped like a whistle with holes drilled into it to make a sound when fired.
But from the whistle’s air holes, insects poked their heads out, wriggling.
“Fire.”
But Mang-hon didn’t care whether the bandit was frightened or not.
The bandit quickly nodded and mounted the signal arrow onto his crossbow.
And he aimed toward Potala Palace, across the frozen lake.
A thousand bandits were in the process of crossing the lake.
The lama monks of Potala Palace were watching the bandits from atop the fortress walls.
The bandit fired the signal arrow in that direction.
It did not make the clear, whistle-like sound it originally had.
Screeeeeeeeech!
Instead, a grotesque and repulsive sound, like someone’s final death cry, rang out in all directions.
Perhaps it was a fitting sound to announce the start of an invasion.
Mang-hon squinted, tracking the trajectory of the signal arrow.
It was a far distance, barely visible to the bandits, but Mang-hon let out a sharp laugh.
“It landed well… What are you all staring at?”
He gave the order to the bandits who were blankly staring at him.
“Charge. Go, crash into them. Kill and be killed.”
The commander of Mad Wind Army echoed the order, “Mad Wind Army! Chaaaarge!”
“Chaaaarge!” the bandits shouted in unison as they began their charge.
A thousand iron cavalry soldiers charged toward Potala Palace.
It felt as though the earth itself was trembling.
The Dalai Lama was dressed differently than usual.
He wore red and yellow robes, along with an ornate hat.
It was a ceremonial headdress adorned with a vajra and hawk feathers.
In one hand, he held a ritual staff made of gold.
“Go this way.”
He saw Yi-gang and his party off as they descended underground.
A stone slab at the center of the artificial pond slowly opened its mouth toward them.
There was a staircase leading down inside.
The darkness swirled so deep one couldn’t tell how far it went.
“Once you find the key, the exit path will open.”
“The path?”
“Yes. It leads east. If you follow it straight, you’ll come to a village. From there, get a horse and return to the Central Plains.”
Yi-gang considered whether to face the Mad Wind Army directly.
But Panchen Lama assured him that they could stand against the Mad Wind Army and Cardinal Mang-hon.
And so, Yi-gang was told to take the key and return to the Central Plains in case of an emergency.
“This is not something we can do. Only you, a disciple of the Guardian Sect, can accomplish this.”
“I understand.”
Yi-gang accepted the proposal.
Then it happened.
Dududududu—
A deep and low vibration echoed from somewhere.
It was too low and ominous to be the sound of galloping hooves.
“…An earthquake?”
That was the only explanation that came to mind.
Yi-gang looked back at the Divine Monk.
The Divine Monk and the Four Great Vajra had refused the offer to leave together.
“Even for me, I have no desire to die of exposure on the road back,” the Divine Monk said with a chuckle.
His life was truly hanging by a thread now.
That was why he chose to remain here.
He had urged the Four Great Vajra to return as well, but both Hyun Cheok and Hyun Mu chose to stay by his side.
From Potala Palace’s perspective, there was no reason to refuse the help of two Supreme Peak masters.
“Take… care.”
Yi-gang offered that farewell and then fell silent.
This would likely be his last moment with the Divine Monk. And the Divine Monk would not be able to stay healthy anyway.
The Divine Monk burst into hearty laughter.
“What are you doing! Go now!”
There was no time to indulge in the moment of farewell.
Yi-gang nodded and descended the stairs.
Behind him followed Dam Hyun and Cheongho, and lastly, Gal Dong-tak entered.
In Gal Dong-tak’s arms was little Tsering.
They had decided it was right to at least take the child, Tsering, on the journey.
Gal Dong-tak halted midway down the steps.
He turned and looked back at the Divine Monk one last time.
“Farewell, monk.”
“Yes, go safely.”
And with that, they vanished from sight.
Panchen Lama covered the open stairway with the stone slab once more.
The Divine Monk, supported by the Four Great Vajra, left the chamber.
Panchen Lama urged the Dalai Lama to leave as well.
“Please, go.”
At this very moment, the Mad Wind Army was charging toward Potala Palace.
The lama monks were holding off the Mad Wind Army’s bandits at the first defense wall.
The Dalai Lama nodded and looked up at the ceiling one last time.
There hung a thangka.
A long-haired bodhisattva seated in a half-lotus posture.
A thangka depicting Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva.
The Dalai Lama recalled one of the titles attributed to him.
An incarnation of Guanyin.
It was a ridiculous claim.
To say he was the reincarnation of that noble being who had willingly descended from Buddhahood to become a bodhisattva…
He was merely a man who, peculiarly enough, remembered his past lives.
The Dalai Lama placed his palms together toward the thangka of Guanyin.
If ever there were a moment to receive the Buddha’s aid, it would be now.
And then, he pulled a handle attached to the wall.
Kiririk—Kwoong!
Chains rattled out, and the mechanism didn’t return to its original position.
Then came a series of heavy crashing sounds.
Kuung—Kung—Kuuuung—
It was the sound of the entrance sealing off completely, the one Yi-gang’s group had passed through.
Even if Potala Palace were to collapse, the Mad Wind Army and the Cardinal would not be able to pursue Yi-gang’s group through that path.
“Let us go.”
Preparations were complete.
The Dalai Lama headed to the front lines.
Kakakang—
A lama monk swung his zen staff and deflected a woldo.
The zen staff was originally used as a walking stick. Its length made it favorable when facing a woldo in battle.
But that only held true if the opponent were attacking directly and predictably with the blade.
The moment the blade was deflected, the bandit sprayed something from his mouth.
“Puuuh!”
A pungent stench stung his nose.
By the time he realized that the bandit had spat out oil, it was already too late.
Fwoooosh—!
The expelled oil instantly ignited, setting the lama monk ablaze.
“Aaaagh!”
Even a monk deeply cultivated in spiritual training could not endure the pain of his entire body burning.
He flailed, trying to extinguish the flames consuming his body, but the fire would not go out.
In the end, he lost his footing with a gasp and tumbled down from the fortress wall.
The lama monk died with a final scream.
The bandit who had killed the lama grinned smugly.
But that smile was his final moment of ease.
Thud!
A massive palm struck the bandit square in the back.
The bandit plummeted to his death in the same way as the lama monk.
The middle-aged lama who had killed the bandit with Mahamudra stood with tears in his eyes.
“Grrrgh…”
Screams and shouts rang chaotically in every direction.
“Aaaargh!”
“He’s coming over!”
Though the lama monks had trained deeply in cultivation, this was their first time experiencing such warfare.
Because the fortress gate was located on the second floor, the monks focused their defense on blocking the staircase leading up.
They piled up logs to keep the horses from coming through, but it was too complacent a response.
The bandits were throwing grappling hooks and climbing the fortress walls themselves.
“Huff, huuuff…”
A lama monk wept at the manifestation of this living hell.
His head was sliced off far too easily.
Sseok—
The one wiping blood off his curved blade was the Hundred-Man Commander of the Mad Wind Army.
“Crying like a baby. Heh.”
As a Peak-level master, he moved quietly and stealthily, unlike the other bandits.
He had climbed over the wall to sow chaos from behind.
Someone caught his eye.
Up above stood a high monk in different robes, standing alone.
The Hundred-Man Commander’s eyes lit up.
‘That’s the Divine Monk!’
He recognized the Divine Monk at once.
Just as he had been told—indeed, the Divine Monk from the Central Plains had come.
And he had also heard the Divine Monk had lost his martial arts abilities.
He couldn’t miss this opportunity.
The Hundred-Man Commander loaded a bolt into his crossbow.
Aiming for the perfect opportunity to take the Divine Monk’s life, he released the bowstring.
Swaeeeeek—
The arrow flew straight toward the unguarded chest of the Divine Monk—
Tong!
—but someone appeared behind the Divine Monk and struck the arrow down with a bare hand.
That massive frame and demon-like face—
Just as the Hundred-Man Commander was about to recall the name “Four Great Vajra.”
Hyun Mu, who had been guarding the Divine Monk, let out a lion’s roar.
“Haat!”
At the thunderous shout, the Hundred-Man Commander’s body flinched and froze.
And then, another member of the Four Great Vajra—Hyun Cheok—leapt down like a tiger.
To the Hundred-Man Commander’s eyes, all he could see was a golden-glimmering fist rushing toward him.
Kkwaaang—!
Hyun Cheok’s fist crushed the Hundred-Man Commander’s skull in one blow.
Having turned one of the Mad Wind Army’s officers into a vengeful spirit, Hyun Cheok shouted boldly.
“Reform the lines!”
Soon after, Hoje Lama, Yuje Lama, the Dalai Lama, and Panchen Lama joined the battlefield as well.