There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 202: What Remains in the End (2)

Back in his room, Yeomyeong took out the Commander’s notebook from his pocket.

Worn by time, frayed by rough hands.

He stared at it for a moment, then opened it in front of the now-melted tub of ice cream.

“The Saint once said: There are no coincidences in this world. Everything is fate.”

That was the first line. Written so carefully, it was hard to believe it came from a senile old man.

Yeomyeong slowly, silently turned the pages.

The writing inside wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t a book of prophecy, nor was it some sacred scripture of absolute truth.

“When memories fade, swing the sword. If you hear gunfire, cover your ears.”

It was a dementia journal from an old man losing his memories.

“When will that bastard Sancho get married? I don’t care if it’s an Earthling, I just hope he starts living like a person.”

A knight commander’s personal diary.

“Eyes are windows to the world, and doors through which the world enters. As with the blood of the Honeyed Lineage, look beyond what you see...”

The martial secrets of a powerful superhuman.

“May I never kill the innocent, and may I die as a knight.”

A knight’s desperate prayer.

Yeomyeong took it all in—engraving every letter into his mind, one by one.

But the further he went, the harder it became to read.

The handwriting turned messy, grammar collapsed, and even the decipherable entries veered into full-blown madness.

“Does the repeat sign rule America, or does America rule the repeat sign?”

Yeomyeong gritted his teeth and endured.

The sound of pages turning stretched on and on...

“Swear. I must. Die. Swear.”

As Yeomyeong finished reading the final page—filled with jagged, scrawled letters—he closed the notebook.

“What are you doing?”

A familiar arm wrapped around his neck.

“You look way too serious.”

Seti leaned into him, pressing her weight against his back. Heavy warmth. The sweet scent of skin. free𝑤ebnovel.com

“Thinking serious thoughts?”

When Yeomyeong replied, she chuckled and bit his ear. It wasn’t painful—more of a teasing nibble.

She really likes biting, he thought absently. Even in bed, she... He stopped the thought there, placing a hand gently on her head.

“Seti.”

Maybe his voice was too serious—Seti paused mid-bite.

“Let’s delay going back to Earth. Just for a few days.”

“...Hmm? Why?”

“Something came up.”

Seti didn’t ask what. Instead, she stuck out her lower lip in a pout—until Yeomyeong cupped her cheek, and then she spoke again.

“You’re really gonna fight that Commander guy?”

“Yeah.”

A clean, sharp answer. Seti sighed like she’d expected this all along, rubbing her face into his palm.

“Want me to help?”

“Handle the Tindamel Caravan when they arrive today. Make sure the mercs and bandits they brought get handed over—not to the police, but to the local gangs.”

“....”

“Oh, and I’ll need a fake ID too.”

“...So you’re dumping all the annoying jobs on me?”

Yeomyeong just shrugged.

Seti looked at him, deadpan—then glanced away as she muttered,

“Well... I guess for a kiss, I could manage.”

“....”

Was that supposed to be cute or straight out of a corny dad joke? It reminded Yeomyeong of Duk-bae hyung.

He snorted and pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her cheek.

Seti licked her lips, slightly disappointed—clearly hoping for a different kind of kiss. Her glossy, soft pink lips glistened.

“...Be safe.”

Seti said it like she was holding something back. Yeomyeong smiled and stood up.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And he turned to leave the room—

Then suddenly remembered something.

“...Oh, right. If the Saint tries to seduce you, don’t fall for it.”

“...The Saint... what?”

“I warned you.”

Before Seti could ask what the hell he was talking about, Yeomyeong hurried out of the suite.

Heading toward Sancho—the director from beyond the world, and the Deputy Commander of the Knights.

****

Same time, back alley of Gemini City.

The Beastkin Brotherhood’s boss, Golden Fang, was gasping for breath as he dragged one leg behind him.

To say his condition was bad would be an understatement. His once-proud mane was drenched in blood, and all his claws had been ripped off, leaving his hands blunted and humanlike.

“Grrk...”

And yet, even that sorry state was better than what the others looked like.

The ram beastkin had lost all four limbs and was slumped across the bear beastkin’s back. The wolf beastkin had no lower body at all.

If it weren’t for beastkin regeneration, they would’ve died a hundred times over already.

They needed a hospital right now—but instead, they were heading deeper into the alleys, into the deepest, darkest shadows.

“Boss, how much further?”

After limping down alley after alley, the boar beastkin finally spoke up.

“At this rate, they’re going to die. Please, let me take them to a hospital.”

He clacked his tusks in frustration, glancing down at the fading wolf.

The other beastkin turned their eyes to Golden Fang. Their looks said they agreed with the boar.

Golden Fang met each gaze in turn, then bared his teeth and said:

“No.”

“...Boss!”

“We all knew we were walking into death, didn’t we? What—are you scared now, after all this?”

“....”

There was a world of difference between dying in battle and dying pathetically because you didn’t get treatment—but none of them could argue.

“This is for the blood and tears of our kin. If you can’t handle a little death, then get the fuck out!”

The lion’s roar silenced everyone. Then, after a moment—

From beyond the alley, someone clapped.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The beastkin, with their sharp hearing, immediately turned and bared their fangs. But the moment they saw who emerged, they froze.

A figure in a robe blacker than the alley shadows. A mask marked with a single giant eye.

The lion beastkin dropped to one knee immediately.

“Priest, sir.”

“...How did it go, son of the Golden Mane Clan?”

“It was a success!”

Golden Fang glanced at his dying comrades, then hurried to explain.

“The Commander’s completely insane. The moment he heard gunfire, he burst out yelling about killing U.S. soldiers, swinging his sword around like mad. He tore up everything—buildings, people, you name it.”

The figure in the mask—the one called Priest—nodded with satisfaction.

“Dementia and PTSD. Just as predicted. And his skill level?”

Golden Fang lowered his head.

“...Shameful as it is, I couldn’t gauge it.”

“That’s fine. Also expected.”

The Priest replied gently, extending a hand toward Golden Fang.

“The notebook.”

It was a one-sided command, but Golden Fang scrambled to produce the battered notebook from his coat.

“Um... Priest, sir? Could you please heal my comrades first—?”

He pleaded as the Priest read the notebook. The other beastkin looked on with desperate eyes.

The Priest threw the notebook to the ground.

“Wrong one.”

“...Huh?”

“This is the wrong notebook. Look.”

Golden Fang, unable to believe it, immediately picked up the fallen notebook and flipped it open. But contrary to his hopes, it was filled with nothing but childish scribbles—like a kid’s messy doodles.

“T-This can’t be...”

“Don’t look away. Don’t deny it. You failed.”

“But, Priest, this is—!”

Golden Fang tried to shout something, but the Priest raised a gloved hand and silenced him.

“Doom despises excuses. Especially from failures.”

“....”

“Son of the Golden Mane Clan. Did you ask me to heal your comrades?”

The Priest raised his gloved hand and pointed at the others. Golden Fang, sensing danger, snapped his head around—

Too late.

Flash!

A crimson light exploded from the Priest’s fingertips.

And the ram beastkin and the wolf beastkin—touched by that cursed light—turned to ash on the spot.

The only evidence they had ever existed: a few strands of fur floating down, and dark pools of blood staining the ground.

“....”

The surviving beastkin stared in horror and rage. But not a single one moved.

Not because of the Priest’s power. But because of the future he’d promised them.

A future across the dimensional gate. A future of prosperity on Earth.

Golden Fang lowered his head.

“That will be punishment enough. I trust you won’t disappoint us once you reach Earth.”

“...Yes, Priest.”

With that, the Priest pulled a black stone from his cloak and handed it to Golden Fang.

A corrupted stone engraved with a dimensional gate rune.

The very thing the Prairie Brotherhood had been so desperate for—Golden Fang couldn’t hide his joy.

“...Finally.”

As the beastkin crowded around the corrupted stone in awe, the Priest gave a quiet, ominous smile.

He didn’t bother mentioning that the coordinates engraved on the stone led to Seoul.

****

Inside a needlessly luxurious limousine, Sancho stared out the window as he spoke.

“You met our Commander, didn’t you?”

Yeomyeong, seated across from him and absently running a finger down his sword’s hilt, glanced up at the man’s face.

“Yes. He visited early this morning. Caught me off guard... but he was a more interesting person than I expected.”

“‘Interesting,’ huh?”

Sancho chuckled.

“Yeah. He is interesting. Did he say it to you too? ‘There are no coincidences’?”

“....”

A silent nod. Sancho shook his head slowly.

“‘There are no coincidences. Everything is fate.’ That line came from the previous Saint. Back when we fought side by side in the Marcher Lord’s territory, she said it so often it drilled into our skulls.”

“...What does it mean?”

“Hell if I know. She never explained it. None of us ever really asked, either. I figured it was some scripture or something.”

Yeomyeong didn’t mention that the current Saint had precognitive powers.

Whatever the old Saint had said or despaired over—it didn’t matter to him.

Anyway, Sancho moved on to another subject.

“Our Commander... he’s a man of stories, that one...”

He went on and on—stories about the Commander’s past, his deeds, his power, even his weird little preferences.

As Sancho filled [N O V E L I G H T] the silence with chatter, Yeomyeong suddenly realized something.

He was intentionally avoiding the topic of the Commander’s death.

“Do you know why the Commander likes ice cream? I mean, really—”

“Sancho.”

“....”

“If you’re not confident you can kill him, don’t even try. He’s not someone you can take down halfheartedly.”

Sancho didn’t argue.

The Commander was strong. A man who’d survived endless war, who’d trained in martial arts his entire life.

Hard to say who would win in a straight fight—but if they worked together, maybe they’d have a chance.

Sancho stayed quiet after that. So did Yeomyeong.

Silence filled the limo for a long while.

Sancho only spoke again when the building came into view—the place where the Commander was being kept.

More specifically, when they saw the crowd gathered outside the barracks-like structure.

“La Cosa Nostra? What the hell are those Mafia bastards doing here...?”

All armed, shouting threats at the knight order guarding the building.

“Stop the car. I’m going in!”

Sancho was clearly panicking. But Yeomyeong merely frowned.

He had spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd of Mafia goons.

****

Sancho leapt from the limousine and soared into the air, landing hard at the building’s entrance.

Boom!

The earth shook as he landed. Both the knights and the Mafia turned to stare.

“What the hell are you all doing here?”

His voice was laced with mana. Everyone within range heard him clearly.

One Mafia member stepped forward and shouted,

“We came to see the Commander. It’s been far too long since we last visited.”

Sancho’s expression twisted.

“Visit? You came to see him dressed for war?”

As he said, the Mafia were decked out with weapons.

Standard-issue U.S. rifles, grenades etched with magic circles—even a guy in the back manning a fucking machine gun.

Their firepower was well beyond any average mercenary group.

Was that what gave them confidence? The man who first spoke gave Sancho a smirk.

“You’ll understand, Deputy Commander. You can’t exactly meet a deranged superhuman unarmed, now can you?”

Blatant mockery.

Sancho’s scowl deepened. What the hell made these punks so bold?

The other knights looked like they were about to explode.

“You Earthborn motherfuckers...”

“Guess it’s nice being losers from the other side of the gate. The runaway Commander and his knights, jerking each other off—what a heartwarming reunion.”

Someone drew their sword. In response, the Mafia raised their guns.

...No.

Sancho clenched his fists.

He couldn’t let a firefight break out in front of the Commander.

“Everyone, sto—!”

He tried to shout before it escalated.

But in that moment—mana flared at the hands and necks of the Mafia.

“What the...?”

Those sensitive to mana noticed first. But before anyone could react, an invisible force grabbed the Mafia by their throats and lifted them into the air.

Some reflexively pulled their triggers—but nothing fired. Their arms were paralyzed too.

“Te—Telekine...! Kkh, kkugh!” “Grrk...!”

Dozens of Mafia thrashed midair—

And through the unconscious bodies, a man with golden eyes walked calmly forward.

Yeomyeong, face hidden by illusion.

Everyone’s eyes snapped to him. He looked past the Mafia to the mercenaries gathered behind them—just over twenty of them.

“What are you doing here, Team Leader Tianlin?”

Standing among them were none other than the Seonjook Mercenary Corps members from the train.