Chapter 172
The moment she braced her entire body, tensing herself as she waited for the surging wave of pain to crash down—
With a sharp, vibrating whistling sound tearing past her ears, something was cut off.
Yet, for some reason, Yeoil’s wrist was perfectly intact. She stared at the sword that had come to a halt in midair, her mission unfinished. The tip of the blade, which should have been razor-sharp, had become blunt, like a radish that had been cleanly chopped.
What had been severed was not Yeoil’s hand, but the sword.
…I knew it was a famous blade, but…
Even so, she had never imagined it could snap the sword she was holding.
No. This isn’t just because it’s a famous blade—this is because Jin Cheongak’s skill is that…
As she stared at the cleanly cut cross-section of the broken blade, swallowing a rare, pure sense of admiration, a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her by the chin.
At the same time, the pale face of a man filled her vision.
“Are you out of your mind?”
The end of his voice trembled slightly as he spoke.
“Have you completely lost it?!”
Jin Cheongak slapped the sword, now split in two, out of Yeoil’s hands with his bare palm. Then he grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her.
“Don’t tell me you accepted their offer from the start, planning to sacrifice your hand—no, absolutely not. Your hand? To some other bastard?”
Still seething, he shoved her shoulders away as if pushing her back, then picked up his own sword from where it had fallen to the floor.
“I won’t allow it, even if dirt gets in my eyes. Never. If cutting something off that badly is what it takes to satisfy them, then I might as well—”
The one who had gone mad was probably not Yeoil, but Jin Cheongak.
Otherwise, how could he possibly try to chop off his own hand just because she needed it?
And without even taking a moment to catch his breath—without reining in his agitation—he moved immediately.
The smooth blade dropped down from above.
What lay beneath it was not Yeoil’s wrist, but Jin Cheongak’s.
Yeoil reached out and seized the gleaming blade without hesitation. A burning pain flared, and bright red blood trickled down along the edge of the sword.
Clenching the blade even tighter in her grip, she spoke to Jin Cheongak, whose eyes were wide with shock, almost vacant.
“Why? Go on.”
If he continued, it wouldn’t be his hand that would be cut off, but hers.
But that made no difference right now. If Yeoil had loosened her grip even slightly, her fingers would already have been half-shredded. That was how finely honed the sword was.
Jin Cheongak ground his teeth.
Within his dark eyes, a faint blue gleam flickered as it fixed upon Yeoil. It wasn’t something she saw often, but from time to time—very rarely—it was an emotion he showed toward her.
Yet today, meeting that gaze felt strangely unsettling.
If it wasn’t her imagination, a chill crept down her spine. That gleam stirred up an unpleasant, heavy memory buried deep inside Yeoil.
As if she were standing before Cheonmuryung once more…
“That one is a Cheonsalseong who failed to become a Cheongwaeseong. Had he been bathed in the light of the orthodox sects, he would have become an extraordinary figure—but his birth did not allow it. That is all I can tell you. If the worst comes to pass, cut off his head. Remember that.”
A voice she had long forgotten resurfaced.
Yeoil tightened her grip on the blade.
Why was it that back then, she couldn’t quite grasp what the old man meant—but now, it was as if she could see straight into his mind?
…Jin Cheongak.
Jin Cheongak could walk the path of Cheonmuryung.
Unwanted as it was, it meant that a disgraceful epithet—no less vile than First Evil—could one day be added to his name.
It was absurd.
To realize something like that at a time like this.
Over something as trivial as arguing over whose hand would be cut off!
The very first thought that rose in her mind was that it was unacceptable.
Cheonmuryung? Jin Cheongak following in Cheonmuryung’s footsteps? The very idea of placing that grotesque nightmare and Jin Cheongak on the same line was intolerable.
They could not be compared. They must not be compared, and there should be no reason to compare them at all…
While Yeoil stood amid her storm of agitated confusion, Jin Cheongak’s face crumpled worse than she had ever seen before.
His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but he closed his eyes and took a breath, enduring—and enduring again.
When he opened his eyes once more, the ominous blue light from before was gone.
Jin Cheongak had regained his composure. Returning to his usual expression, the first thing he did was gently remove Yeoil’s hand from the sword.
Carefully, he extended his arm and lifted her blood-soaked fingers one by one. Each time a finger was raised, a deep cut underneath was revealed.
He summoned a maid and ordered her to bring several clean cloths, water, and ointment.
“What are you going to do?” he asked in a subdued voice as he gently wiped away the blood with a damp cloth.
“It was you who said you’d bring your hand to Choi Iryang, Yeoil. If your hand is absolutely out of the question, and even my hand is forbidden, then what exactly are you planning to give him?”
“……”
“Hah. No… From the beginning, the premise of taking your hand was nonsense. Even if you disguised it to look like a man’s hand, do you really think Choi Iryang would be fooled?”
“As long as we fool him just once, that’s enough.”
After wiping away all the blood, Jin Cheongak scooped a bit of ointment and spread it over Yeoil’s wounds.
“What Choi Iryang wants is your hand. If you and I coordinate, it’s not impossible. People see only what they want to see. Even if he doubts that my hand isn’t yours, he’ll search for evidence to convince himself otherwise.”
“…I’ll say it again. Your hand is not an option.”
That was something Yeoil had already abandoned.
She never wanted to see that look in his eyes again. Her plans had gone awry, making things more troublesome, but it was better to deal with a bit of inconvenience than that.
“It’s not just your hand. Nothing is acceptable. Yeoil… please, come to your senses. You have to learn to cherish your body. You have to love yourself, so that—”
Hesitating briefly as he applied the ointment, he let out a weak laugh and muttered,
“So that I don’t end up dragging you all the way to Tianzhu.”
While Jin Cheongak bowed his head, focused on her hand, Yeoil pressed her lips together—then closed them.
Pressed them together again.
Then closed them once more.
How many times did she repeat that?
…I don’t want to say it.
There were words she refused to say, even with a blade at her mouth. And especially not in front of Jin Cheongak.
Truly, she would rather die than say them—but imagining Cheonmuryung superimposed over that shameless face was even worse.
“Fine.”
As Jin Cheongak was wrapping her hand with cloth after finishing the ointment, his movements suddenly froze.
He looked up at her in shock.
“…Did you just answer me?”
Yeoil’s gaze, as she stared back at him, was icy.
“If you’re done, let go of my hand.”
“You said ‘fine’? You? To me? To what I said? No—wait, damn it, have you lost your mind?! I said I won’t ask anymore, so keep your hand still! I’ve only just finished applying the ointment—what do you think you’re doing?!”
After flailing about for a while, Yeoil finally set her hand down obediently. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Jin Cheongak continued wrapping it while grumbling—about how she was always careless, how she treated her own body like a hostage, and so on.
Then, as if remembering something, he asked her,
“…So Choi Iryang’s demand has completely fallen through. What now? Are you going to kill him or something?”
That would be difficult.
As he said, she would have liked nothing more than to eliminate Choi Iryang and seize the death register, but Yeoil’s real target wasn’t Choi Iryang—it was Cheonmuryung behind him. Killing Choi Iryang would achieve nothing.
No matter how much Choi Iryang had coerced allies through fear, the fact that he had risen to his position meant there were still some who truly followed him.
Without certainty that the death register itself was the medium, killing Choi Iryang would be the act of a fool.
Then Jin Cheongak spoke quietly.
“I have an idea.”
“……”
“What Choi Iryang wants is my downfall. If we can’t give him a hand, then we give him something equivalent.”
Yeoil’s gaze slid subtly downward.
“Not the leg.”
“……”
“Well? Want to hear me out?”
A confident smile spread across Jin Cheongak’s face as he asked.
