Inside the cave, it was strangely quiet.
Traces remained of the air twisting just moments ago,
but now, nothing moved.
Miryeong sat on the floor, catching her breath.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t get up.
As if there was no need to do so right now,
she simply remained seated where she was.
Bido stood a few steps away and surveyed their surroundings.
Hajin, the corpse,
and the air inside the cave.
For now, everything was still as it had been.
“······”
Miryeong was the first to speak.
Her voice had lost its strength.
“What was that···”
It was a short question.
She caught her breath for a moment,
then looked up at Bido and spoke again.
“How···”
“What on earth did you do?”
Bido couldn’t answer the question right away.
She merely looked down once at the hand holding her sword,
then raised her head again.
“···I”
“still don’t really··· know either.”
It was certainly not a lie.
Bido tried to sort through what she had done earlier,
but she didn’t even know where to begin.
It was just that, back then,
she had simply felt that she had to do it.
Miryeong looked at Bido’s face for a moment, then turned her head away.
“······”
She said nothing more.
Silence settled over the cave once again.
Miryeong slowly exhaled.
“This is···”
She trailed off, then continued.
“not a situation the two of us can handle on our own.”
Bido nodded at those words.
Miryeong’s condition was clearly abnormal no matter who looked at her,
and Hajin, collapsed on the floor, might change again at any moment.
On top of that, far too many irreversible traces had already been left inside this cave.
“We need support.”
Bido spoke cautiously.
Miryeong did not argue.
“Yeah.”
It was a short answer.
“Right now···”
“that’s the right call.”
Miryeong looked around the cave once more.
There was neither fear nor resolve in her gaze.
Only,
the judgment that they could not remain here any longer.
Bido took a step toward Miryeong.
“Can you walk?”
It was a cautious question.
Rather than asking about her condition,
her tone seemed to be confirming a choice.
Miryeong caught her breath for a moment,
then slowly nodded.
“Well, thanks to you.”
She started to give a short laugh, then stopped,
and continued speaking.
“Thankfully, I’m not so bad that I can’t walk.”
She braced herself against the wall and slowly stood up.
Her movements were slow, but she was balanced.
After confirming that, Bido turned her head.
Hajin’s fingers moved ever so slightly.
And then, the rhythm of his breathing changed.
Miryeong noticed the change first.
Lowering her body slightly, she called to Bido.
“···Bido.”
Bido immediately looked at Hajin.
A moment later,
Hajin’s eyelids slowly lifted.
His eyes were unfocused,
and his gaze moved as if wandering through the darkness.
“···Why is”
“it so dark here?”
His voice was still hoarse,
but unlike before, it clearly carried consciousness.
Hajin blinked several times, then looked at Bido and Miryeong.
“···Who are you people?”
Miryeong muttered quietly.
“What’s··· wrong with him?”
Bido turned her head to look at Miryeong.
“It’s all right.”
It was a brief statement.
Bido bent down toward Hajin again.
“Mr. Hajin.”
“We’re the people Ms. Yeonrin sent.”
The moment he heard that name,
a very small change passed over Hajin’s face.
“···Yeonrin.”
He slowly drew in a breath.
“I have to go back···”
He stopped mid-sentence and pressed a hand to his forehead.
“···Ugh.”
“I···”
“I’m···”
Hajin’s voice blurred.
Bido moved a little closer.
“It’s all right now,”
“Mr. Hajin.”
Her words were filled with certainty.
“You’re all right now.”
Hajin seemed to mull over those words for a moment,
then slowly nodded.
It was visible as strength returned to his body.
“That’s strange···”
“My body···”
He tried to slowly rise, then tilted toward Bido.
Without hesitation, Bido supported him.
Hajin stood there for a moment, leaning his weight on her.
“Ah···”
“I’m sorry··· just a moment.”
There was neither suspicion nor fear in those words.
Only quiet breathing remained inside the cave.
“Let’s head out slowly.”
Bido carefully looked around.
Inside the cave, traces that had yet to be dealt with still remained.
“This scene···”
Bido chose her words, then spoke quietly.
“Wouldn’t it be best to tell someone?”
Hajin’s reaction to those words was immediate.
His complexion visibly darkened.
And for a moment, he stopped moving as if his body had gone rigid.
“···This,”
Hajin said in a low voice.
Bido did not miss that change.
“Mr. Hajin?”
Hajin lowered his head.
Then, with his eyes closed, he took a deep breath.
“···I,”
he said.
“did something here···”
His words trailed off.
At that moment, Miryeong took a step closer.
“Do you remember something?”
Hajin shook his head.
“Not everything.”
“But···”
He looked down at his own hands for a moment.
“···strangely,”
“I’m certain it wasn’t a good memory.”
There was no conviction in those words, but it was clear that unease remained.
Bido moved a little closer to Hajin’s side.
“Mr. Hajin. You’re all right now.”
Bido spoke clearly.
“There’s no need to force yourself to remember what you can’t.”
Hajin did not immediately deny her words.
“···Still,”
he said quietly.
“I don’t think it’s the sort of memory I’m better off not knowing.”
Miryeong neither denied his words nor pressed him.
“Let’s get outside first.”
She said.
“This isn’t a good place to think things over.”
Hajin lifted his head for a moment, then gave a small nod.
And so the three of them left the cave without a word.
The outside air touched their faces,
but Hajin’s expression did not lighten in the slightest.
For a long while, he said nothing.
But that silence was no longer confusion,
and was closer to the silence of one who vaguely understood.
Bido moved carefully,
and Miryeong and Hajin followed behind her.
Outside, the sun was already sinking.
Beyond the valley, the light had fallen low,
and the sky was slowly losing its color.
As they stood with the cave entrance at their backs,
the smell wafting from inside faded a little.
Without realizing it, Bido looked back once.
The cave was quiet, as if nothing had happened.
Miryeong noticed her gaze, but said nothing in particular.
Before long, the three of them slowly began descending along the valley.
For now,
everything seemed to have been settled.
It was around the time they had gone a little farther down the valley.
Miryeong slowed her steps for a moment.
“The sun’s completely set.”
Bido raised her head and looked at the sky.
The west had already lost its light,
and only faint color remained above it.
“It has.”
Bido said.
“The moon’s already up.”
It was exactly as she said.
Though it was not yet bright,
the moon had risen in a distinct shape on one side of the sky.
Its light was weak,
and perhaps because of that, the shadows around them looked a little longer.
Bido was walking when she suddenly stopped.
She did not know why.
There was no sound,
nor was there any voice calling from behind.
And yet, her back felt a little heavy.
Miryeong stopped before she did.
“Bido.”
Her voice was very low.
“Stop.”
At those words, Bido turned around reflexively.
Only then did the strangeness enter her eyes.
There was one more shadow.
Aside from their shadows cast on the slope of the valley,
there was clearly another one overlapping them.
Considering the direction of the light, it was in a place where it could not possibly be.
Bido swallowed her breath.
Slowly, she raised her gaze.
Someone was standing a short distance away.
She could not tell how long they had been there.
They had not approached,
nor had she sensed any presence.
They were simply standing there, as if they had already been there all along.
He had the form of a human.
His build and height were not particularly large.
From afar, he might have looked like an ordinary person.
But the moment she faced him up close,
Bido instinctively realized that he did not feel like a living person.
His hair was black.
Hair that fell to his waist was slowly scattering, though there was no wind.
His eyes were black.
A color that reflected no light,
so deep that its depths could not be measured.
There was neither will nor emotion in those eyes.
A gaze that seemed not to be seeing, even as it looked at something.
They were the eyes of a being who was alive,
yet did not have his feet planted in this world.
His expression did not change from beginning to end.
He was not surprised,
nor was he on guard,
nor did he show any interest.
His face was one that made the phrase
“expressionless” feel the most natural.
He had an old piece of cloth draped carelessly around his neck.
The aged cloth was frayed in places,
and its color had faded, but he looked as if he had no intention of fixing it.
And behind his waist hung a long blade.
There was no scabbard.
Its edge was exposed as it was.
Its length seemed comparable to Bido’s torso,
and the sword existed with him as if it had always belonged there.
Miryeong did not move a single step.
It was not vigilance.
She merely stood where she was and looked at him.
Bido felt that her heart was beating a little late.
And then, in that instant,
a very faint pull arose deep within her chest.
It did not hurt.
Nor was it unpleasant.
Only,
the fact that some part deep inside her had recognized that being was conveyed with absolute clarity.
Mirkin was certainly not active right now.
Her sword showed no reaction either.
And yet Bido could be certain that this sensation was not an illusion.
This was not a reaction of the body.
Nor was it something she understood with her head.
Her soul was reacting first.
She did not know the reason.
Why,
or how,
nothing came to mind.
Only the fact remained that there was some inexplicable point of contact between that being and herself.
His gaze was not fixed on Bido.
Nor on Miryeong.
It was quietly directed a little farther back, toward Hajin.
There was neither pity nor hostility in those eyes.
He was merely confirming his target.
Miryeong’s breath trembled ever so slightly.
However,
in the end, she could not say a word.
Only silence flowed between them.
The moonlight grew a little clearer,
and with it, the shadows stretched long.
No one had done anything yet.
But Bido could tell.
From this moment on,
this matter had left their hands.