Final Battle — God-Slaying Flame Eyes
"…So Yeomgyo?"
I froze. I had no idea what expression to wear.
"You."
After she vanished, I had sat through the night turning the same thoughts over hundreds of times.
Was she alive? Was she dead? That question had become a hope—please be alive—and the hope had grown into fretting over what I would even say if we met again. I had entertained the idiotic idea of which face to show first so I would look cool. Then I had flushed with shame, half-convinced someone might have overheard those stupid thoughts.
And in one corner of my mind, a cold, mocking reason had kept asking whether all that foolishness was just a way of refusing the truth that she was never coming back. Every time I faced that voice, a rage that felt ready to turn my insides out had surged up through me.
I had even thought that if, right then, she had casually opened the door as if nothing had happened and asked what I was doing, I would have been furious.
Even circling through all of that, I had ended every night the same way: I don't care about anything else—just come back in one piece.
And she never came. I had watched that door that would not open and waited out the dark.
I had something I needed to say to her. Whatever else, there was one thing I had to tell her—if she was not dead. If she had not died. If we had not been fools enough to drift apart as if we would see each other again in a moment, and then simply die without ever speaking it.
And now that thin hope was stirring back to life.
"You—. For real."
I had seen the forms. There was no way this was a lie. But if it was a deception—if this was a ruse—
Our eyes met.
So Yeomgyo's pupils flared wide for an instant. Her mouth opened. Closed. She hesitated over and over. She clenched her teeth hard enough to crack them. She balled her fist. She wavered again and again.
I could see her hesitating just as much as I was.
She stood atop a heap of rubble. I looked up; she looked down. Her face was thick with the raw force of her life force. Blood was spattered all over her body. The blade in her hand had blood dried onto it.
She opened her mouth. I opened mine.
"Is it really you, Bi?"
"Is it really you, So Yeomgyo?"
Both of us startled. We stared at each other and swept each other from head to toe at speed. Our mouths opened at the same time.
"—I've been played by Ryu Hwasa's games so many times—"
"—I've been hit with formations and illusions from the underground so many times—"
We both shut our mouths. Twice in a row our words had overlapped.
"…That kind of verbal sparring is the classic way illusionists sow confusion," So Yeomgyo muttered, frowning as if the whole thing offended her.
"…Illusions?"
After everything Ryu Hwasa had done, that single word was enough to make the blood vessels stand out in my eyes. My grip on the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet tightened.
"There are jokes you make and jokes you don't. I'll give you one chance. Don't run your mouth. If you're So Yeomgyo, say one thing only she would know."
"Aha?"
So Yeomgyo snorted.
—clack.
She adjusted her grip on her sword.
"Same goes for me. If you're really Biryu, convince me before I take three breaths. I'll take your head off."
"My head?"
Wind stirred. So Yeomgyo dropped lower into her stance. My patience was scraping the edge.
—kkagagak…
My pupils contracted. I felt what was left of my humanity grinding away.
—uuuung…
Internal energy poured into the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet.
"I asked first. You give proof first."
So Yeomgyo scowled. She let out a short breath.
"Proof that I'm So Yeomgyo? Wonder if you'll even understand if I say it…"
For a moment a bleak look crossed her face.
"I want to live. I don't want to die. I want to be happy. But… I know better than anyone that I probably won't get to."
"…"
—clack.
The Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet fell slack from my hand. After that, no more words were needed.
At my reaction, So Yeomgyo's red eyes went wide.
"…You understood that?"
I ignored her murmur and opened my mouth.
"Proof that I'm Biryu is—"
My voice came out weak.
"…My name is Moyong Bi. And in a way, every journey I took started with dying by your hand. And you were always sorry about it."
"…"
The wind blew.
"It really is you, Bi."
—clack.
So Yeomgyo let her sword drop, staring blankly.
"It really was you."
She blinked those red eyes. Her mouth opened as if she meant to say something—then she didn't. She pressed her lips tight instead and settled for a short, crooked smile.
"I was only going to take a quick look and leave, but those useless brats swarmed the road like a hive. And I'm starving."
[Blade. Stomach.]
At Mumyeong's words, I dropped my gaze.
"…"
Her martial robes were a vivid red with ornate patterns, so at first it was hard to notice. The fabric clung to her body and traced every curve. Along her abdomen the robes were torn; there were signs of hasty first aid, and even now a clear stream of fresh blood kept seeping through, bright enough that the red cloth could not hide it.
—cough, cough.
So Yeomgyo tried to look unbothered in front of me and smother the coughs, but they still broke out in fits. In one hand she held, not her usual soft sword, but a rigid straight blade of an unfamiliar form, its tip planted against the ground for support.
Even during the Emei Sect's great war she had warned me in advance: if I ever saw her pushed back holding off Blood Cultists until she drew and combined a third sword into its final form—the Red Demon Bell Sword—that meant she was fighting a battle to the death, and I was to run.
Not the third sword—so this is the form with the second blade combined.
That meant, for her, this had been a true succession of brutal fights.
"If the leader of the Blood Death Sect hadn't run into me and gotten emergency treatment, she would have been in real trouble. Honestly, even moving around like this doesn't sit well with me, but…"
—clack, clack.
The sound of locks coming free. Behind us, a white-bearded old man with a powerfully built upper body was walking over, freeing children from oak cages as he came. I knew that old man well.
"Elder I-ta-bang?"
"We meet again, Biryu. I was surprised when I heard you were acquainted with the leader of the Blood Death Sect. That aside—"
I-ta-bang kept stroking his white beard, looking around with a sigh.
"I'm no master of sorcery like the Blood Death Sect's leader, but of the four possibilities you described, this is plainly the fourth—the worst of the lot."
"Yes. Traces of the Corpse Ghosts' hands raking through, the distinctive stench of rotting cocoons used in making jiangshi, and on top of that…"
So Yeomgyo looked at me.
"Biryu—was there a large-scale human sacrifice here—"
I already knew what she meant before she finished asking.
"We have to go right now. Immediately. If we don't stop it this second, everything ends."
I pushed myself up and tightened my martial robes. Everything around us had been laid waste. So Yeomgyo nodded.
"Then we leave right no—"
—cough, cough.
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
"…Haa. Haa."
She looked at the palm she had pressed to her lips. A red thread of blood ran down it. Fresh blood also tracked down her stomach.
I-ta-bang spoke, worried.
"I did what I could, but it will only worsen with time. Especially if she unleashes high-level martial arts—the deterioration will be sharp…"
"There is no time for that, Elder."
I-ta-bang clicked his tongue and sighed as if he meant to sink the ground itself.
"This Jianghu really is… and now, on top of everything, once everyone realizes what's happening it will already be too late to stop. An old man like me has nothing left to do. It's a pity."
"Nothing left to do? Hardly."
So Yeomgyo smiled.
"At least get these kids out safely."
She jerked her chin. A hundred and eight children stood there, blank-eyed, clutching their empty stomachs, staring at us.
I-ta-bang smiled.
"That goes without saying. Getting old means I can still smith, but I never had anywhere to spend the money. Ah—right."
He looked at me.
"Since things have come to this—you haven't forgotten the promise you made me, have you?"
"The promise, sir?"
"Truth is, I came down here meaning to leave the secular world. Every time I put a weapon into the world, bloodbaths and slaughter followed in Jianghu, and I couldn't stand the sight of it. That's part of why I hid and lived underground. But now I mean to move."
I-ta-bang held out his hand.
"If you survive this place, will you swear you'll come to Mount Changbai? An old man's earnest request. I don't care about anyone else—but your weapon, at least, I want to forge with my own hands."
"…"
I took his hand.
"Promise me. Come back alive. I'll make you the strongest armament there is—one that can even cut down a true Guardian."
"…"
In the end I could not say a word.
"…"
So Yeomgyo only watched us quietly, and I-ta-bang did not press me for an answer either.
I looked at the gaping hole in the center of the arena floor.
—huuung…
Hot wind rose from below. We looked at each other. No words. Before either of us could say anything, we both jumped.
—whir.
So Yeomgyo tightened her grip on her sword. I tightened mine on the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet on my left hand. Blade and iron gauntlet drove into the wall.
—KWAKWAKWAKWAKWA!!!
Sparks flying, we plunged as if being sucked endlessly into the deep. Down into the lightless underground. Down and down into the black depths until the hole we had thrown ourselves into looked smaller than the first joint of a thumb—
—KWAAAAANG!!!!
—and we hit the floor of the lowest level.
We were already running. The air was damp. Clammy. Humid. I drove forward. I could tell something was ahead—something sticky and wet waiting for us.
I spoke to So Yeomgyo.
"How are you holding up?"
"…Not bad. Biryu—looks like you've been fighting nonstop yourself. Aren't you exhausted?"
"I'm fine."
I had a way to handle that. I lifted my wrist. From my wrists across my body, countless small wounds from the battles I had fought without rest marked me. The drain on my internal energy alone was nothing to ignore.
"Mumyeong."
[Understood.]
—kkudeuk-kkudeudeuk…
As if time itself were running backward, every wound on me closed and filled. My internal energy recovered in a rush. Not completely full—but I could feel it surging past eight-tenths of capacity.
So Yeomgyo asked,
"Your body and energy are recovering right now?"
"This body-restoration ability can only be used once per cycle, and it happens that today is the night of the full moon when that cycle resets."
"Is that so?"
She sank into thought for a moment.
"…If the situation allows it, you might be enough to play the role of a chariot or cannon on the board."
She muttered as she ran on ahead.
"Listen. The way I see it, if we push hard and get there fast enough, we might make it before the Guardian revives as a complete adult form with its full power."
She was breathing hard.
"But if even an incomplete Guardian awakens—you run. Got it? A Guardian is something I'll handle somehow. I'm the assassin."
I went cold.
"Are you out of your mind? From what I know, the Guardian being born here isn't even a normal one. You're not planning a coordinated assault—you're talking about acting alone?"
She fired back without yielding.
"A joint strike on a single target only works when people have already trained their timing together. With people who have never coordinated, it can be worse than not working at all."
"…"
"And the essence of an assassin, from the start, is someone with less power killing someone with higher power."
So Yeomgyo's voice dropped low.
"I became an assassin to kill Guardians in the first place. In a way, it's time I started my real work. That's all."
"…"
She let the words trail off with a soft hmm.
"You know this, Biryu?"
She said,
"People live wearing masks every day. But when real death is right in front of them, their true nature comes out."
I looked at her running level with me. Ordinarily her eyes should have been black with only a hint of red. But somewhere along the way they had become the full, pure Flame Eyes that appeared when she poured out nearly all of her power.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. We call that showing your bottom. Live as an assassin long enough and, like it or not, you see a lot of other people's bottoms."
"…"
"So—if I end up dying."
So Yeomgyo said,
"Just kill me cleanly."
I had nothing to say.
"I don't want you seeing my bottom… I just—somehow—don't."
—tadak.
So Yeomgyo stopped running. A fork lay ahead—left and right. We looked both ways. There was no time.
She glanced left, then right, and said,
"I'll take—"
For a fraction of an instant the corner of her eye trembled. It was gone almost before it existed.
"—the left. Biryu, you take the right. We split and sweep both at once. There's no time, so I'm trusting you won't argue."
There was no chance I would.
So Yeomgyo pulled a paper from her robes.
"Take this. It's the Blood Death Sect's ledger. If I go into full Flame Eyes, the fever might ruin any paper I'm carrying. Then Baekho would kill me later."
I took the paper she held out.
"Give it back after the fighting's over. And treat it carefully—don't let it get wet."
"…"
I looked at the paper, nodded, and tucked it away. Then I said,
"If either of us hears a big noise, we turn back at once and regroup."
So Yeomgyo gave a short laugh.
"Right. No time. Run."
I nodded. I jumped for the right path. So Yeomgyo jumped for the left.
"Moyong Bi."
I stopped. I looked back.
So Yeomgyo had her back to me. She was not looking at me.
"So Yeomgyo?"
"…When we first met. I'm so sorry I broke my promise to you. A long time has passed since then, but I think now is finally the time to repay it."
Her head was bowed.
I shouted toward her.
"What? So Yeomgyo—I couldn't hear you. Too quiet!"
She clenched her fist. Still running, she shouted back,
"Nothing! No time! Sweep the right side already!"
"Huh? Yeah! Got it!"
I startled and ran—and stopped before I had taken three steps. I looked toward where she had vanished.
"…Just now, she definitely called me Moyong Bi."