Part 19 - Requiem
The two giants cut through the crowd of busily moving people.
The streets were still noisy and chaotic, yet no one met their eyes, and no one blocked their path.
As they walked, they snatched wine jars from people drinking at a tavern by the roadside and gulped them down, and even devoured several skewers that were being grilled at street stalls.
Yet no one stopped them.
Even the patrolling guards merely pretended not to see them.
They stood more than a head taller than well-nourished guards, their massive frames resembling bulls rather than humans.
Through the roughly worn upper garments that did little to ward off the cold, dozens—no, hundreds—of black skull tattoos and scars of all sizes were clearly exposed.
They were members of the Black Bone Sect.
They were martial artists.
Superhuman beings born with the talent to wield the mysterious power known as qi in the form of internal energy.
No one dared to stand in their way.
***
Before long, they arrived at the street where the mask workshop was located.
"Ah, that must be it, right?"
The mask artisan's workshop was tucked away in a quiet inner alley, away from the main road.
Standing at the entrance of the alley, they looked toward the workshop.
"...Doesn't look like that mask artisan bastard to me either."
"Yeah."
At the entrance of the workshop, on the shop's display counter, sat a boy dressed in plain white cotton clothes.
Passersby occasionally walked past, but the boy, silently carving a piece of wood in his hands, looked endlessly bored—and at the same time, strangely relaxed.
"Did he… have a disciple?"
"We can just ask him directly."
People passing through the alley noticed the two giants and quickly turned back, scattering away.
The boy seemed not to notice the two giants approaching at all, focusing solely on carving the wood with his head lowered.
"Hey."
"Where did the mask artisan go?"
The carving knife stopped.
The boy, who had been bent over his work, lifted his head.
"...?!"
The giants' eyebrows twitched.
On the boy's face was a mask with no patterns at all—no eye holes, no features.
The roughly finished mask gleamed with a pale white sheen that somehow felt ominous.
"Hmph."
To be startled by a mere mask, even for an instant.
That was something that should never have happened to them.
"Hey, brat. Aren't you listening when your elders ask you something?"
He subtly released his aura.
Like a herb gatherer encountering a tiger, any ordinary person would have had their knees buckle and chills run down their spine.
But the masked boy showed not the slightest hint of fear.
If anything, he curled his lips into a crooked smile, showing an air of ease.
His neatly aligned white teeth were revealed.
"Do you happen to know what the face of Avalokiteshvara looks like?"
The utterly out-of-place question irritated the giants.
Normally, either one of them would have already thrown a punch.
Their fists were clearly larger than the boy's head, and they could have shattered his skull more easily than crushing dry leaves.
Yet neither of them did.
No—neither of them could.
Something felt wrong.
Uncomfortable.
"Well, what would be the point of discussing Buddhism with the likes of you?"
Snickering, the boy stood up.
Before they could even react, he slipped into the interior of the shop.
There were no footsteps.
Only the faint echo of the boy's quiet laughter lingered in the air.
When they came to their senses, only wood shavings remained where the boy had been sitting.
"...Heh, damn it."
Even after spitting out a curse to raise their spirits, it only scattered uselessly into the air.
It was like being bewitched by a ghost in broad daylight.
Out of wounded pride, they could neither retreat nor immediately chase after him.
"...What was that?"
"I don't know either."
Deep shadows lay inside the shop the boy had vanished into.
It was around noon, so it was natural for shadows to be dark under the bright sun—but for some reason, it didn't feel like ordinary darkness to them.
"Still, shouldn't we catch him and beat him to death?"
As he forcefully drew up his internal energy, a bit of confidence returned.
"...Yeah."
These were men who found twisting off a human neck to be trivial.
Their fists always spoke before words, and they had beaten several well-known martial artists to death.
The behavior they were showing now was clearly abnormal—but they did not realize it themselves.
They followed the boy, who had already disappeared into the darkness, and headed deeper into the shop.
The walls of the shop were filled with masks.
According to the report from their subordinates who had come here yesterday, the place had been completely trashed from the outside to the inside.
They had even taken everything of value.
So why was this shop, shrouded in deep darkness, filled everywhere with such splendid masks?
Colorful, in countless shapes, some laughing and some crying—the masks seemed to be staring straight at them.
"Isn't this some kind of dark art?"
The answer came after a brief delay.
"...I don't know."
The dark arts they knew amounted to nothing more than cheap tricks that deceived the senses.
Such tricks could never work on superhumans who possessed internal energy capable of breaking human limits.
"...This way?"
"...Seems like it."
At the end of the unnaturally long corridor of masks, a side door came into view.
It was a straight corridor, so the boy must have passed through that door.
Beyond it would be an inner courtyard, along with the workshop space and living quarters.
Light leaked through the slightly open door, and for some reason, the sunlight felt incredibly welcoming.
Their nerves pushed close to the limit, the two hurried toward the side door.
It was closer to running than walking.
The moment the giant in front reached the door and pushed it open—
"...Huh?!"
A white hand shot out from inside and grabbed his throat.
"Ghk?!"
He had already drawn up his internal energy to full readiness.
Protecting his neck with internal energy, he simultaneously grabbed the arm with both hands.
With his innate monstrous strength and internal energy, that thin arm should have crumbled more easily than a dry branch.
But—
"....!"
The white grip tore into his throat as if ripping flesh, effortlessly piercing through the protection of his internal energy.
His desperate grip failed not only to crush the arm but couldn't even leave a scratch on its cold skin.
Without even letting out a scream, he was dragged inside the door and vanished.
"B-brother?!"
The remaining giant fell back in shock.
Rolling as he got up, he ran in the opposite direction.
He couldn't even tell whether what he was using was a movement art or footwork, but he hurled his body forward with his life on the line.
Yet for some reason, the alley bathed in sunlight ahead felt impossibly far away.
It seemed to be getting farther and farther.
"Ghk!"
Was his mind rushing ahead too much?
His legs tangled, and he fell.
It was a pitiful sight.
There was no spectacle more disgraceful than this.
Even when submitting to the strong or bowing before power, when had he ever looked this pathetic?
Yet he didn't even feel it.
He tried to spring up, but one leg wouldn't move.
Something was gripping his ankle.
That pure white hand.
"U-uaaagh!!"
His ankle felt as though it were freezing—and burning—at the same time.
Was this what it felt like when dozens of oxen and horses pulled at once?
The hand dragged his body inward with unimaginable force.
The giant dug his fingers into the ground to resist.
His fingers, filled with internal energy, pierced into the stone pavement.
But it didn't slow him down at all.
Sparks flew.
Fingernails broke.
Fingers snapped.
Still, he couldn't stop it.
"S-save me! Save—!"
He tried to cling to the doorframe with the last of his internal energy, but it was futile.
The doorframe itself shattered, and he disappeared inside.
Clatter—clatter—
In the now-empty shop, only the side door that had devoured the two men swayed leisurely.
It almost sounded as though the masks were laughing.
***
Yeon Sang-hyeon had known that if he showed himself at the mask artisan's workshop, the Black Bone Sect would send people.
Leisurely carving, he let the small fry who peeked from afar go, and those small fry brought him proper big fish.
Martial artists—whether from the Underworld or not—were valuable people.
Naturally, their positions within their organizations were high, and the quality of the information they possessed was good.
That applied to these big fish as well.
Yet Yeon Sang-hyeon wore a dissatisfied expression.
"No, no. This isn't it."
Squatting on the dirt floor, he fidgeted with both hands.
Then he stepped back slightly, studied it carefully, and shook his head.
"This expression doesn't seem right either...."
He stepped forward again and looked at the two heads.
Their bodies were nowhere to be found; only the heads of the giants remained, frozen in the most agonizing expressions imaginable.
Their tongues hung long and limp, and their bulging eyes had burst every blood vessel, streams of blood branching out and drying on their faces.
Another head rolled nearby, its situation hardly different beyond minor variations in expression.
"Tsk...."
Smacking his lips for no reason, Yeon Sang-hyeon plopped down onto the dirt floor and picked up the carving he had been diligently working on.
It was a statue of Avalokiteshvara whose face had not yet been carved.
"I just can't quite figure it out."
It wasn't a matter of memory.
He remembered every painting and icon he had ever seen, down to the smallest detail.
But…
"Simply imitating the shape isn't enough."
What kind of face does a Buddha who symbolizes endless benevolence and compassion have?
What kind of face does the Buddha in his own heart have?
After a brief moment of contemplation, Yeon Sang-hyeon's carving knife began to dance.
There were few miscellaneous skills he hadn't mastered, and carving was one of his domains.
His hands moved without hesitation, clearly forming a shape.
"...Finished."
Yeon Sang-hyeon turned around and placed the completed carving atop a burial mound.
He set the carving knife beside it.
It was the joint grave of the mask artisan's entire family—the ones Yeon Sang-hyeon had buried.
Warm midday sunlight fell upon the new mound, covered only in reddish soil.
Yeon Sang-hyeon's Avalokiteshvara statue lay atop it, shining white.
Instead of a benevolent expression, the face of Avalokiteshvara was carved with a mask, concealing it.
It was the same mask Yeon Sang-hyeon had received.
A crooked expression mocked the world, and unpierced eye holes turned away from it.
"...The Black Bone Sect, and Geumju."
After gazing briefly at the sky, Yeon Sang-hyeon murmured softly.
"Mock and sneer. Ridicule and humiliate. That will be the only resistance you're capable of...."
And by now—
That unnecessarily diligent "gatekeeper" was surely scouring the streets of Luoyang, desperately searching for him.
Chuckling softly, Yeon Sang-hyeon vanished from the gravesite.
A frigid winter wind swept over the dirt ground, brushing past the two severed heads lying there carelessly.