LIGHTNOVELONLINE [223] And When the Seasons Change…
Chapter 223: And When the Seasons Change…
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Joo Sangha stared at the man in front of her. Her throat suddenly felt itchy. Had he just called her name? Truly…?
He knew her, and he knew her master’s swordsmanship.
She was not a child, it couldn’t be one coincidence after another.
“Who are you?” she regained the grip around her sword, pointing it toward him. She was glad she had her mask on, she wasn’t sure what type of face she was making. “Are… are you Chun Ma?” she asked, referring to the Heavenly Demon she had defeated with her own two swords a millennium ago.
The Heavenly Demon of the Murim God Cult, that monster in human skin, looked quite different than this. But the vibe of the woman earlier, to Chun Ma, was quite similar. That woman now rested in his arms, unconscious, he carried her like a princess. He had seemingly attained this form from her, although he appeared much more calm than the demoness, they must be the same person. The blood lotus on his forehead proved it.
He scoffed at her question, “Oh, Sangha. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten me?” he said and then disappeared. His speed surprised her, it was a blink technique.
He appeared on the ground, among the crowd, beside the blonde girl with red eyes. He raised the unconscious woman toward her, allowing her to carry her. He took a look at the others around him, the Saintess was on the floor, vomiting her stomach, while the spear-wielding Princess locked eyes with him with agape lips.
His expression was odd as he observed their reactions, and then he reappeared before her. “How long has it been since you defeated the Heavenly Demon, Sangha?”
She wouldn’t converse with the personification of evil usually, but she found her lips moving on their own, “About… 1200 years.”
“Long time,” he raised his head and took a look at the dark blue sky. “You have ascended from your world, it seems. So that world has finally learned about higher realms?”
“Who the hell are you? Do not evade my question,” she asked, and a smile bloomed on his lips. She watched, her eyes focused on his lips, as she watched through her blindfolds. Slowly, he lowered his head. His gaze locked with hers, despite her blindfold covering it.
The wind blew fast, and her blindfold loosened. It flew across the sky, leaving her blue eyes staring ahead as he smiled at her. She took a battle pose and took a deep breath.
[Image Here]
Yet, it crumbled when the lotus on his forehead faded, his black hair grew brown, his red eyes grew black, and his regal robes grew torn and used. Her eyes shook.
“I’m hurt,” he said, “that my little girl wouldn’t recognize me just because it’s been a few summers since I last saw her.”
Joo Sangha’s lips parted, eyes trembled, and her sword fell from her hand. Her sword spun as it fell, like a wheel, and her eyes too spun, memories of a life she had long grown out of spiraled before her eyes.
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[The Eternal Samsara’s 4th Life || As the Vagabond]
“Mom, mom!” Little Joo Sangha ran, pushing through leaves and bushes, a big smile on her lips. She caught a big beetle, and she wanted to show it to her mother. Although she was quite far from her house, still outside the village gate, she was yelling already. Little Sangha was sure her mother would hear her, she was a former Murim after all.
According to the stories her mother told her, the Murim had martial artists who could see the peak of a mountain from the ground, and hear the little whispers kilometers away. She always said she wasn’t that strong, but Sangha had heard from the other villagers that her mother was quite the big shot back in the day.
After she was born, her mother left Murim to take care of her. She didn’t know who her father was, but her mother spoke greatly of him. She one day wanted to meet him, she wanted to scold him for leaving them.
So she ran, singing and shouting for her mother to hear, and she picked the pace. Her feet moved faster, and she ran further. Until slowly, her legs stopped. Her shout began to die in her throat.
“Mom…?” Sangha murmured in front of the severed head of her mother hanging before her eyes, held by the hair of a man. He grinned down at her, the surrounding fire that was burning the village casting shadows around his face.
“Ah there you are,” the scary man wielding a sword said. “She kept her mouth shut till the end, hoping you’d see the fire and run, but here you came running anyway. Awwh, did you catch a beetle? Here, let uncle see.”
“Y-you monster!” She threw the beetle to his face and ran to him. “What did you do to my mom?! You bad monster!” Tears burst out of her eyes, snot covered her mouth, and she plummeted punches upon punches against his thighs. Her small hands couldn’t even reach his chest.
“Ha, Baek Mu-won! That girl is beating you, kek-! The Heavenly Demon Cult’s Bloodhound Squad Leader is getting beaten by a little girl!” Another of them nodded. Right, these bad people weren’t alone, they were a whole group! She had to defeat this one first and-
“Oh, fuck off,” the man named Baek Mu-won, leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult’s Bloodhound Squad, who she had been punching so far, grabbed her by her collar and raised her to the air. “You brat, stop acting up. They only told us to bring you back alive, not uninjured. So don’t make me angry, okay?”
“You- you!” she grumbled and then spat on his face. Her spit fell right on his eyes, he grumbled, throwing her to the ground.
“Argh, this little bitch! Are you insane?!” Baek Mu-won wiped his eyes and grumbled, while his buddies laughed behind him. Baek Mu-won stomped toward her, glaring down at her as he put a foot on her throat. “You little bitch, what did I tell you, I-”
He started, but she spat on his shoe. He scowled.
“Right, fuck you then,” he raised his sword and then slashed across her eyes. Joo Sangha paused, and then excruciating pain spread across her entire face. Her world went red, blank, and black. She shouted, her throat breaking as she screeched like a dying bird.
“Argh, this bitch! Should I just break her vocal cord?!” Baek Mu-won grumbled and said, the pressure on her throat growing. However, Joo Sangha couldn’t see anything, and the immense pain didn’t even allow her to form proper thoughts to beg. Painful!!
It was simply too painful.
“Hey Baek Mu-won stay away from her throa-”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit too harsh, all things considered?” a voice, clearly hungry and thirsty, said. Joo Sangha couldn’t see, but she was sure of one thing. This man was not one of them.
…..
“Huh? Where did this beggar come from?” Baek Mu-won turned toward the rugged man, wearing torn clothes, with messy brown hair and an uninteresting face. “Leave, otherwise you’ll see something that you can’t be allowed to live after seeing.”
“How dirty,” the Wandering Beggar let out a sigh. His eyes fell upon the crying little girl, pupils growing soft in sympathy. “You fucking Demonic Cult losers.”
“Huh, for a moment I thought you were a hermit, given how bravely you stepped in. But you’re just cursing like a beggar,” Baek Mu-won’s comrade, Kim Do-hyun stepped forward with a chuckle.
“Indeed, it has been a while since I cursed,” the beggar said, crouching down to pick up a stick. It looked like a simple stick, used by farmers to scare chickens with. “This will do. It’s not worth it to use my sword on you.”
“Oh, this beggar has a sword,” Kim Do-hyun burst out laughing, then his expression fell dark. He took out his own sword and faced the beggar, “You fucking beggar bastard, you’re dead. No more warnings.”
“Haah,” the beggar sighed. Then, he waved the stick horizontally.
The wind of this remote village breezed past, leaves scattered from trees, smoke to the skies. Seven heads fell to the ground, blood splattering the ground, as a stick turned into dust, flowing into the wind.
Joo Sangha continued to cry, even as calloused hands gently picked her up, hand resting over her forehead.
“Ah, it’s too late,” he murmured, a sense of regret palpable in his voice, “at least I can stop the bleeding.” His hand lit up, Qi pressing over her wound, the bleeding closing.
“Y-you!” anybody else would have passed out, but the little girl shouted instead. “Why didn’t you come earlier?! You bad man, you should have been earlier!!! Why am I the only one alive, when everyone else died?! Kill me too!”
“....” The Wandering Beggar looked down at her face, scratching his unshaven chin, lost in thought. “Little girl,” he began, his voice carrying a weight of wisdom, “in life, there are moments when we face profound sorrow and loss. The heavens work in odd ways. Do you know why I came here? It’s because a beetle fell on my earlier path, and I had to take another path.”
He added, ruffling her hair, “Moments like yours challenge us, shaping our spirits and forging our wills. 'Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.' I understand your loss, and the pain you must be feeling, but it’s never alright to hurt yourself. You understand? Your pain today is a burden, but it is also a seed of strength. You may not understand it now, but one day, you will rise from this, stronger and wiser. The world can be cruel and indifferent, but it is also filled with possibilities for growth. Don’t give up on life. Remember, it is not the weight of the burden that breaks you, but how you carry it.”
“Wh-what does all of that even mean?!”
“Just go to sleep,” he tapped her neck, and her mind went blank… more than it already was.
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The morning sun cast long shadows as the Wandering Beggar sat with young Sangha on a worn wooden bench. He gently combed her tangled hair with a makeshift groom, his fingers deftly working through the knots. Sangha grumbled, shifting uncomfortably under his touch.
Her hair, he observed the intricate threads, they’re turning white. They’ve been white before, some part of it, but they are growing white at an alarming rate now. Seems like some kind of genetic disease. Those thugs were after her because of her bloodline, eh?
“You’re too quiet,” she suddenly said, bringing him out of his daze, head-turning backward as if to look at him. Not that she could, she didn't have eyes.
"Sit still," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I can't make you look presentable if you keep squirming."
Sangha frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why do you even bother? Nobody cares about how I look."
The Wandering Beggar paused, his eyes softening. "It's not about them caring, Sangha. It's about you caring for yourself."
She huffed but stopped fidgeting. It had been two months since he rescued her, two months of living in a constant state of gloom. Her eyes, which must have been once filled with curiosity and mischief, were now lifeless and dull.
She had barely spoken in that time, the trauma of her mother's death weighing heavily on her young shoulders.
"We'll soon be at the Shaolin Temple," he said, breaking the silence. They’ve been traveling toward it for the last two months. For an orphan like her, it’d be a good place. "Mentally prepare yourself for it, religious stuff and all."
Her shoulders slumped even further at his words, but she didn't respond. She simply sat there, letting him finish tidying her hair, and putting on a blindfold over her eyes.
….
After completing her hair, the Wandering Beggar took Sangha's hand and led her to a nearby inn. The scent of spiced meat and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making her stomach rumble with anticipation.
The inn's interior was warm and bustling, filled with the chatter of patrons and the clinking of mugs. They settled at a corner table, away from the noise, and the beggar ordered a modest meal for them both. The aroma of the food was comforting, a temporary respite from the hardships they faced.
As they waited, Sangha's mouth watered at the sight of steaming bowls being carried to other tables, her hunger momentarily overshadowing her gloom.
"Eat up," he instructed, placing the food before her. "You need your strength."
Sangha picked at her food, her appetite diminished by the constant sadness that clouded her mind. As they ate in silence, a loud commotion erupted from the other side of the inn. A fight had broken out between two groups of ruffians, their shouts and curses filling the air.
The Wandering Beggar shook his head, his expression one of mild annoyance. "Eat faster," he advised Sangha, his eyes flicking toward the brawl.
He noted the group of troublemakers – a dozen men, all wearing the distinct crimson sashes of the Iron Bull Gang. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, barked orders as his subordinates fought with ruthless efficiency.
The Wandering Beggar's sharp eyes took in their movements, assessing their strength and skill. Most were low-level fighters, but a few had a menacing air, their Qi radiating a formidable presence. Despite the chaos, he remained calm, his focus shifting back to Sangha as he urged her to finish her meal.
The opposing group, slightly smaller in number, wore blue and silver robes adorned with a tiger emblem. These were members of the Silver Tiger Gang, a rival faction known for their agility and speed. They were not prominent in this area, this was the Iron Bull’s territory. Though outnumbered, their fluid movements and coordinated attacks showcased their superior training.
They weren’t that strong, but it’d be troublesome to get caught in this, so he shifted his focus back to Sangha as he urged her to finish her meal. "We don't want to get caught up in this," he murmured, glancing back at the escalating fight.
Before she could respond, one of the Iron Bull fighters was sent flying across the room, crashing into their table. The beggar caught the man with one hand before he could land on the table, setting him down gently before returning to his meal as if nothing had happened.
The fight between the two groups ended shortly after, the commotion calming down somewhat until the victors approached the beggar with arrogant strides. "Old man," the leader of Iron Bull Gang said, "why didn't you help us if you're strong enough to stop a man? Do you not know this area is run by the Iron Bull Sect? It annoyed me seeing you quietly enjoying food when my brothers were getting beaten."
The Wandering Beggar looked up at him, bowl touching his lip, as he stopped. He sighed, put down the bowl, and looked at them with tired eyes. "I apologize for any inconvenience," he said, his tone sincere but weary. “I don’t wish any trouble.”
Sangha clenched her fists hearing his tone, her frustration boiling over. Why was he apologizing to these bullies? She couldn’t see, but her hearing had been improving these days, she had a gist of the situation. If he even saved one of their people from harshly crashing into a table, shouldn’t they be thanking him?
She decided to stay quiet, letting him handle it. The Iron Bull Gang’s leader scoffed, “You talk too much for a beggar!” his fist slammed against the beggar’s jaw, sending a loud thud resounding through the inn. When that happened, Sangha felt a surge of anger. He remained silent, not even flinching, and his lack of reaction only made her angrier.
Many people observed this scene from outside, but they didn’t do anything. They couldn’t, Murim was always like that.
"You monsters!" Sangha couldn’t help but shout, her voice trembling with rage. "Leave him alone!"
The thugs laughed, turning their attention to her. "What's this? The little blind girl has a mouth on her," one of them jeered, reaching out to grab her.
The Wandering Beggar's hand slipped through the air, stopping the thug's advance with startling speed. "Let's keep this between us," he said calmly, his grip like iron. “Otherwise things might get out of hand.”
The Iron Bull Gang’s leader's eyes widened at the speed, but before he could say anything, one of his minions kicked the man on his chest, sending him hurling to the floor. The leader blinked. For a moment he was scared that this was some big shot Martial Master, but it seemed he was just seeing things.
The thugs didn't relent after that. They beat him mercilessly, their fists and feet pounding into him with a sickening rhythm. The leader sneered, "Out of hand you said, old man? How dare you threaten us, the Iron Bull Gang?”
"Pathetic," another thug spat, landing a brutal kick to the Wandering Beggar's ribs. "Didn't even put up a fight."
Sangha’s blood burned to hear all that. Why were people in Murim like this?! Her small frame trembled, tears streaming down her face. "Stop! Please, stop!" she cried out, her voice breaking. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.
The Wandering Beggar grunted with each blow but refused to fight back. His calm demeanor only seemed to enrage the thugs more. "What's the matter, old man? Too scared to hit back?" one jeered, delivering a hard punch to his jaw.
After what felt like an eternity, the thugs finally left, laughing and boasting about their dominance and whatnot. The leader threw one last glance at the beggar, spitting on the ground near him. "Remember this next time you think about threatening us."
The inn fell silent as they departed, leaving the beggar bruised and bloody on the floor. Sangha rushed to his side, her hands shaking as she tried to help him up. "Why didn't you fight back?!" she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion. "Are you okay?"
The Wandering Beggar didn’t even wince as he managed a faint smile. "I'm fine, little one. Let's get out of here," he said softly, struggling to his feet.
He calmly paid for their meal, ignoring the shocked stares of the other patrons, and led Sangha out of the inn. They walked in silence, the weight of the encounter hanging heavily between them.
….
As they reached the outskirts of the city, Sangha stopped, her small hands trembling at her sides. "Why didn't you fight back?" she demanded, her voice choked with emotion. She let go of his hand, stopping, as she faced him. "Are you a loser?"
The Wandering Beggar stopped as well, looking at her blindfolded eyes, and then turning his gaze toward the sky. His expression was distant as if he were looking at something far beyond the clouds.
"In life, Sangha," he began, his voice soft, "there are battles worth fighting and battles worth walking away from. Strength isn't always about fighting back. Everyone is a slave to something. Letting strength get to your head will turn you into its slave.”
Sangha's eyes filled with tears, her heart aching with confusion and sorrow. "But... they hurt you."
He knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And it’s okay to forgive them for it. I'll heal these injuries. But if I fought them, they’d have ended up crippled or dead. They have families to feed, while I don’t. So why must I hurt them?”
“But…”
“Violence is not the answer, Sangha. Sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is to show restraint. That’s what I’ve been doing my entire life. I want to be a kinder, gentler person. I want to be... a stronger person." he looked at her and said. “I heard this from somewhere in the past, and I live by this. You have no enemies. No one has enemies. There is no reason to harm anyone in the world.”
She looked at him, trying to understand his words. Instead, the anger in her chest burnt hotter, more painfully. “So you’re saying the Demonic Cult bastards don’t deserve to be harmed?”
“....”
“Why did you kill them, then? Why did you save me from them? You’re a hypocrite old beggar, you know that?”
"Let's go," he said, standing up. "We have a long journey ahead."
“No,” she said. “I am not going to the Shaolin Temple. I don’t want to… leave a loser like you alone. What if more people come and bully you, and you accept all of that because of your stupid ideologies?”
“Little girl…”
“Teach me martial arts,” she stepped forward, looking up at where she assumed his face was. “If you leave me in Shaolin, I’ll bite my tongue and kill myself. So don’t you dare leave me there. Teach me martial arts. I heard your senses grow a lot if you can sense Qi.”
“I don’t want to,” he said. “You’d run after revenge.”
“I would,” she didn’t lie. “However, it’s better than biting my tongue and dying, no? Unless you want me to kill myself like that.” She added, “Convince me by teaching me martial arts, that I truly have no enemies. If you become my mentor, then maybe I’ll be able to understand your mindset and quit my revenge.”
“....” the Wandering Beggar looked down at her, knowing her tricks. She would never forget her revenge, no matter how much he’d preach to her. Unfortunately, she was too good at threatening him to leave her alone. He sighed, turning around as he began to walk. "Then your first lesson is to follow me without me guiding you. Don’t get lost."
Sangha was surprised to hear that. She opened her mouth but closed it. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded determinedly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, focusing on the faint sound of his footsteps and the subtle shift of the air as he moved.
Together, they walked out of the city, the silhouette of the Vagabond Sword leading the way with Sangha close behind. The wind ruffled the leaves, and the sky above them was a canvas of fading twilight, streaks of orange and purple blending into the encroaching night, shining down at them.
The path stretched out before them, winding through the landscape, as the unlikely pair ventured into the horizon.
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Back then, the Vagabond’s life revolved around training and taking care of Sangha. Each day presented a new challenge, filled with rigorous training sessions that honed her skills and sharpened her instincts. He was more than just a mentor; he was her protector, her guide, the one constant in a world that had otherwise abandoned her. His patience seemed endless as he tended to her needs, helping her navigate life despite her blindness.
Whether guiding her through mundane tasks or teaching her the intricacies of martial arts, he was always there, steadfast and unwavering.
“And when the seasons change… Will you stand by me?” She often sang that song, a song he taught her, and he replied by his presence, rather than words.
For Sangha, there was nobody else. Her family had been taken from her in the most brutal way possible, leaving a void that only the Vagabond could fill. Over time, they became each other’s only family. She learned to rely on his calm presence, while he found a renewed purpose in her growth and well-being.
Quiet moments of reflection, sitting together under the stars solidified the bond they had forged, the silence between them speaking volumes of their unspoken connection.
Seasons changed, bringing with them the relentless march of time. Spring blossoms gave way to the heat of summer, which eventually faded into the crisp chill of autumn and the stark cold of winter. Through it all, the Vagabond stood by Sangha’s side.
Until it was her who left him.
Back then, given the Vagabond’s previous lives, his pacifist mentality made sense to him. But for a young Sangha, her desire for revenge didn’t settle even after a decade of being trained by him. In the end, she left him in the middle of the night, without any notice.
That planet was teetering on the brink of chaos. The rise of Chun Ma, the Heavenly Demon, and his underlings cast a long shadow over the land. The Orthodox Faction and Unorthodox Faction allied with each other, locked in a relentless struggle against the demonic forces, their battles painting the skies with smoke and fire.
Sangha's desire for revenge against Chun Ma grew with each passing day, the Vagabond’s more pacifistic approach having never settled in her mind.
Despite her growth in skill and strength under the Vagabond’s tutelage, the yearning for vengeance never faded. Sangha couldn’t understand the Vagabond’s philosophy of peace, especially not with the memories of her mother’s death still vivid in her mind. Especially because that was the last image in her head before her world had become dark.
The tension between them grew over time, and one fateful night, it reached its boiling point. The night was still and cold. The Vagabond sat in meditation, his senses tuned to the world around him. But even his keen perception didn’t alert him to Sangha’s departure until it was too late.
Her bedroll was empty, her belongings gone. She had left without a word, determined to hunt down Chun Ma and end the torment that had haunted her since childhood.
The Vagabond’s heart pounded with a mix of fear and frustration. He searched half the world for her, venturing on a journey fraught with obstacles and dangers.
Everywhere he went, he found traces of her—villages she had passed through, battles she had fought in—but never her. Years later, when the war between the world against the Demonic Cult was at its peak, the trail finally led him to the headquarters of the said Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
“Ah,” the Vagabond felt strength weaken on his knees. The scene ahead was one of utter devastation. Bodies littered the ground, making a mountain out of it, as a hundred sect’s stars lay dead. Smoke billowed into the sky, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the air.
His heart sank as he navigated through the carnage, his eyes scanning desperately for any sign of Sangha. Then, in an area far from the mountain of dead bodies, through the haze of battle, he saw her.
Sangha lay on the ground, bleeding and battered. Her sword, stained with the blood of countless foes, was still clutched in her hand. Chun Ma’s body lay a few feet away, his demonic presence wasn’t felt in his senses. He was dead. She wasn’t.
The Vagabond’s breath caught in his throat as he rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he tried to assess her wounds.
“Sangha,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. Her once black hair, turning white over time, was now painted in blood. “Why did you do this?”
Her eyes fluttered open, clouded with pain and exhaustion. Her eyes couldn’t see, but her hand reached out to feel his face. “It’s really you, master…” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I had to do this. He had to die. That demonic bastard…”
He had to die.
She knew she had to kill him.
She also knew her master wouldn’t support her on that. So, she was left alone. If she had fought beside him, she wouldn’t have been in this state, although by now she was far more powerful than him. She fought by herself, taking her revenge and saving the world.
The Vagabond’s mind raced.
She was dying, her life slipping away with every passing second. He was happy that she got her revenge, but he couldn’t lose her, not like this. “It’s okay, master,” she let out a small laugh, coughing in blood, as she showed him a smile. “I’ll rest in peace knowing he’s dead. My existence has served its purpose… I’ll miss you.”
Desperation clawed at him, and in that moment, he made a decision that would haunt him forever. He remembered the forbidden technique taught to him two lives ago by his Demon Wife, a dark and dangerous art that could save her—but at a terrible cost.
Summoning every ounce of his power, the Vagabond began the ritual.
Dark energy swirled around them, the air crackling with malevolent force. There was enough blood and dead bodies around, and enough wounded to use as sacrifice too.
It was a long process, but ultimately, Sangha’s body convulsed as the transformation took hold, her wounds knitting together as her essence was altered. The lethal wound in her heart, chest, and neck healed visibly. When it was over, she lay still, her breathing shallow but steady.
Not just her recent wounds, no, even her eyes were bright. Her blind eyes looked gorgeous now, blue pupils taking in the vast world with a wide look.
“Ah…”
“It’s okay, Sangha.”
The Vagabond’s relief was short-lived. Although she looked shocked at first, her blue eyes grew red in rage. Her eyes glowed with a demonic light. The realization of what he had done hit her like a physical blow. Horror and betrayal twisted her features as she looked at him, understanding dawning in her eyes.
“What have you done?” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“I had no choice,” the Vagabond replied, his voice soft. “You were dying. This was the only way to save you.”
Sangha’s hands clenched into fists. “You turned me into a monster,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “How could you?! You turned me into a monster!!”
The Vagabond reached out to her, but she recoiled, her anger and pain palpable. “Sangha, please…”
Her rage exploded. The demonic side of her made her act up even more. In a frenzy of emotion, she attacked him, her blows fueled by a mix of love and hatred.
She pinned him to the ground, her strength now surpassing his. In a desperate act, she broke the hermit code, tearing his clothes apart, her body pressing against his as she sought to end his life in the most intimate way.
“Sangha, what are you–”
“Don’t call my name!”
“....”
The Vagabond’s heart ached as he realized what she was doing.
He accepted his fate, his eyes softening as he looked up at her. “If that’s what you want,” he said.
The Hermit Code, the Path of the Hermit, was to not indulge in worldly pleasure. In such a scenario, more than pointing a blade at him, it would be easier to kill him by dragging him to a bed.
Joo Sangha was doing just that. Not because she couldn’t defeat him with a sword, however, but because… she wanted this.
Their final moments were filled with emotion and pleasure, a tragic culmination of their bond. Sangha’s tears fell onto his face as his life slipped away, looking down at his smile, the forbidden act having sealed his fate.
As his vision dimmed, he saw the anguish in her eyes, opposite of his calm smile.
Sangha’s scream echoed through the night as the Vagabond’s body grew still. The world around them seemed to pause, the weight of their tragedy hanging heavy in the air. The battle had ended, but at a cost that neither of them had foreseen.
The night was silent, save for the sound of her anguished cries. Sangha's screams tore through the stillness, a raw expression of the pain and loss that now consumed her. She clutched the Vagabond's lifeless body, her hands trembling as she pressed her forehead against his.
"Why? Why did you have to do this?" she sobbed, her tears mixing with the blood that stained the ground. "I wanted revenge, not this. I never wanted this..."
Her body shook with each sob, the weight of her actions and the consequences of his sacrifice settling heavily on her shoulders. She had achieved her vengeance but at the cost of the one person who had ever truly cared for her. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving her feeling more hollow and broken than she ever had before.
The first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the battlefield. Sangha's cries gradually subsided into quiet sobs, her strength waning as exhaustion set in. She pulled away from the Vagabond's body, her eyes red and swollen from crying. With great effort, she rose to her feet, her gaze lingering on his peaceful face for a moment longer.
"I'll never forget you," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of love and regret. "And I'll never forgive myself."
It had been a thousand years since then, and Joo Sangha never did.
Not once.
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[Present]
The same Joo Sangha now stood over the skies of a foreign world. Facing a man more familiar than her own mother.
“You…” her voice broke, “I… I will kill you… if… this is a trick.”
The world sang the song she had sung. The man before her smiled the same smile that she saw for the first time after a decade of blindness. Her heart was sure that this was not a trick, but her mind refused to believe.
“I know it’s a shock seeing me like this, taking this sort of face…” he said, his face returning to that of the Venerable One, “but it is me. I don’t know how you’ve come here, but I don’t wish to fight. The seasons have changed, and perhaps fate sent you here to stand by me instead of the other way around.”
“.....”
He raised a hand, looking at her gently.
“Sangha,” he said, “let’s catch up on what we’ve missed.”
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Author Note: No way we got our swordswoman Kimi 🤫Jokes aside, I hope you liked the chapter and it's feels. Took so long to write
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