“If you keep your mouth like that, you’ll hurt yourself. Tsk tsk. No sense of caution, even though you don’t seem to feel pain.”

The dumpling pressed to her lips was warm. The pressure she had placed on her tightly clenched mouth gave way without meaning to.

As the dumpling entered her mouth, Seop Mugwang’s hand pulled away.

Seolhwa lifted her gaze to look at him.

Seeing her like that, Seop Mugwang rested his chin on his hand and chuckled.

“Well done.”

Her mouth moved, chewing slowly.

“You did well.”

He reached out and patted her head.

“I do not know how many people you’ve killed, or for what reasons, or in what ways. I won’t say it was right. I won’t say what’s past is past and cannot be helped.”

A wrong is still a wrong.

Seolhwa nodded.

“Yes.”

“But what comes next—that is something you can change.”

“...”

“Have you ever heard of the living sword and the killing sword?”

She shook her head as she held the bitten dumpling in one hand.

But the difference was not hard to guess.

“A sword that gives life ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) and a sword that takes it?”

“That’s right. In the end, the sword always carries the swordsman’s life.”

Just as the Namgoong Clan’s internal energy glows blue, yet hers shines with red.

“You carried the scent of blood from the beginning.”

Seop Mugwang recalled the first time he met her in the forest.

The girl who had overturned the entire Black Cloud Hall without a single change of expression had been cloaked in killing intent.

He had known she was not trying to kill him. Her killing aura had been closer to a reflex—an instinct born from danger.

“But look at you now.”

Not a trace of bloodlust. Instead, a pure and calm energy flowed from her.

Because she now understood she was no longer in danger?

‘No.’

This child was controlling her own killing intent.

“Perhaps it was the cleansing ritual that changed your energy. Perhaps it was the orthodox martial arts you’ve been learning. But more than anything—”

Seop Mugwang pointed at her with a finger.

“It is because you yourself chose to change.”

She had cast away the immense internal energy she once held without hesitation.

She had abandoned death and embraced life.

Her transformation had begun there.

“It’s not that your killing aura is gone. It is still thick around you. But now—it no longer controls you.”

On the contrary, the child had taken control of that bloodlust, wielding it as part of her own strength.

‘Whether that came from instinct or from already knowing how to manage it—I don’t know.’

But that was enough. That was how one changed—step by step.

“If until now, you drew your sword to kill—then from now on, draw it to protect. If what came before still weighs on you, then save more. That will be enough.”

A sword that saves. A blade drawn to protect someone’s life.

A sword is a weapon. Until now, Seolhwa had believed that a weapon existed solely to wound, to harm, to conquer.

The sword had been nothing but a tool to fulfill that purpose.

Understanding the killing sword had never been difficult. But the living sword? Using a blade to save?

“How can a sword save someone?”

“That answer,” Seop Mugwang said, grinning with his chin still propped on his hand, “you’ll have to find yourself.”

“If you search for that answer, you’ll eventually reach the place you want to reach.”

A martial artist is one who wrestles, fiercely, with the world they want to shape through their strength.

How they use their power. What standards guide them. What cause they pursue.

How they choose to live.

Their entire life becomes a path to that answer.

In that sense, the child had only just stepped onto the true path of a martial artist.

It would still be difficult. And the road would be long. But Seop Mugwang had no doubt.

“You’ll do well.”

Those words were a signpost—offered by one who had already walked the path to the one who had just begun it.

A teaching passed down from master to disciple.

The place I want to reach.

Seolhwa turned the words over and over in her mind.

She still did not know. But she could sense one thing: that if she found the answer to that question, her entire life would shift at its very foundation.

After pondering for a long moment, Seolhwa brought her fists together in a respectful salute.

“I will carry it in my heart.”

“Good, good.”

Seop Mugwang’s lips curled once more into a smile.

But it did not take long for that warm expression to vanish.

“...”

His gaze sharpened as he looked toward the entrance of the inn.

“...Great Commander?”

“...Just a moment.”

With a metallic rasp, Seop Mugwang rose from his seat.

“Stay here. Do not go anywhere. Finish your food.”

Just as Seolhwa was about to ask what was wrong—his figure disappeared.

So quickly that even she could not track his movement.

What was happening?

It was the first time she had seen Seop Mugwang wear such a grim expression. He was always lighthearted, always joking—never like this.

Seolhwa sharpened her senses to their limit and scanned the surroundings.

But she could feel nothing.

What is this?

Should she go outside?

No. He had told her to stay here—so she should remain quietly and wait...

“Is that man your master now?”

A voice she knew all too well drilled into her skull, and every hair on her body stood on end as a chill surged through her.

Seolhwa turned her head slowly toward the inn’s door—and froze in place.

Thump. Thump.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, and cold sweat trickled down her chin, dripping to the floor.

Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed reflexively.

“When such a fine master is right here, how could you possibly think to take on a new one?”

The voice now came from directly behind her.

Her clenched teeth chattered faintly.

Forcing herself to move, Seolhwa turned—and saw the man now seated across from her.

The same seat Seop Mugwang had occupied just moments before.

Blood Demon.

Hair red as spilled blood. Eyes an even deeper shade of crimson.

Though half his face was hidden behind a mask, no one else in the inn reacted to his strange appearance.

Before him sat a bottle of liquor and a cup—neither of which had been there before.

As if the others could not even see him, he calmly poured himself a drink.

“It has been a while.”

His crimson lips curved beneath the mask into a languid arc.

And then—the tavern erupted into chaos.

“I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes! That bastard from next door was with the married woman downstairs!!”

The smile vanished from beneath the Blood Demon’s mask.

No.

Seolhwa wanted to stand, to stop the man from shouting.

But she could not move.

The dread of death gripped her entire body, binding her in place.

“Don’t give me that nonsense! I’ve got eyes like a hawk—augh!”

Seolhwa flinched, her body jerking involuntarily.

No one else had seen it—but she had.

A single drop of liquor rose from the Blood Demon’s cup. With a casual flick of his finger, it shot out like a dagger and pierced the man’s death point.

With just that effortless motion, the man who had been shouting dropped dead.

“What—what the hell? Hey!”

“He’s not breathing! Mr. So! Come on, wake up!”

“Good heavens, someone call a physician!”

The dead man’s companions gathered him up in a panic and rushed out of the inn.

For a moment, the place buzzed with confusion.

But the fear that soon settled over the room was not because someone had died.

It was because of the dense, suffocating killing intent now radiating from the Blood Demon—tainting the air of the entire inn.

“I—I just remembered something urgent...”

“Mmm...”

As if in silent agreement, the rest of the patrons rose one by one and quietly exited the tavern. As though entranced.

Seolhwa could do nothing.

Frozen in place, she watched as the Blood Demon leisurely took another sip from his cup.

And then—only the two of them remained in the inn.

“Now... it is finally quiet.”

Setting down his cup, the Blood Demon’s mouth once again curved into a slow, crescent smile.

“Ilhwa.”

“...”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“...”

“I never intended to interfere with your little amusement... but I must admit, I have been wondering just how much I ought to overlook.”

Drip—the liquor poured from the chilled bottle, filling the cup again as steam rose gently from the surface.

“You destroyed something that was precious to me. So now, I have decided to take something precious from you.”

Seolhwa’s clenched fists trembled uncontrollably.

Who was the Blood Demon?

One who killed anyone who hurt him. Killed anyone who stole from him. Killed anyone who so much as offended him.

And now—he was declaring that the death of the Sixth Blood Lord would be repaid in kind.

The liquor in his cup began to boil.

“Do not worry too much.”

The bubbling liquor evaporated into mist—vanishing without a trace.

“One master is more than enough, is it not?”

Crack.

A hairline fracture split across the now-empty cup.