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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: cyno
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Okhwa’s Misunderstanding
“Sword Saint…! So you truly were a demon?!”
A furious groan escaped Okhwa’s parted lips.
A demon.
The very thought painted her mind in a sea of blood—the embodiment of evil.
In her worldview, nothing was worse than a demon.
And now, one had willingly appeared before her.
“Cough…! O-Okhwa…”
The Sword Saint’s trembling, sinister eyes flickered as he looked up at her.
His legs gave out, leaving his gaze level with her waist.
Shing—
For the first time since entering seclusion, Okhwa drew her sword.
The pale crescent moon cast its glow upon her pristine blade, illuminating its deadly edge.
“I don’t know what possessed you to come here, but you must have a death wish. How dare you show yourself before me in such a state?!”
The sharp edge of her sword pressed against his throat.
With full intent to behead him, she swung—
Despite years of seclusion, her movements were flawless.
“Ghh—!”
Shhk—!
“S-Spare me…”
Thud—
“Okhwa…”
Her blade, descending like a flash of light, stopped abruptly.
“I needed… Kunlun’s sanctuary…”
Thump—
With those final words, the Sword Saint’s head slumped forward.
The sensation of his forehead touching her feet made Okhwa hesitate before sheathing her sword.
Then, in disbelief, she demanded:
“Why did you come to me?”
“……”
Unconscious, he couldn’t answer.
“You must have trained in demonic arts and fallen into demonic path. If so, you should have fled to survive. Why come to me?”
His actions made no sense. Her irritation spilled out in sharp questions.
“Flashing the proof of being a demon right in my face…!”
A thick, black liquid dripped from the Sword Saint’s wounds, staining her feet.
Dark, viscous blood.
“Did you come here to die? Did you regret it after falling into Zhuhua Inma? Did you seek redemption after making an irreversible choice? Is that it?”
She knew full well that this was the byproduct of demonic energy.
“And… what about these bloodstains?”
In the darkness, she hadn’t noticed earlier, but now, under the moonlight, his injuries became clear.
A deep gash from shoulder to waist, two intersecting wounds across his chest, and dozens of smaller but still grievous injuries.
From all of them, the same black blood seeped out, staining the floor beneath her.
“Did you fight someone? Were you ambushed while meditating, triggering Zhuhua Inma? But why come here instead of Anhui?”
Kunlun was in Qinghai, while Namgoong was in Anhui.
Even at the shortest estimate, the distance between the two was thousands of li.
In his condition—on the verge of death—it was impossible he had traveled from Anhui to Qinghai. He must have been injured nearby.
“When? Where? How? By whom?”
Too many questions swirled in her mind.
“And most importantly… why come to me?”
Unfortunately, the only one who could answer lay unconscious before her.
“……”
Left with no choice, Okhwa began piecing together his purpose from his last words.
In truth, deducing his intent was simple—he had outright stated it.
‘But what does it mean? Begging for his life? How many in this world could even kill him? And what did he mean by ‘Kunlun’s sanctuary’?’
Only his words and actions remained incomprehensible.
“If I see even a hint of demonic energy, I’ll cut you down without hesitation.”
Perhaps because his appearance reminded her of the war, Okhwa carried him discreetly into Kunlun.
One hand never left her sword’s hilt—ready to draw at any moment.
****
“Ugh…”
Uncharacteristically delirious with fever, the Sword Saint groaned.
Okhwa watched impassively, her fingers twitching against her blade.
Every fiber of her being screamed to execute the man radiating demonic energy.
‘Wake up… Wake up and tell me why you came to me!’
Yet, against her nature, she held back—haunted by the Divine Monk’s aged voice echoing in her mind.
“Better to spare ten guilty than condemn one innocent…”
As Okhwa muttered the monk’s teachings, the Sword Saint coughed violently.
“Cough! Cough—!”
“……!”
Black blood spewed from his lips, staining the bed and sheets.
But she had no mind to care.
The moment she saw the condensed demonic energy, her mind flooded with killing intent.
“A demon…!”
As a child, Okhwa had lost her family to Janghyeol Daema, a demon of the Sama Oedo (邪魔外道).
An unforgettable memory. Who could forget the sight of their parents being boiled alive and devoured?
Though later saved by the Kunlun Sect, the trauma never faded.
“Demons… must die!”
From that day, she trained obsessively, repeating one mantra: “Eradicate evil, slaughter demons.”
She vowed to purge all evil from the world, to tear apart every demon limb from limb.
To Okhwa, the Sword Saint before her—spewing thick demonic energy—was an unbearable provocation.
She had to destroy this evil, to enact justice.
“You… vile demon!”
“Cough! Cough—!”
‘He must have a reason for coming to me. There must be circumstances…’
But such thoughts were fleeting.
‘Who doesn’t have a story?’
She had never spared anyone before.
A father stealing to feed his starving child. A daughter embezzling for her parents’ funeral. A Blood Cult disciple turning to forbidden arts to escape a death sentence.
In the end, they were all criminals. All evil.
There was no mercy. Justice was absolute. Personal circumstances were just pitiful excuses before the law.
Even if the Sword Saint had reasons, he was now a demon, corrupted by Zhuhua Inma.
Nothing more.
Shing—!
The vivid memory of her childhood—seared into her eyelids—replayed.
Demons must die. Mercy was never an option.
Okhwa’s sword rose high, nearly touching the wooden ceiling.
It was the first time the Sword Saint had spoken since being brought to Kunlun.
“Okh… wa…?”
“……!”
“You… saved me…”
His sinister eyes slowly returned to their usual hollow state.
Only then did Okhwa realize the demonic energy within him had significantly faded.
“Thank you… Truly…”
Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned toward her.
Her response was the cold edge of her blade.
Thud—
“…Okhwa, what is this?”
The Sword Saint’s voice was flat as he stared at the sword at his throat.
His expression was almost dazed.
“Why did you learn demonic arts?”
“Demonic arts…? Don’t spout nonsense. I’ve never practiced them. Surely you don’t believe those absurd rumors? I came to you because I thought you would believe me—”
“Never practiced them? Then what was that demonic energy just now? The energy so thick it corroded the bed?”
“That… I can explain. But first, calm down. Lower your sword.”
His trembling finger pointed at the blade.
His entire body shook—proof he lacked the strength to resist.
“Enough. I shouldn’t have asked. Demons deserve only death.”
“W-What? Wait, Okhwa, what are you—?!”
“Die. No matter your reasons, those who practice demonic arts must perish. It is the law. Whether you were the martial world’s guardian or a revered hero changes nothing.”
Her sword pressed deeper.
Slowly, inevitably, it inched toward his throat.
The Sword Saint’s face twisted—first in confusion, then in rising fury.
“…Why?”
“Hm?”
“Why is everyone doing this to me?!”
His voice cracked—relief turning to frustration, then to raw fury.
“After everything I sacrificed to save the martial world, this is my reward? ‘Hero’? ‘Lustful demon’? ‘Cannibal’? I thought you would be different, yet here you are—!”
“What nonsense. ‘Lustful demon’? ‘Cannibal’?”
Having been in seclusion, she hadn’t heard the rumors about him.
But it didn’t matter. His bottled-up rage erupted.
“What? Demonic arts? Does this look like demonic energy to you? I came to you because I was poisoned by the Blood Cult’s Vice-Leader in battle! I received intel that the bastard who survived the Blood War was hiding in Qinghai!”
“……?”
“Do you know how strong he was? Honestly, it was fiercer than my fight with the Blood Demon! At least she fought honorably! That Vice-Leader used arrays, curses—even demonic arts—to corrupt me! That’s why I was in that state earlier!”
“Lies. The Blood Cult never had a Vice-Leader.”
“Of course not! The Blood Demon sealed him because he rivaled her! After her death, the remnants broke the seal to crown a new leader!”
“…Hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth! Why would I lie?! And do you know why I came to Kunlun? Since ancient times, the Queen Mother of the West’s mountain has been saturated with purifying energy! I thought you would help me! Can’t you feel it? The demonic energy inside me has already weakened!”
“……”
“And also—! Ugh, cough! Cough—!”
Mid-rant, black blood gushed from his lips again.
The demonic energy had diminished further—now faint enough to sense without effort.
‘This is the Sword Saint?’
For ten years during the Blood War, the man she had known was the epitome of his title—Sword.
Never smiling, never angry, never grieving, never panicking.
Always expressionless. Only occasionally melancholic as he slaughtered Blood Cult disciples without mercy.
Yet now, this man—who she thought incapable of emotion—was baring his soul?
“Damn it… Still, thank you. If you hadn’t taken me in, I’d have been fully corrupted. So put this damned sword away. Must I really fight the Blood Cult while treated like this?”
Regaining his composure, he reverted to his usual formal speech.
But his tone remained sharp.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I never asked you to. Of course it’s hard to believe. But you asked. I merely answered truthfully.”
“Assuming you’re right, what about the mark under your eye? Practicing demonic arts leaves black stains—just like the ones I saw on you two years ago.”
“People get these when exhausted. Don’t you know? Ah, right—you’ve lived among well-fed, well-rested Taoists. You wouldn’t have seen it.”
“Don’t deflect. During the Blood War, you went three months without food and didn’t lose weight. Now you claim fatigue? Look at yourself. Does this look like the body of a man who reached the pinnacle of martial arts?”
The Sword Saint glanced down at his emaciated frame.
His ribs protruded starkly beneath loose robes.
His cheeks, though unseen, were surely just as hollow.
“Hah… I surprised myself too. Never thought I’d weaken like this. But everyone’s different, no? Maybe Namgoong Cheolbin is just… fragile. Still don’t believe me?”
“……”
Okhwa fell silent.
After a long pause, she finally spoke.
“If everything you say is true… it still doesn’t make sense.”
“What now?”
“You didn’t practice demonic arts. The rumors about you are false. And the world scorned you to this extent. That’s your point, yes?”
“…Correct.”
“Then why save the martial world?”
“If I were a demon, I’d have even less reason.”
“Stop dodging. What kind of madman saves a world that slanders and betrays him? Twice? Even now, coughing up demonic energy from your wounds?”
“Damn it, the world’s vast enough for one lunatic. Fine, I do have doubts. I thought saving you would mean you’d believe me. Guess I was wrong.”
“At least bring evidence. Then I’ll believe you.”
“What better proof than the demonic energy in this room?”
“That could just be from your demonic arts. Bring real evidence.”
“……!”
The Sword Saint bit his lip.
He had more to say—but held back.
No, it was more like… resignation.
“Fine. Just kill me.”
“You mean that?”
“Not really. But it feels pointless. One thing is certain—if another crisis comes, I won’t lift a finger. Let them fend for themselves. If I even get the chance.”
“Practicing demonic arts and still so shameless. You can’t even provide evidence. Not worth listening to.”
“…Right. I did practice demonic arts. So kill me.”
He closed his eyes and exposed his neck.
As if letting go of everything.
“……”
“Do it. Why hesitate?”
“No matter your reasons, those who practice demonic arts deserve death.”
“True. Demonic practitioners should die. So kill me. I’m not one.”
“……”
At his urging, Okhwa pressed the blade deeper.
Blood trickled from his throat—dark at first, then gradually reddening.
One slash, and he’d die without resistance.
In his state, he couldn’t block her sword or heal a fatal wound.
Simple. Routine. By her code, it was justice.
Regardless of his past deeds, demons must be exterminated.
That was law.
But…
“Why won’t you strike?”
“…Get out.”
“Changed your mind? Finally believe me?”
“I said leave. Before I do kill you.”
At the last moment, the Divine Monk’s words shackled her blade.
‘That damn ‘innocent victim’! Why does it matter?! If there’s even a 1% chance he’s a demon, he must die!’
“Seems you still don’t believe me… Sparing me out of gratitude for my deeds? How unlike you.”
“I said leave! And never set foot in Kunlun again—never speak to me again!”
“……”
“If I ever see you again… I’ll cut you down in the name of Okhwa.”
“How gracious—condemning an innocent man.”
The Sword Saint rose slowly, his gaunt frame making the room feel smaller.
As he straightened his robes and prepared to leave, Okhwa remained frozen—sword still raised.
Before stepping out, he left her with one final remark.
“Your eyes are blind. The truth is before you, yet you refuse to see.”
“Go. Never return. This is the first—and last—mercy I’ll ever show.”
“……”
“Now. Leave.”
Creak—
That day, Okhwa’s unwavering absolute justice was broken for the first time.
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