I Will Make Sure That Name Is Engraved (3)

For a moment, the world felt crushed and squashed.

Even so, the only thing painfully clear was the narrow, sharp metal protruding from the back of someone she knew well.

Dark red blood slowly ran down the blade jutting out of the back.

Blood slowly flowed along the sword that had pierced the back, staining the blade red; the blood that reached its tip stretched long and fell in drops downward.

The heat of blood splattered on her face, every scene she saw, and above all Chung Myung’s helplessly slumped shoulders were unbearably vivid.

Yet Yu Yiseol felt all of it strangely vague at the same time.

The sensations were undeniably real, but none of it entered the realm of understanding as it should.

It was as if she were looking but could not see, listening but could not hear.

She stopped in her tracks.

Because it was already too late?

No. The reason was that the tip of the sword protruding from Chung Myung’s back emitted a blue sword qi the moment she tried to rush in to save him. It threatened that any closer approach would split Chung Myung in two.

So she had no choice but to stop.

Even as she watched the Blood Sword Troops members’ blades repeatedly strike Chung Myung’s left shoulder and right flank.

Creak! Creak!

In that instant, Yu Yiseol flinched as if she herself had been stabbed.

Her wide-open eyes held not anger or pity, but terror.

Because she had to accept what was real.

If he had any strength left, Chung Myung could have deflected those attacks—but in his current state he could not.

Perhaps the limits of Chung Myung of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint—limits she thought she would never see—were revealed now, in the very way she least wanted to consider.

No sound escaped her parted lips. Rather, it was impossible for one to. If she even moved a finger or made the slightest noise, the sword lodged in that small body might twist and slit the heart.

She could only stare in silence.

Only a few steps. Those few steps felt as distant as an eternal wall.

The unmistakable sensation of a hand piercing.

The satisfying fulfillment one feels only when piercing through a body and ending a life.

Gwi Yang’s eyes, filling with elation, stared at his sword lodged in the center of Chung Myung’s chest; more than half the blade was buried in the chest.

Of course he knew.

A wound punctured by a sword does not bleed as profusely as one might think. If the prey still has qi and the muscles contract, only a few drops of blood trickle out.

But blood was quickly pouring from Chung Myung’s wound enough to soak his chest. That meant he had no strength left to clench around the embedded sword.

Chung Myung’s hand, pierced along with the sword as he tried to stop it, slowly curled and touched the blade. That was all—there was no impact on Gwi Yang’s sword.

Instead, a heavy weight began to press on the sword Gwi Yang held—the weight that comes when the opponent can no longer support their body and surrenders themselves to the blade that will end their life.

It was a weight of death all too familiar to Gwi Yang.

“…Caught you.”

It was a result he could scarcely believe even after achieving it. Yet the outcome was clearly in his hands: Chung Myung of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint. He had finally caught the tremendous monster whose reputation made even the world’s renown seem paltry.

This was an achievement that the word “great feat” could not fully express.

When he finally captured a difficult prey after all manner of hardships, he would feel a thrill that words could not describe.

But what dominated him now was completely different from that thrill.

An incomprehensible, complex emotion surged—utter rapture mingled with an unbearable sorrow took hold of him.

Gwi Yang slowly raised his head.

He wanted to see.

He wondered what expression the monster that had tormented him so terribly and proven a divine might he couldn’t even imagine would wear as it met death.

Would it be contorted with pain? Calm? Or… wearing a hollow smile?

Sadly, he could not see Chung Myung’s expression. All he saw was the crown of his head, head bowed as if all strength had left him.

At that moment, a faint sense of emptiness passed through Gwi Yang’s eyes.

He must have even believed that.

He believed this person would never lower his head even in death—would die proudly, looking up at the sky, even if dozens of swords were stuck in his body.

The faint emptiness passed, and a sense of reality slowly returned.

Gwi Yang, before he knew it, opened his mouth.

“A human… a human, indeed.”

There was no answer.

Of course—there was no strength left to reply. In truth, it was uncertain whether he was even conscious.

Gwi Yang slowly tightened his grip on the sword.

By uttering a single word to his prey, he had effectively broken the rule he had set for himself.

Normally, the thing that ruins a hunt is the complacency that comes at the end. One must never relax until the heart is completely cut and the neck severed.

He was at the moment about to drag the sword he finally gripped and split Chung Myung’s heart.

“…Wuh…”

A faint sound escaped Chung Myung’s lips—perhaps a small death rattle at the end of life.

But Gwi Yang suddenly stopped the sword, for a reason even he found hard to explain.

“…What did you say?”

There was no need to ask again—he could simply ignore it and cut. Yet strangely, he couldn’t.

Chung Myung’s head slowly rose.

Like an old, rusty wheel creaking and clattering as it turns, Chung Myung forced his head up and quietly looked at Gwi Yang.

The eyes revealed between hair matted with blood looked hollow, devoid of any light.

“…Can’t… move…”

Through lips whose state was ambiguous, indistinct words trickled out here and there.

“No… I shouldn’t…”

At that moment Gwi Yang saw it.

Chung Myung’s lips, dark with dried blood, curled into a chilling smile. The moment he saw that smile, Gwi Yang’s blood ran cold as if into an ice cave.

“…My legs.”

Gwi Yang desperately threw his internal qi into driving the sword down.

But despite using all his remaining strength, the sword lodged in Chung Myung’s chest did not budge. It was as if it were stuck between massive rocks—no matter how hard he pressed down, it did not move.

“What?”

A violet qi began to flow from the wound and envelop Gwi Yang’s sword.

At that moment, Chung Myung pushed his hand, pierced by the sword, toward Gwi Yang.

Grrrreek!

With the sound of bone scraping metal, the hand slid along to the sword ring. Grasping the ring, Chung Myung suddenly pulled Gwi Yang toward him. Gwi Yang, whose weight was shifted forward from pressing the sword with full force, could not resist.

Then Gwi Yang saw it: sword qi gathering on Chung Myung’s blade, which had been hanging down.

It was the sword aura of Mount Hua—red like blood and keen as the dawn.

“N-no…”

Bwaaaah!

A blast sound, familiar yet foreign, reverberated through the gorge.

Gwi Yang stared dumbfounded at his sword buried in Chung Myung’s chest. The sword, which had been forcibly pulled, was almost fully embedded in Chung Myung’s chest.

“You…”

Gwi Yang’s mouth hung open. The wordless gape that could not form a phrase finally opened again, and a voice laced with complicated emotion leaked out.

“You… did this on purpose…”

For a moment Gwi Yang’s stunned gaze met Chung Myung’s eyes, which were going slack.

Chung Myung’s voice, slightly clearer than before, came through.

“If I can’t… make it…”

Even with a voice tinged with metal, Chung Myung smiled, revealing teeth stained with blood.

“…You were supposed… to come to me. Right?”

Gwi Yang’s eyes shook.

A moment of silence passed. Then red gore streamed from Gwi Yang’s lips.

Only belatedly did Gwi Yang realize why he had hesitated for an instant at the last moment.

A beast feels instinctive reluctance before taking bait—even if that bait is the life of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint, something it cannot ignore.

From the start, the one being hunted was not Chung Myung but Gwi Yang himself.

“You…”

Gwi Yang, who choked up blood from his mouth, slowly collapsed.

The sword he had pulled with his last will came free from Chung Myung’s body. Blood poured from the wound and covered the face of the kneeling Gwi Yang.

“You really…”

Thud.

Gwi Yang’s body, unable to finish the words he uttered, fell to the ground along with the other Blood Sword Troops members who had rushed in.

At the same time, Chung Myung’s body also staggered forward.

“Chung Myung!”

Yu Yiseol hurried forward, catching the falling Chung Myung from behind and supporting him.

“Sajil! Chung Myung!”

“Huh…”

Feeling Yu Yiseol’s firm grip, Chung Myung bared his teeth weakly and smiled.

“You’re… late…”

“You…”

“Ha… anyway…”

As if all the barely intact nerves had been severed, Chung Myung’s head sagged down.

Yu Yiseol’s hand went instinctively to Chung Myung’s neck. She felt a faint pulse at her fingertips. Confirming that his pulse still beat, she tore her long cloak and hurriedly bound Chung Myung’s wound.

“You are alive.”

Though the wound was grave enough that death could come at any moment, he was still alive.

He’s still alive.

That was enough. What more could one need as a reason to risk one’s life?

Looking once at Chung Myung’s unconscious face, she hoisted him up, removed the remaining torn cloak, and tightly bound him to herself.

She felt his heartbeat faint and slow through his back. His body temperature had cooled to the point her hands trembled.

She was afraid—that this heart would slowly stop, that the last faint warmth remaining would go out.

Yu Yiseol lifted her head.

She saw the Ten Thousand People Clan members approaching again, taking in the situation. Their expressions were grim; they would never give up easily.

They surely knew how precious a chance it was to take the life of Chung Myung of Mount Hua’s Sword Saint.

Especially Ho Ga-Myung, eyes gleaming from the rear, would try by any means to drive a sword into Chung Myung’s heart to put an end to all of this.

Yu Yiseol reached out and grabbed Chung Myung’s Dark Fragrant Plum Blossom Sword lying on the ground. The unfamiliar hilt still held warmth.

That warmth steadied Yu Yiseol, making her calm and composed. Her trembling eyes grew cold and focused.

With the Ten Thousand People Clan swords advancing and gathering momentum, Yu Yiseol glared at them and slammed her foot hard into the ground without hesitation.

“I will protect him.”

Thud!

The moment she jerked her body back, the Ten Thousand People Clan swords descended on Yu Yiseol like a torrent bursting from a broken dam.

“By all means!”

She instantly severed the throat of the leading Ten Thousand People Clan swordsman charging at her. Resolve blazed fiercely on that blade.