* * *

The Demon-Cleaving Dragon-Slaying Sword.

Created long ago by the first Sword Master, the Sword Emperor, and perfected by the last Sword Master, Limon, this swordsmanship rested on a single principle: seeing through an opponent. The reaction of the pupils. The development of the muscles. Unconscious habits.

The Demon-Cleaving Dragon-Slaying Sword began with observing and analyzing everything, then finding a way to counter it. That was a large part of how Limon had predicted the killers’ movements until now.

‘I can’t interpret this as swordsmanship.’

But at this moment, Limon had shut the principles of the Demon-Cleaving Dragon-Slaying Sword completely out of his mind.

SCREEE.

In their place came a complex melody. The sounds of Li Qingyu, Yo U-in, and Yu Na-gyeong striking assorted objects mingled with the Violin of Deepest Black. What they produced was closer to noise than music: unruly sound waves in which separate rhythms tangled together and threw everything into chaos.

Amid that chaos, which reminded him of the song Eugene had sung at the restaurant, Limon gave the violin bow a slight twist as the curse moved it of its own accord.

SCREE.

‘Don’t think. Feel.’

“...?”

“...!”

Perhaps it was the forceful tone, so unlike a violin, that startled them. Li Qingyu and Yo U-in faltered, breaking their rhythms—but only for an instant. Spurred on, it seemed, by Yu Na-gyeong, who had heard it once before and kept striking away undaunted, they resumed tapping the objects.

Limon gradually changed the violin’s melody to fit their sounds. He drew the clashing notes together, turned noise into harmony, then wove that harmony into music. Sounds that had been at odds began to fit. Clamor became a performance.

It was a marvel, like turning lead into gold, melting sand into jewels, or coaxing flowers from a rotting tree.

‘Just as every sound has a rhythm, even the most random-looking outcome has a pattern.’

To Limon, the result was only natural. Noise sounded like noise not because it lacked a pattern, but because no one had found that pattern. Give it the slightest help to emerge, and even the patter of rain or the roar of an engine could become part of an orchestra.

There was just one problem: finding the single note that would bring harmony to sounds changing and running wild from moment to moment. It was as daunting as finding a needle scattered in the desert. Having to repeat the feat thousands of times made it all but impossible.

Yet he did it. Through imagination rather than deduction, presentiment rather than prediction. Like an archer who could strike a bird ten li away while blind, he relied on instinct and intuition alone to find the melody that turned noise into music.

In that realm of sixth sense, beyond the reach of logic or even Hypersenses, Limon remembered.

[“Then it’s no different from knowing how many pairs of spoons they own. All you have to do is infer and predict the culprit’s habits, personality, and even financial situation.”]

Li Qingyu’s advice. Something even a Sword Master could not do. Something she herself had said almost as a joke.

But was it truly impossible? More impossible than weaving a melody from a jumble of irregular noise?

Limon decided to try.

‘There are three killers. One of them actually makes the plans and leads the others.’

Limon had never seen the man’s face. But the traces he had read from the bodies of the man’s victims, using the principles of the Demon-Cleaving Dragon-Slaying Sword, had told him a great deal.

‘More sociopath than psychopath. He treats the killing itself as work, but enjoys calculating the consequences and the reactions it will provoke.’

‘That’s why he goes after targets that will cause the greatest fallout. He’s a show-off who makes enemies and draws pursuers so he can enjoy matching wits with them.’

That was as far as Limon had been able to determine. It was also the basis on which he had predicted the killers’ next targets.

Now, though, Limon changed his perspective.

‘What if he’s trying to choose targets at random so no one can read his thoughts?’

‘He’ll probably use a tool. Something easy to get and convenient to keep on hand.’

‘If I can predict exactly where he’ll use it, how much force he’ll apply, and how he’ll use it...’

It was an absurd supposition. Predicting lottery numbers seemed more realistic. Even so, Limon took on the challenge. He left behind the logic of weighing probabilities and possibilities and entrusted everything to his sixth sense as it spread outward with the melody.

SCREEEE.

At that very moment, Limon’s playing changed.

One of the techniques that had lain deepest within the Violin of Deepest Black awakened. It had belonged to a figure better known as a composer than a performer—a legend who had composed his greatest work when everyone said his career as a musician was over.

The technique he had left within the violin resonated with Limon’s will to challenge the impossible, bringing forth a new melody.

“This is...”

The noise vanished. The rhythms gradually fell into order.

Limon paid them no heed. He concentrated on preserving his own playing against the Violin of Deepest Black, which sought to play as it pleased. For centuries, he had been challenged as an absolute being without ever issuing such a challenge himself. But now he challenged someone as a mere novice—to overcome the violin’s curse, and his own limits.

SCREE.

He tore himself free of the grand tones produced by the Violin of Deepest Black and scattered sharp notes through them. He seized the performance as it tried to ring out cleanly and shook it until the sound of one person lived within it.

It was a contest: a novice who had learned his instrument less than a year ago pitting his technique against a master who had shaped the history of music.

Yet the longer that reckless challenge continued, the more the disordered notes settled into place, and the clearer the color within them became.

SCREEEE.

When the violin’s melody reached its peak and held the complete image of one man, Limon felt it. Of all the objects spread across the floor, the two dice had made the sound closest to that man’s tastes.

And then he saw a vision: the man throwing the two dice onto a neatly arranged table, waiting for them to stop rolling, and writing down the numbers they showed. With those numbers, he determined the order of his next attacks from a list of Black Dragon Clan subsidiaries he had prepared in advance.

Limon watched every number written beside each subsidiary in turn. Then he saw the cold sneer on the man’s lips.

SCREE—

The dazzling melody shattered, and reality swallowed the vision.

* * *

“... Phew.”

Limon lowered the violin from his shoulder and wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek. He had the stamina to play all day without shedding a drop, yet a performance of little more than ten minutes had left him looking like a drowned rat. Normally, that would have been impossible.

But he found nothing strange about it. What he had just played had demanded that much concentration.

‘Hah. Fighting the Demon God might have been easier.’

He shook his head, then carefully put the Violin of Deepest Black back in its case as though it were a deadly weapon. “Paper and a pen.”

“...”

“I said, give me paper and a pen.”

“... Here you are.”

Yo U-in had stood frozen as though he had received a terrible shock. Only after Limon spoke a second time did he respectfully offer him a notepad and pen.

Limon took the notepad and immediately wrote something down in a long list. He handed it back to Yo U-in and said in a weary voice, “Give this to that smart fool. Tell him it’s the list of subsidiaries that will be attacked next.”

It was a startling thing to say without warning. Yet Yo U-in neither doubted Limon nor questioned the list. He merely looked at him with an indescribable expression, his lips moving as if he wanted to ask something.

“I’m going to wash up and get some sleep. Don’t call for me.”

“Yes. Rest well.”

[“Huh? Team Leader, wait...!”]

But Yo U-in never got the chance to ask his question. Before he could, Limon scooped up Yu Na-gyeong, who was still frozen with her beak hanging open, and strode away.

Yo U-in watched him go for a long while, his feelings tangled. Only when Limon had disappeared completely did he turn toward the girl who remained where she was, still wearing the bright smile with which she had seen Limon off.

“Your Highness, what just happened...”

“Forget it.”

Her calm reply came as if she had been waiting for the question. It was so immediate, allowing no question at all, that Yo U-in doubted his ears.

“... You wish me to forget it?”

“Yo U-in, what you just saw and felt doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the Sword Lord has told us the killers’ next targets.”

Only the important things needed to be remembered. There was no need to remember anything else. So even if he had seen it, he should act as though he had not. Even if he had felt it, he should act as though he had felt nothing. He should simply forget.

“Isn’t that right?”

Li Qingyu was still smiling, but her eyes had gone cold. Looking at her, Yo U-in understood: it was not a question. His answer had been decided from the start.

“If that is Your Highness’s wish.”

As one of the clan sworn to its princess and the general manager of the Leviathan, who oversaw all manner of secrets, Yo U-in gave the only answer he could. Li Qingyu seemed satisfied. She nodded lightly and turned away.

“How fortunate I am to have such a discreet and trustworthy loyal servant as you, Yo U-in.”

If word of today’s events got out, he would no longer be her loyal servant. With that gentle warning, Li Qingyu left.

Alone, Yo U-in slowly turned toward the spot where Limon had played and stared at it, his face set.

Yo U-in was a warrior from an earlier age. He had experienced the Sword Lord’s power, and unlike the young people of today, he had never underestimated Limon.

But now he wondered whether believing he knew Limon well had been a monumental mistake. What he had felt from Limon as he played the violin had shocked him that deeply.

‘I don’t know.’

Had it been mere coincidence, or had Limon intended it? Had he been capable of it for years? Could he do it at will? Yo U-in knew none of the answers.

But if even one of those possibilities was true, the Seven Dragons Society would have no grounds to protest being called utter fools. It would mean they knew next to nothing about the archenemy they had fought for centuries.

There might be one exception.

‘Did Your Highness know?’

Li Qingyu had pushed ahead with her engagement to Limon despite the clan’s opposition. No one had understood her choice, not even Yo U-in, who was loyal to her.

‘If she knew when she made that choice...’

But now? He could understand it. He could understand why she had gone out of her way to keep today’s events secret, too.

‘Your Highness, just what kind of monster are you planning to marry?’

Lamenting the inscrutable designs of the princess he revered, Yo U-in could only shake his head.