There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 200: In the city, flowers bloom; at the gate, the moon flows (5)

“Would you help me kill the commander of the knight order?”

 Yeomyeong’s first reaction to the sudden murder request was rejection.

No matter what the reward was, he had no intention of staining his blade with blood for some gangster. That wasn’t what he’d gained his power for.

Especially if the target was Sancho’s superior.

Yeomyeong replied that he had no interest in taking part in some crime syndicate’s coup. Sancho gave a bitter smile—and began to tell a story.

The story of a director abandoned by the world, decades ago.

And when that story ended, Yeomyeong couldn’t say a single word.

Was it because he’d never read anything like it in a textbook? Or because he genuinely sympathized with the man’s misfortune?

Even Yeomyeong didn’t know. Instead of a flat-out refusal, he simply said he’d think about it.

Sancho didn’t push further. All he said was to please give it some real thought.

And so, as Yeomyeong left the hotel room, his head was a mess of tangled thoughts.

Writer. Player. Director. Protagonist.

In a world where fate had scrambled all those roles, where was he headed? And when his revenge was complete—what would he be?

His thoughts unraveled like a knotted skein of yarn, one thread leading to another.

Eventually, Yeomyeong arrived at the suite where the others were staying.

Maybe because he’d been gone too long, the Saint and Neti greeted him with worried faces.

What had he been talking about? Was everything okay...?

Mixing just the right amounts of truth and lies, Yeomyeong gave them a vague explanation of his conversation with Sancho—then realized Seti and the necromancer weren’t in the room. He asked why.

“We split the rooms. One to keep watch on the necromancer, and one for my brother-in-law to sleep alone.”

Neti’s reply. Yeomyeong thought about stopping by Seti’s room but shook his head.

Aside from the moon in the night sky, everything else was asleep. The Saint and Neti were barely staying awake, waiting for him.

Yeomyeong said they’d talk in the morning and left the room. As he was walking away, the Saint called out half-jokingly that he could sleep with them if he wanted—but Yeomyeong replied by conjuring an ice shard and tossing it at her.

Thwack—the sound of the ice chunk smacking squarely into her forehead rang out behind him as he walked toward his suite.

The room he entered, after swiping the card key, was just as luxurious as the VIP suite back at the Academy.

It was as large as four or five normal hotel rooms combined, and from its massive window, he could see the entire city.

A city swallowed by darkness. A flickering dimensional gate. And his own reflection in the glass.

Yeomyeong stared at it all for a while before sighing and heading toward the bedroom.

He thought about ordering room service, but eating alone in the middle of the night just felt kind of pathetic.

I’ll just eat a big breakfast.

After quickly washing up, he threw himself onto the giant bed.

The blanket wrapped around him, the darkness cloaked his eyes.

He let all the complicated thoughts melt into sleep and was just about to drift off when—

****

Click—

The sound of a door opening. Normally, that would’ve made him shoot up and draw his sword.

But not this time.

The approaching footsteps were just too familiar.

“...Yeomyeong? You awake?”

Seti’s voice came quietly from the bedroom door.

When Yeomyeong didn’t answer, she carefully stepped into the room and naturally lay down beside him.

Close enough to hear each other breathe.

Instead of answering, Yeomyeong reached out his arm. Seti lifted her head slightly and rested it against him.

“What did you talk about?”

She gently pressed her head against his arm as she asked. Her silken hair brushed against his skin as Yeomyeong told her everything honestly.

About the director and his life. About the knight commander with dementia. And about how... it didn’t feel like a lie.

Seti listened to him quietly for a long time before summing it all up with a single sentence.

“So, what do you want to do, Yeomyeong?”

“I don’t know... I’m not really sure.”

“But if you don’t help, you’ll regret it. Right?”

“...”

A silent yes. Seti gave a small smile and lifted her head to nuzzle her face into his chest.

“Don’t worry so much about what you might lose. That guy Sancho—he’s number two around here, right? So take this chance to cut ties with the gang, track the necromancer, and get them to forge a fake ID for you.”

Her voice was delicate, like she was trying to lighten his burden just a bit. Yeomyeong gave a soft chuckle and pulled her close.

The warmth of another body. The scent of her hair. A silence slowly warming between them.

They held each other like that for a while.

Then, rubbing her forehead against his chest, Seti spoke again.

“Do you know what Neti said earlier when I grabbed Uragan’s Hilt?”

“...What’d she say?”

“She asked if I took it from behind.”

“....”

Even for Yeomyeong—who’d lived among gutter-mouthed mercs and back-alley cleanup crews—it was a comment bold enough to make him flinch.

Seti must’ve sensed it too, because she let out a soft giggle.

“She’s my little sister, but damn, she’s a lunatic.”

“...Mm.”

“Our precious little dung beetle is such a master of self-control, huh? Isn’t that right?”

He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or complimenting him. Yeomyeong didn’t respond.

When the silence threatened to stretch out again, Seti wiggled her toes and poked his foot.

Yeomyeong tried to pull away, but she clamped down on his toes with hers.

Toes, of all things, were surprisingly sensitive—and Yeomyeong let out a small laugh without meaning to.

Her fidgeting toes. Her arms wrapped tightly around him.

Yeomyeong gently pushed her back, tilted his head, and met her eyes.

In the darkness, her deep blue pupils caught the faint moonlight—and overlapped with his golden ones.

Seti didn’t shy away from the gaze. She didn’t flinch or look embarrassed.

Yeomyeong was the only person in this world she could show this side of herself to.

His cheeks flushed, his stomach twisted up with rising emotion. Seti began pouring out her feelings like she was bailing out a sinking boat.

“Thank you.”

Normally, this would’ve been the part where Yeomyeong replied, ‘Don’t mention it.’

But this time, he said something else.

“Not that.”

A mischievous grin. A rough hand brushing her cheek.

Seti jabbed his side in response.

“...I like you. I love you. What kind of answer are you fishing for?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Yeomyeong gently pushed her back and added,

“I already know.”

A quiet laugh. Normally, this would be where they kissed, maybe parted for the night...

But suddenly, Seti felt something else stir inside her.

Was it because of the Saint, who’d shared that moment alone with Yeomyeong on the train? Or maybe because of the moonlight pouring across the bed?

She didn’t know. Didn’t need to.

Before Yeomyeong could reach out to take her hand, she got there first—grabbing his cheek instead.

“...Why?”

His expression shifted slightly—somewhere between a wry smirk and a real, awkward smile.

The kind of genuine flustered look she hadn’t seen on him in a while.

Seeing that made Seti’s heart tremble, like a flower petal struck by spring rain.

“Uh... hey, Yeomyeong?”

I didn’t come here planning to do this.

“I can’t hold back.”

“...”

Before Yeomyeong could respond, Seti slid her knee between his legs.

An instinctive movement, written into their genes.

Yeomyeong didn’t push her away—but he didn’t pull her in either. He just shut his eyes tightly.

“Hey... Seti, this is...”

“You don’t want to?”

Her voice was slightly wet. When Yeomyeong opened his eyes again, he saw her face—terrified.

Those pitiful eyes, that fragile tension, like a dandelion about to scatter with a single breath if he refused her now.

A line was crossed. One that wouldn’t be recrossed for a long time.

Without saying a word, Yeomyeong reached out and placed his hand on her waist.

Then slipped it beneath her clothes, tracing the curve of her lower back. Under his palm, her skin was smooth and pale as ivory.

“Ah? Ah...”

Seti tensed for a moment—but she didn’t resist. Instead, she relaxed into his touch.

Their toes tangled. Their breath quickened.

Seti thought of a small hill, crowned by a great tree.

Summer kissed her, and by autumn, she shed her leaves with the tree.

The chill of winter, and beneath it, the fragile sprouts waiting in the soil.

Now came spring—its warm lips drawing closer with every breath.

Moved by something between embarrassment and instinct, Seti laid her hand on the tree.

A pounding bud. A searing sun. Oh, this maddening season.

Summer returned again, whispering at the tip of its tongue. A confession hot as sunlight. A spring overflowing beneath it.

Autumn passed in a flash. Pushing aside what might’ve been blankets or fallen leaves, the two of them looked at each other like brittle, dried flowers.

Winter. A silence filled not with words, but raw emotion.

Eyes drawing close. Anxiety fading into the distance.

Snow does not exist to melt—but in the end, all snow melts.

“...Come to me.”

With that desperate confession, even the moon turned away.

A night never to be forgotten. Fire in the dead of winter. A soul in the throes of passion.

A unicorn’s tear. A bison’s joy. A longing knocking at the closed door.

Across the untouched snowfield—Yeomyeong left his mark.

****

On the outskirts of Gemini City, in the wealthy suburbs where Earthling elites kept their private villas—

A group of beastkin moved silently under the curtain of night.

Even as massive bodies scaled walls and crossed roads, the police didn’t detect a single hair.

Not because the wolf beastkin silenced their steps, or the bear beastkin avoided the moonlight.

No. That was giving too much credit.

The police’s incompetence was the product of years of compromise with crime.

In any case, the silent infiltration continued.

Then the lead beastkin—larger by a head than the others—came to a sudden stop.

He was a lion beastkin, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ and everything about him stood out.

A face radiating power. Muscles so tense they looked ready to burst. And a golden mane that gleamed even in the dark of night.

He looked like the very embodiment of the word “king.” The rest of the beastkin fell silent as they stared at his back.

Footsteps echoed from beyond the shadows.

Step. Step.

From the darkness appeared a dwarf with a monocle over one eye. A few of the beastkin clenched their jaws when they saw him.

They couldn’t help it. The dwarf was a well-known figure, even among the knight order.

“Jepun Digarak. Didn’t expect to find you here. Shouldn’t you be at the hotel?”

The lion beastkin spoke first. The one-eyed dwarf, Jepun, pulled a cigarette from his pocket and replied as he lit it.

“Geumdong.”

“...My name is Golden Fang.”

“Right, Geumdong. Cut the bullshit and go home.”

Click, click. The lighter sparked. Smoke curled up into the air as beastkin eyes glinted in the dark.

“I don’t know who told you what, but this isn’t something a punk like you should be meddling in.”

“...”

“So turn around, go wash your feet, and sleep it off.”

Despite his words, everyone here knew the beastkin weren’t about to just walk away.

The only question was—what had they brought with them?

“Jepun. Don’t you think this city’s been too peaceful for too long?”

As Golden Fang spoke, the other beastkin bared their fangs—and almost in unison, pulled out the guns strapped to their backs.

Massive, even by beastkin standards—fully automatic shotguns.

Definitely Earth-made weapons, designed for hunting monsters. The magazines were probably packed with specialized slug rounds.

“Damn. The mafia... you guys... really scraping the bottom of the barrel now.”

Beastkin working with Earthlings. Jepun looked at the barrel pointed at him and scoffed.

Geumdong—no, Golden Fang—growled low.

“And the knight order? What kind of order locks its own commander away?”

“...”

“Our brotherhood... we’re going to free him. Free him from the vice commander who’s blinded by power.”

Jepun didn’t respond to the nonsense. He simply took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke.

The moonlight danced across it. The silence shimmered in its wake.

By the time the cigarette burned down, and the sound of insects rose faintly in the night—

Jepun finally muttered:

“Save that bullshit for your daddy’s funeral.”

“...You bastard.”

Had he hit a nerve? The lion’s face twisted.

Jepun grinned and flicked the cigarette to the ground—just as it hit:

BOOM!

A gunshot ripped through the night.

The lazy police might’ve missed it—but it was more than enough to catch the attention of a retired knight who used to swing swords in fake barracks.