Chang-a looked like she was on the verge of tears as she gave a small nod.
Namgung Huimyeong took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if measuring the enemy’s presence.
Then—
“Now!”
At that shout, Chang-a grasped Yeo Il’s hand and dashed in the opposite direction of where Namgung Huimyeong had thrown himself, running with all her might.
She was incredibly fast. Despite the difference in height, she managed to pull Yeo Il along without slowing down.
“Huff… huff…”
A chilling laugh echoed from behind them, followed by what sounded like a groan of pain.
At that moment, Yeo Il began to slow her steps.
Surprised, Chang-a stamped her feet in panic.
“M-Miss? What are you doing? We have to run—!”
“Shh.”
A pale fingertip lightly tapped her lower lip.
Despite the dire situation, Yeo Il’s face was calm and even serene.
Her unblinking eyes fluttered softly, no longer pretending to be blind. The slight curve of her lips carried a quiet composure. Bending down, she picked up a small stone and gently turned back toward the path they had just fled.
“Follow me quietly.”
Her voice, as gentle as ever, didn’t waver in the slightest.
Only then did Chang-a finally begin to relax, her body slowly unclenching from head to toe.
“…Yes, Miss.”
Chang-a followed after Yeo Il, a look dawning on her face as if she were finally remembering who her master truly was and why she was even there with her to begin with.
When Yeo Il parted the grass and returned to the scene.
The Blood-Sucking Sword Ghost’s blade was mere inches from piercing Namgung Huimyeong’s heart.
“Rest easy, son of Namgung Je. You’re not a bad first kill.”
Just before the sword struck, Yeo Il imbued internal force into the stone and flung it straight ahead.
“…Hn?”
The stone struck the tip of the sword, sharply deflecting its angle. Instead of Huimyeong’s heart, the blade embedded itself in a nearby tree.
But that was all.
Though the fatal blow had been avoided, Huimyeong’s accumulated fatigue and numerous injuries overwhelmed him. His knees buckled and he collapsed forward.
Thud.
Even as he lost consciousness, his empty hand—his sword hand now useless—gripped the Sword Ghost’s ankle. It was as if he was pouring his last bit of strength into doing his part.
“…”
Silence settled in the woods for a brief moment as the Sword Ghost’s breathing slowed.
Then he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Yeo Il.
“…Girl. That was you?”
Even as he said the words, disbelief was written all over his face.
Understandable—Yeo Il hadn’t even been carrying a sword.
A noblewoman from an esteemed family, delicate as a single blossom, wielding a blade? The image simply didn’t fit.
Narrowing his eyes, the Blood-Sucking Sword Ghost stepped closer, suspicion swirling in his expression.
“I thought something was off about you… You’ve got a face that pleases a man, but your very presence spoils the mood. Strange little wench.”
He studied her silently for a moment.
Then, seemingly letting his doubt go, he gave a crooked smile.
“A promise is a promise.”
Just as he reached out to seize her hair—
Tap.
Yeo Il calmly grabbed his wrist.
The old man grimaced and tried to shake her off, but her pale hand didn’t budge.
Seconds passed. His smirk faded.
Though he tried several times to jerk his arm free, her grip didn’t loosen.
Crack.
“Kh!”
With a violent twist, the Sword Ghost’s wrist contorted unnaturally. He staggered back, widening the distance between them.
“…You.”
Real tension flickered in the old man’s eyes.
“What are you?”
Instead of answering, Yeo Il closed the gap between them in a single step.
He slashed at her, but her sleeve—just her sleeve—lightly swept his blade aside.
Now his face grew serious.
“…I’ll ask again. Who are you?”
But Yeo Il said nothing.
Though Namgung Huimyeong had lost consciousness, she couldn’t dismiss the chance that his ears might still be open.
Desperation often kept the senses alive longer, and Yeo Il knew that all too well.
“Ha! First you pretend to be blind, and now you act like a mute?”
With twice the aggression, the Sword Ghost pressed forward.
Yeo Il continued to flow around his attacks, even redirecting a strike aimed for her neck with the back of her hand. The force of the deflection sent his blade spinning into a tree.
“Hah… hah…”
While the Sword Ghost’s breathing grew ragged, Yeo Il stood as gracefully as ever.
“Whew…”
The old man retreated, reaching for Huimyeong’s fallen sword.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he clenched his injured wrist and let out a broken laugh.
“…So that’s it. You’re waiting for the two who went to fetch help.”
“…”
“Ha! Pathetic! Hilarious! Do the Namgung brat and those two fools even know you’re a top-tier master? Not a chance! If they did, that poor fool wouldn’t be lying there like that!”
He wasn’t wrong.
Yeo Il hadn’t intended to kill the Sword Ghost. It would complicate things once the others returned.
Even maiming him or chasing him off with brute force would be hard to explain.
She needed him to retreat on his own.
‘It would be a problem if one of the Eight Ghosts starts talking about me…’
The best move was to buy time.
So Yeo Il didn’t give the Sword Ghost a moment to speak. She kept attacking, always targeting the same spot just above his right hip.
Like a master drilling a student’s weakness again and again until they learned.
Half of it was to cause internal injuries, the other half was purely to enrage him.
“You little… I’ll tear you apart!”
As expected, his face flushed with fury.
The Blood-Sucking Sword Ghost had always walked a lone path—prideful, merciless.
His arrogance was clear from how he treated them like prey.
The more furious he became with Yeo Il, the more reckless he’d get.
Then, a sound broke through the still forest.
Three presences approached.
‘One’s Seol Yeong.’
That meant the other two were likely the wounded warrior and her mysterious companion.
“…Tch.”
The Sword Ghost felt it too. His posture shifted as if he was weighing whether to finish this now or retreat.
Yeo Il slowly closed her eyes.
Then she stood still—as if rooted to the ground.
As if she no longer deemed him worth her time.
“Why you little…”
Perhaps he took it as mockery, because the Sword Ghost screamed, face crimson with rage.
“Fine! I’ll tear you apart just like you wanted!”
Yeo Il braced herself.
She couldn’t allow a serious wound, only a shallow one that would evoke sympathy.
Something superficial on the arm, bloody but not deep. Enough to pass off as helpless.
She focused completely on the path of the Sword Ghost’s attack.
And then—
“…Kh… ngh.”
Yeo Il slowly opened her eyes and wiped a droplet from her cheek.
It wasn’t rain.
It was blood.
Blood that had spattered onto her lashes, now collected on her delicate hand.
The Sword Ghost’s blade, which had been hurtling toward her throat, now lay useless in the dirt.
“Wh-who… who dares… to lay a hand on me…”
He tried to look over his shoulder but couldn’t turn his head. His body collapsed.
The Blood-Sucking Sword Ghost died like that.
Cut down without a sound by the man who had appeared behind him and driven a sword through his heart.
A man who now wiped the blood from his blade with the dead man’s own robe.
“Ak Hyung!”
Even Seol Yeong’s shout from afar didn’t faze him.
Despite having just killed someone, his air was peaceful—almost serene—as he sheathed his clean blade and turned to face Yeo Il.
“How cruel, my lady,” he said, voice calm and laced with dry humor.
“You really should cherish your life more—for my sake, at least. What would I do if you dropped dead in some backwater inn?”
The stranger who had helped the warrior from Mount Hua…
The man Seol Yeong called Ak Hyung…
The man an old master once called a would-be Celestial Fiend, who never quite became one.
His name was Jin Cheong-ak.
