Wuuung—!!

Fingers frozen in place. They trembled with cold sweat, unable to pierce through the throat.

No movement. Was it hesitation? No. He didn’t believe so.

In this moment, he truly wanted to die.

He had intended to end it with a single, fatal strike.

‘This...’

His hand was rigid. As if turned to stone, it refused to move.

Or perhaps, it felt like someone had seized it, holding it still.

Realizing this, his pupils quivered violently.

He could not die.

His mother’s words became a grim reality. Self-inflicted death was forbidden to him.

He understood it now.

It was strange, in a way. How many times had his mind shattered, battered through agony?

He had lived through endless cries and desperate screams.

It was a life forged by his own hands, yet—

‘If I wanted to, I could have died.’

Death had always been distant, yet close.

How many had he killed with his own hands? To end up like them wouldn’t have been far-fetched.

Yet, had he ever truly feared death?

‘Never.’

Oddly enough, his own death felt colorless.

Not fear, nor indifference.

‘Disinterest.’

Death itself had always felt distant.

It was more accurate to say he had never considered it.

Because he had never truly wished to die.

But why?

How could that be?

Was it due to strong willpower? Ridiculous. He was certain that wasn’t the case.

He had broken down more times than he could count.

He had collapsed endlessly, again and again.

He had thought, tens of thousands of times, that he no longer wanted to rise.

Yet each time, someone’s hand had lifted him up.

Or perhaps, he had risen not for himself, but for someone else.

Paejon once said:

‘Disciple. You abuse your body recklessly, as if pain or death means nothing to you.’

Back then, he had taken it as a mere warning against his rough fighting style.

And surely, Paejon had meant no more than that.

‘...Yet now,’

It sounded different.

‘It’s as if I acted that way because I could not even conceive of death.’

Because he was far from death.

Or because it never crossed his mind.

Because he had never acknowledged his own mortality, his actions had been reckless.

Did he think it didn’t matter, believing it to be his own choice—when, in truth, something else allowed him to cross those lines?

‘...I feel sick.’

His stomach churned.

He wanted to cover his mouth immediately.

Was it Turtle who said it? Or perhaps Shin Noya?

That he was shackled by fate, caught within the cage of karma the world had forged.

That from the beginning, his destiny had been predetermined, and his so-called choices may never have been his own.

Those words crept beneath his skin, burrowing into his core.

As the realization took form, it sent chills down his spine.

‘I...’

What am I?

“Son.” “...!”

His mother’s voice snapped him back. He forcibly steadied his ragged breathing.

“Hoo... Hoo...”

His breath steamed in the air. His turbulent energy surged, heating him from within.

“Son...” “...I am fine.”

He wasn’t. He wasn’t fine at all. But he had to endure.

“...So, is this why I had to consume the Divine Fruit?”

That wretched fate the world had thrust upon him.

Was this act necessary to break free from it?

To that question, his mother answered:

“Yes. It was necessary.” “Why?” “I cannot tell you. Not yet.” “...Hah. After coming this far?” “...I’m sorry...” “...When, then? When will I finally know?”

Even after reaching Mount Marryeong, she still withheld the truth.

So when would he finally hear it?

Her answer, in this cursed situation—

“In time... In time, you will know.”

Her voice, pleading, almost desperate.

In time?

‘...There was another Divine Tree.’

Aside from the one at Mount Hua, one more existed.

A lesser-known, ancient tree under the protection of a forgotten general.

Only by reaching that place would he learn the truth?

Then.

“What can you tell me now...?”

Here, at Mount Marryeong—what knowledge could he gain?

Was there anything he could uncover after coming this far?

He asked, his voice laden with questions.

And ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) his mother spoke:

“You asked earlier. About that child, didn’t you?” “...!”

His throat dried as he swallowed.

The Divine Sword.

The girl called his mother’s daughter, appearing here and there, wandering like a shadow.

She was known as Yarang—but he felt otherwise.

‘She’s the Divine Sword.’

Her appearance aside—everything within him screamed it.

Every instinct, every sense declared she was the Divine Sword.

He had wondered why she, of all people, moved under his mother’s command.

And now—

His mother was finally about to answer.

As he waited, tense and breathless—

“You are correct.” “...!”

The answer he had sought, hoped for—his mother confirmed it.

Clench—!

His fists closed tight at the words.

It was as he expected, but hearing the confirmation from his mother's lips felt entirely different.

“H-How... how...”

The words wouldn't come out properly.

He wanted to ask how she could be here. Yet, his voice faltered, crumbling into fragments.

Fortunately, his mother seemed to understand. She spoke softly, her voice lowered.

“...Because she is a pitiful child.”

“...”

“I could have just let it be. But knowing her memories... and knowing how precious she was to you, I chose to meddle—a little.”

“How... do you mean?”

Meddling could only go so far. The fact that the Divine Sword was here at all defied understanding.

“Don’t you remember? I once told you to embrace her.”

“What... Ah?”

It hadn’t clicked at first, but then it surfaced—back during the battle at the Divine Dragon Hall.

When he fought Cheonma.

At that time—when Wi Seol-ah’s body expelled the Divine Sword.

The one who had unleashed a demonic aura and shielded him from Cheonma had undeniably been the Divine Sword.

And afterward—when the fading soul had been absorbed into him, following his mother's words.

‘Could it be...’

Was it then?

Had the soul he absorbed at his mother’s instruction flowed here—

And taken the name ‘Yarang’?

His heart pounded. From the moment she confirmed that Yarang was indeed the Divine Sword.

‘The Divine Sword?’

Was it truly her?

The eyes behind that mask, the ones that had met his—just the memory alone set his heart racing.

At that moment—

Swish.

His mother, still in her spiritual form, turned her gaze somewhere beyond.

Following her line of sight, he turned his head.

Beyond the lake, standing still and facing them—was Cheonma.

As though sensing their stare, Cheonma looked back.

A blank expression.

The vibrant amethyst eyes, so bright, yet utterly unfocused.

The difference in those eyes from his past life struck him—a reminder that this life and the last were not the same.

But then—

“I know what you’re hoping for, my son.”

His mother’s gaze returned to him, and she spoke again:

“But, I’m afraid what you’re hoping for... it isn’t there.”

“...What?”

“Though she may be the same soul you once held close... she will not remember you.”

“What do you mean...?”

“Forgetfulness is both a punishment and a mercy. There are things we can only do when we remember nothing. That was true for me... and it is true for her.”

His mother’s eyes briefly flicked back to Cheonma before settling on him once more.

“And it will be true for you as well.”

“I... don’t understand.”

“If a soul remains but the memories are gone—do you know what remains?”

“I don’t.”

“What remains... is emotion.”

His mother rose slightly, approaching him.

“A soul retains only the emotions it once carried. Imagine... living with emotions stripped of all context, longing for something you cannot even name.”

“...”

To exist with only emotion, without memory?

He had never once considered such a state.

“It’s hollow. It’s sorrowful. To yearn for what you cannot know is a curse. So, remember this well—”

Her hand touched his cheek.

“Forgetfulness may seem like a punishment, but it is also a mercy. And to strip even the emotions from that forgetfulness... to bear all the burdens alone—”

She paused, her voice heavy.

“That... is the gravest sentence of all.”

“Mother, why are you telling me this now...?”

He wondered—was this connected to the Divine Sword’s loss of memory?

Or—

“Just... a little meddling. A small act of compassion for a poor child. Someday, when you learn what you should never have known—remember my words.”

His mother’s hand softly brushed his hair as she said it.

Cryptic. And incomprehensible.

Then—

“I’m sorry I still cannot tell you everything. But know this—some things must remain unknown for you to reach what you desire.”

That phrase again.

Some things must remain unknown.

He frowned deeply, remembering her earlier words.

To achieve it, you must not know.

His mother had once said she wanted him to find happiness.

Was this—connected to that wish?

“...Mother. You spoke of the Divine Fruit.”

At his words, her expression shifted, and she finally spoke of it:

“Yes.”

“The Divine Trees... once you find them all, and reach the last of them—only then will you find what you seek.”

One tree from Yahwol.

One tree from here—Mount Marryeong.

And one more.

Was it truly that by collecting them all—the Divine Fruit could be his?

But—

‘If it’s all the Divine Trees...’

Did that mean even the one at the Mount Hua Sect was included?

As the thought flashed through his mind—

“And... if your mother could ask you one thing—”

A pale hand softly traced his cheek.

“Never. Never seek me out.”

His eyes widened at the sudden warning.

It felt eerily similar to what she had told him before—when she had shielded him from the Blood Demon.

“Not now. Not yet. So—find me later.”

“Mother, wait—!”

There was still more to say.

He still needed to ask about Noya.

As the thought surged and he opened his mouth to speak—

Suddenly—

“Ugh...!”

His mother’s form trembled violently, as if struck by lightning.

And then—

Thud.

She collapsed.

“Mother...?”

He rushed forward, catching her as she fell.

Her body, still and cold—suddenly stirred faintly.

“Ah...”

A weak sound escaped her lips, and she turned her face toward him.

“...G-Gwiin?”

At the unexpected word, his face hardened.

It was the voice of a spirit.