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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: I'll Forgive You.
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His final memory before regressing.
After grabbing Yuna Kyung's hand and being space-warped into a basement packed with explosives.
The moment he'd barely escaped the building collapsing amid the explosion, only to face a barrage of gun barrels—Rimon wore a bitter expression as he recalled it.
"...TNT? A trap? What are you talking about?"
Yuna Kyung blinked vacantly.
Her expression, so vacant it bordered on outright stupidity, made it impossible to see her as the mastermind behind his death.
But Rimon ignored her words entirely.
He simply let his golden eyes sink with quiet sorrow and sighed softly.
"I was the stupid one. There were so many red flags."
The fact that she, a mere low-level PAB employee, had somehow pinpointed the Liberation Brigade's hideout—one even intelligence agencies couldn't locate.
The fact that Yuna Kyung, who cared nothing for promotions or money, had no reason to push so hard for the Liberation Brigade's subjugation.
The fact that their defenses and armament were far too prepared for what was supposed to be a surprise raid.
He should have seen it coming.
His trust in Yuna Kyung had blinded him to the inconsistencies.
"With you by my side, there's no way you could be in danger."
Another crucial clue.
It was the ominous premonition he'd felt upon glimpsing her constellation—the sense that she would be the one in peril.
Thinking back, it was absurd on its face.
Be it a million-strong army charging in.
Or falling into the most elaborate trap.
Or facing down a monarch-level player head-on.
Protecting and escaping with at least one person was child's play for Rimon.
Especially if that person was a high-level player like Yuna Kyung.
And yet, from the start, there had only been one way she could end up in danger.
"...Unless I don't kill you."
The regret of it all left a bitter taste on his tongue.
But he kept his sword raised.
A swordsman of his vintage—one who'd lived far too many years to drown in sentiment and forget his duty—calmly leveled his blade at the "enemy" and asked.
"Why, Na-kyung?"
"T-Team Leader? I have no idea what you're talking about. You're scaring me like this... Can we call it a joke and stop?"
Her clear, wide eyes didn't waver a bit.
As expected of his sharp subordinate.
She knew denial to the bitter end was her best play—and she had the steel to follow through.
The only shame was her inexperience.
If she truly didn't understand, anxiety would have flickered in those eyes.
But her over-calculated composure—born of excessive cleverness—rang clearer than any outright admission.
"A hostage?"
"...!"
A crack splintered across her mask.
Yuna Kyung desperately feigned calm.
But a sword master's hyper-attuned senses didn't miss the frantic pounding of her heart.
"No parents or family to threaten an orphan like you, so they went for the orphanage kids' lives instead."
Rimon knew all too well.
That her constant bright chatter stemmed from a hunger for affection.
That most of her paycheck went to caring for the orphanage children.
How dearly she cherished those kids.
So there was no anger.
Only a murmur of loneliness.
"I get why you chose this."
Perhaps she could bear it no longer.
Her mask finally shattered.
Beneath it, a face twisted on the verge of tears—she muttered in a trembling voice.
"...How did you know?"
"You wouldn't betray me for money or orders."
"You're too perceptive. Really."
Two words laced with a storm of emotions—admiration, resentment, a sob.
Rimon met her eyes, churning with even more turmoil than her voice, and asked.
"No other way?"
"Think there was?"
"No."
"Right. At least one of us—you or me—dies here."
"Had to be."
He'd known before even asking.
Quick as she was, she wouldn't resort to this if an out existed.
She couldn't tip him off or beg for help because there truly hadn't been one.
A memory from that future finally surfaced.
Her sorrowful face after warping them both to the basement... and detonating the bombs.
It proved the point.
Not unfamiliar at all.
Long, long ago.
When facing the seven dragons who ruled the world.
When battling black magicians who'd summoned demon gods.
When thwarting the Seven Dragon Society's uprising across Asia.
Those who couldn't handle Rimon always tried it once—holding his loved ones hostage or issuing threats.
Even in the Sword Master's absolute era, blocking every scheme was impossible.
Thus, Rimon's response was always the same.
"One last question."
Rimon swallowed his bitterness.
Golden eyes fixed calmly on Yuna Kyung, he asked.
"Those kids... more precious than your own life?"
Not so much a question as confirmation.
A boss making good on the bare minimum duty to a fallen subordinate—she didn't look away from his gaze.
Straightened her eyes to his and answered firmly.
"Yes."
"...Hesitate a little. Makes me look bad."
"Sorry."
"You should be. Hitting your sky-high boss in the back wasn't enough—you dumped the cleanup on him too."
Rimon chuckled.
She had to know what his question implied.
Yet that resolute answer.
Even for a long-lived soul like Rimon, Yuna Kyung was a genuine prodigy.
Which made his decision all the easier.
"But I'll forgive you."
Her pupils dilated as if she'd heard the impossible.
Before shock released its grip, he advanced.
One step to square up.
One step to draw the sword back slightly.
One step to drive it smoothly into her heart.
Puk!
"So rest easy."
As if time itself had frozen.
Yuna Kyung stood rigid, Rimon's sword buried in her chest.
Only after ages did her body begin to sag.
Rimon caught it gently.
No pain.
She hadn't even realized she was dying.
Yet the faint, vivid smile on her lips proclaimed her acceptance.
With a cold face, Rimon closed the eyes of his brilliant, cheerful—foolish—subordinate.
Sss...
It happened then.
The world bled to black.
The invisible made visible.
The moment his eyes locked with the snake—fangs embedded in Yuna Kyung's neck until now, finally withdrawing, tongue flicking in mockery.
Rimon seized its throat.
To rip away the softly glowing orb clutched in its jaws, freshly plucked from her.
"Hand it over."
Shocked at being caught? Furious at the theft?
No matter—Rimon didn't so much as twitch as it convulsed wildly.
Just spoke icily.
"This isn't for trash like you."
Rimon didn't know what the orb was.
But one truth stood clear.
It belonged to Yuna Kyung.
And that sufficed as reason to claim it from the snake.
Unconvinced, it bared savage fangs and lashed its tail like lightning to strike.
Regrettably, it wasn't faster than Rimon.
"Now get lost."
Crack.
The snake's neck snapped at a right angle.
Its remnants dissolved like a mirage.
Rimon ignored it entirely.
He simply stared at the orb's strangely familiar aura, then placed it atop Yuna Kyung's chest.
As if anticipating some change.
But it seeped back into her like melting light—no miracle resurrection followed.
As Rimon soured at the inevitable.
Kugugugugugung!
A heaven-rending roar—and a massive pillar of flame erupted from the basement, engulfing Rimon and the entire building.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Kugugugugugung!
'...Finally over.'
The Liberation Brigade's base, masquerading under the Haecheong Mul-san Co. sign.
He sighed at the sight of the building—which had loomed like a lighthouse under soft moonlight moments ago—now crumbling in a inferno.
'Exhausted.'
144 tons of TNT buried there.
Plus dozens of blast-enhancers and barrier items to seal escape.
If Yuna Kyung had lured Rimon to the basement as planned, no Sword Master—no monarch—would walk out alive.
Many had called his precautions excessive.
But he'd bulldozed ahead.
Don't start if you won't finish.
Once set on killing Rimon, failure meant no tomorrow—he knew it bone-deep.
But the nail-biting wait was done.
With Humanity's Last Sword Master gone, no more fretting over insomnia, ulcers, or baldness.
So he thought.
"Ha, fuck."
Until a low voice drifted from the debris amid the thick dust cloud.
"If I sinned in a past life, how bad to make me endure this twice?"
"...!"
He held his breath without thinking.
Muttered inwardly.
No way.
Misheard.
That voice's owner is dead.
Whoosh!
But a sudden gale scattered the dust.
Against roaring flames, a white-haired man cradling a woman materialized in the ruins—blanching his mind blank.
He wasn't alone in his shock.
Everyone stationed around the building for contingencies froze at the actual contingency unfolding.
'How?'
The universal thought.
Surviving that cataclysm shattered all sense and logic.
"Halt, Rimon Asfelder!"
One exception, mercifully.
Sturdy mentality? Ambition eclipsing judgment?
As all stood dumbfounded, one man alone stepped forward megaphone in hand.
Shouted per protocol, brimming with confidence.
"You're under emergency arrest for murdering a PAB agent and..."
"Terrorism and high treason—kneel and surrender?"
"Y-Yes. Should you..."
"Refuse, we'll use force?"
"...Correct."
Why? How does he know my script? Peeked at the manual?
Stepped up for glory.
Now robbed of lines, reduced to a speechless extra—his face burned crimson.
Puk!
Rimon's sword scraped the ground.
The megaphone man's head burst like a melon.
"Try it, if you can."
"...!"
Blood rained crimson.
The brain-smeared megaphone clattered down.
The headless hunk toppled.
He stared blankly, rooted in place.
No—not him alone. The hundreds monitoring Rimon stood petrified.
Not merely because they'd missed Rimon's sword flicking a single grain of sand, making the head seem self-destructed.
"Anyone else wanna try?"
Rimon scanned them coolly, fresh off a kill.
His golden gaze conveyed it plain.
Any who advanced would share the man's fate.
Scoffing at their tomb-like silence.
Rimon curled an icy sneer.
Slowly turned, locking eyes on one flank of the human barricade ringed with gun barrels.
"What now? Looks like they don't fancy being your meat shields."
"...!"
His heart plummeted.
Rimon's stare nailed his exact position.
Logic screamed otherwise.
Impossible.
Perception-warping item cloaking his presence—even a monarch couldn't pinpoint him from here.
"Come out yourself? Or should I drag you?"
Rimon slashed that conviction with arctic words.
"Kang Jeongsu."