CHAPTER 340: PROMISE (2)

‘Even if a chance I lose now turns out to be one I desperately need for myself later, I will never regret it, Master.’

An unbearable sincerity welled up.

No matter how many times he thought it over, he arrived at the same conclusion.

Just as parents can sacrifice themselves unconditionally for their children, and spouses for each other— so it was for Kang-hoo as he looked at the Celestial Assassin. He was instead deeply grateful that a chance to save him existed. He truly felt happy.

【You have three chances. Would you like to expend one?】

Kang-hoo pressed the accept button at once. Then the fourth boon of the Angel of the Battlefield activated.

【Please maintain physical contact with the target. Even the slightest touch is fine.】

He gripped the Celestial Assassin’s hand tightly.

It was rough yet warm, bony yet filled with spirit and will.

Even with his disciple holding his hand so firmly, the Celestial Assassin didn’t so much as stir. He must have been struggling.

……

A quiet change took place.

There was no white flash, no blazing radiance wrapping around him.

A light breeze merely blew once, as if it tickled the Celestial Assassin’s ear, and softly passed by.

As Kang-hoo watched him, he thought of his grandmother and grandfather, who had passed away when he was young, from his days living as the original author.

Though the memories were old, they always remained happy in his heart.

He had that same image and feeling toward his master, the Celestial Assassin. The manner of expression differed, but the heart was the same.

Then—

【The target has been completely cured. As of this moment, the target’s body is flawless.】

【Remaining chances: two.】

“……!”

A miracle occurred.

Like erasing an illness with an eraser—what belonged in a novel unfolded in reality.

Even knowing it was real, he could hardly believe it.

Everything right now felt dissonant to Kang-hoo, as if he were reading a story.

To turn back a one-way road toward death is to go against the natural order.

Hunters and systems entering the world—he could accept as reality; conquering an incurable disease—he had not.

But… now it had become reality.

Thinking he might wake his master, Kang-hoo released his hand and slipped away.

The purpose achieved, he didn’t want to linger and make a needless show or leave a trace by his master’s side.

A perfect cure for his master— that was enough.

He neither wanted more nor wanted recognition.

He only wished that his master’s life would now last longer—forever, beside the ones he loved.

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Morning.

“Mm?”

Waking from a deep sleep, the Celestial Assassin awkwardly felt over his body here and there.

As Kang-hoo had expected, he had fallen asleep under the sway of painkillers.

Unable to master unbearable pain, he had been taking them without measure.

For now, the medicine still worked like this, but a day would come when even drugs could no longer keep it in check.

The problem with such painkillers is that, while they can make you forget the pain and drift into sleep— when you wake, your body often feels heavy and limp, and your head is foggy. ṙἈΝ𝙤ᛒЕṢ

In truth, if it was only at this level, that was fortunate; many times, even after waking, he felt as if he hadn’t.

“Why do I feel so refreshed?”

But today was different.

For the first time in recent memory—no, in years—his body felt light and his mood buoyant.

The aches and pains in every joint and every organ were gone.

The queasiness, the sense that his skin was turning drier by the day, even his blurred vision— a body that had seemed to have nothing working properly now felt as if those troubles belonged to someone else.

He felt like he could run to his heart’s content right now and not tire.

“……”

He looked at the bed.

Had he sweated a lot in the night?

It wasn’t just damp; it looked soaked through by something. He rubbed his belly—it felt flat.

The doctor had said cancer cells would continue to accumulate, and faster… but there was no sign of that.

Sssshhhhh.

He then headed for the bathroom and urinated for a long while. He wondered if that much water could come out of a body.

Afterward, he felt even more refreshed.

His appetite returned in full; he wanted to put anything in his mouth and chew and eat. Strength surged through his whole body!

“Heh, so it’s my last moment of clarity before death.”

At last, he understood the feeling.

It must be the body’s last burst of vigor before dying. That was why even his fading appetite returned.

Even so, it seemed heaven didn’t demand he collapse without recourse; it allowed him this final exertion.

“I should hurry.”

He moved in a rush.

It was a wretched body that could fall at any time. If he’d reached this point, then there truly wasn’t much time left.

If he couldn’t endure even a second, even a minute, and missed even a single teaching to give Kang-hoo, he would regret it even in death.

Hurrying outside, he saw Kang-hoo running hard at the training grounds.

Between sprints, he mixed in drills linking evasion and strikes against imaginary targets.

“To think such a lad, who absorbs and grows fast like a sponge, is my disciple… The best gift before I die—yes.”

He smiled.

He had truly gained the best disciple.

It had been the same yesterday, when he watched the footage of Kang-hoo’s fight with Yuji together with Ju Haemi.

The boy was like a beast.

When he had first become his disciple, calling him a newborn beast cub would have been generous.

Now he had become a splendid predator who could command and dominate wherever he was thrown.

The Celestial Assassin thought he had merely taught him a handful of hunting methods.

Here, it was Kang-hoo’s willingness to accept teaching without prejudice and his tireless training that shone.

His inborn talent and keen wits went without saying—a blessing granted at birth.

“Master!”

Today, Kang-hoo’s voice sounded unusually strong. It felt like seeing a brightness in his disciple he had never seen before.

Perhaps because of that— the Celestial Assassin’s lips curled as well. As his body felt—“for now”—good, his mood naturally lifted.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

“Yes.”

“Today we’ll proceed with a mixed regimen combining the first- and second-stage training.”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Ready, my foot! We won’t stop until you collapse from exhaustion. Right—be ready to die.”

“Of course.”

“Madman…”

Stifling a smile, he finished preparing to put Kang-hoo through a grueling session.

He resolved not to take his eyes off him for a single instant. He had to teach him one more thing—no, as many as possible.

They then trained straight through a whole day without a wink of sleep.

Kang-hoo endured the intense regimen with astonishing will and stamina; the Celestial Assassin kept pace just like his disciple.

Ju Haemi watched him with even deeper pity, and the Celestial Assassin lost track of time.

Wasn’t this a life like a candle that might go out at any moment?

There was no need to worry about the wind; if it blew, the flame would simply go quietly out.

But something was strange.

A day of furious training.

A short, deep four-hour sleep.

Then another full day spent in relentless training with Kang-hoo—yet, somehow, he didn’t feel tired.

“Guhk.”

Instead, it was Kang-hoo who collapsed first. And understandably so— the Celestial Assassin at least managed a solid four-hour block of sleep once, but Kang-hoo, suffering muscle pain, had barely slept.

So, as always, the Celestial Assassin piggybacked the exhausted, sleeping Kang-hoo to his bed and laid him down.

And as he was leaving the room, he asked Ju Haemi, who happened to be waiting for him outside the door—

“Haemi.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Did I perhaps go two days without taking even a single painkiller?”

“Yes, you didn’t ask for any. On the other hand, you ate more than triple your usual amount, and more often too.”

“I see…”

He tilted his head.

His body felt too good for it to be explained by a body’s last best of energy. There was no sense of his energy waning.

To exaggerate a little, it felt as if he had gone back about thirty years. There wasn’t a single ache anywhere.

“Could your illness, Father, perhaps…”

“That’s enough. Entertaining such notions is a losing game. Cancer doesn’t suddenly get better, and there’s even less chance of a cure.”

“But…”

“If that were possible, all the incurable patients in the world would be healed. It’s a natural order even a hunter’s power can’t overturn.”

He shut down any vain hope. Odd as his good condition was, there was no way he was better.

He simply thought that, thanks to the way he had managed his body all this time, heaven might be allowing him a few extra days.

Only— if his body had improved even temporarily, he wanted to spend more time on Kang-hoo.

So he thought to go to the hospital once more.

He didn’t want to hear another bitter pronouncement when he had already been given a time limit, but this time the purpose was different.

Before, it had been closer to a one-sided notification; now it would be information he actively sought.

For the sake of those at his side, he wanted to hear how much time he could fully use.

If it was one day, he would conform to a day; if two, then to two.

He had no intention of blaming someone, cursing, or resenting fate in the least.

“Haemi. Make another appointment.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Please take care of it.”

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At dawn, while Kang-hoo slept, the Celestial Assassin sat at the desk in his room and busily moved his hand, writing something down.

Lately, as his condition had sharply worsened, his hands had trembled so much he could barely hold a pencil.

But today, he held it steady and wrote in his original hand, neat and clear.

He wrote down new points of improvement as he recalled his recent training with Kang-hoo.

He had pointed out the big things on the spot, but he had been dissatisfied with the finer details.

Scratch, scratch. Scratch.

While his pencil moved diligently, a smile never left the corner of his mouth.

A disciple you savored teaching. A disciple whose earnestness made him all the more likable.

Even if Kang-hoo had asked for only one lesson, he was the sort of disciple you wanted to teach ten.

The love he felt for Kang-hoo was clearly a different stripe from the love he had for Ju Haemi as her father.

“The riddles I never solved… and even the hidden secrets—it’d be better if I told him those too. He’s sure to think like me.”

A blank notebook, empty before, filled up densely from the very first page onward.

Beyond mere training tips for Kang-hoo, contents that would astonish him kept filling the empty spaces.

They were countless secrets the Celestial Assassin had learned, willingly or not, over more than ten years as a hunter.

In the hunter world born of “Judgment Day,” there were quite a number of unbelievable truths hidden away.

He had planned to carry them quietly to his grave, with no particular reason to trumpet them to the world… but now his thinking had changed.

If it was Kang-hoo— thinking of his disciple, eager in all things and quick to chase even a small tale with curiosity— he felt that bundling these stories together and passing them on would be used far more meaningfully in days to come.

Thus, tales that might perhaps count as leaking heaven’s secrets were written one by one through the night in his notebook.

Known to no one.

And kept in secret.