Chapter 406: The Ultimate Gambit
The long-awaited full moon of the Mid-Autumn Festival was just a day away.
Some of the sects that had pledged to participate in the Great Martial Tournament had yet to arrive. However, delaying the departure to wait for a few stragglers would be unwise.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Tang Mujin sat on the porch, observing the people bustling around the communal sect, and couldn’t help but be impressed.
”…Incredible.”
Alongside Tang Mujin and his three friends, there were the likes of Man Lisheng, the formidable Neng Guangjian, and even Namgung Jincheon, who was thought to be dead.
Every top martial artist of the righteous sects, except for the elusive Young Bojin, was gathered here. Even the enigmatic San Anbul, though not of the righteous sects, was present, making it a total of eight supreme masters in one place.
Unlike the initial apprehension when they first heard of the cult leader’s prowess, the martial artists gathered at the communal sect brimmed with confidence. With such overwhelming strength assembled, they felt assured they could easily take down the cult leader.
Hong Geolgae approached Tang Mujin and spoke.
“Tang Mujin, are you just lounging around after packing?”
“I finished ages ago.”
The preparations of the righteous sects went beyond merely gathering people. They had stocked up on healing salves, spare weapons, and enough provisions to avoid wasting time foraging. With the guidance of the Kunlun sect’s monks, they only needed to replenish their water supply, ensuring no stops until they reached the cult.
The righteous sects had no intention of leisurely approaching the cult to challenge them honorably. Instead, they planned to move swiftly and launch a surprise attack.
Under normal circumstances, some might have objected to such tactics, arguing that it was beneath the dignity of the righteous sects. But now, few cared about appearances.
It had only been three years since the Great War of the Sects. Three years was too short a time to forget the void left by the fallen and to let pride take precedence.
As Tang Mujin pondered, Namgung Myung called out to him from inside the room.
“Tang Mujin, why did you bring this?”
Turning around, Tang Mujin saw a die in Namgung Myung’s hand, its corners worn smooth from use.
“Oh, that? Elder Peng Cheon of the Great Wind Sect gave it to me.”
Hong Geolgae’s master, Elder Peng Cheon, had given Tang Mujin the die, saying it might one day help him make a decision.
But Tang Mujin had a question for Namgung Myung first.
”…Why do you have it?”
“I was checking if you packed everything properly. It’d be a disaster to realize you forgot something after we set off.”
Tang Mujin shook his head, amused by his friend’s habit.
Hong Geolgae asked Tang Mujin, “Have you ever used that die?”
“Of course not.”
Back then, Tang Mujin didn’t believe in Elder Peng Cheon’s words. To be precise, he didn’t believe in divination at all.
He thought divination was just a trick used by street charlatans. If the die hadn’t been given by a friend’s master, he might have discarded it long ago.
However, after witnessing the Kunlun monks’ mystical arts, Tang Mujin’s perspective shifted.
Elder Peng Cheon had once been a monk of Kunlun, and he was said to read the heavens. Surely, the die must be a mystical object.
Yet, Tang Mujin had never rolled it.
”…And I doubt I ever will.”
“Why not?”
“Why? Because I’ve never needed to.”
Looking back, Tang Mujin’s path had always been clear. He rarely faced dilemmas about which path to choose.
Moreover, Tang Mujin believed in doing what was right, what needed to be done, rather than what seemed likely to succeed.
That was his father’s teaching, his master’s teaching, and the truth of life Tang Mujin had come to understand.
There was no room for a die in Tang Mujin’s life.
“Still, it’s a bit of a waste.”
“Besides, the Kunlun monks once said the Heavenly Emperor is mischievous. What if I act based on the die and don’t like the outcome? What if the Heavenly Emperor is playing a trick? I’d rather trust my own judgment.”
“But since your master gave it to you, it must be special.”
“Unless my life is on the line, there’s no reason to roll the die. And if my life is at stake, I can’t trust a mischievous die. It’s a dilemma.”
Tang Mujin’s stance was firm. Hong Geolgae chuckled at his words.
“A precious item in your hands is like a pearl necklace on a pig.”
“I’m not the only one. In a critical moment, would you trust the die over your own judgment?”
Hong Geolgae thought for a moment and shook his head.
Tang Mujin extended his hand to Namgung Myung.
“Give it back.”
Namgung Myung handed the die to Tang Mujin, who fiddled with its rounded edges before asking his friends.
“Does anyone need this die?”
No one answered. Neither Tang Mujin, Hong Geolgae, Namgung Myung, nor Hyun Gong had any intention of entrusting important decisions to the die. The mystical nature of such objects was unsettling.
“Then should I just give it away?”
Tang Mujin asked, and Namgung Myung replied.
“It’s yours, do as you please. But don’t give it to Yu Daehyup.”
Tang Mujin nodded. Giving it to Yu Jingwang would only see it used in gambling.
“Then who should I give it to?”
There was no one who seemed to need it desperately.
Just as Tang Mujin was about to put the die back in his pack, Hong Geolgae suggested.
“How about giving it to Sang Gwaldo?”
“Sang Gwaldo?”
“The communal sect is in a tough spot. It might be good for the head monk to have something to rely on.”
It was a reasonable suggestion. Tang Mujin and his friends went to find Sang Gwaldo.
After explaining the die’s history, Sang Gwaldo showed interest.
“A die that might be mystical… How intriguing.”
Tang Mujin nodded calmly.
“I hope it aids the communal sect.”
However, Sang Gwaldo replied with a relaxed smile.
“Like you, I don’t intend to leave important decisions of the communal sect to a die.”
“I see.”
It seemed to be no ordinary die, yet it was just as useless.
Tang Mujin was about to take the die back, but Sang Gwaldo continued to toy with it.
“I suspect this die isn’t for making choices but for divining fortune.”
“Divining fortune?”
“It has six sides. One for great misfortune, six for great fortune. Since we’re on the topic, why not ask the die about the outcome of the Great Martial Tournament?”
Tang Mujin felt uneasy about the suggestion.
“What if it shows a bad result?”
“The Heavenly Emperor is said to be mischievous, so we can ignore it. But if it shows a good result, we can believe it. It’s no different from a street fortune teller.”
Tang Mujin thought for a moment and shook his head.
“I’d prefer not to ask about the tournament’s outcome. A bad result would be unsettling.”
“Then let’s ask about the future of the communal sect.”
Sang Gwaldo fiddled with the die for a moment before giving it a gentle roll.
The die showed one dot, then awkwardly rolled twice more to reveal six dots.
Six dots, the highest roll.
Contrary to his earlier dismissive attitude, Sang Gwaldo let out a deep sigh of relief.
”…Good.”
Hong Geolgae grinned and asked.
“You seemed calm, but you were worried, weren’t you?”
“The communal sect has faced many hardships. As I was about to roll the die, I suddenly felt anxious. But it’s a relief to see a good omen.”
Sang Gwaldo and the communal sect had endured countless challenges over the years.
But as the head monk, Sang Gwaldo had no one to confide in. Showing vulnerability would only unsettle the other monks.
Since the die wasn’t something Sang Gwaldo had to be responsible for, and with no other communal sect members present, he could roll it to divine fortune.
Sang Gwaldo, still touching the six dots, spoke.
“Thanks to you, I find peace of mind.”
“I merely gave you something useless to me.”
Tang Mujin replied humbly, and Sang Gwaldo smiled gently.
“With the Kunlun sect withdrawn, the communal sect stands at the forefront of the war against the cult. A prosperous future for the communal sect surely means a favorable outcome for the Great Martial Tournament.”
Sang Gwaldo bowed to Tang Mujin and his friends.
“May you achieve your goals in the tournament and return safely to spread your renown.”
“We surely will.”
Tang Mujin and his three friends bowed in return.
The next day, the martial artists of the righteous sects departed the communal sect, heading west.
Though their expressions were tense, none were afraid. The people beside them were too reliable for fear to take hold.
Namgung Myung subtly moved towards the martial artists alongside his father and the Namgung family, while “Cheonryeong Dog Honggyeon” led the Beggars’ Sect, and Hyeon-gong stood before the Wudang disciples with the Songmun Sword in hand.
Similarly, Dang Moo-jin was with the members of the Tang family. To his left were the martial artists of the Three-Eyed Buddha and the Demonic Cult, and to his right stood Nam Woong.
Dang Moo-jin turned to Nam Woong and asked, “So, you’re planning to return to Hae-nam and become a fisherman?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Isn’t that a waste? Your martial skills are quite impressive…”
“I realized something after watching Elder Jang Il-nam for five years. Living with a sword in hand just because you’re good at fighting isn’t necessarily a good path.”
“I’m not saying you should go around killing people. Why not open a martial arts school?”
Nam Woong pondered seriously before nodding. “A martial arts school… That sounds like a good idea.”
The day he encountered the pirates, Nam Woong’s life changed completely. And there was no guarantee that the pirates wouldn’t return to Hae-nam. The surrounding islands were teeming with them.
Nam Woong thought that if he could establish a school to train people to fend off pirates, perhaps others wouldn’t have to live a wayward life like he did. Of course, he wasn’t planning to give up the fisherman’s life entirely for this cause.
“Even if I open a school, I doubt many people will come. I can still fish in my spare time.”
“Focusing solely on the school might be better. If you set it up in a less competitive area like Shanxi or the lower Yangtze, you could live quite comfortably.”
But Nam Woong just smiled, clearly unable to let go of his attachment to fishing. Dang Moo-jin didn’t press further. Just as he couldn’t abandon medicine despite advancing his martial skills, Nam Woong couldn’t completely give up the life of a fisherman.
Dang Moo-jin surveyed the surroundings. It had been five days since they left the Gongdong Sect, and the orthodox martial artists had been using their lightness skills all day, except when sleeping. Those with lesser achievements were half out of their minds from exhaustion.
“Perhaps we should rest for the day.”
Thanks to their diligent efforts, the orthodox martial artists had reached almost the upper reaches of the Yellow River in just five days. They were about a third of the way to Tianshan, where the Demonic Cult resided.
Beyond this point, finding a village would become difficult. Dang Moo-jin recalled his journey to and from Mount Kunlun with the merchant Mr. Lim last autumn.
“There’s a place to rest not far from here.”
There was an abandoned village at the foot of the mountains near the upper Yellow River. After consulting with Yuyu Daoist of the Kunlun Sect about their route, Dang Moo-jin called out loudly, “Let’s take a day to rest! Just a little more effort!”
It was still early, with the sun yet to set, when the orthodox martial artists arrived at the abandoned village. With no people around, they couldn’t buy or be served food, but the buildings remained, offering shelter from the dew for a day’s rest.
Some martial artists, exhausted, collapsed where they stood. Dang Moo-jin chuckled lightly at the sight and began to explore the village.
Before long, both Hyeon-gong and Dang Moo-jin’s expressions turned serious.
“Dang Moo-jin, it seems like people have been staying in this village.”
The village looked different from when he last visited. The wooden parts, like the inn’s roof and the doors, had mostly been stripped away. Even the ancient tree that stood by the well in the village center was gone, leaving only its stump.
Lastly, there were signs of fires having been set throughout the village.
“Not a small group.”
Judging by the fire marks, there were at least several dozen, possibly over a hundred people.
Dang Moo-jin pondered deeply. “We left Mount Kunlun in the fall. Could so many people have left Qinghai Province since then? Or did they pass through this village to enter Qinghai?”
That seemed unlikely. People wouldn’t head into Qinghai with winter approaching.
“Which means they must have come out from inside Qinghai.”
Dang Moo-jin’s heart raced. If people were coming from west of Qinghai, it could only mean the Demonic Cult.
He shouted to Yuyu Daoist and Hyeon-gong, “Let’s head to the nearest village, immediately!”
At that moment, the head of the Gongdong Sect, Sang-gwal Daoist, was fiddling with a die. The die of fortune that had shown six dots.
Then, he sensed numerous presences near the sect leader’s room. Initially, he thought they were the sect’s disciples, but there were too many.
“Late arrivals?”
Before Sang-gwal Daoist could reach a conclusion, one presence approached the room.
The door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged man with graying beard and piercing eyes. The man looked at Sang-gwal Daoist with a calm gaze, making him feel as if he were being looked down upon.
Sang-gwal Daoist studied the man. His upright posture suggested martial training, yet his martial prowess was unfathomable.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before. Even when he first met the head of the Gongdong Sect as a novice, it hadn’t been this overwhelming.
Sang-gwal Daoist felt as if his chest was being squeezed tight. His jaw trembled. He clenched his teeth and slowly opened his mouth to ask, thankful his voice didn’t shake.
“Who are you?”
“Yeonchu.”
“First time meeting.”
Though it was their first meeting, the name was familiar. The Grand Protector of the Demonic Cult, or perhaps its leader.
Sang-gwal Daoist toyed with the die in his left hand, pondering.
“Am I going to die?”
No, that couldn’t be. The die had clearly foretold great fortune, showing six dots.
Then a thought struck Sang-gwal Daoist.
“What day is it today?”
Five days since the orthodox martial artists headed west. Six days since he rolled the die. And the die had shown six dots.
Sang-gwal Daoist laughed bitterly.
“Is that what it meant? Has the misfortune that shrouded the Gongdong Sect not yet lifted?”
Had their paths crossed? Or had the cult leader waited for the orthodox martial artists to leave?
It was impossible to know. Even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.
The odds were slim, but there was only one action a martial artist could take in their final moment.
Sang-gwal Daoist gripped the hilt of his sword with his right hand. But he couldn’t draw it. His elbow and shoulder refused to move.
“Ugh…”
His right arm trembled violently. It wasn’t fear. No matter how much strength he mustered, his arm wouldn’t budge.
With a flushed face, Sang-gwal Daoist struggled for a while before looking up. The cult leader was now three steps away, watching him.
In the next instant, Sang-gwal Daoist felt a sharp sensation in his neck.
“Rest in peace.”
The cult leader spoke and turned away. Sang-gwal Daoist hadn’t seen him draw his sword, yet the leader’s hand held a blade unstained by blood.
That was the last sight Sang-gwal Daoist ever saw.
Moments later, a signal fire rose from the Gongdong Sect, marking the beginning of the Great War between the righteous and the demonic.