The Return of the Namgoong Clan's Granddaughter-Chapter 38

Killing intent.

The will. The thought. The intention to kill another.

For Seolhwa, who had lived for many years as an assassin, it was the most natural instinct in the world.

You kill the enemy. Then you survive.

To survive, the only option she was ever given was death.

That was what the Blood Demon had taught her.

And that long period of instruction had become habit—had become instinct. It was now an inseparable part of Seolhwa herself.

That red aura.

As she fought Pawol, Seolhwa had vaguely sensed it—the moment her energy began turning red.

She had learned the Namgoong Clan’s cultivation art, but her energy could never be blue.

They said the color of one’s energy reflected a martial artist’s heart.

And she had never once longed for a blue sky. Knowing what the future held, she simply couldn’t.

“No one welcomes a blood-colored sky, do they? Kekeke... The blood on your hands, your cruel heart—it’s finally catching up to you!”

Thwack—!

The madness twisted across Pawol’s face suddenly vanished. His face turned pale, eyes wide in shock, slowly rolling toward his side.

That cold, expressionless face had already appeared beside him.

“You’re a dog. You should’ve just followed orders like one.”

Crunch.

Her sword twisted deep into his wounded shoulder again.

“Gghhhk...!”

“When you start doing things you weren’t told to...”

“W-Wait—!”

Just as Pawol shouted in panic—

“You die.”

Shraaack—

Her razor-sharp blade tore through his arm.

Her sword was now completely engulfed in a crimson aura.

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“Gyaaaaaaah!”

Pawol collapsed with a scream of agony.

“M-My arm...! Aaaaaaaagh!”

With the pain came a wave of emptiness.

His face went ashen the moment he saw his severed arm lying on the ground, detached from his body.

“Y-You crazy...! GRAHHH!”

Pawol glared up at her with bloodshot eyes.

But then terror overtook him.

The energy surrounding her had now turned into a searing red flame.

The blood dripping from her shallow wounds seemed to swirl into her aura in a strange, unearthly way. Yet her face showed not the slightest flicker of emotion.

She looked like a demon straight out of hell.

I’m going to die!

I’m really going to die!

That monster will tear me to pieces!

Before that—!

Pawol frantically reached into his robe to pull something out. But—

Thwuck—!

“GRAAAHH!”

A flying dagger pierced through his hand. The same dagger he had once thrown at Seolhwa.

Clatter.

Seolhwa picked up the item that had fallen from Pawol’s hand.

It was a small bell, tied with a red string.

Jingle—

“...!”

The clear ring of the bell echoed, and in that instant, Seolhwa felt her mind slipping away.

Her ears went deaf, her vision went dark. Reality felt distant and numb.

Just before her consciousness could completely break, she clenched the bell tightly in her hand, stopping it from ringing further.

“...!”

BOOM—! BOOM—!

With two muffled bursts, white smoke began to billow out around them.

“Cough, cough!”

She instinctively took a few steps back and covered her mouth and nose, but the brief moment she inhaled the smoke caused her to cough violently.

Beyond the thick smoke, she heard the sound of Pawol fleeing.

“Cough...!”

Her vision wavered, blurred and hazy—it was no ordinary smoke bomb.

Through the smoky haze, Seolhwa saw Pawol’s shadow growing more distant.

Tatadat!

You monster!

He’d clearly burned through all his inner energy—so how the hell...!

Damn it, damn it!

If I’d known, I would’ve brought a poison smoke bomb! Look at me, throwing a sleep bomb and fleeing like a damn coward.

Is Lord Sorou’s martial prowess really this monstrous?

They said she was barely in her teens!

And she even discarded the internal energy the Lord had bestowed—so he should’ve completely overpowered her!

Damn it!

Sweat streamed down his forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, and pain from his severed arm tore through his entire body like fire.

But his legs didn’t stop moving. He was certain that if he stopped, her blade would cut through his neck in an instant.

Like a beast chasing down its prey, he could feel death nipping at his heels.

A fear that any second, she’d seize him by the back of the neck.

Sweat ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. Instinctively, he shut them tight—

Thwuck—

“...!”

A sharp pain pierced through his right arm.

Pawol looked at his right arm with terrified eyes. And in that same instant—

Shraaack—!

“GRAHHHH!”

A silver blade sliced through his arm.

The last thing Pawol saw was his remaining arm falling away unnaturally, limp and lifeless—then his balance broke, and he collapsed.

“Guhk! Ugh...!”

His body, unable to withstand the momentum, tumbled several times before slamming into a large tree with a loud thud.

“Gahhh!”

A dark stream of blood spilled from between his lips.

His vision spun, making it impossible to focus.

He wanted to sit up—but with no arms to push against the ground, he was left sprawled there, facedown.

And then, a pair of small feet approached with measured steps.

Pawol flinched without thinking as he looked up with terror-stricken eyes.

Her eyes, pitch-black and filled with killing intent, stared down at him with a still, calm gaze.

He had no doubt she’d inhaled the sleep bomb—but there wasn’t the slightest haze in her eyes.

Consumed by fear, Pawol begged for his life without thinking.

“S-Spare me... Please, please spare me, Lord Sorou....”

Seolhwa knelt down in front of him.

As her hand reached toward him, Pawol squeezed his eyes shut.

I’m going to die!

Tap. Tap tap.

“...?”

Contrary to his expectation, Seolhwa didn’t kill him.

Instead, she lifted his body and pressed on his pressure points to slow the bleeding.

Then she tore his upper garment and tightly bound the stumps where both arms had been severed.

“...?”

Pawol watched with a bewildered expression.

Anyone seeing this might think she wasn’t the one who had just maimed him—her hands moved with careful, almost gentle precision.

Overwhelmed, Pawol suddenly shouted.

“What the hell are you doing?! If you're going to do this, just kill me already!”

Seolhwa tilted her head slightly.

“You just begged me to spare you, though.”

“Ugh...!”

“And I never planned to kill you in the first place.”

“...What?”

Finishing her first aid, Seolhwa rose to her feet and brushed off her hands.

Her eyes curved slightly in a faint smile.

“Why would I do what he wants me to do?”

The Blood Demon had sent Pawol to her, hoping she would kill him in the fight.

To prove her existence through killing—to draw out the assassin’s instincts burned into her soul and engrave them anew.

To make her believe that no matter where she went, the nature instilled in her as an assassin would never change.

Seolhwa’s expression turned ice cold.

That was the kind of man the Blood Demon was.

The kind who treated every situation like a game piece in his hand, manipulating people like pawns on a board and pretending to rule the entire board.

And until just recently, she had been the easiest pawn for him to use.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

But since keeping him alive was dangerous, she had severed his arms.

Now rendered useless, Pawol would be executed the moment he returned to the Huaoru Pavilion.

But that’s none of my concern.

“You have to stay alive. I have a message for you to deliver to him.”

“A... message?”

Hope flickered across Pawol’s face—the faint chance that he might live after all.

“W-What should I tell him?”

“Tell him I’m not coming back.”

“...What?”

“Tell him from now on, I live as a sword of the Namgoong Clan, not as his. That means he and I are enemies now.”

Pawol stared up at her blankly.

For the first time, he sensed emotion—rage—from the girl who until now had seemed utterly numb.

“Make sure you deliver that clearly.”

“You...”

Though no tears fell, he could feel the fury rising within her. Not just anger from the last eight years—but something deeper, more ancient, filled with grief and hatred.

Pawol suddenly remembered the day he first met her.

The day that man brought her in out of # Nоvеlight # nowhere.

“Waaaaah! Mooooommmy! Daaaaddy!”

That place was hell.

The man gave food, clothes, and money to the strong children—but didn’t care in the slightest when the weak were trampled underfoot.

To survive, they had to kill their friends, even their siblings. When there was nothing to eat, they scavenged rats, or even tore at the flesh of corpses.

And if you tried to run, you’d usually be found dead the next day.

In that place, the children had only one wish:

To catch that man’s eye and be rewarded with more food and clothes.

The girl never fit in there—not from the beginning.

Clearly born to a noble household, she cried for days and nights.

She barely ate, only sobbing for her mother and father, over and over again.

Taking care of her had been a hassle, but Pawol kept the other kids away from her.

If he did well, maybe that man would notice him.

To Pawol, Ilhwa was his ticket to success—the rope that would pull him out of that filthy, cramped hovel. So he watched over her with care.

Then, one day—

The girl stopped crying.

It was after the man had taken her out for a while and brought her back.