The Master of the Purple Moon
"...Was there a painting here?"
At his words, Yorphang felt as if she had been struck over the head.
In a way, it was only natural.
As a blind man, he would have no way of knowing if there was a painting in front of him, let alone what it was.
"Mmm..."
Yorphang let out a soft groan.
She had worried things would get complicated when she saw someone standing in front of the painting, but if he was a blind man who didn't even know it was there, her job became much easier.
Leaving the puzzled man beside her, Yorphang took a step closer to the painting.
A single thread shot out from her right hand.
Moving of its own accord, the thread reached out and touched the painting.
The slender thread quietly lifted the painting.
It was the power of her magical threads.
"It's a painting of several people... It looks incredibly old. But strangely enough, the colors haven't faded at all."
Holding the painting before her eyes, Yorphang began to describe it as she examined it. She was merely showing off her knowledge.
"I see."
The man with bandages wrapped around his eyes nodded, stroking his chin as he stared at the empty wall ahead, still believing the painting was right in front of him.
"Pfft..."
Finding the sight rather comical, Yorphang let out a quiet giggle.
Brushing her fingers over the painting, Yorphang checked its texture and marveled.
This isn't just a few decades old.
It had to be at least several centuries old.
Though it wasn't cracked or faded, the canvas was made of a material similar to ancient scrolls.
Perhaps a preservation spell had been cast on the painting itself.
Paintings like this were rare.
With a faint smile, Yorphang pulled a pocket-dimension pouch from her breast pocket.
She opened the pouch, and the painting was sucked into the tiny opening.
Then, she casually tossed her pre-prepared calling card onto the floor beneath where the painting had hung. The order of operations was a bit backward, but since there was no 'onlooker' anyway, it didn't really matter.
Yorphang decided to count this as another one of the Academy's precious treasures and leave it at that.
Yorphang glanced at the man beside her.
The man, seemingly oblivious to the entire process, simply continued to stare at the wall.
"Anyway... it's a nice painting."
Tossing out the casual remark, Yorphang was about to make her exit when—
The sword at the man's waist caught her eye.
A jewel embedded in the pommel, and delicate petal-like embroidery on the hilt.
As a phantom thief, Yorphang had a sharp eye for high-quality materials and luxury goods.
Even at a glance, its sophisticated design marked it as a treasured blade.
She could tell instantly that a fortune had been spent on it.
Ultimately, Yorphang could not resist her terrible habit.
Since this is my last job at the Academy, taking one extra thing as a bonus shouldn't hurt...
With that thought, she immediately pulled a piece of paper and a fountain pen from her pocket.
She was writing a calling card addressed to him.
Normally, she would never do this in the open, but since the person in front of her was blind, she shamelessly scribbled the notice right before his face.
How many seconds should I give him? Five? Ten...?
Yorphang pressed the fountain pen against her lips, contemplating.
Ten seconds sounds good.
She finished writing and was neatly folding the note.
The man standing beside her still said nothing.
His head had been turned toward the wall where the painting used to be this entire time.
Yorphang's gaze drifted once more to the bandages over his eyes.
She scratched her head.
...Wait, isn't a calling card completely pointless?
Since he couldn't read, it would be entirely useless to him.
Only then realizing this simple fact, Yorphang fell into thought.
Just then, he turned his body to face her.
"You've been quiet for a while. ...Are you still there?"
As he tilted his head, the moonlight caught the sword at his waist.
The jewel on the pommel gleamed brilliantly.
Watching this, Yorphang made up her mind.
Yeah, who cares?
The victim is the one who's out of luck.
Yorphang recalled her motto—though it was a stretch to call it a belief—which she had held onto ever since her days in the slums.
Even if he couldn't read it himself, she figured someone else would read it to him later.
"Um... your tie is a bit crooked. Just a moment..."
His tie was perfectly neat and had no issues whatsoever, but she approached him under the pretense of adjusting it.
"...Thank you."
As Yorphang adjusted the tie, the man smiled at her kindness.
Why is he so needlessly handsome when his eyes are covered...?
Staring at him from such close proximity, Yorphang couldn't help but admire his features, her face flushing slightly. But regardless, she was on the job.
Whether he smiled sweetly or not, Yorphang slipped the useless calling card into his pocket.
If only he weren't a cadet...
Having finished her task, Yorphang took her hands off his tie and stepped back.
"All done."
As she spoke, a thread slipped from her sleeve and attached itself to his sword.
Watching the man bow his head in gratitude, Yorphang rejoiced inwardly at how smoothly everything had gone.
"Well, see you around."
With a brief farewell, Yorphang turned around and began counting the seconds as she walked down the hallway.
Ten seconds.
Exactly ten seconds later, the sword, pulled along by the thread, glided silently to her side.
Examining the weapon, she could feel the sheer wealth poured into its creation, just as she had expected.
She had no idea why a mere cadet was carrying such an expensive sword, but having heard that all sorts of eccentric people gathered at the Academy, she decided not to overthink it.
Fortunately, the original owner of her stolen uniform seemed to be a swordsman as well, as there was a belt suitable for carrying a scabbard. Wearing the sword at her waist would make her disguise as a cadet look even more natural.
Yorphang looked back.
The man standing in the distance was looking at her.
...Or rather, it would be more accurate to say his head was turned in her direction.
At this distance, he won't hear a thing.
As she reached for the sword to inspect the blade, a sudden question occurred to her.
But if he didn't even know there was a painting, why was he staring at the wall in the first place...?
It wasn't a major issue, but a faint trace of doubt lingered in her mind.
At that moment, Yorphang's hand touched the hilt.
She went to draw the blade to inspect it.
Shhhring.
As the sword slid from its scabbard,
her vision instantly blurred.
Clutching her head, Yorphang came to her senses.
Squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again, Yorphang slowly turned her head to look around.
The first thing that caught her eye was...
...The moon?
A massive full moon hung directly in front of her.
Yet, it felt incredibly bizarre.
The moon was far too close.
Above all, the color of the moon dazzling her eyes was utterly unrealistic.
A purple moon.
A purple moon...
...No such thing existed in this world.
Splash.
As Yorphang instinctively moved her leg, her foot splashed against water, sending ripples of sound echoing through the otherwise silent space.
The ground was covered in a very shallow layer of water.
The water, filling this vast and seemingly endless space, was so perfectly still that it flawlessly reflected the dark night sky and the moon above.
The atmosphere was indescribably dreamlike.
Yorphang shook her head.
No, she shook it violently.
Though everything was too bizarre to be reality, the sensation of water against her feet was far too real.
As her mind grew increasingly hazy, Yorphang grit her teeth and tried to calmly assess the situation.
She had met a blind swordsman, stolen his sword... and the moment she drew it, she ended up here.
Just moments ago, she had been walking down a dark hallway.
Sssss...
Suddenly, a chilly wind blew from behind her, and a thick purple mist began to swirl around her.
Startled by the mysterious mist, she quickly covered her mouth and nose.
"Kh..."
Yorphang moved her legs, trying to escape the mist.
But the mist refused to let her go. She ran and ran. It was the only thing she could think to do in this incomprehensible situation.
"Phew...!"
Finally breaking free of the mist, Yorphang collapsed, propping herself up on the ground.
She exhaled her held breath and took a deep, ragged gasp of air.
Immediately, her eyes caught her own distorted, panting reflection on the rippling surface of the water.
By what principle, for what reason, was this happening?
Just as she found herself completely unable to comprehend anything,
Splash.
the sound of someone wading through the water echoed from the distance.
Yorphang hurriedly raised her head toward the sound.
Standing upon the water was a woman.
She had long, ink-black hair and wore Eastern-style robes as red as fresh blood. Around her swirled an eerie purple mist.
The sight was like an Eastern painting, more beautiful than any artwork Yorphang had ever laid eyes on.
The woman slowly approached Yorphang.
With every step she took, gentle ripples spread across the water, eventually reaching the wrists of the girl prostrate on the ground.
Then, the woman parted her lips.
"An unexpected guest, it seems."
A voice, both powerful and soft, pierced Yorphang's ears.
Soon, Yorphang's eyes met the woman's eyes, which were the exact same color as the purple moon hanging in the sky.
Yorphang realized it instinctively.
That this woman was the master and the absolute ruler of this space.
"Ah..."
A dumbfounded gasp escaped Yorphang's lips.
She was feeling pure, unadulterated terror.
Her body had frozen, unable to move for some time.
Flee?
Was there even a path to escape?
Fight back?
The overwhelming pressure was so immense that such an option was never even on the table.
She had no choice but to accept her fate.
Eventually, the woman stood right before Yorphang.
Yorphang, too terrified to even make eye contact, kept her head bowed low as she lay prostrate, but the woman's hand reached down and lifted her chin.
"Uh... ugh..."
Under the weight of a gaze that seemed to demand she speak, Yorphang wanted to beg for forgiveness, but she couldn't form a single word or sentence.
Staring down at the violently trembling girl, the woman slowly opened her lips.
"No matter how terribly dense This Lady's master may be... and even if his wretched fate is to have women constantly falling at his feet... This Lady certainly did not wish for this sort of thing."
Yorphang had no idea what those words meant.
It was merely the woman's lament.
"How unpleasant."
The woman's quiet, subsequent words echoed in Yorphang's ears.
The woman released Yorphang's chin.
"Now, begone."
With those words, the woman turned her back on her.
Slash!
An inexplicable sound brushed past Yorphang's shoulder.
Plop.
Something severed by a sharp edge fell into the water.
It was Yorphang's arm.
Blood seeped from the severed arm on the ground, staining the clear, transparent water crimson.
Yorphang wanted to scream, but her throat was instantly slashed.
"...!!!"
Out of nowhere, a barrage of sword strikes rained down from the air, slicing Yorphang to pieces.
Crushed and torn apart.
Unable to move even the tip of her finger, Yorphang let out a silent scream against the relentless, cascading agony.
As if refusing to even look at the sight, the woman who had turned around stared blankly at the moon.
"For This Lady is the sword of but a single master..."
Holding the Demon Blade, I approached Yorphang, who was collapsed on the floor, her body twitching.
Upon closer inspection, Yorphang's condition was quite severe.
She was foaming at the mouth, her body trembling violently, completely enveloped in the demonic energy radiating from the Demon Blade.
Though her eyes were open, she didn't seem to be conscious.
Sierra's demonic energy had only been refined through the seal; it had not disappeared.
Sierra was bound to me.
Since she had grasped the Demon Blade in that state, she had been consumed by it.
The moment she grabbed the sword, Sierra's spiritual form had vanished. Yorphang had likely been pulled into Sierra's mental realm.
"Guh... ugh..."
Yorphang barely managed to open her mouth, letting out a groan filled with despair.
Whatever was happening to her, she looked to be in immense pain.
First, I pried the Demon Blade, Sierra, from Yorphang's hand.
If I left it there any longer, her mind might completely shatter.
Yorphang's violently trembling body finally quieted down.
Then, Sierra slid smoothly out of the Demon Blade.
Her mysterious purple eyes shone exceptionally bright today.
The moment she emerged from the blade, Sierra threw her arms around me.
Pointing at Yorphang, who was unconscious with her eyes wide open, I asked,
"What did you do to her...?"
Glancing between me and Yorphang, Sierra demurely covered her mouth and replied.
Judging by the way Sierra's eyes narrowed as she spoke, it was undoubtedly a lie.