There Is No World For ■■

...I now fully understand that Earth is no paradise.

Especially this country—America is a land soaked in sin.

It’s hard to believe a place like this ever became a global superpower.

Is there truly no god left on this earth?

(excerpted)

...In conclusion, it seems I must travel to the Soviet Union to find the kidnapped children.

I apologize for defying the prophecy. I’ll accept punishment once I return.

—Excerpt from a letter written by Zirzis Rakti, after being pickpocketed in LA and sent to the Saint.

****

The train's sudden stop turned out to be just a minor incident.

The engineers claimed the emergency brake had triggered on its own—but what really buried the event was the intervention of the Seonjuk Mercenary Corps, who occupied most of the passenger cars.

More precisely, it was Scarlett O’Hara’s decision.

She insisted the train depart immediately, and although Deputy Commander Kim Mansu looked utterly baffled, he followed her lead.

Thanks to that, not a single mercenary noticed that Yeomyeong and Seti had brought someone back aboard from outside.

...Anyway.

Dilla Katakpoier, abducted into the Saint’s cabin, was currently experiencing the purest fear of death.

Not metaphorically—literally.

Her carefully prepared plan had failed. She’d lost control of her body.

Sure, that alone was traumatic—but the real issue right now was the gunshot wound.

The bullet had just barely missed a vital organ... but it was still a bullet.

Lodged in her body, the pain was overwhelming, and the growing blood loss was pushing her mind into darkness.

Trying to maintain her composure, Dilla squeezed her eyes shut.

Time passed.

Just as the tears finally escaped and trickled down her cheek, the cabin door opened.

“Oh? What’s this—you’re crying?”

Startled by the overly cheery voice, she cracked one eye open—only to see, not that terrifying girl from earlier, but an older woman stepping into the room.

An East Asian woman—rare on this continent.

The moment Dilla saw her face, she swallowed the curse rising in her throat. This was the one who’d shot her.

“Tch. A terrorist cries just from catching a bullet, huh...?”

Dilla almost shouted, That’s because you’ve sealed my mana, but stopped herself.

A warm light had begun to emanate from the woman’s hand.

A familiar light. Dilla watched with growing suspicion.

And sure enough—when that light touched her wound, the pain vanished. The injury began to heal rapidly, visibly.

A healing blessing...?

And not some knockoff imitation magic, either. This was the real thing—the kind used by high-ranking clergy of the Church.

The kind of advanced blessing that wouldn’t be granted even for crates of US dollars.

...Who the hell is this bitch?

A woman who could nail a shot from that distance and cast real miracles?

“Don’t waste your tears already. The real pain hasn’t even started.”

Her tone was far too smug and snide for a priest.

Which meant... could it be? Had the Yankees really gone and stolen the powers of the Five Gods?

Oh, Undying King...

As Dilla's misunderstanding deepened, the woman opened her mouth again.

“Hey, uh... why are you so quiet?”

“....”

“Did your mouth seal shut? Want me to make you another hole?”

The woman casually pulled out a revolver. Dilla flinched and shook her head rapidly.

“I-I-Is there s-something you want to ask me...?”

“Nope. Not really.”

“....”

“Smile. Don’t ruin my mood while I’m healing you.”

Was this some new kind of interrogation tactic? Or just a crazy bitch?

Dilla was frantically trying to figure that out when the woman suddenly clenched her hand over the wound she’d been healing.

“!!!”

A sharp, skin-crawling pain shot through her, enough to make her hair stand on end. Dilla gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to scream.

She didn’t even have time to ask what the hell that was—

The woman pulled the bullet out of her wound.

“Sorry. That hurt, didn’t it? Had to get the bullet out, though.”

She said it like an apology—but the pain had definitely been intentional. Or worse, maybe she simply didn’t care.

Either way, she was still just a twisted Yankee bitch in Dilla’s eyes.

Just you wait, you whore. I’ll get my—

But just then, the cabin door opened—without so much as a knock.

Both Dilla and the woman turned toward it.

And the moment Dilla saw the girl with jet-black hair step in, she sucked in a breath.

Her body trembled. Her teeth chattered.

She turned her head desperately, trying not to look at the girl’s shadow.

But the woman just smiled and greeted the newcomers.

“Seti, I’ve finished patching up the trash. How’s it look outside?”

“Mostly under control. The mercs aren’t making a fuss... we should be fine until we get to LA.”

“Good work. Seriously, there’s never a dull moment with us. Should we get everyone blessed as a group or something?”

The two of them bantered like old friends—like equals.

As they chatted, a man with golden eyes and a calm, mature face stepped in and sat opposite Dilla.

The terrifying superhuman who’d fought the Claws of the King to a standstill.

Dilla was scrambling to figure out who he was, when the man spoke first.

“Dilla Katakpoier.”

“Y-Yes!”

“I’ll ask a few simple questions. Please answer them sincerely. I’d rather avoid getting blood on the bed.”

His voice was younger than his appearance, but the weight behind it was undeniable. Dilla nodded obediently.

“Yes. Gladly... I’ll tell you anything I know.”

It wasn’t the attitude one would expect from a necromancer, but she had no choice.

Her body was no longer under her control—resistance was meaningless.

“Then let’s start with something easy.”

Something easy?

Was he going to ask why they targeted the CIA agent? Or maybe where the necromancer base was in the Gemini Autonomous Zone?

Dilla mentally prepared answers for both—but the man’s question blindsided her.

He suddenly raised a hand to his face and cast a strange spell—changing his appearance.

“This face. Do you recognize it?”

A pale, corpse-like man’s face.

Of course she recognized it. It belonged to Bujum, the infamous mad necromancer known for dealing with Korea.

...This is what he calls an easy question?

Convinced now that the man was just as strange, Dilla slowly opened her mouth to answer.

****

Moonlight spilled across the rails.

Yeomyeong stared out the cabin window, his eyes clouded with tangled thoughts.

The corrupt Korean government, the fallen stars, the sacrificial sisters, and... the forgotten gods.

“The moment a star falls, the entire world forgets that god ever existed.”

Seti had told him as much—but hearing it directly from Dilla had still been a shock.

“All written records, passed-down myths, even personal memories... No one remembers how many stars have fallen. Or how many there were to begin with.”

Then how had they figured out that stars had fallen at all?

“Unlike us, the gods of the Celestial Realm still remember the fallen stars.”

Even for Yeomyeong, a staunch unbeliever—and for the Saint, a religious fanatic—those were difficult words to process.

The Saint had responded by pressing her revolver to Dilla’s thigh, insisting that the only answer to that kind of bullshit was a bullet. Yeomyeong had to talk her down.

Seti, on the other hand, seemed to believe Dilla’s claims.

She was convinced the sisters’ strange names had something to do with the fallen stars.

“Seti, Neti, Siri, Sis...? I don’t know what stars those names refer to. The records granted by the Undying King say nothing about them.”

“...”

“All we know is that Scarlett O’Hara is Artemis, and that Poseidon and Apollo are somewhere in America.”

So Scarlett O’Hara wasn’t even a fake name? Either way, was there no way to confirm which stars had fallen?

“Unlike our home, Earth’s mythology is a mess. Unless you read the Apocalypse Cult’s full pantheon or hijack the Celestial Realm like the US military... there’s no way to know.”

“...”

“With my abilities, it’s impossible to determine which stars Seti and her sisters are connected to.”

And that was the end of the discussion about stars.

The Apocalypse Cult’s pantheon and the U.S. Department of Defense were simply out of reach for now, so there was no way to follow up on any of it.

Regretful, perhaps—but Yeomyeong and Seti quickly moved on.

There was still a wealth of information to be extracted from Dilla, and time wasn’t on their side.

They’d even considered torture or other extreme measures, but surprisingly, Dilla gave up everything without resistance.

The necromancers’ base of operations. The mafia groups hiding out in the Gemini Autonomous Zone.

Even information they hadn’t asked for, she gave up easily—enough to catch the Saint off guard.

Seti claimed it was the power of Mignium—whatever she’d done to her.

At any rate, once Seti had squeezed out everything there was to learn, she returned to the cabin...

Now.

The cabin held only three people: Yeomyeong, the Saint, and Dilla, sleeping like the dead.

For the Saint, it was an infuriating situation.

Why, of all times, did she have to be stuck sharing a room with a hostage?

If she’d known it would come to this, she would’ve let the woman bleed out instead of healing her... or better yet, just shot her in the head.

If she’d gone for a kill shot from the beginning, she might’ve taken down that floating skull bastard too.

As she brooded over these regrets while glaring at Dilla, she turned to glance at Yeomyeong.

At some point, his face had reverted to its middle-aged form.

In the soft glow of the cabin light, the shadows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around them looked... looked very appealing.

...Tch.

The Saint shook her head to clear her thoughts and carefully took in his features.

Will he really look like that when he gets older?

She’d know, if she lived long enough to see him age for real... but would she still be with him then?

Growing old together...

It was a dream.

A future so far off that even if they overcame Yeomyeong’s vengeance, her duties, and Seti’s feelings, it still wouldn’t be guaranteed.

If she could see it in her foresight, she’d peek at it over and over—but Yeomyeong’s future remained forever hidden.

...Was my mother’s prophecy right after all?

Feeling a tight pang in her chest, the Saint quietly slipped out of bed and approached Yeomyeong.

The future was unknowable—but right now, he was here. Before her eyes.

“The first step to loving life is to love the present.”

She recalled a passage from the scripture of Isaginok, the green god, and reached out toward Yeomyeong.

It wasn’t anything dramatic.

She simply held his hand.

Calloused and warm—far warmer than she’d expected.

“....”

Any normal person would’ve been startled by such sudden contact.

But Yeomyeong didn’t flinch.

He simply glanced at her face and gave her a faint smile, then slowly moved his hand.

Was he trying to pull away?

No—he shifted his fingers, gently interlacing them with hers.

Tangled fingers. A firm, interlocking grip.

“Uh...”

As the Saint blinked in surprise, Yeomyeong suddenly pulled her in.

Caught off guard, she landed squarely on his lap. So close she could hear his breath.

Her earlobes turned bright red as Yeomyeong whispered,

“Is this enough for you?”

“....”

The Saint wanted to say just one more step—just up to the lips.

But just then, her eyes locked with the mirror across from them.

What she saw reflected back was a woman with flushed cheeks and a bashful expression.

The face of a... rice soup shop lady.

“....”

So that’s why he was smiling.

That’s what this was?!

As the Saint whipped her head around in realization, she saw Yeomyeong failing to suppress his laughter.

“You little—!”

She trembled, just about to yell, when Yeomyeong lifted a hand and covered her eyes.

He hadn’t said a word, but she could tell.

Yeomyeong had dispelled the illusion.

Their interlocked hands felt hot. Her eyes, under his palm, spun in circles.

“...Saint.”

His voice was low—unlike usual. The Saint could tell something had shifted.

“I like Seti. As much as you like her. You already know that, don’t you?”

“...Yeah.”

“Then why are you doing this? Is it because you’re ready for the consequences, or «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» because you’re deliberately ignoring them?”

She hadn’t expected that.

The Saint bit her lip for a moment, then placed her free hand on top of their joined ones.

“Did you know? My dad was supposed to be the previous Holy Sword candidate.”

“....”

“But he ended up marrying a human spy. The Sword got mad and chose someone else—a human named Preah Khan.”

It wasn’t something you’d find in any documentary. Yeomyeong smiled, understanding where she was going.

“If my dad did it, why can’t I? Screw it, I’ll quit being the Saint too.”

It was bold. A statement so full of resolve it erased every trace of pain behind it.

Yeomyeong didn’t say anything.

He just acted.

He leaned in. Tilted his head. Drew closer.

The Saint swallowed.

The sound of the train running filled the silence—

And Yeomyeong kissed her forehead.

“....”

Soft contact. A quiet pause.

By the time cold sweat had trickled down Dilla’s back—pretending to be asleep—the kiss ended.

The Saint rubbed her forehead and mumbled,

“Wait, seriously? Just the forehead? In this mood?” 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

“Yeah. That’s it for today. Any more, and I don’t think I could stop.”

“...What?”

Today? Couldn’t stop? Before she could process that, Yeomyeong hit her with the rice soup shop lady illusion again.

And bolted straight out the cabin door.

“Hey, you—! Get back here!”

****

Pressed to the wall outside with Corvus, Neti narrowed her eyes.

She could hear something inside... but it wasn’t what she expected.

The Saint’s shout. The sound of Yeomyeong’s footsteps fleeing down the hall.

We told you to set the mood—what the hell were you doing?

“Ugh. I think today was a bust.”

Neti stepped away from the wall. Corvus did the same, nodding.

“Well, it’s not like today’s the only day. There’s still a few days until the final stop. If we moved the necromancer in here tomorrow, something might happen then.”

“Yeah, true, but...”

Isn’t Sis being a little too chill about all this?

Neti cast a subtle glance at her sister.

Seti was seated at the cabin table, writing furiously. Neti caught a glimpse of the words: Necromancer, Mafia, Order of Knights.

So busy, seriously. Neti couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.

“Hey... Sis?”

“What.”

“Aren’t you worried about him? About Yeomyeong?”

Clearly going for bold, Neti steeled her face and asked the question directly.

Seti shrugged.

“Not really.”

So casual—not even sparing a glance. Even Corvus looked puzzled by her confidence.

“Seti,” Corvus asked gently, “May I ask why?”

Apparently still respecting him as her teacher, Seti finally looked up and glanced between them.

“I should be asking you. What makes you so sure Yeomyeong and the Saint are gonna cross a line?”

“Well... I mean, you’ve got a guy and a girl who like each other, alone in a private room...”

Neti trailed off.

Seti was staring at her like she was something under her shoe.

“I told you to stop reading those romance novels.”

“....”

“Do you think Yeomyeong’s some kind of animal? Like he’d just pounce on her if he couldn’t hold back?”

Okay, not an animal, but he is a guy. Don’t all guys kinda—?

Neti swallowed the thought.

Seti was right. All her knowledge about romance came from novels, after all.

“This isn’t the first time. If he really couldn’t control himself, he’d step away. Please. Just chill out.”

Corvus scratched his cheek awkwardly. Neti tilted her head—Not the first time?

And Seti added, as if sealing the deal:

“I guarantee you, nothing will happen before we reach the final stop.”

****

As if that had been a prophecy—

Nothing happened at all until the train reached Gemini City.

For some reason, the Saint looked satisfied.

Neti and Corvus, on the other hand, were completely dumbfounded.