Chapter 10
With an explosion, the eyes that had been closed snapped open.
“Not bad.”
Despite the words, it felt as if my eyes were burning. The pain was fierce, but not enough to overcome the mental strength I’d built up living as a sword-spirit. Along with the searing pain, my vision shook as if the world itself were trembling, but it soon began to return to normal.
“So it worked.”
The somewhat reckless attempt had succeeded. Only then could I breathe a little easier.
“I could’ve gone blind if that had gone wrong.”
But there was someone more surprised by my success than I was. A startled cough broke from the death attendant—not a reaper. I turned to look at him; he gazed at me with disbelief.
“…Myeongan, how?”
Myeongan. A name I’d never heard before. So I didn’t know what it meant. Still, I noticed the change in me. My eyes had gone from hot to suddenly cold; things that had been invisible began to come into view. For example—
“Your name was Saheun, then.”
The moment he spoke my name, a flood of emotions crossed the death attendant’s stern face. From that reaction alone I could tell the information I was seeing wasn’t wrong. I wanted to verify more by looking at the reaper, but someone else entered my field of vision first.
“Master, are you alright?”
It was Songgok. I didn’t know when he’d begun watching me, but he had a worried expression fixed on my face. I couldn’t say how much time had passed, but in the meantime he’d cleared away the corpses and now stood guarding me.
“I was just thinking for a moment. Sorry to have caused you worry.”
“Ah—no. I thought it best not to interfere and simply watch.”
“Well done. Go check on the household. They’re probably in quite a state by now. But don’t tell them the details. Just say the Black Front problem’s been taken care of.”
“I understand!”
I watched Songgok bow and leave. Above his head my own name hovered—Songgok. I turned belatedly to the reaper. Unlike the death attendant, the reaper’s eyes held curiosity more than surprise.
“Congratulations on gaining a kigan. But could you keep my name to yourself? It’s not that it would necessarily matter, but if it becomes known it could put me in a bit of an awkward position.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to pry into something the other party didn’t want revealed. Right now, I was more curious about the change that had happened to me.
“I’d like to know more about this ‘myeongan’ the reaper mentioned.”
So far I could tell I could see people’s names, but beyond that I had no clue. My vision hadn’t improved much otherwise, nor did I feel a great difference from the spiritual eye I’d acquired before. The reaper looked unusually awkward at my question—more like he genuinely didn’t know than like he was hiding something.
“Actually, I don’t know the details either.”
He furrowed his brow slightly. Was he playing dumb? But his reaction didn’t look like an act. It was the kind of expression someone makes when they truly don’t know. Still, I couldn’t ask others about this, so I decided to probe the reaper a little further.
“Then at least tell me whatever you do know.”
“I don’t think it will be much help.”
“Still, I don’t mind.”
“If you insist, I’ll tell you as much as I know.”
“Speak on.”
Yes—now we’re talking.
The reaper hesitated for a moment, staring into my eyes as if to confirm once more whether this was truly a myeongan. After a short while he finally began.
“I can’t be certain whether the eyes Lord Gongja gained are truly a myeongan. I’ve never heard of a case like this. But—”
“But?”
“If Lord Gongja’s power is indeed a myeongan, then within the scope of what I know, you would be only the second person to possess one.”
So there were only two of them. That at least confirmed it was rare, but it didn’t satisfy my curiosity.
“Who was the first?”
“That is somewhat delicate.”
The reaper sighed faintly and spoke cautiously.
“That answer is already in Lord Gongja’s memory. And that is all I can tell you for now.”
“It’s in my memory?”
There was no trace of the word “myeongan” in my recollection. That much I was sure of — if I had heard it even once, I wouldn’t have forgotten. Initially I was puzzled by the reaper’s clue, but thinking it over, the answer was practically obvious.
“A reaper can’t read my memories.”
A memory that both the reaper and I knew existed. That meant—
“Of course. It must be him.”
A single figure sprang to mind from memories we had shared: the one who commissioned me and gave me this new life—Yeomra.
“That’s a far more impressive name than I expected.”
Now I understood why the reaper had hesitated and been so careful. After my sword broke and I met Yeomra in the underworld, the memory of that meeting came back. What I’d seen there was a huge shadow, and the gaze of that shadow fixed on me. Standing before those eyes felt like my very soul was being stripped bare. I’d thought them terribly dark and mysterious.
“So that was a myeongan.”
To think I’d come to possess the same kind of eyes. Not certain, but even if it wasn’t, I hadn’t lost anything by acquiring them.
“At least I won’t have to go asking people their names from now on.”
It was only the ability to see names, but I felt I’d gained something entertaining. Who knows—maybe I’d discover more later. I decided to learn about myeongan slowly.
“It looks like about half a watch has passed.”
Glancing at the moon, it seemed about that much time had elapsed. That’s how long it’d taken for the myeongan to form without my knowing. A commotion unlike before drifted from the family hall behind me. It looked as if the Forbidden Tree had awakened. The prophecies of the mourning official had held true. I could probably send people away soon.
“Then let’s call this meeting to an end.”
“Understood.”
The reaper nodded. Just as I thought our second meeting had come to a close, he suddenly stopped and left one last line.
“I will leave one final gift. Please use it well.”
He then glanced at the death attendant who’d been sulking in the corner, unable to intervene until now. The death attendant’s expression was calm, as if they’d already been told.
“Could that gift be…?”
No—surely not.
“Then I will take my leave. Until we meet again, stay well.”
Before I could say anything, the reaper dissolved into the ground and disappeared. The death attendant, however, remained—watching me.
“…From today onward, I will be the Saheun who assists Gongja.”
After hesitating a long while, those were the words he managed to force out. The thing I’d half-feared had just become reality.
“Well, one encounters all sorts of things in life.”
To think I’d end up with a death attendant under me. But what on earth was I supposed to do with him?
“…Did I make some mistake?”
When I said nothing, the death attendant cautiously glanced at me and asked. I laughed—he wasn’t normally the sort to be keeping an eye on someone like that. I decided to think about his position later.
“Talk later. For now, follow me.”
Right now, the Forbidden Tree’s situation came first.
“I heard you were back.”
The tree, which had been debating whether to go to the afterlife or not, was surprisingly lucid. He leaned against his bed, and when I looked him in the face I had little to say.
“Father and son, huh.”
When had I ever had such an experience as a sword? Still, despite my puzzlement, my mouth half-opened by itself.
“How are you feeling?”
“The physician says with care and rest you’ll recover well. More than that—”
Though he’d returned from death, the air around him was thin and worn. Yet when he looked at me his eyes burned with an intensity not fitting a patient.
“So you’ve healed… your body is well now?”
He recognized me as Geumjamun—the one who had changed. But even he, like everyone else, registered surprise in his gaze. I had changed a lot in the last few months; even if Dongchil told the family, seeing it in person was different. There was no need to hide anything, so I answered straightforwardly.
“Yes—my illness is gone.”
“Is… that true?”
“Do I look like someone ill to you?”
“Not really. But you—”
“If you don’t believe me, ask the physician right there.”
My gaze shifted to the physician beside the bed. Hearing me, he straightened as if to look serious.
“Listen, Gongja. I’m no ordinary healer.”
Despite his words he scanned my body briefly, then spoke to Geumdanmok.
“Your son is in excellent health. He’s so strong that not only did he deal with the Black Front boys, he even cleared the assassins who were watching this place by himself.”
“The Black Front and the assassins? Our son did that?”
He was taken aback. True, it would be revealed eventually, but did it have to be said here? Watching Geumdanmok shift his gaze between me and the physician already made me tired. The physician, however, showed no intent of clarifying further and fell silent. Was that it?
“So it happened that way.”
In the end I had to explain everything.
“I met a strange kigan by chance while recovering, and though it wasn’t much, I learned some martial arts.”
I couldn’t exactly say, “Your son died and I entered his body.” So I mixed truth and lies into a plausible story. I even fabricated the existence of a hermit teacher. It wasn’t hard—there were plenty of charlatans in the city who claimed to be hermits. I picked a convincing example and described him.
“You truly met an amazing kigan!”
Geumdanmok didn’t hesitate to accept my story. He reacted with admiration, sometimes clapping his hands, and by the end of the story tears streamed down his face.
“That’s good, that’s good. You went through so much… you really suffered…”
His shoulders trembled as emotion swelled. Watching him, I wondered how the real Geumjamun would have acted in this situation. But I wasn’t him, so I acted as I felt fit.
“I won’t trouble you anymore.”
That day I bowed in thanks to someone for the first time. I didn’t really need to, and I didn’t know why I did it.
“You’re good at lying.”
Geumdanmok slept after some time, exhausted. The physician, who’d arranged transfusions to help him rest, finally let himself be candid.
“It isn’t easy to fix the veins and pulses with just martial skills, especially for someone with such an unusual constitution as Gongja.”
He ogled my body again, his expression full of doubt.
“Which is why I’ve had a change of heart. Specifically, Gongja, you should stop taking any fees and just diagnose pulses for people.”
My answer had been decided from the start.
“No.”
If I was healthy, there was no need to show my body to others.
“Well, I can’t force you.”
The physician backed off cleanly. I expected him to be more troublesome, but he surprised me. Still, he kept glancing at me with lingering curiosity. I thought using this situation might be useful.
“In that case, how about this—”
