Episode 62: Apostle (4)
“Ah… Ah… Ah….”
Silver hair clung together, matted with blood. Along with the hair dragging across the ground, a trail of red was left behind, thick and sticky.
Mary desperately crawled across the floor.
She was running away.
Her jaw had been completely torn off.
Her mouth hung open, yet only faint, pained groans managed to escape.
The only thing she could repeat was a final, agonizing death cry.
Mary was terrified.
From birth, she had been blessed with immense power. Never in her life had she been driven into a corner like this.
But now—
Even in a space where she was supposed to be immortal, the fear of death was breaking her mind.
The terror pressing down on her was so overwhelming that she had even forgotten she could not die.
Why?
Why could a mere human push her this far?
Of course, she was in a weakened state.
But even if she were to unleash her full power—her true strength—would she be able to win?
Even Mary herself was uncertain of the answer.
Cheon Yeoul stood before her, looking exactly as she had in her prime, when she was called the Saintess of the Battlefield.
A time when she had been strong enough to stand on equal footing with the Apostles.
But the Apostle before her now could not wield her full strength.
In her current state, there was no way Mary could properly fight Cheon Yeoul.
With trembling hands, Mary pressed against the ground.
Instinctively, she turned to look behind her.
There, a human stood, gazing down at her with cold eyes.
Cheon Yeoul. She, too, was wounded all over her body, but compared to the injuries Mary had suffered, hers were nothing more than scratches.
“Hoo….”
Cheon Yeoul slowly wiped the blood from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand.
The blood left a faint red streak as it trailed down her chin.
Cheon Yeoul knew as well—
In this space, an Apostle could not die.
But what mattered was that if they suffered this much damage, they would need a long time to recover.
And that meant the resurrection of the Evil God would also be delayed.
Time had been bought.
That was enough.
Her eyes grew cold and sharp.
Cheon Yeoul slowly bent down and roughly grabbed Mary’s blood-soaked hair.
“See you again~”
For Mary, those words were nothing short of a nightmare.
A flash of light burst from Cheon Yeoul’s hand.
—Crunch!
Mary’s head was mercilessly smashed against the temple floor.
Her body instantly shattered into fragments of darkness and scattered.
“Ugh….”
At that moment, Cheon Yeoul clutched her chest.
Though she had managed to summon the strength of her past self, her current body was still that of an unripe student.
It was too weak a vessel to fully contain the power she had once wielded.
—Chirp!
Baekryeong let out a small chirp from atop Cheon Yeoul’s shoulder.
It tapped her cheek lightly with its beak, as if worried.
“Mmm… It’s okay… I’ll be fine after a little rest….”
A faint smile bloomed at the corner of Cheon Yeoul’s lips.
This level of pain was nothing compared to the burden she had to bear.
Taking a slow breath, Cheon Yeoul closed her eyes.
***
Same Time.
A space that transcends time and space—an Absolute’s domain.
Yu Hana, who had disappeared with the silent wind, opened her eyes.
“I have been wanting to meet you.”
A deep and low voice resonated. A faint shadow was cast across the vast space. It was clearly present before her, yet its presence felt strangely elusive, as though it did not truly exist.
Apostle, Hayato.
He took slow, deliberate steps toward Yu Hana, his unwavering gaze piercing through her.
“I could tell immediately. You, too, are one who pursues the way of the sword, like me. A genius upon whom your family places their expectations.”
Hayato’s fingertips moved ever so slightly.
At that moment, the space subtly twisted, and from the warped subspace, a sharp sword emerged.
“I once walked the same path as you. And now, the one who has seen the end of that path stands before you.”
There was an uncanny certainty in his voice.
“Though your life will end here today, before that happens, I would like to see the height of the realm you have reached.”
His words were spoken with a respectful tone, yet the meaning they carried was chilling.
“Do not resent me too much. After all, the end is nothing but emptiness.”
At the end of his sentence, a hint of disillusionment lingered in his voice.
Yet Yu Hana simply stood there.
She did not answer. Instead, she reached for the camellia-patterned sword still sheathed at her waist.
“Very well.”
Hayato smiled as he raised his sword.
However, Yu Hana closed her eyes, sinking into deep thought.
It was a memory of the past.
She was born into the Yu family.
She learned the sword of the Yu family.
Because she was born, she bore the name Yu.
Because she was born, she wielded the sword.
She had grown up swinging a sword, lived her life wielding one.
Though she harbored a yearning for martial prowess, her heart had always remained hollow.
She had learned without knowing why. She had trained without a clear purpose.
Then, one day—
By someone’s hand—
She had slowly begun to change without even realizing it.
Yu Hana, who had once been like a blank canvas, was gradually painted over by his touch.
How to swing a sword.
How to adjust her steps.
Where her shoulders should loosen when extending her blade.
Where to place her weight when stepping forward.
How slightly bending her knees could allow her to charge faster.
How to twist her foot when stopping to enable an instant counterattack.
Even down to the way she should inhale.
From the grandest aspects to the smallest details—everything. From one to ten.
There was not a single place untouched by his hand.
And each time his hand guided her, the once-blank canvas of Yu Hana became more and more filled.
Where his breath touched, where his hands guided, she was completely, utterly dyed in his colors.
Now, Yu Hana was no longer a blank slate.
She had been painted entirely in a shade that belonged solely to him.
And now, she was smiling.
Her heated breaths spilled between her lips.
She could feel it.
She had returned.
The version of herself that had been completely dyed in his color—that moment in time.
It had been so long since she had felt this exhilaration, this sense of unity with him.
Yu Hana unsheathed the Dongbaek Sword (Camellia Blade).
Her fingertips trembled ever so slightly.
Hayato turned his head at the scent of flowers carried from somewhere.
This was a realm beyond time and space, a void world. There should not have been flowers here.
Yet, in the realm she had reached—
“Peerless Tempest of Flowers [Musang Nanwha (無上亂花)].”
A boundless, chaotic dance of flowers.
Dazzlingly beautiful, yet perilously lethal.
At some point, crimson camellia petals began swirling around her, wrapping her in an illusion-like embrace.
Every movement of Yu Hana was fluid yet carried the tension of walking on thin ice.
“What…!”
Hayato was shocked. Without any warning, the momentum had completely shifted.
Yu Hana smiled in exhilaration.
“~♫”
As she lightly whistled, a small squirrel suddenly leaped onto her shoulder. It gently nuzzled against her cheek with its tiny paws, rubbing its body affectionately.
“Hello.”
She whispered softly.
Apostle Hayato couldn’t believe the sight unfolding before him.
He had devoted his entire life to the way of the sword.
For that pursuit, he had offered his family, his status—everything—to the great one he served.
And yet—
Never before had he witnessed swordsmanship so beautiful and absolute.
At last, he slowly moved his hand.
The space around them distorted, and one by one, transparent swords emerged.
An endless array of blades, resonating heavily with his will.
But Yu Hana remained entirely unfazed, as if she had known this would happen all along.
Her Dongbaek Sword traced a delicate arc through the air. The swirling crimson petals danced weightlessly.
She was about to perform her final sword dance.
“Infinite Crimson Lotus (無極紅蓮).”
—A crimson flower in full bloom.
Born from the infinite void, the petals of the crimson lotus devoured every inch of Hayato’s space.
In that instant—
The entire space rippled in red.
—Slash!
Hayato’s body was torn apart within the sea of petals.
Instinctively, he reached out, grasping at his own throat.
But slipping between his fingers—
Was not just blood, but an endless cascade of crimson, like falling petals.
When he closed his eyes, the entire world was dyed red.
Not with blood, but as if he were standing in the midst of a vast flower field.
“How… could this be…?”
Staggering, he fell to his knees.
He parted his lips.
He wanted to ask.
“What kind of resolve must one possess to wield such a technique?”
But before he could speak, his consciousness faded.
In his final moments—
All he saw was the crimson petals fluttering in the air,
And the woman who smiled as she watched them fall.
Only the lingering scent of camellias remained, carried away by the wind.