HDCLSSRS Ch 111

Chapter 111 The Sixth Young Master (3)

“I’ve come seeking someone who stayed here until a few days ago.”

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Though the tavern master quickly schooled his face, it was already too late. His reaction was precisely that of someone who knew Seong Mujai.

“Please, sit. We’re well aware that the last place the Sixth Prince of the Demonic Cult⁽¹⁾, Seong Mujai, was sighted was here at Seonwollu.”

“W-Wait a moment. Are you saying he truly… was a prince of the Demonic Cult?”

The tavern master’s eyes widened like lanterns. Ironically, the one more taken aback was Seong Muyeon.

“What, you mean you let him stay under your roof without realizing that? Did he never once tell you who he was?”

“…He did claim he was a prince of the Demonic Cult. But why should I have believed him? Anyone can make such boasts with their mouth.”

Fair enough. There wasn’t exactly an easy way to prove it.

After some hesitation, the tavern master dismissed his servants and sat across from Muyeon.

“Then… might you be…”

His gaze fixed on Muyeon. With such a striking resemblance, the answer could only be one.

“That’s right. I am his younger brother, the Seventh Prince—Seong Muyeon.”

“…Ha. So Young Brother truly was of the Demonic Cult after all.”

“…‘Young Brother’?”

Muyeon repeated, puzzled, and the tavern master answered sheepishly.

“We swore brotherhood in wine.”

Unbelievable.

What kind of man binds as sworn brothers with someone who calls himself a demon prince? And what sort of fool seals such a pact while on the run for murder, as Seong Mujai was rumored to be? Both were equally absurd.

“And why are you seeking him now?”

“That is an internal matter of the Cult. Nothing for you to know.”

“…”

The tavern master said nothing further. He fiddled with the cup Muyeon poured him, sighing deeply.

“I regret to say, but Young Brother left several days ago. Even when I inquired, no one knew where he went—no trace left at all.”

“How did you two even meet? You knew him beforehand?”

The man shook his head.

“I sometimes host gatherings. Seong showed up at one of them for the first time. We spoke, got along well enough, and that evening, drunk, we swore brotherhood. But then he said he had no place to stay, so I lent him a room at my tavern—that’s all.”

“No compensation at all? Then what reason did he give for leaving? Are you hiding something…?”

“Why would I lie? I more than anyone want to find him!”

The tavern master snapped, pounding the table.

“Seong Mujai owes me one hundred taels of gold and ran off!”

“…”

Of course.

Muyeon pressed fingers to his brow. Kang Ung’s jaw dropped. Even Baek Ryeoil’s face, rarely so unsettled, showed a flicker of surprise at the staggering sum.

“That bastard dares skip off with my money?”

If the man had fled to avoid paying his debts, it made sense the tavern master hadn’t believed his claim of princely status. Who would think a Demonic Cult prince could be penniless over a mere hundred taels?

“Then the burden falls to you, doesn’t it, prince? As his brother, you’ll repay me?”

The arrow now pointed squarely at Muyeon.

“W-Wait…”

“You’re a prince yourself, surely you don’t lack a mere hundred taels?”

“Well, the thing is…”

Naturally, Seong Muyeon had nothing of the sort. He’d been cast off penniless. As for Mujai, his own fugitive state made it obvious he had no way of conjuring such an extravagant sum. After all, he’d ended up leeching off an unknown tavern instead of seeking aid at countless branch halls of the Cult.

Hence: explicit confirmation that Mujai was broke.

“…You yourself, are you truly the Seventh Prince?”

The tavern master narrowed his eyes, staring hard at Muyeon. His clothes were of decent quality, yes—but no more than that. His polished air and face created an illusion of wealth and breeding, but nothing about him screamed “elite.”

The man’s gaze flicked to the “bodyguards” at either side.

“Now that I look again, even these guards of yours feel… off. Are you truly of the Cult?”

Baek Ryeoil’s brow furrowed in disdain. To be forced not merely to pose as Cult, but to prove it—of all things! To flaunt title as the very thing he detested most.

Muyeon feared Ryeoil might explode, but thankfully he only tapped the scabbard at his hip.

A sliver of steel peeked out—gleaming with chilling killing intent.

The tavern master paled, changing his face entirely.

“N-No! I believe you, I do!”

He waved frantically. Ryeoil only snorted and pulled back, raising his wine cup once more.

Muyeon took control again.

“…My brother caused such an incident within the Cult that his funds were cut off. And yet here he is, making more chaos still… Father will punish him harshly for this.”

At that word Father, the tavern master visibly flinched and shut his mouth tight. To a low- or mid-tier martial man like him, the name of the Cult Leader was a terror unto itself.

“Most likely, bereft of support, he had no choice but to lean on you. But don’t worry—once I find him, I’ll arrange recompense. The branches will wire funds, and you will be repaid every copper.”

Muyeon sipped with calm composure.

“Since my brother received charity here, the Cult will ensure treatment befitting such a favor.”

In other words—he promised a hefty reward.

The tavern master’s pupils dilated.

“Ahem. In that case, I too will lend my aid in locating the Sixth Prince. I’ll put my staff to it—whatever you require, simply tell me.”

Well now. That was a sudden formality.

His tone flipped like a coin, now deferential, his bow deep. Clearly, he was convinced Muyeon’s status was genuine.

He swore repeatedly that if Mujai surfaced, he would immediately send word. In their sight, he even summoned his steward and guards, commanding full cooperation. Then, bowing deeply once again, he excused himself.

“…A hundred taels…”

Kang Ung still looked stunned, muttering blankly.

“It’s… it’s fine. Once we locate my brother, we’ll return to Huashan instead of backtracking here. If he owes the debt, let him pay it…”

Even Muyeon faltered at the end, unsure. How much was “one hundred taels of gold” really worth? Judging by reactions, astronomical.

…Still, they had secured the tavern master’s cooperation. A victory.

Taking advantage, they sat through interrogations of the household.

“The little lord? Haven’t seen him in a while now.”

Apparently, Mujai had been known within Seonwollu as “Little Lord,” courtesy of his sworn-brother pact.

“He generally kept to his private apartments. Rarely mingled with servants.”

“Bodyguard? Young man, but we know nothing more.”

“Mostly he just drank. Sometimes he called for courtesans to sing.”

They questioned until late into the night, but found nothing of use. They had no choice but to return to Biyeonmun.

“Ugh… I’m dead.”

Too drained to make his own bed, Muyeon collapsed onto a bench.

“You seem exhausted.”

Freshly washed, Kang Ung frowned with sympathy. Their quarters were in adjoining rooms, separated only by a small hall.

“Will we even manage to find him this way? It’s already been five days since the Sixth Prince left. He could be far away by now.”

“…I don’t think he’s gone far.”

“Why not?”

Muyeon rolled onto his back, arm under his head.

“He has only one follower left. No money. Up until now, perhaps he survived by selling off belongings. But that was bound to end. Without branch aid, he ended up owing the tavern master. No, he hasn’t the means to range far.”

“One hundred taels… What could he have spent such a vast sum on?”

“Whatever it was, it’s too great to be mere frivolity.”

“He’s nearby. I’m sure of it.”

Ryeoil, polishing his sword, chimed in quietly.

“Had he been killed or captured, whispers would be everywhere. But so quiet? No—he’s hiding, watching his chance. We have to catch him first.”

“I agree. Let’s rest for tonight and continue tomorrow.”

Weariness hit like bricks. After rushing straight here from Huashan with no rest, then delving immediately into inquiry, Muyeon’s eyelids turned heavy.

He yawned wide. The two warriors across from him were aggravatingly untouched by fatigue—they could probably go three more sleepless nights and remain unchanged.

Silence settled in. Muyeon was just about to haul himself up before sleep claimed him when he noticed something peculiar.

Ryeoil was gazing intently at Kang Ung.

The boy blinked, puzzled at his master’s stare… then, as though suddenly realizing something, leapt up.

“T-Then I’ll turn in first. Sleep well, both of you!”

And he dashed for his room as though fleeing pursuit.

“…Didn’t Kang Dojang seem odd just now?”

“Don’t mind him. Kids need more sleep. He must be tired.”

But Muyeon had clearly seen him sitting alert, eyes bright, only moments earlier.

Before he could puzzle further, Ryeoil had silently encircled Muyeon’s waist and drawn him toward the room.

Muyeon started.

He blinked—and suddenly he was lying in bed, Ryeoil’s lips planted on his nape.

When did this all happen so naturally…?

“H-Hey… what do you think you’re doing?”

“Didn’t you hear what Yakseon said? The body must be ‘prepared’ as often as possible, so the medicine takes stronger hold.”

Ryeoil’s steady hands pulled at his robes.

…This felt like being swept up without resistance.

Muyeon thought to push him away, but when the wet tongue grazed up the length of his neck, even the will to resist evaporated.

At last, he gave in, circling arms around Ryeoil’s neck and yielding wholly into his embrace.

Footnotes:

 

1. Tael / 금자 (geumja) – A unit of gold currency in historical East Asia. One tael already equaled a great fortune; one hundred taels was enough to ruin or enrich entire households.