Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Chang-a nodded faintly, her face on the verge of tears.
Namgung Hui-myeong drew in a deep breath and quietly closed his eyes, as if measuring the presence before him.
Then—
“Now!”
Grabbing Yeo Il’s hand, Chang-a sprinted with all her strength in the opposite direction from where Namgung Hui-myeong had hurled himself.
Her feet were astonishingly fast. Even while dragging Yeo Il—whose height exceeded hers by nearly two spans—her speed did not falter.
“Haah, haah!”
From behind them, sinister laughter rang out, growing distant. Soon after, a groan thick with pain followed.
Around then, Yeo Il slowly came to a stop.
Startled, Chang-a stomped her feet anxiously.
“My Lady? Wh-what are you doing? We have to run—!”
“Shh.”
A pale index finger lightly touched her lower lip.
The face of Chang-a’s mistress—Namgung Soyo—was serene and tranquil, utterly mismatched with the urgency of the moment.
Her eyes blinked softly as though she had never acted blind at all. A faint smile curved her lips. Bending slightly, she picked up a small stone, then began walking back along the path they had fled.
“Follow quietly.”
Her voice was steady and gentle.
Only then did Chang-a release the tension gripping her entire body.
“…Yes.”
With an expression that seemed to belatedly recall who her mistress truly was—and how she herself had come to stand here—Chang-a followed.
Before long, when Yeo Il pushed aside the brush and returned to the clearing—
The blade of the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost hovered inches from piercing Namgung Hui-myeong’s heart.
“Rest easy, son of Namgung Je. You were not a poor first prey.”
Just as the sword tip began to descend, Yeo Il flicked her finger, wrapping external qi around the stone and sending it flying straight ahead.
“…Hm?”
The sword tip twisted violently and pierced a tree instead.
But that was all.
Though spared a fatal wound, the accumulated exhaustion and numerous sword injuries burst forth at once. Namgung Hui-myeong’s legs buckled.
Thud.
As he fell, his empty hand seized the Sword Ghost’s ankle. Even in losing consciousness, the will to expend his final strength was evident.
The ragged breathing subsided.
Silence fell.
Slowly, the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost raised his head. His gaze fixed precisely upon Yeo Il’s face.
“…Girl. Was that your doing?”
Disbelief colored his expression.
Naturally so. Yeo Il did not even carry a sword.
A woman of a prestigious clan, delicate as a blossom—how could she wield such power?
Narrowing his eyes, the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost approached.
“I felt it earlier… How strange. Your face is rare enough to please me, yet you ruin a man’s mood. A peculiar wench.”
Yeo Il did not respond.
Perhaps dismissing his suspicion, he curled his lips.
“A promise must be kept.”
The moment he reached to seize her hair—
Tak.
Yeo Il’s hand caught his wrist.
He tried to shake her off. Her grip did not move.
Time passed.
Irritation flickered across his face. Gradually, composure stiffened into tension.
After his restrained hand trembled—
Crack.
“Kuh.”
His wrist twisted sharply. He stamped his foot and widened the distance.
“…You.”
A distinct tension rose in his eyes.
“What are you?”
Instead of answering, Yeo Il stepped forward.
He slashed. She deflected the blade with her sleeve. The sword flew from his grasp and embedded into a tree.
“Huff, huff…”
His breathing grew rough.
Yeo Il’s posture remained composed.
After glaring at her, he retreated a step, lowered his stance, and seized Namgung Hui-myeong’s fallen sword.
Sweat beaded on his face as he forced a crooked smile.
“…I see. Girl, are you waiting for the two who went to seek help?”
Silence.
“Heh. Ridiculous. Does the son of Namgung Je—and those two—know that you are a peak master? They cannot. If they did, that foolish son would not have ended like that.”
He was correct.
Yeo Il had no intention of killing the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost. If Yulim returned, it would become troublesome.
Severing his tongue and leaving him half-dead would not differ much. Claiming that a passing hyupgaek had coincidentally intervened would sound unnatural.
Should she force him to flee on his own?
If one of the Eight Ghosts began spreading word of her, that would be troublesome as well.
Though bothersome, the best course was to stall.
Without giving him room to speak, Yeo Il pressed forward in succession. Each time her bare hand moved beneath her sleeve, she struck the same point above his right abdomen.
Like a master exploiting a disciple’s weakness until he recognized it himself.
Half her intent was to inflict internal injury; the other half was to provoke his pride.
“You wretched—!”
As expected, his face flushed red.
One of the Eight Ghosts, he belonged to no sect and walked the heterodox path alone.
His pride was evident in the way he treated others as prey.
The greater his fury, the more determined he would be to kill her.
At that moment—
A disturbance stirred in the forest.
Three presences.
One was Seol-yeong.
The other two must be Yulim and the unnamed companion she had gone to seek.
“…This.”
The Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost sensed it as well. He shifted his stance, weighing whether to finish it now or retreat.
At that instant, Yeo Il closed her eyes.
She ceased moving, standing still as though rooted.
As if the opponent were no longer worth her attention.
“Y—!”
Grinding his teeth, face crimson, the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost roared,
“Very well! You alone—I will tear you apart as you wish!”
She had to offer her body—yet avoid a fatal wound.
Her left arm, already lightly injured.
A wound deep enough to stir sympathy, shallow enough to stop quickly.
She focused all her senses on the path of his blade—
In that fleeting instant—
Yeo Il opened her eyes.
“…Kh.”
Something splattered across her face.
Not rain.
Blood.
Her fingers brushed away the droplets gathered on her lashes. The sword that had been flying toward her neck fell uselessly to the ground.
“You insolent… who dares… to this one of the Eight Ghosts…”
His face twisted in fury as he tried to turn his head.
It drooped instead.
Thus the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost died.
To the one who had arrived without a sound and driven a blade through his heart.
The man casually shook the blood from his sword and wiped it on the corpse’s garments.
“Brother Ak!”
Even at Seol-yeong’s distant call, he remained unhurried.
For one who had just taken a life, he appeared utterly at ease. Only after sheathing his blade did he turn to Yeo Il.
“You go too far, Master.”
His handsome face, long black hair tied high, bore a smile without warmth.
“You must value your life at least for my sake. If you die away from home, what am I to do?”
The unnamed companion Yulim had mentioned—the man Seol-yeong called Brother Ak, and whom the departed old man once called a Heavenly Killing Star who failed to become a Heavenly Demon—
Was Jin Cheong-ak.