Salvation

Clang—!

They clashed.

Blade against blade.

Man against man.

The first and final conversation of swords.

Heavy.

Wilhelm's sword was heavy. Infinitely weighty. It carried a mass of an entirely different order from any swordsman I had ever faced.

And yet there was no fixed form. The swordsmanship of Creation of Heaven and Earth had no predetermined framework. Without a framework, it should have been light. A true contradiction. How could something so empty feel this heavy?

Creation of Heaven and Earth is the swordsmanship of the human self itself.

It was heavy because Wilhelm was heavy. His existence, his life, his joys and sorrows—only then did I grasp the true essence of Creation of Heaven and Earth. That it was a swordsmanship that expressed the self.

Cheon.

The Cheon—Heaven—of Creation of Heaven and Earth. A swordsmanship that dominates a domain to control the opponent. I had thought that was all there was to it. But that was not all. This was no different from reading the opponent and becoming them.

…Reading Wilhelm. Becoming Wilhelm.

I peered into every joint's movement, every minute tremor of muscle, every tiny resonance wrung from his organs—missing nothing. Going further, I read ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even Wilhelm's thoughts and emotions. And thus, at last, I became Wilhelm.

Claaaang—!

The sword grew heavier still. A slight change crossed Wilhelm's face. Ordinarily I would never have noticed—but with the domain of Cheon fully unfurled, I could see it with certainty.

He's shaken.

The moment I properly manifested the Cheon of Creation of Heaven and Earth, Wilhelm was rattled. To read an opponent was to understand them. Which meant that I—a bastard of a god—was understanding Wilhelm. A being he had believed would never reach him, never comprehend him.

And just as I had read Wilhelm—

You're reading me too, aren't you.

…Wilhelm, too, would finally know me for what I was. What thoughts this existence of mine truly held.

It was a true conversation of swords. Within the shared domain of Cheon, we moved as one. Following the resonance of steel, the whisper of the blade, we exchanged strikes as naturally as flowing water.

Then Wilhelm raised the stage.

Ji.

The Ji—Earth—of Creation of Heaven and Earth. A swordsmanship that dismantles every attack. But this, too, was not merely about nullifying strikes. You become the opponent. You resonate with everything they are.

Resonance is empathy. Beyond mere understanding—to feel it as your own. A swordsmanship only Wilhelm could fully manifest, having spent endless time trapped in the swamp of my mind, striving without rest to understand and empathize with me.

You think I can't follow?

…So Wilhelm seemed to believe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I would inevitably fall behind. Understanding and empathy are a hair's breadth apart—but complete empathy is impossible for another person. Unless, of course, one was in Wilhelm's extraordinary position: forced to watch me for an endless stretch of time. Wilhelm, who had assimilated into the character I moved, who had swung his sword as one with my will and my thoughts.

To abandon the self and resonate with another is never easy.

But—

You are me, and I am you.

Wilhelm was not "another." He was a being like my own other self. Another me. I understood his pain and his sorrow. He had resented me, calling me a bastard of a god—and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yet at the same time, he had admired me. Somewhere along the way, he had been moved by the spirit in me that never knew how to quit.

I was the same. Right now, I admired the indomitable will Wilhelm had shown. I hungered for his tireless effort and the ultimate mastery he had finally reached.

We were beings who desired each other. And for that very reason, we were like the self in the mirror—so alike it was somehow hateful.

Clang! Clang! Claaang!

Before long we were drawing the same stances, the same blade paths. Words were no longer needed. The process itself had lost all meaning. My thoughts were Wilhelm's thoughts; my will was Wilhelm's will. I knew, naturally, what would come next.

Gae.

The Gae—Opening—of Creation of Heaven and Earth. The sword that opens the world. An authority that surpasses the opponent's space and everything within it, until at last you become the center of all creation. From this stage onward, one can commune with every thing that exists. In the truest sense, one becomes a god.

But I no longer followed Wilhelm further.

…I fuse them into one. I take what already exists and create something new.

Instead, I looked deeper into myself. Communion with all things is not for surveying the surroundings. It is for reading, opening, and knowing the representations of the "disorder" I carry within.

I had known the opponent. Now it was time to properly know myself.

First… this body. Randolph.

There's far too much mixed in here, no question.

The Goddess's Star and a Fragment of Ruin. Two opposing forces housed in one vessel. The Hidden Trait Void was somehow holding it together, but Randolph's nature leaned unmistakably toward Evil. The power of darkness and the Dreadful Omen. Even the Supreme Sword was an ability rooted in death. Baal's curse was no different. Thanks to all of it I had grown steeply stronger—but unless I properly separated and then fused these forces, I would never reach the absolute peak Wilhelm had attained.

That's why Randolph's body can't receive the Archangel's Blessing.

Then what of Park Hyunmyung's body? What of my own flesh? It had received the Archangel's Blessing, yet it was growing more disordered by the day. At this rate, my body too would soon change the way Randolph's had. Everything would coexist in chaos, and another Park Hyunmyung might emerge. Had things not been disordered from the start, such a being would never have found a gap to appear. Even without that, incidents like this one could still arise—the way the Chief Gods of Omen and Calamity had driven into the openings in the Randolph summoned to the Tower of the War God.

Light and darkness cannot coexist.

I had to acknowledge it and accept it now. Coexistence was greed. Light and darkness had been designed from the beginning to be divided—that was the truth. That was balance. And right now, I had lost that balance.

I cannot achieve every balance alone…

There were limits. But that did not mean there was no way.

I looked at Wilhelm. Wilhelm nodded.

Even with Wilhelm's help, the process would not be easy. It was far too intricate, far too complex. Two minutes was nowhere near enough.

…Could I do it?

No. I had to. I had to succeed. If not now, it would be forever impossible.

I had the knowledge I needed. The knowledge that spilled from the Gate of Truth still remains. The knowledge left behind by the other Randolph had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not yet scattered. Of course, that too was only a matter of time—but I had no choice but to try. The most important thing was the will to act no matter what, no matter the situation.

If the two of us joined forces, it should be possible.

But one question still remained.

…Wilhelm. Don't you hate me?

Even if it had never been my intention—I had controlled Wilhelm's body. I had ignored his will and his consciousness and done as I pleased. It was thanks to that that he had survived, yes—but resentment could still linger in some corner of the heart. Human emotion is an exceedingly complicated thing. I wondered whether it was truly possible for him to set his own feelings aside and help me with nothing but pure intent.

I looked at Wilhelm.

And at the same time—

He grinned.

…Wilhelm smiled. But that smile, that grin—

That's genuinely awkward.

It was so awkward I couldn't help smiling myself. Come to think of it, in all my memories, Wilhelm had never once smiled in front of anyone. Even when I logged out of the game and he briefly reclaimed his freedom, he had walked only the path I desired. He had played the Knight King to perfection and never once expressed his own emotions. Far from smiling, he had always been rigid, locked in place.

…Smiling in front of someone was, for Wilhelm, a first.

And that was forgiveness.

That was my salvation.

I didn't know how to put it. I simply felt saved. Looking at Wilhelm's smile, my heart grew quiet. And so I felt regret. I felt sorry. Was it right to spend this remaining time on myself? Shouldn't it be used for you—for your salvation?

Wilhelm shook his head. As if to say it was fine.

And then—

"…I," he said, opening his mouth.

Even in our state of assimilation, I couldn't sense what he meant to say. Instead, Wilhelm looked at me with a gentle face, as though he understood even that uncertainty.

…Already saved? From what? …How?

His salvation was freedom. The breaking of his bonds, the winning of liberty. But in the end, he had died on the Great Expedition. Death is not freedom. It is not liberation. He could never have wanted such a death.

And still he said he had been saved. He said he held no further grudge.

"Focus, you bastard of a god."

His voice swept the distractions clean. It's fine, he was saying. Don't concern yourself. Speaking with that offhand calm, he was giving me his teaching. His final teaching—his final gift.

I drew a deep breath. Casting off every lingering thought, I matched Wilhelm's breathing and began to complete myself.

And then—

Byeok.

The Byeok—Creation—of Creation of Heaven and Earth. Once more, the world is created. Myself, ourselves—made anew.