DEB 89

“What… does that mean?”

Vina staggered as he stood up. He still struggled under the weight of the Bird Without Eyes’ presence, looking as if he might collapse at any moment. 

Yet, he gritted his teeth and focused his gaze on Yasha. 

The small figure came into his view. Beneath the pale neck, the shoulders seemed too delicate to be those of someone who once bore the weight of the world, and the back was far too small.

Yasha.

As soon as the name formed on his tongue, his heart sank. Something peeled away before his eyes. The world grew clearer, and Huiyun’s image filled his vision.

Huiyun stood firm in the stormy world’s backside, his slender legs steadfast. Yet, despite this…

He was small.

Vina tried to muster strength in his trembling legs, staring at the silent figure of his master.

That back used to be so reassuring. It was the back that protected him from all the world’s storms and showed endless love and compassion. He had believed that back would always protect and cherish them, that it was eternal. That firm belief and reverence were shaken for the first time. A question he had never considered before pierced his consciousness.

Was it really like that?

Was Yasha truly so noble and strong that no one could harm him?

Was he truly strong enough to bear the weight of the world alone? Was he truly so carefree that he could laugh without worry, even knowing the heavy secret he carried? Did he truly accept the weight of everything without complaint?

Was Yasha really…

Had he, over the thousands of years, ever truly seen Yasha?

Just as in the past, you must uphold the balance.

The Bird Without Eyes’ words settled once more over the silent ground. Though Yasha stood firm, staring at the bird without wavering, his disciples’ shoulders trembled violently.

Vina’s focus blurred. 

His face contorted with self-doubt, and he clenched his fists tightly. 

This was not simply because his reincarnated body was frail, or because he was weak compared to Yasha. 

If that were the case, this sorrow wouldn’t have surged from the distant past and consumed his mind so quickly. He wouldn’t have been submerged in guilt like a drowning man or found it so difficult to meet his master’s eyes.

The reason he—and they—had thought Yasha was strong was because Yasha had made them believe it. He had hidden his weaknesses, showing only his strengths, striving to remain the ever-reliable master. 

In the past, they had not known this, and even now, they had not fully grasped it. In hindsight, his act was so transparent that it should have been obvious to anyone who looked closely, yet they had failed to see it.

Seeing Yasha standing there as if he had expected all of this, filled Vina with grief. For countless moments over the past ten thousand years, he had thought of his master as unfeeling, but now it was clear who had truly been unfeeling.

“Ah…”

What Vina realized, the other disciples came to understand as well. The words Yasha had spoken, the explanations Huiyun had given, all passed through their minds and aligned with the words of the Bird Without Eyes. The pieces fit together perfectly, and the disciples, now pale, looked at Yasha as they finally understood why their master had been driven to suicide.

All wore the faces of the guilty.

No one could face him without shame, and their hearts ached. Some reflected on the time after reuniting with their master, some on the ten thousand years without him, and others on the memories they had shared. Though each reflected on different times, the emotion that settled in their eyes was the same: regret.

“…Yasha.”

Why hadn’t he blamed his disciples? Why hadn’t he shown even a hint of resentment?

Why had he accepted their accusations and harsh words without complaint, even when they had demanded to know why he had left them, why he had abandoned them?

He had many opportunities to say that he had died for them, that he had sacrificed himself for their sake, and that he had endured the war’s suffering to give them peace. But why hadn’t he?

None of them spoke these doubts aloud. They didn’t need to; they already knew.

A master who would go so far as to carve out his own heart and give up his life for his disciples—how could such a master possibly blame those very disciples?

Knowing Yasha’s nature, it was more likely that he had been blaming himself all along. He must have thought that his choice had inflicted unforgettable sorrow upon his disciples. It was certain that he had been tormenting himself, which was why the disciples remained silent. A few couldn’t hold back their emotions and lowered their heads. As the tears that had welled up in their eyes finally fell to the ground, the Bird Without Eyes retreated into its dark hole.

The oppressive presence that had enveloped them vanished, and the fierce snowstorm turned into a misty drizzle that soaked their bodies. The Bird Without Eyes seemed to have fallen asleep, showing no signs of movement within the hole. It was a signal that the divine message had been fully delivered.

It was time to return.

They all knew this, yet none of them could bring themselves to take a step or speak. 

At that moment, Huiyun, who had been quietly closing his eyes, turned his head.

“…It’s cold.”

“…….”

“We should go back.”

The voice that echoed in their ears was tinged with melancholy. It was a familiar sound.

It was the same dry tone they had often heard when they first met Huiyun, and even in the distant past. It brought a new realization that made the disciples’ lips tremble. Their eyelashes quivered.

It wasn’t just once.

You’ve lived through these feelings many times before. You’ve endured the immense weight of balance for so long, carrying a burden that no one else could fathom.

…And you’ve done it all without ever truly leaning on anyone.

Faced with this undeniable truth, Vina collapsed. 

His knees, which hadn’t fully touched the ground even before the great presence of the Bird Without Eyes, now buckled, and he fell into the cold snow. 

He covered his face with his hands. The emotions he had held back until they reached their limit now began to seep through his fingers.

The overwhelming emotion spread like a wave, and one by one, the disciples gritted their teeth. Yet despite their efforts, their sobs grew louder.

“W-What… what do we do…? I’m sorry… We…”

“Why didn’t you tell us? If you had, we would have…”

“Yasha, I…!”

“…Ugh.”

Overcome with sorrow and a deep sense of guilt, they wept like children despite their adult forms. 

The sight was so unfamiliar that Huiyun, taken aback, could only watch them in silence. It felt as though they were crying in his stead, shedding the tears he could not.

As he listened to his disciples’ sobs, without needing any further explanation, Huiyun slowly calmed the emotions that had been stirring since he heard the Bird Without Eyes’ prophecy. The emotions he had felt when he decided to take his own life came flooding back, forcing him to relive the moment of his death.

The pain of his heart being pierced became vivid again. Like a phantom pain, his chest throbbed, and he clenched his fists.

He had thought it was fine if no one knew. He had even wished for it. Even if no one in the world knew of his sacrifice, even if they ended up resenting him, he thought it would be enough that at least the divine knew.

He thought it would be enough that the divine saw everything, and he was content with that.

But now, standing before those who had finally realized the long-hidden truth and were crying for him with all their hearts, he understood just how foolish that thought had been.

More than worrying that his disciples had been shocked, he was glad they had finally understood the truth. 

Despite how selfish and sincere that was.

“I can’t understand why I didn’t realize it sooner. How much I’ve been protected under your shadow all this time…”

Moot muttered as he frowned, his voice filled with self-reproach. 

Huiyun, realizing something, opened his eyes wide, and a small sigh escaped him.

Perhaps the divine had indeed answered his prayers in the best way possible.

The fact that the second War of Balance hadn’t occurred in the ten thousand years since his death and that his disciples hadn’t discovered the reason for his death during that time, was evidence of this.

If they had known the truth sooner, they would have endured a time far too difficult to bear. They would have tried to end their lives in guilt many times over.

They were smart. If they had wanted to know the reason for his death, they would have found it out. But perhaps the divine had shielded their eyes, preventing them from knowing, and for that, he was grateful. He was thankful that the divine had helped his disciples avoid living with such tormenting emotions.

If he could secure ten thousand years of peace and the safety of his disciples in exchange for one death, then perhaps it was a fair trade.

The resentment in his heart slowly melted away, and he finally realized.

He truly walked with the divine.

With this realization, the impending war no longer seemed frightening. There was nothing to fear.

With the divine by his side, what could he possibly fear? The Bird Without Eyes’ words echoed in his mind.

…If this is my role, then I must fulfill it.

Having erased his sadness, Huiyun gently patted his disciples. When he embraced one of them, the others quickly gathered around, crowding into his narrow arms. As they wept, asking if he didn’t trust them, Huiyun calmly reassured them, softly stroking their heads as he smiled faintly.

“You didn’t cry like this even as hatchlings, and now, fully grown, you’re weeping.”

The affectionate scolding made the disciples cry even more. As he comforted them, Huiyun realized something.

He loved the world and these young beings far too much to live resenting the divine.

With just a single understanding, he was once again willing to give everything.