HDCLSSRS Ch 124

Chapter 124 The Spirit Core (5)

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before leaving the prison, Seong Muyeon had been forced again and again to swear to his brother that he would recover the yeongdan⁽¹⁾ no matter what.

Eager to know what was happening in the council hall, Muyeon drifted about the manor, ears straining. From within, raised voices leaked through. As he pressed closer to listen, a Zhuge clan warrior appeared.

“This is a restricted hall—no one is permitted inside. Return to your quarters.”

The guard poked at him sternly with the butt of his sword, forcing Muyeon to turn away. Suspicious, the warrior followed from a distance, as though expecting him to try sneaking into another forbidden place.

Everywhere he turned, Muyeon caught only hostile gazes. It reminded him of his first days on Mount Hua, when disciples of the sect had stared at him with the same cold eyes, dripping contempt because he was from the Demonic Cult. Yet Mount Hua had become the place he most wished to return to.

“Make way! Clear the path!”

Abruptly a group rushed past, half-carrying a stumbling man.

“Young Lord Zhuge!”

The guard who shadowed Muyeon went pale and abandoned him, running to aid them.

“What has happened?!”

The man was one who had pursued the Ghostslayers earlier—one of Zhuge’s branch warriors.

From the sudden uproar, the doors of the council hall burst open. Zhuge Yun, Baek Ryeoil, and a Wudang elder emerged.

“Why are you alone? Where are the others?” Zhuge Yun knelt swiftly beside the wounded warrior, laying a palm upon his abdomen and driving inner qi into him.

The man croaked out the tale: they had lost the Ghostslayers in the deep forest, but had chosen to scour possible hideouts nearby. And there, suddenly—

“…They erupted from nowhere.”

An ambush. Dozens burst forth, annihilating their band of pursuers. Only this man survived to bear warning.

“They… they are coming.”

His head fell limp. Servants rushed him away.

“…”

Zhuge Yun rose, his fists beneath his sleeves tightening until the knuckles shone white.

“Chief, wake all our men.”

At his order, messengers scattered. Horns brayed through the Zhuge estate.

“Elder Hyeonjin, Unfeeling Sword—I’ll need your blades.”

“Of course!” Elder Hyeonjin—senior of Wudang—barked with fury.

“Let them learn what it means to rouse Mount Wudang’s wrath! Strike them down!”

“Yes, Elder!” disciples thundered, drawing swords.

“What about you, Young Lord?” someone asked.

“I shall conceal the yeongdan.”

Of course—Zhuge were famed not only for martial arts but for strategy and mechanical defenses, laying elaborate traps and securing their grounds. Zhuge Yun would hide the treasure in the manor’s secret halls.

In that instant, Ryeoil’s sharp gaze caught Muyeon lingering nearby. His face shadowed with fury. He strode forward, seizing Muyeon’s wrist.

“You heard. They are coming here. Back to your room—lock the door. Don’t so much as breathe until I call you. Understood?”

“And you, Dojang? You haven’t slept at all—”

“What, do you think a sleepless night will knock me down?” he scoffed. But the humor faded as his voice turned grave.

“Listen well. In this house, no one will guard you. They won’t even let you enter the servants’ shelter. You must protect yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Muyeon nodded quickly. The last thing he wanted was to be Ryeoil’s burden.

He returned to his guest chamber, now completely deserted by guards—summoned away to meet the threat.

“Don’t leave Kang Ung’s side. Stay together.”

Ryeoil shoved him in, shut the door—then, after a pause, stepped back in. Those black eyes wavered briefly. Then he clasped him tight.

“…See you soon.”

Without giving his junior a chance to answer, he turned and was gone.

The barrier of walls cut them into two different worlds.

“Master… why is it so noisy?” Ung rubbed his eyes, stumbling out. One glance at Muyeon’s expression wiped the sleep from his face.

“Only a few hours since the warehouse fight… and now this.”

Ung gripped his sword’s hilt tightly, alert. They doused the candles, hiding in shadows, straining ears.

Time dragged. Then—Muyeon stiffened.

A faint scratching above—the soft sound of figures gliding across the roof.

The Ghostslayers.

Muyeon pressed a finger to his lips. They waited, still as stone, until the qi above disappeared, then crept to the window to peer through a drilled hole.

From afar, steel clashed faintly. The battle had begun.

Why so hasty? Muyeon frowned.

By the pursuers’ account, Myeong-Gwi had retreated only briefly, then launched this sudden strike with fresh subordinates—without rest. Reckless. Desperate. Almost as though…

…as if they had another purpose.

“Master?” Ung whispered.

Then it came—

“Hard to see your face.”

A low, detached voice, from behind.

Cold terror lanced Muyeon’s spine. Slowly—he turned.

There he stood.

Loose, ebony hair curled like black silk. Half-lidded eyes that revealed nothing. A shadow in human form, smiling faintly.

“Who are you!” Ung’s voice cracked as he leapt to guard, sword raising instinctively.

A mistake.

“Dojo head!”

Seong Muguk flicked a hand. Ung flew as if wrenched by invisible force, crashing through the door, slamming into the wall unconscious.

“Youngest.”

The Third Prince, Seong Muguk, revealed himself.

Muyeon was struck to the marrow. It had been so long since hearing that voice.

Why… why is Third Brother here?

No—more puzzling still—

Why call me ‘youngest’?

Never once had Muguk addressed him with such words. Indeed, never had the two spoken at all. Muyeon was estranged from his siblings, but Muguk—all the more. He had never seen him converse with anyone, never heard him exchange even a casual word.

And now this—appearing suddenly and speaking with bizarre familiarity.

Muguk stepped forward. Muyeon flinched.

“You’re afraid, little brother.”

“…I don’t have the core. The yeongdan isn’t here.”

“Ah, yes. That thing. What did the Sixth tell you?”

Another step closer. Muyeon could not move. His limbs stiffened as though clawed in the gaze of a predator. Outside, faint clangor of war. Ung silent behind shattered wood. Muguk before him, immense, all-consuming—the space itself bent around him.

Muyeon’s thoughts scattered. Why was he here? For what purpose? To do what?

“…Brother, surely you know better than I.”

“Think carefully,” Muguk murmured, voice dreamlike, as though speaking from afar. “Do not waste trifles on me. Tell me what you know, and I will tell you what I know.”

“…Is it true? That pill… That core… Fourth Brother. What did you do to him?”