Chapter 22
There Is Always
The beautiful maid tried to approach Einver with calculated steps, like a graceful predator stalking its prey. She moved closer, little by little, until she finally sat beside him with quiet elegance. Her delicate hand—soft as if it had been woven from silk—slid lightly onto his leg, a gesture meant to display a confidence and boldness she wasn't truly accustomed to.
A faint smile played upon her lips as she slowly raised her head, eager to see the sparkle of joy or surprise in his eyes—or perhaps that familiar look of desire she had so often seen in men whenever she drew near.
But what she encountered was not what she expected…
Instead, her gaze collided with Einver's crimson eyes, blazing like the endless mouth of hell itself. There was no warmth within them, no life—only a cold, fiery gleam, twisted and merciless, filled with nothing but death and frost. And in that very instant, Einver released his intent to kill.
The girl felt her body freeze in place, as though a volcano of terror had erupted inside her. She could hardly breathe, her chest constricted, and her heart pounded so violently she thought it might stop altogether.
Truth be told, this maid was not of legendary jade-like beauty, nor did she resemble an angel descending from heaven. But she was stunning by every human measure—a beauty strong enough to melt the hearts of men. Any young man of Einver's age, standing in his place, would have found himself weak before her charm, unable to resist.
But… who was Einver?
Was he some fool who would fall so easily into a honey trap?
A shallow man who chased after fleeting lusts?
Or perhaps some naïve saint who revered women blindly?
No. No. No.
Einver was something else entirely.
Despite his youth, he had endured horrors fierce enough to shatter mountains. Battles, memories steeped in blood—experiences that had forged his heart into steel. His mind and soul had been tempered to such a degree that he had no need for such pleasures. To him, they were as worthless as ash to a starving man.
From the moment of his birth, Einver had been different. He was not like other children, whose eyes gleamed with longing for the simple joys of life. He grew distant from all that stirred human desire or curiosity. He never cared for worldly pleasures, as though his heart were carved from cold stone—untouched by indulgence, unmoved by temptation.
Many wondered at the source of this detachment. Was it the brutal training his father forced upon him from the earliest days—an iron discipline that left no room for weakness or play? Or was it the fiery blood of the Kami that coursed through his veins, granting him a strange power and a nature incomprehensible to mankind? No one knew for certain—not even his parents. All they ever understood was that their son had never been captive to earthly lusts or carnal secrets.
Einver never looked at women. They passed before his eyes like shadows across a wall—leaving no trace behind. This indifference fueled rumors, suspicions. Some whispered that he was abnormal, unable to see beauty in women at all. He despised such claims, loathed them deeply, for he believed deviation from nature's path to be a blatant violation of the Creator's bounds. Yet, he was no angel himself. In the depths of his heart, he admitted that he had crossed those very bounds at times—many times, in ways he could not deny.
From this contradiction, his iron rule was born: indifference.
He no longer cared what others were or did. If one was kind, helpful to the weak, and a lover of peace—that was enough. Beyond that, he cared nothing if they were deviant, straight, a bane to society, a jester, or a child of a brothel. To Einver, such labels were nothing but husks without weight. In truth, he looked upon all beings equally, seeing only that all creation, without exception, stands before the same end: death.
Ancient texts in his world carried a saying about the Kami clan, a cryptic phrase etched into history:
"Be who you will, but never be his enemy."
For whom it was spoken, or to whom it referred, no one knew. Only that it was tied to a single figure of the Kami—forever hidden in mystery.
But Einver never concerned himself with such riddles, nor with the interpretations of others. He remained steadfast, unmoved by greed, untempted by pleasure. He never lingered upon the charms of women, nor the lures of life. To him, such things were like a crowded marketplace passed through by a stranger—his heart belonging elsewhere, somewhere none could reach.
Yes… women of this world were far more beautiful than those of his own.
If beauty were given a score, women of his world would barely reach a three out of ten.
While here, women claimed a flawless ten.
Even so, it was not enough to stir him.
Einver lifted his gaze calmly, and then, without warning, released his killing aura. It wasn't unleashed at full force—only a fraction… yet enough to drench the room in mortal dread.
This aura was not the aura of a warrior defending his homeland or his people.
No.
Einver's aura was born of savage vengeance, steeped in bloody massacres, carrying grief, torment, and the merciless carnage from which no one survives. And something darker still…
Had he unleashed it fully, heaven and earth would have trembled. His aura, unbound, could have crushed all that rose or fell, razed mountains, swallowed cities, and left the world nothing but dust caught in a whirlwind of terror.
Between heaven and earth, no being could wield such power… except Einver.
He alone bore that abyssal savagery, that darkness without end dwelling in the depths of his soul.
And yet, the world owed heaven a hidden gratitude: that this youth, no matter his might, was still caged within a human body and a conscious mind. Had he possessed a vessel strong enough to bear it, or a mind mad enough to cast all aside, the earth would not stand, nor the skies remain. He would have crushed them both, erased all bounds, leaving behind only a void echoing with ruin.
But this absolute power… had never once been revealed. Not even when his father gasped his last breath. Not even when his little sister died in his arms. Not even when he watched his mother perish before his very eyes, shattered and broken by grief. What came then was only human madness, a limited fury rivaling volcanoes—never the true inferno slumbering within.
Had Einver, even for a moment, realized the full measure of what lay inside him, his world would have ceased to exist. Perhaps it was fate that bound him. Perhaps some unseen will kept him contained, delaying the birth of the catastrophe within his heart.
And now, he released but a sliver of it.
The instant that aura touched the maid, she froze like a doll of ice. Cold sweat drenched her trembling form. She could not speak, could not even scream.
This was no surprise. She had never seen blood, never known war, never once held a sword. Her mind had no concept of killing, no taste of the fear of death. How could she endure the aura of absolute death?
The mere fact that she did not collapse unconscious at once was itself a small miracle.
Einver sighed deeply, retracting his dark aura slowly, restoring silence and calm to the room as though nothing had happened.
He pressed a weary hand to his forehead, rubbing it with disappointment and fatigue, and spoke coldly:
"I told you—put the things here and leave. I don't want your help. Go."
As his words ended, the maids' minds spun with panic:
"What just happened? What was that?"
"He's a demon… surely not human!"
"Drop the things and run!"
"If we don't leave, we'll all die!"
Each wanted to flee—save for one. The very girl who had first dared approach him.
Inside her, something was shifting, a change she had never known.
Trembling, she whispered in her heart:
"Oh heavens… my prayer has been answered. From this moment on, I swear I will change. I will become better… and worthy."
Einver had shaken her from within, with force.
For those who have never seen blood and ruin live in the naivety of bliss.
But sooner or later, heaven sends them a single ticket to hell.
And for those who are cast into bliss yet cling to goodness and heaven—even if hurled into hell itself—they will build a ladder from its depths and climb their way out.
Heaven is just… in its own way.
The maids scrambled to obey, dropping the supplies in place before fleeing in near collapse.
Einver, however, remained seated calmly upon his bed, deep in thought.
"I came to this city to grow stronger, to learn something new about this world and its martial arts. I did not come here for pleasure. I must leave this palace soon, and continue my journey. But how do I escape now?"
He pondered a moment, then sighed:
"Fine… I'll play along with the princess for now. After that, I'll disappear. If I gain nothing from this city, then what use is it to me?"
He picked up his sword and bow, stripped off his torn clothes, and stepped into the bath. Minutes later, he emerged dressed in fresh garments: a black men's kimono beneath a black robe embroidered with the emblem of a great sun. A small wooden fan lay beside him, untouched. His hair was tied back with a black cloth that came with the clothing. Sword at his waist, he sat again upon his bed in silence.
He closed his eyes and entered his spiritual sea—yet unformed—a boundless expanse of white. Raising his head, he saw the map he had drawn from before. He consumed it whole, etching it into his mind, then withdrew and opened his eyes once more.
"I must grow stronger quickly… and find a way to resolve this dilemma with Princess Sun Mi."
Doubts gnawed at him. From the start, something had been wrong. The princess had appeared with a cold violet aura in the carriage, subduing the Bicarisui beasts as if she could calm—or command—them.
She had released her aura so carelessly, drowning her own guards and soldiers within it. Then, without hesitation, she invited Einver straight to the palace.
A glaring red line—sign that danger lay ahead.
He could not piece it all together, but in his core he felt her intentions were not what they seemed.
Breathing softly, reclining upon the bed, he let his eyes fall shut for a moment before smirking in derision:
"Just what is going on here? Is this world truly so different from mine? Are its people really noble and kind?"
The thought nearly made him laugh aloud.
Humans are humans—deceitful, scheming, vile, wretched.
Yes, there were men like Moon Fai, kind and warm-hearted. But if the world were filled with such souls, this place would already be paradise itself.
"There's only one possibility… the princess needs something from me. Or perhaps she glimpsed in me a power, a beauty, or a dominion unseen by others… I am certain of it."
Einver's experiences had taught him never to trust anyone.
If the world were filled with the pure and the honest, there would be no need for heaven and hell at all.
But the truth Einver knew all too well was this:
There is always a hell, and a heaven.
There is always light, and darkness.
There is always…
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