Chapter 283: Breath

Before anyone could utter a single word, a white silhouette suddenly appeared from a corner of the conference room, right in the shadowy area beyond the reach of the light.

It was the same ghost that had been beheaded as soon as it manifested earlier.

“What the hell…?”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Even though everyone present were veterans of countless battles, they were still human—and thus susceptible to being startled. Moreover, aside from three people, the average age hovered around 70, so even a minor shock could rattle their hearts. The cruelty of time.

“…Aren’t you supposed to let someone finish speaking?”

Herya stepped out of the darkness in the corner. Her tone was slightly annoyed, as if offended. Once again, it was only an imitation of humanity.

“……”

Kang Geom-Ma glanced at her without the slightest surprise.

‘That thing isn’t a demon—it really feels like a ghost.’

Cutting her down earlier hadn’t been satisfying. So he hadn’t expected her to be gone for good. Still, he didn’t expect her to return this fast.

Of course, it didn’t bother him. He was still a teenager, brimming with energy.

“Calling yourself a person—what bullshit.”

Kang Geom-Ma sheathed his sashimi knife coldly. He realized cutting a clone was useless.

“You were never human to begin with. Why do you insist on pretending you are? It’s disgusting.”

Herya stopped about twenty paces away. Her face, like a porcelain doll’s, bore a blank expression, and most notably, her gaze lacked any humanity—translucent and eerie.

“What do you mean I’m disgusting…?”

“It means you repulse me. Do I need to explain basic vocabulary now? Anyway, it’s things like this that make me hate people without empathy. Tch. Damn psychopath.”

At the word “psychopath,” everyone in the room flinched in sync. Then they turned their wary eyes on Kang Geom-Ma. Lack of empathy—who was the real psychopath here? Best not to dig deeper.

“If you’re just a messenger, do your job and get lost. I don’t want to see that repulsive face again. Damn herbal infusion.”

A barely perceptible expression crossed Herya’s face after receiving such a barrage of insults.

Only with great attention could one notice a slight twitch in her brow. Above all, the last phrase seemed to hit her particularly hard… “Herbal infusion.” Though she didn’t quite understand it, it must’ve been one of the worst possible insults.

Herya often attracted many men during undercover missions in human cities. All because of her striking beauty. And yet—

‘Is this guy blind?’

Receiving such blunt insults so naturally—this situation and its emotions were completely foreign to her. She felt bubbles of fury boiling within, and a slight pain throbbed in her head.

For the first time since her creation, Herya vaguely sensed an emotion called “anger.”

“Understood.”

But she didn’t show it. She just had to fulfill her role and return. After all, Lord Kuarne would be the one to punish this man.

Suppressing her rage, Herya continued.

“It’s not about completely exterminating humanity in this war.”

It was Kuarne’s message—or rather, his warning.

“Humans and demons have a symbiotic relationship. Like two sides of a scale, they must coexist in balance. But the human population has grown excessively and is destroying this beautiful blue planet. Meanwhile, what about us, the Demon King’s Army? We’ve endured for hundreds and thousands of years in the Demon Realm, where not even a blade of grass grows. That is why I, Kuarne, speak on behalf of the entire demon race—we will exchange our homes with the humans. Furthermore, we will reduce their numbers from six billion to just fifty million. Don’t worry about the details. I will personally relieve you of the burden.”

The conference room was so large and sparse that Herya’s voice echoed off the walls, leaving a hollow ring behind. As if to etch her words deep into everyone’s minds.

Naturally, the reaction from those present wasn’t favorable.

“What kind of garbage are you spouting?!”

The Swordmaster shot to his feet, unsheathing his weapon.

Changseong followed, grabbing the spear he had leaned against the wall.

“Reduce the human population to a tenth and exile us to the Demon Realm? What an utterly absurd joke!”

Changseong pointed his spear at Herya. His teeth were grinding audibly.

“Listen closely, damn ghost. Go and tell Kuarne this—from Richard Mura, I swear by my spear that I will cut off his head. Tell him to prepare, for I will not let demon blood defile my noble weapon.”

He knew physical attacks wouldn’t work on the ghost. But such reactions had become second nature after seventy years of life.

“You’re not strong enough to do that.”

Herya smirked with disdain. It was the same kind of smirk humans wore when mocking others.

“Excuse me, but allow me to say this. Of everyone here, only two could face Lord Kuarne—Meian in her awakened state and Heavenly Sword. Aside from them, none of you could even graze his cloak.”

The two men, who had been growling fiercely, fell silent.

Though their pride was wounded, they knew the words were true. And this wasn’t the time to cling to pride.

It was time to replace fury and drive with reason and strategy.

What the Swordmaster and Changseong chose was silence. Not simply withholding words, but glaring at Herya with burning hatred.

But Herya paid no attention to their murderous stares. Her focus remained solely on Kang Geom-Ma.

That expression he had held for a while now—that indifferent gaze, that blank face devoid of color or scent, as if detached from all things worldly—it sparked deep curiosity in her.

The atmosphere was thick. A space filled with rage, scorn, and simmering resentment.

And then Kang Geom-Ma finally spoke.

“Your face.”

At that moment, the swirling storm of emotions stopped. Everyone doubted their ears and looked at Kang Geom-Ma in astonishment. Herya was no exception.

She slightly parted her lips. Your face? How was she supposed to respond to that? Was that something one could say in this situation? She had learned a lot from observing humans, tailoring her behavior to fit the occasion.

That’s how she’d been chosen as emissary—over other demons.

Herya had confidence in herself. She believed she could handle any response smoothly.

But that confidence turned into shame, painting her cheeks red. It was the moment she truly understood what emotion was.

Kang Geom-Ma repeated.

“Your face.”

And for some reason, Herya felt offended. Before this moment, such words would’ve been a compliment. But now, it was more insulting than anything else. She had planned to leave right after delivering her message, but now she couldn’t depart with that bitter taste.

Thinking quickly, she replied with what she thought was appropriate.

“Bounce back.”

A childish, simple comeback. Unfortunately, she didn’t yet grasp the concept of “childish.”

With that, Herya slowly stepped back into the shadows. Her body began disintegrating from the feet up.

When the decomposition reached her jaw, Kang Geom-Ma let out a short laugh. Then, as if offering praise, he added.

“What a good emissary. Even went out of her way to tell her enemy he’s handsome.”

Herya’s eyes trembled. In contrast, Kang Geom-Ma’s smile widened.

That was when Herya understood—Kang Geom-Ma knew physical attacks had no effect on her, so he had decided to humiliate her with words instead.

A first encounter. Her first contact with a true lunatic left her with an indescribable impression.

Herya tried to respond, but before she could regain her composure, her body vanished completely.

Even after her disappearance, the resentment she left behind continued to linger in the air.

***

Just as the meeting reached a moment of pause, Director Sung appeared with perfect timing. He had come to announce the next item on the schedule.

The moment he entered, his face twisted strangely. He had only been gone briefly, but upon returning, he sensed the thick tension in the air.

He asked, puzzled.

“Did something happen? Everyone looks like they’ve seen a ghost…”

“It wasn’t anything serious.”

It was Kojima who diffused the situation. His expression was the only one that maintained a sense of calm.

“…If necessary, we can postpone the next event until tomorrow.”

Director Sung offered the option with a worried look. But Changseong firmly shook his head in response.

“Postponing now would only cause more anxiety. Besides, it’s being broadcast live worldwide via drone. It’s better to keep things on schedule.”

Even as he said that, Changseong couldn’t hide his fatigue.

He was still shaken.

‘Your face.’

A phrase more disturbing than any vulgar insult.

“…I’d just prefer someone else give the speech. If I talk right now, I might blurt out something like ‘your face’ or worse.”

“Same here.”

“Can’t do it today.”

“Me neither…”

Hands went up everywhere. In the end, I was the only one who hadn’t raised mine. I was about to join in, but they stopped me.

“You have to do it.”

“Yeah, Geom-Ma, it’s your turn.”

“Heavenly Sword must speak.”

What was with their expressions? As they stared at me strangely, I could only scratch my neck. Was it just me, or were they blaming me for the mood?

I stood alongside the Seven Heroes the Swordmaster, Changseong, the Sage Media, Kojima, Meain, Mao Lang, and All Mute.

***

The training field was packed to capacity. Not only was it full, but crowds encircled the area like a ring.

And no wonder—the maximum capacity was only a few thousand, but hundreds of thousands had gathered. The fact that it hadn’t collapsed was a miracle. Even though shoulders bumped and people jostled unintentionally, no fights broke out.

Not just on land—the sky was equally busy. Drones buzzed like swarms, capturing the scene from every angle. Since only heroes were allowed inside, media outlets used drones to broadcast the speech live around the world.

At the center of countless gazes, a young man stood before the microphone. Amid all the bright, dyed hair, his black hair and eyes stood out even more.

Ahem.

The young man cleared his throat. The whole world, in every corner of the globe, was listening. Even a flock of migrating birds quietly veered away.

Silence spread like a backdrop curtain. It was hard to believe millions of people were gathered there.

“‘Kang Geom-Ma, you are the pride of our family.’ That’s what my parents told me when I entered the academy.”

The young man’s voice carried through the cold winter air.

“I imagine I’m not the only one. Everyone here has probably heard something similar. Because for us, Joaquin Academy isn’t just a school.”

In that moment, everyone seemed to fall into an illusion. As if the whole world lit up only the young man, everything around him softened, and his figure came into clear focus. The silence of the field allowed his voice to reach even the farthest corners.

“Why did the Founding Hero and the Seven establish this academy? If the goal was to prepare for war, it would’ve made more sense to reinforce the gates rather than raise the next generation.”

A legacy left by a master to his disciple.

“They knew that closing off entry wasn’t enough. They realized it wouldn’t solve anything. That’s why they chose to place their trust in the next generation, in the future—in us. At least for me, I don’t want to betray that trust. I want to protect this place, because to me, it’s a home.”

There, the young man spoke with firm resolve.

“Let’s do it together.”

Everyone raised their weapons high. Not with roaring cheers, but by lifting their sharp blades in solemn support of his words.

Just then, heavy snow began to fall. White flakes descended upon the raised spears and swords like thorns. On this occasion, it was as if the sky itself were silently blessing them.

The young man suddenly thought that the words always lingering in his mind might not have been just his teacher’s encouragement…

“Upon us…”

And so, with those same words, he encouraged all who were present.

“…May the gods’ blessing fall.”

After all, children are the reflection of their parents.