There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 186: The Road to Sampo (10)

Despite the Saint’s sudden bout of persecution (?), Yeomyeong didn’t fall asleep.

Instead of heading to the tent prepared by the merchants, he walked into the forest a little ways from the campsite, accompanied by Demerond and the dragon.

Under the glimmering stars, he crossed through the woods for a short while.

“This far out, we don’t have to worry about being overheard.”

Yeomyeong spoke as he found a clearing, created by the collapse of a rotting tree.

Soon after, the human, the elf, and the dragon sat in a circle in the clearing.

And as soon as the circle of conversation was formed, the dragon was the first to speak.

[Demerond, exile of the World Tree.]

The dragon bared his teeth as he looked at the hooded elf, as if the two were already acquainted.

“It’s been a while, Orsetabul, guardian of the Dragon Scale Mountains.”

Demerond removed his hood as he answered. Upon seeing the scar-covered face, the dragon snorted.

[They say you and the rest of the elves turned into commies. Bent the knee to Stalin and even changed your surnames?]

“...”

[The dwarves’ blood and tears still soak this land, and you don’t feel even a shred of shame?]

Though the dragon’s voice was deep and harsh, rebuking the elf, Demerond only wore a bitter smile on the corner of his lips.

He replied flatly.

“When thirst is killing you, you drink whatever you can. We knew it was seawater... but for elves, there was no other choice.”

[...So you drank seawater rather than die? Your tongue’s grown long. Is that your excuse, exile?]

The dragon stretched his neck forward, bringing his face right up to the elf’s nose.

Those reptilian eyes gleamed with killing intent. His breath was scorching.

But the elf didn’t flinch. Arms crossed, he met the dragon’s gaze head-on.

Was it because he had more power than the dragon? No, it wasn’t that.

“Orsetabul, I think your scolding ends here. It’s embarrassing in front of the young one... and more importantly, I kept my loyalty to you.”

[Loyalty? A commie dares—]

“Orse Lanal.”

As that name left the elf’s mouth, the dragon—mid-sentence—snapped his half-open jaw shut.

His expression twisted, and Demerond added calmly,

“Your sister is currently on Earth.”

[...What did you say?]

“She crossed over to Earth, trying to retrieve her brother’s corpse. I rescued her. Not once, but twice.”

A brief silence.

The dragon stared at the elf, disbelieving, then slowly raised his head again.

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[Can you swear on the World Tree?]

“I swear on Mother World Tree herself. Every word is true, not a speck of lie.”

Demerond stared directly at the dragon as he spoke.

Orsetabul was speechless. The elf uncrossed his arms with a faint chuckle.

“No need to thank me. Not between us.”

The dragon looked like he’d just taken a hit, then quickly covered his face with his wing in embarrassment.

After a moment, he turned to look at Yeomyeong.

A look that asked, “Did you know about this too?”

Yeomyeong, who’d been silently watching the elf and the dragon, shrugged his shoulders.

“I didn’t even know you had a sister, let alone that you two knew each other.”

He meant it, and perhaps because he did, Orsetabul let out a sigh.

[Exile, I apologize for my behavior.]

“No apology needed. It’s not like you were wrong about me being a commie.”

The dragon quietly stared at the bitterly smiling Demerond, then slowly nodded.

[Then say why you brought me and Yeomyeong out here. I’ll listen.]

“Oh, that part’s not mine to explain. He’ll do the talking.”

With that, both the dragon and the elf turned their gaze toward Yeomyeong.

Rather than fumble awkwardly, Yeomyeong cleared his throat and began to speak about what he’d discussed earlier with Demerond.

“Orsetabul... I think you need to return to the mountains.”

Was it an unexpected request? The dragon tilted his head slightly.

Yeomyeong didn’t go into a lengthy explanation. He kept it as short as possible.

A living dragon. The corpse of Kahal Magdu that Yeomyeong possessed. And the poachers that would inevitably come for both.

After that blunt explanation, the dragon gave a slow nod of understanding.

Then, with a hint of concern in his voice...

[If I don’t give you a ride, you’ll have to spend a lot of time with the Saint. Will you be all right?]

He said it like that.

“....”

What the hell happened between him and the Saint on the way back from Dreiteriel?

Yeomyeong swallowed his confusion and answered that he’d be fine.

At that, Orsetabul muttered, “Such is the curse of the male,” and added,

[If you wish, I can at least fly you to the nearest station.]

“...Orsetabul, you’ve already done so much. There’s no need for you to reveal yourself in any more public places for our sake.”

It was a considerate response. The dragon smiled faintly.

[If that’s your wish, then I’ll bid everyone farewell at dawn and depart.]

With those words, the dragon turned back toward the campsite.

But unlike when he came, his return wasn’t quiet.

“If you wish, I could escort you, great dragon.”

Demerond offered, walking beside him.

[I saw that fight in the woods earlier. Worry about the trackers on your tail.]

The dragon brought up the mercenaries who had ambushed Demerond. The elf gave a light chuckle.

“Earthlings with too much money going after elves isn’t exactly new. Compared to dragon poachers, they’re nothing. Besides...”

[...Besides?]

“The one who killed them wasn’t me—it was this guy.”

Demerond said, placing a hand on Yeomyeong’s shoulder.

[You? But the kill was too brutal. It felt more like a commie’s work than Yeomyeong’s.]

As the dragon tilted his head, Demerond gave Yeomyeong a meaningful smile.

“Scary, isn’t it? A dragon’s instincts. Always spot-on.”

Yeomyeong returned a bitter smile. His mind drifted back to what had happened earlier in the woods.

****

Some time earlier...

While Orsetabul was fire-grilling meat with dragon breath and Seti was getting drunk on wine...

Yeomyeong was lost in silence.

“Try expressing your life in a single sentence.”

It sounded like a simple enough task, but he hadn’t been able to find an answer for a long while.

Was it a lack of summarization skills? Or a lack of philosophical insight?

No. Like most lives, his was just too damn complicated to reduce to a single sentence.

Even his time as a dung beetle couldn’t be condensed so easily—let alone everything after becoming a superhuman.

He couldn’t see the answer, but Yeomyeong carved away at his life with painful determination.

Angel, sealing, janitor, family, player, revenge, Seti, kinship, hatred, fury, love, fulfillment, pity, and...

Mignium.

If he removed even one of them, it wouldn’t be his life anymore. So he couldn’t take out a single thing.

...

Heavy contemplation. Heavier silence. The scent of the forest and the night wind.

And beneath the twinkling stars, Demerond finally spoke.

“Tough, isn’t it? If you try to summarize, you have to cut something away. But if you cut it away, it’s no longer your life...”

“....”

“It’s normal. If building your own jin-ui were easy, then every dog and cow would’ve had one by now.”

Before Yeomyeong could ask what to do next, the elf cut in again.

“Well then, let’s move on.”

“...But I haven’t found the answer yet.”

“So should I stay glued to your side until you figure it out?”

“That’s...”

Yeomyeong trailed off, and Demerond chuckled.

“Don’t worry. With your skill, it won’t take long to understand.”

“How long are we talking?”

“Let’s see... maybe fifty years?”

“....”

Ah. Elf standards.

While Yeomyeong gave a hollow laugh, the elf continued.

“Next step: take that summarized life and engrave it in your heart.”

“...Engrave it?”

“You could say embrace it. Or let it soak in naturally... maybe even lock it up, in a sense.”

It was a long-winded metaphor, but somehow Yeomyeong felt he understood what it meant.

No-self, or perhaps imagery training.

Whatever it was, this step seemed to point toward that.

“The final step’s the easiest. Just push out the martial art’s existing jin-ui, and replace it with your own.”

“....”

It was still all a bit vague, but Yeomyeong felt like he’d found a clue.

No-self, jin-ui, life.

Concepts that tickled his brain like a Buddhist kōan, just out of reach.

A moment of enlightenment that felt almost tangible.

If only he could reach just a little further—just the length of a fingertip...

Just as Yeomyeong desperately yearned for clarity—

He felt something approaching in the nearby woods, and the sensation shattered his thoughts.

What is that?

Yeomyeong pushed aside the near-catch of enlightenment and shot to his feet, drawing up his senses.

There was no smell, no sound—but he could feel a faint ripple of mana.

A presence that he would never have sensed had he not grown accustomed to the invisibility cloak.

It was unmistakably the presence of people trained in professional stealth techniques.

Who are they? Did Dodon’s Brotherhood manage to call for backup?

I didn’t give them the time.

As he gathered mana, still trying to identify the intruders, Demerond brushed himself off and stood.

“You don’t need to worry. They’re all my guests.”

“...They came for you?”

Their stealth was impressive, sure, but they didn’t seem like the kind of force capable of handling someone like Demerond.

A recon team, maybe?

Yeomyeong’s assumption made sense, but Demerond’s answer veered slightly off-course.

“Not exactly after me... They’re the kind who hunt elves once they leave the forest.”

“...Huh?”

“Never heard of elf hunting?”

Elf hunting?

It was an urban legend—wealthy bastards planting mercs near the borders of the elf forest to kidnap any elf who wandered out of the protected zone.

About as believable as “eating a superhuman’s liver makes you a superhuman.”

“Guess they saw me walking around with my hood up and assumed I was just some ordinary elf.”

“....”

Yeomyeong was sure that wasn’t the whole story.

Considering Demerond’s ability to completely mask his presence back at camp, there was no way they’d tracked him unless he let them.

He must’ve deliberately leaked mana and traces behind him.

And the reason was obvious.

Either he planned to use himself as bait to clean up the elf hunters near the forest—or he meant to hunt them.

As one of the presenters at the Malta Summit, Demerond couldn’t just openly slaughter mercs—so he opted for this quiet little setup.

In any case, the elf now stood there holding a wine bottle, waiting for the hunters to get close enough.

Even from a vague sense, Yeomyeong could tell—there were over thirty of them.

As they drew near, killing intent began to saturate the forest.

So thick, even someone half-trained in Jugashvili could pick it up.

And the source of that bloodlust was Demerond.

So the commie was still a commie, huh. Even as he pulled up his mana, Yeomyeong could feel a bloodlust eerily similar to Jugashvili’s...

...Bloodlust?

In that moment, a flash of insight slid through Yeomyeong’s mind.

First, build your true intent through your life.

Second, internalize that intent in your heart.

Third, implant that inner intent into your martial art.

But what if—

What if you skipped the first and second steps, and just replaced the missing jin-ui with something else already inside your heart?

Yeomyeong immediately asked aloud.

“Demerond, I have a question.”

“Now? Unless it’s urgent, ask me la—ah, it is urgent.”

The elf had been about to wave him off, but the look in Yeomyeong’s eyes told him this wasn’t a light question. He crossed his arms, signaling Yeomyeong to go ahead.

“...About the jin-ui-based martial art you taught me. Is it possible to use something other than true intent in its place?”

“Other than true intent? Like what else would you be carrying around in your heart?”

“...Something like killing intent.”

The moment Yeomyeong said the words “killing intent,” Demerond shook his head.

“If you already hold killing intent in your heart, then maybe. The last step’s the easiest, after all. But...”

“....”

“What kind of lunatic carries killing intent in their heart? Unless you’re someone like Jugashvili...”

Before the elf could even finish, Yeomyeong summoned the bloodlust from within himself.

As crimson energy flared around his body, Demerond’s expression twisted in fascination.

Yeomyeong opened his hand like a blade—and poured that bloodlust into the empty form of the elf swordsmanship technique, devoid of any jin-ui.

Just like Demerond had done with the wine bottle, Yeomyeong swung lightly.

The target: a mercenary hiding behind a tree, taking aim at the two of them.

The next instant—

Yeomyeong’s world turned red.

****

Back in time again—

At the campsite, just before dawn.

The Saint stood at the entrance of the tent where the Neti-Seti sisters were asleep, glancing around anxiously.

Where the hell did he go this late at night?

She’d been scanning the surroundings for a while now before finally letting out a deep sigh.

The stars in the sky were starting to fade... and yet Yeomyeong, who’d gone off with the giant lizard and the pointy-eared bastard, still hadn’t returned.

Or maybe that was a good thing? Since Seti didn’t sneak off to Yeomyeong’s tent and kiss him, like her foresight had warned?

...A kiss.

The Saint absentmindedly touched her lips, recalling the vision.

Seti’s kiss in that foresight had been beautiful. Just as beautiful as the elixir kiss Yeomyeong had once given to save a dying Seti.

It had confirmed what she’d long suspected—Seti didn’t just like him. She loved him.

The Saint sighed again, weighed down by a sudden, pointless wave of gloom. She turned, meaning to leave the tent entirely—

“Excuse me, Saint.”

Neti’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

Turning around, she saw Neti groggily rubbing her eyes, having just woken up.

“Ah—sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Yes.”

A brutally direct answer. Before the Saint could even mumble an apology, Neti hit her with a question.

“Saint, you like my brother-in-law too, don’t you?”

“Uh, wh-what?”

“Tsk. Don’t even try to play dumb. It’s obvious when I watch you.”

“....”

Was I really that obvious?

The Saint nervously fidgeted with her fingers. Neti glanced between her and her sleeping sister.

“My sister likes him too.”

“....”

“So who do ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ you like more?”

The Saint couldn’t answer. She’d never even thought about it that way.

Who do I like more?

“It's my brother-in-law, right?”

The Saint flinched, and Neti narrowed her eyes as she kept going.

“I could tell the moment you started touching my sister all the time. You get away with it 'cause you're a girl. No one suspects anything, and in the meantime, you're all over both of them. Obvious. So obvious.”

“No, I... I didn’t mean to—”

She trailed off, but Neti cut her off with a sharp tone.

“Saint.”

“...Y-yeah?”

“You’re scared that if Seti and Yeomyeong end up together, you’ll lose your friend and your crush, right? You’re afraid you’ll be left alone?”

“....”

Bullseye.

The Saint’s heart trembled as that hidden vulnerability was ripped into the open. It wasn’t blood that flowed from her chest—it was sheer panic.

“Uh, I mean... uh... well...”

Her tongue tangled. Her ears flushed red.

It was like the time the previous Saint caught her secret diary. Just as mortifying.

Neti watched the flustered mess in front of her for a moment, then sighed deeply.

“My sister... drank way too much yesterday for the first time in her life.”

“....”

“Wanna know why?”

“B-Because the wine was tasty...?”

Neti resisted, barely, the overwhelming urge to slap her.

“...Not that. It’s because her rivals are a damn princess and the Saint herself. You? You've got power and status. And Meri? Forget about it. Compared to you two, my sister’s...”

The daughter of a junkie and a whore. A human shield. A burden dressed up as a sister.

A girl with no money, no backing, and no chances.

Neti didn’t say any of that aloud.

She just remembered how her sister had stared at the empty space Yeomyeong had left behind, then silently downed glass after glass of wine.

A short silence fell. Then Neti posed the question.

“Saint.”

“Y-yeah?”

“What if there was a way to not lose either of them?”

Her voice was stiff, but her words... were sweet.

Tempting.

Like the whisper of a devil.

The Saint’s rationality screamed at her to run far, far away from this tent.

But her heart... whispered that maybe she shouldn’t.

“...What’s the way?”

Without a word, Neti stood up and rummaged through her pocket.

Sure enough—she pulled out that thing, which their youngest sister must’ve slipped in without permission.

“This.”

“....”

The Saint’s face froze in sheer horror when she saw what Neti was holding.

Even someone with no sense of propriety would understand what it implied.

Square-shaped foil packets, stacked and sealed in plastic.

“Wh-what are you saying I should do with those? Y-you don’t mean what I think you mean, right?”

“Of course I do! Fuck, what else would we use this for? A water pouch?!”

“....”

“Do it before we go back to Earth. Either crash the mood while it’s hot, or jump him first. Whatever you do, do it fast.”

“H-how can you say something so—”

The Saint looked over at the sleeping Seti, on the verge of tears. Neti gripped her shoulder firmly.

“Then are you gonna give up cleanly and back off? Be just friends? You don’t want that either, right?”

...She didn’t.

The Saint looked at Seti for a moment.

Then, with a resigned look—like someone accepting her fate—she took the thing from Neti’s hand.

The sky was still dim, the stars letting out a sigh.

It was the hour before dawn.