[223] And When the Seasons Change…

[223] And When the Seasons Change...

Chapter 223: And When the Seasons Change...

—

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]

Spoiler

[collapse]

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.

****

****

****

[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.

****

****

****

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."

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.

****

****

****

[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.”

**

**

**

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

The best time to step into Patreon! Read the next chapter right away along with the entire month there.

Link: /Master4thWall