There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 201: What Remains in the End (1)

Foolishness breeds the lessons of history,

False hope makes us forget them.

— Chatura Hilaria

_________________

Yeomyeong woke to a strange sense of unease.

An instinctive warning, maybe. He couldn’t explain it clearly, but it was the kind of feeling that made him reach for his sword immediately.

“...?”

He sat up in bed and looked around. Outside the window, it was still dim.

Dawn was slowly approaching beyond the sky, but it was still too early for anything to happen.

Yeomyeong started to rise, then flinched and froze. Seti was using his arm as a pillow.

Carefully, he pulled his arm free and slipped a pillow in its place.

Her tousled hair tumbled like silk, and her pale nape was faintly exposed.

It was a beautiful sight. Without realizing it, Yeomyeong brushed Seti’s cheek—then paused when he saw the faint traces of tears near her eyes.

Only then did he fully grasp what he had done.

“....”

The corner of his mouth trembled slightly. It was a smile, half joy, half guilt.

She had started it—but he had been the one to finish it.

“Wait, stop, slowly—”

Her voice from the night before still echoed faintly in his ears.

Hoo...

Yeomyeong forced down the heat rising inside him. His head, his chest, and his lower abdomen were all burning at once.

One deep breath... No, several.

Barely managing to calm down, Yeomyeong gently pulled the blanket back over Seti and stood up, getting dressed.

Then, following the source of the ominous feeling, he left the bedroom—

And immediately saw someone sitting on the luxury sofa.

It wasn’t an assassin. Or an enemy.

What kind of enemy eats ice cream at dawn, anyway? And not just any ice cream—vanilla packed with chocolate chips.

“...?”

But he couldn’t sense any mana, or even a presence, from the man. It was like looking at a cloud in the sky.

Yeomyeong rubbed his eyes, thinking it might be a hallucination—only for the man to turn his head, clearly aware of him.

Sunken cheeks. Piercing eyes. A sharp, imposing mustache.

“Hmm?”

He was an old man with a face full of that stubbornness only people who’d lived hard lives had. Probably around the same age as the village elder or the work crew chief.

If it weren’t for the ice cream clinging to his mustache, Yeomyeong might have drawn his sword right then—

“Oh? You’re younger than I expected.”

Even his voice was stiff and thorny. Yeomyeong, now suspecting who the man was, tightened the belt around his waist and asked,

“Are you... the Commander?”

“Oh dear, you know who I am?”

The old man grinned and scooped a massive bite of ice cream into his mouth. The sound of chocolate chips crunching filled the suite.

Yeomyeong stared, dumbfounded, then quickly came to his senses. He reached for the room service phone and hit the call button.

At this hour, it’d take a few minutes for staff to arrive.

Clenching and unclenching his fist, Yeomyeong thought.

What do I do? Fight him? Try to talk? Should I move first, since Seti’s still in the bedroom?

His thoughts were getting tangled when the Commander’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“Why are you hiding your face?”

“....”

“Changing your appearance with illusion magic is a crime, you know.”

He had definitely seen through the Illusion of Tears. Without a word, Yeomyeong dropped the illusion.

When his real face appeared, the Commander’s eyebrows lifted high.

A mix of suspicion and surprise.

“What’s your father’s name?”

Father? Yeomyeong remembered that was the polite way to refer to someone else’s father and shook his head.

“...I’m an orphan.”

“Where’s your hometown?”

“It’s probably not where you’re thinking.”

He couldn’t exactly say Incheon, South Korea, so he gave a vague answer.

The Commander, spoon still in his mouth, stared at him intently.

“People ever say you look familiar?”

Marcher Lord... Is he about to say that too? They didn’t look alike at all in the photo except for the eye color.

But the old man said something completely unexpected.

“From your muscles... you were a laborer. The kind of long-term, physical work. And you’ve only recently become a superhuman.”

“....”

“Your primary martial art is swordsmanship. Your mana... huh. Just how many miraculous encounters have you had?”

He wasn’t speaking from prior knowledge.

It was clear he was using some kind of special eyes—or martial art—to analyze Yeomyeong’s information in real time.

The Commander’s constantly shifting gray eyes, and the mana pooled in them, were all the proof Yeomyeong needed.

“Strength beyond your years is both a blessing and a curse. You must’ve gone through a lot. Especially for Earthlings—this world’s never kind to knights from Earth.”

Yeomyeong tilted his head.

“...How did you know I’m from Earth?”

He’d often not been treated as Earth-born because of his eye color. What exactly had this man seen?

The Commander chuckled and replied.

“I just guessed. It’s always one or the other—Earthling or Ashan.”

“....”

“You develop a sixth sense as you get older. For example, even your relationships with women become clearer to me. Let’s see... You’re still a virgin, right?”

“...?”

What the fuck? Yeomyeong suddenly realized he was caught in a conversation with a senile old man.

He glanced toward the bedroom and loosened his hand, ready to draw his sword at a moment’s notice.

“Commander.”

“What is it?”

“How much of your mind has come back?”

“....”

A short silence.

The Commander stared out the window at the rising dawn as he kept eating ice cream.

By the time he had eaten about half the massive tub—

The old man threw down his spoon and spoke.

“I remember nearly killing the vice-commander because I thought he was American.”

“....”

“I remember panicking at the sound of gunfire and leveling an entire building... and I remember butchering about ten beastkin last night.”

His gray eyes turned to Yeomyeong. The same pressure he’d felt when facing the Holy Sword or Demerond swept through his body.

An indescribable aura of strength.

“I’ve gone mad. And this moment of peace might be the last peace I ever feel. Isn’t that right?”

The leftover ice cream on the spoon melted under the sunlight. Downward. Like tears.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway as someone approached—and the Commander opened his mouth again.

“To be honest, I was planning to kill myself.”

“....”

“As you can see, I failed. Maybe because I’m mad... my body just reacts. It deflects bullets, and when I throw myself on a sword, mana protects me on its own.”

After that, the old man stood and pulled a small notebook from his coat.

“Do you know why I came to this room? Have you figured it out?”

Yeomyeong didn’t answer right away. After a pause, he replied, a touch of suspicion in his voice.

“...I’m the strongest person in this hotel, aren’t I? You came here to die by someone else’s hand.”

That must’ve been the right answer. The Commander smiled faintly and held out the notebook.

“That was the idea... but unfortunately, you’re not strong enough to kill me.”

Yeomyeong didn’t deny it. But he didn’t take the notebook, either.

Awkwardly holding it out, the Commander chuckled, twitching his cheekbones.

“When you are strong enough, come kill me. This is a bribe for that day.”

A bribe. Not something you’d expect from a senile man. Yeomyeong took the notebook without protest.

“Fate exists in this world—but coincidence does not. It was good meeting you, nameless boy.”

And as soon as he finished speaking, the door burst open—hotel staff, or rather, large men who were clearly part of a group, rushed in.

“Commander!”

The one standing at the front was a dwarf soaked in blood—Jepun, the same dwarf who had brought the group to this hotel in the limo.

“Jepun, what /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the hell happened to you?”

“It’s all the Commander’s fault... No—what does it matter how I look?! Are you all right, Commander? Your mind, is your mind any better?”

A voice aching with desperate hope. The Commander gave a bitter smile and shook his head.

“No, no such miracle has occurred.”

“...Ah.”

“So go now. Before I do something even more insane.” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

With that, the Commander took the first step out of the room. And as he neared the door, he turned his head slightly.

“...Yeomyeong?”

Seti peeked out through the bedroom door, just enough to show her face. Her expression clearly asked, What the hell is going on?

Yeomyeong pushed her gently back inside, promising with his eyes to explain later.

The Commander, seeing this—

Chuckled faintly and left one final remark.

“So, you’re not a virgin after all? I knew it—you only look like him.”

For something a senile old man said, it carried a strangely heavy implication.

****

Breakfast was as warm as the sunlight pouring in through the window.

The food was good, and everyone was just a little excited by the thought of going back to Earth.

L.A., the Academy, smartphones, souvenirs... light, pointless chatter flowed without a set topic.

Then the Saint, spreading butter on her bread, opened her mouth.

“Seti doesn’t seem to have an appetite.”

It was said casually, like it meant nothing, but that made it all the more piercing to Yeomyeong’s ears.

“...Yeah. Guess she’s really tired?”

He forced a calm reply. There was no way he could tell the truth.

The Saint smirked.

“Right, she must be tired. She couldn’t even walk.”

“....”

“What? She couldn’t walk, right? Thanks to a certain someone.”

After dropping that bomb, she stared directly at Yeomyeong, as if daring him to respond.

Yeomyeong avoided her gaze, poking at his fried egg—until something suddenly came to mind.

“...Are you still using Foresight to spy on Seti every morning?”

“Yep.”

A sharp answer. And that look in her eyes—loaded with meaning.

Yeomyeong, throat dry, lifted his glass to wet his lips and glanced around the table.

Corvus was pecking at her ham like she couldn’t care less about the stares from other guests, and Neti was pretending to eat while clearly eavesdropping.

Silence.

Before it dragged on too long, the Saint leaned halfway over the table toward Yeomyeong.

She squirted a line of ketchup over his fried egg as she said,

“Yeomyeong?”

“....”

“Uragan’s Hilt. I’ll be the one carrying it for a while, right?”

As she spoke, she drew a sword in ketchup. The mark of the Red God Ledox—symbol of battle, no, revenge.

“....”

Yeomyeong pushed the ketchup-soaked plate aside and took Uragan’s Hilt from inside his coat.

The usual voice that cried, [Virginity!] didn’t shout this time. The only thing that greeted him now was a silence as cold as the Saint’s eyes.

He gave a dry laugh. Well, of course—wasn’t the Hilt basically a unicorn? It attacks anyone who isn’t a virgin, regardless of age or gender.

Keeping quiet instead of cursing him—maybe that was its way of still treating him as its master.

...Anyway.

The moment he handed the Hilt to the Saint, it began to shine violently.

As if crying out in injustice.

She held it, nodded to herself, and calmly tucked it into her robe.

With that, the Saint resumed eating.

Chewing bread like nothing had happened, sipping soup, spreading jam...

“...Was it good?”

The question came out of nowhere.

Yeomyeong had to hold his breath to keep from spitting out his water.

“Oh, sure, you bastard. I bet you fucking loved it.”

That was when Neti, finally catching on to the conversation, showed an odd expression.

And under the table, the Saint pressed her foot down on Yeomyeong’s.

“...Just you wait.”

Wait for what?

Before Yeomyeong could ask, she bolted from the table and ran off.

****

Deputy Commander Kim Mansu of the Seonjook Mercenary Corps frowned up at the dimensional gate.

It shimmered with light, and most people would’ve felt a sense of awe or wonder—but Kim Mansu just felt irritated.

“Hoo...”

He let out a sigh that barely contained his annoyance.

Next to him, Tianlin jabbed him in the ribs.

“Keep it together. You’re the face of the Corps until the Commander shows up.”

“Fuck off. ‘Guest’? What guest.”

“...If the government sent them, they’re guests. What are you gonna call them, ‘superior officer’?”

“....”

At the word officer, Kim Mansu’s face twisted.

He muttered a curse that started with goddamn..., then spat out his frustration.

“Why the fuck do we have to play errand boy for some CIA spook?”

That’s right. The CIA agent they were supposed to escort had arbitrarily changed the mission.

Combat or assassination.

Kim Mansu had refused flat-out, but the Seonjook Corps’ sponsor, Doongan Heavy Industries, hadn’t.

Apparently, pressure had come from none other than the White House.

No matter how rich a conglomerate was, going against a government—especially the U.S.—was tough.

Especially now, with nonhuman citizenship and voting rights becoming hot political topics.

“...Let’s think positively. Maybe this is our chance to put down roots in America.”

Tianlin tried to be reassuring, but he didn’t even believe the words himself—so it sure as hell wasn’t comforting anyone else.

“The only ones who like leashes are dogs.”

“....”

“We’re not dogs. We left Manchuria because we hated collars. Don’t forget that.”

Tianlin clicked his tongue and licked his lips. This guy only ever makes sense when it’s the worst timing.

But just being right didn’t solve anything.

Tianlin lit a cigarette, took a drag, and muttered, watching the gate flicker.

“Whether it’s a leash... or a wide-open yard—that depends on the ‘guest’ the U.S. sends us.”

“Stop calling them a guest.”

“Oh come on, you’re not a kid—quit bitching for once—”

That’s when the gate began to pulse.

Not like it did when cargo trucks passed through—this was violent. Agitated.

The superhumans of the Seonjook Mercenary Corps sensed it instantly.

The guest they’d been dreading had finally arrived.

From the shimmering gate emerged a massive truck.

The paint had been stripped away, but anyone who’d spent enough time in a warzone recognized it immediately.

A U.S. Army supply trailer.

“What the hell... are we going to war?”

Tianlin mumbled, stunned. Meanwhile, Kim Mansu’s face contorted as he spotted someone in the truck.

“No... it’s worse.”

He pointed at the passenger seat. Tianlin followed his finger—and his face twisted the same way.

The man sitting there, casual as ever. Any Korean would know who he was.

“Jeon Yongseop...?”

The first Korean mage. The first traitor. The Archmage. And Jeon Yunseong’s father—had come here.