Chapter 183: The Unspoken Goodbye

Biyu ran with all her might, her steps heavy and hurried, her heart weighed down by worry. She raced toward Yahageshii, desperate to ensure his safety, while also calling out in her heart for her younger son, Shingen, and wondering about the whereabouts of her eldest, Shingin. Her thoughts revolved solely around them, never anticipating that this run would lead her into her final confrontation with destiny.

Yahageshii, meanwhile, lay on the ground, his right arm rendered useless by Watcher 20. His face was pale, his breath weak, and his eyes brimmed with helpless despair. As he saw Biyu approaching, he mustered a faint expression, as though clinging to hope at her arrival, yet knowing deep inside that he could do nothing to protect her.

A lightning spear sliced through the air, gleaming with lethal intent as it closed in on Biyu's figure. Ryuosho's eyes widened in terror, his desperate voice tearing through the battlefield:

"NO!!!"

But it was already too late.

The spear, forged from Lazy Ryuosho's malice, hurtled through the air like a bolt of doom. It mercilessly pierced the space between them, finding its mark with unerring precision. Biyu turned at the final moment, catching a glimpse of Ryuosho lunging toward her, his body throwing everything into an impossible attempt to shield her.

Yet the spear moved too fast, its trajectory unstoppable. In a single, devastating moment, it pierced them both. Time froze. The acrid scent of burning air filled the silence, and the world seemed to collapse into stillness.

The lightning spear tore through them with violent precision, its electric surge ravaging their bodies. Ryuosho held Biyu tightly, his own strength waning as pain seared through him. Blood spurted forth, staining their clothes crimson, pooling on the ground, creating an agonizingly vivid tableau.

"Urk—" Ryuosho and Biyu coughed up blood simultaneously, their faces contorted in agony as if death had etched its signature upon them.

From a distance, Shingin stood motionless, his empty gaze locked onto the tragic scene. It was as though some invisible force had seized his heart, squeezing it until he could no longer feel. His body remained rigid, his soul shattered by what he witnessed. Each drop of blood was a dagger carving into his being, an unrelenting pain that consumed his world.

Yahageshii lay prone, his awareness slipping. His weakened heart struggled against the suffocating stench of blood and the oppressive air of despair. A single pang of sorrow clung to his failing consciousness—regret for Biyu, helplessness for Shingin, and the bitter tragedy of an unchangeable fate.

Shingin's legs carried him forward as though dragged by an unseen force. Each step felt like treading on the edge of a blade, each movement a stab to his heart. His body was leaden, but some relentless compulsion drove him closer to the bloody aftermath. His head bowed, his tearful gaze falling upon the two broken figures before him—his mother, now lifeless, and his dearest friend, clinging to the last threads of life.

Biyu lay still, her lifeless eyes fixed on the horizon. It was as if they were waiting for Shingin to return, a longing gaze that spoke of unfinished words. Yet she could no longer speak, no longer move. Her time had ended.

Shingin knelt beside her, his trembling hands reaching out to hers. Her hands, weathered and frail, bore the marks of a lifetime of toil and care. Each wrinkle, every scar told the story of her sacrifices, the silent love she gave her family.

"Mom…" Shingin's voice cracked, his tears falling like rain onto her cold hands.

Those hands had once caressed his face, reassuring and warm. Now they were cold, lifeless. He clutched them tightly, as if by sheer will he could keep her with him.

His heart ached as he remembered her voice, soft and gentle, always reminding him to be careful on his journey. At the time, he had brushed her words aside, too eager to chase his path.

Now, he whispered the words he could never say, too late to reach her ears:

"Mom… I'm back… I'm home."

Regret tore through him, an unrelenting tide of guilt and despair. He had returned, but too late to say goodbye. Too late to thank her. Too late to hear her voice again.

Shingin held her hands tighter, his tears flowing freely, mourning not just her loss but the loss of a chance to tell her all the things he should have said.

But the world gave no solace, no second chances. All he could do now was sit there, his voice trembling, repeating words she could never hear.