Chapter 133
The hazy sky quickly lost its light, and before long the moon rose, swallowed by dark storm clouds.
At last, they arrived at the entrance to Hangryong Gate. Just as before, the overwhelming presence of the gigantic stone statue of Dalma made the place feel bleak and grotesque.
Clink, clink—
Hundreds of bells and cords swayed ceaselessly in the blowing wind. On a night without a single ray of moonlight, closing one’s eyes made it sound like the wailing of ghosts. Deokgye, who scanned the scene with weary eyes, muttered,
“So this is the Hangryong Gate everyone talks about… It’s incredibly eerie. It even feels like I’m hearing ghostly cries from somewhere…”
Since Yeoil had come as Yeoil rather than Namgung Soyo, there was no need this time to stand around waiting for permission from Hangryong Gate.
Yeoil climbed the stairs and stopped in front of the tightly shut eastern gate. At her signal, Gieul—who had followed closely behind—halted, lightly gripped his saber, and drew it.
He had only meant to draw it.
Creeeak.
The door opened of its own accord, and the neatly severed lock clattered to the ground.
“Huh.”
Ignoring Gaechul’s exclamation, they naturally stepped inside.
Breaking into someone else’s gate and entering without a shred of hesitation—thinking that everyone’s conscience must be broken, Gaechul followed after them as well.
“But still,” Deokgye said then, pressing close behind Yeoil and lowering his voice while glancing around nervously.
“Wasn’t it said that shortly before that incident at the Zhuge Clan, the First Young Lord of the Heavenly Demon Cult appeared here at Hangryong Gate as well? Could it be that he joined hands with the Gate Lord to kill Zhuge Seonhwa?”
Perhaps recalling Choi Iryang from back then, Deokgye shuddered and spat.
As she crossed the bridge, Yeoil replied casually,
“They’re different. Though they share a bit of that sinister air.”
“Sinister… Do you also have ties with the other one, miss? Not the scholar-looking man, but the other one. I heard there were two First Young Lords?”
“There’s only one now.”
Suddenly, Namgung Jeokmyeong approached from the side and looked at her.
“Why?”
“What meaning is there in something that doesn’t exist—”
“Did you abandon him without regret, just as you abandoned me? And in the end choose the Black Blade of the Crimson Dragon instead?”
Yeoil looked up at Namgung Jeokmyeong, her lips still half-parted.
His thoughts had leapt so far ahead that she could only be astonished. Worse, his expression was far too serious for it to be a joke, leaving her momentarily speechless.
Fortunately—or perhaps not—Gieul, who had been trailing behind, brushed past Namgung Jeokmyeong with cold eyes.
“Enough of the unpleasant talk. Let’s go in. With the assassination barrier broken, I’m being subjected to all sorts of absurd suspicions.”
He shot Namgung Jeokmyeong a pointed look, as if to say did you hear that?, yet the wary gaze fixed on Yeoil never faded.
Even so, there was unmistakable satisfaction flickering across his face.
The moment they stepped into the main hall, a woman approached and took position beside Yeoil. Without stopping, Yeoil asked,
“Is the Gate Lord absent?”
Matching her pace, the woman bowed politely and replied,
“No. However, due to a prior engagement, he cannot leave his place. If you would wait just a moment inside—”
In an instant, an old scabbard was aimed beneath her slender chin.
Through the narrow gap, a silvery blade glimmered, and the woman’s face turned deathly pale as she trailed off.
Yeoil’s gaze upon her was unambiguously oppressive. The woman clamped her mouth shut, unable to move.
“You must have known I was coming. Are you asking me to believe that Yoo Yoo didn’t come out to greet me, knowing full well I was on my way?”
“I—I am merely conveying the Gate Lord’s words…”
“Where is the Gate Lord?”
“He is inside… receiving a guest…”
Only after her breathing had become ragged did Yeoil withdraw the scabbard and resume walking.
While Gieul lagged behind, following halfheartedly, Deokgye and Gaechul busied themselves examining the endlessly sprawling main hall.
Even so, Yeoil could feel a heavy gaze stabbing relentlessly into her back. Quietly, she moved only her lips.
“If you have something to say, say it. On the condition that it’s not nonsense.”
Namgung Jeokmyeong chuckled softly.
“Something to say? Nothing of the sort. I merely… merely realized once again how utterly different Namgung Soyo and Wolgeom Ilsal truly are.”
Choosing his words carefully, he paused, then continued,
“Your smiling face has already grown faint in my memories… and thinking that it will only fade further from here on out makes me regretful.”
It wasn’t worth responding to such idle talk, so Yeoil kept her silence.
Then—if it wasn’t merely her imagination—the next words came far closer, as though whispered right beside her ear.
“How cold. Is it so hard to ask why I feel regretful, Soyo?”
At that moment—
She realized that the footsteps echoing through the vast hall had abruptly dwindled, and she turned around.
Namgung Jeokmyeong was gone.
He hadn’t strayed elsewhere; he should have been following right behind her. Yet not even a trace of his presence remained—no sound, no shadow.
Still, Yeoil did not panic.
Did he expand the range of his sorcery in that brief moment?
Before the residence of the Hangryong Gate Lord, a forbidden spell was set to prevent unauthorized entry.
It pierced one’s desires, ensnaring them with dreamlike illusions, or dragged forth deeply buried nightmares to disturb the soul.
Those without permission could never cross that threshold.
She remembered needing to go much deeper before, yet already the surroundings felt stifling, like damp fog pressing in from all sides. The warding had clearly been strengthened.
On and on.
Yeoil walked in silence, her gaze fixed on the corridor ahead, submerged in darkness.
So then—who would greet her?
In truth, prediction was meaningless.
It would, without question, be Cheon Mu-ryeong.
It always was.
Whether nightmares, demonic possession, or rebirth through bone and flesh—whatever it might be, the one who stood in Yeoil’s path was always Cheon Mu-ryeong.
That loathsome name, carved into her very soul, whispered:
You will never escape him.
Cheon Mu-ryeong was the accumulated karma of Yeoil’s long years, an inescapable shackle of nightmares.
And so—
When, at the very end of the seemingly endless passage, that man finally revealed himself—
When a presence she had never anticipated, not even for a single instant, stood waiting at the end of the path as if it had always been so—
She thought,
Has the spell been broken?
If so, since when?
The distance between them slowly closed.
The man, clad in a black robe embroidered with gold thread, stood with his back to the window, gazing leisurely outside.
Each time the thin paper window fluttered in the snowstorm, red lantern light beyond it wavered and spread across the ceiling and floor like rippling waves.
The man turned his head.
As ever, his relaxed smile was calm and vivid, like an ink-wash painting.
“Why are you so late, Yeoil? I’ve been waiting here for quite some time.”
Jin Cheongak.
Judging by the color of your face, your mood seems rather twisted. Looks like you’ve been doing just fine without me, haven’t you?”
“……”
“I had hoped that wouldn’t be the case.”
At his feet lay two collapsed corpses.
Unless Yeoil’s eyes deceived her, the figures sprawled in blood were unmistakably Seolyeong and Changa.
At their center stood Jin Cheongak, utterly composed.
The gold-embroidered robe was soaked in blood, and beneath the red lanterns his shadow stretched long.
Yeoil’s heartbeat quickened. Even so, she did not retreat a single step.
With an unchanging, calm expression, she simply looked at Jin Cheongak.
He spoke.
“I came to say goodbye.”
Jin Cheongak’s voice was exceedingly gentle.
“At last, every tie has been severed. The impure delusions between you and me—it’s time to put an end to them as well.”
