TSBIRBV Ch 85

Chapter 85 The Trading Lord Is on Leave (2)

Though the time away from Cheonghae had not been long, it somehow felt like returning home after ages.

Having resolved the greatest task, perhaps such a feeling was only natural.

Declining the servant who offered to take his horse, Yegyeol walked to the stables himself and met Yayul Hongyeo.

“It has been a while.”

The man grooming the red mane of Red Thunder offered a courteous greeting at Yegyeol’s appearance.

“I pay my respects to Young Master Mun.”

From their first meeting, Hongyeo had treated Yegyeol with propriety. Unlike Jinyeong, who seemed to watch Yegyeol with perpetual dissatisfaction, or Samrang, who fussed over him as if he were a wayward younger brother, Hongyeo was of a completely different tenor.

“Knightly” might be the word. Taciturn and steadfast.

Delighted to see Red Thunder, Yegyeol handed the long‑necked, craning Baembaem to Hongyeo. As if waiting for this, he set Baembaem atop Red Thunder’s head.

Hongyeo quietly watched the two spirit‑beasts happily commune. His face barely changed, yet Yegyeol felt he was deeply pleased.

“They get on well.”

“For Red Thunder, this is the first time encountering something like itself.”

“The first time…?”

“Red Thunder is a quasi‑spirit‑beast that appeared spontaneously among the horses our tribe raised. Clever from a foal, he was already leading the whole herd before he reached adulthood.”

Hongyeo suddenly had much to say; Red Thunder must have been as dear as family to him.

“He has likely been lonely. Without Baembaem appearing, I might never have realized Red Thunder needed a friend.”

From the mouth of a tall, rock‑solid warrior, the name “Baembaem” sounded almost adorable.

“I heard you would be away for a while after bringing me to Sichuan, but it seems you’ve returned quickly this time.”

“At my lord’s summons, I arrived in Cheonghae a couple of shichen ago.”

“Is senior brother about to go somewhere far?”

Despite having monopolized Je Haryang in Sichuan mere days earlier, Yegyeol felt a pang of longing.

“Is senior brother at the manor?”

“Yes.”

“Then, please look after Baembaem until Samrang comes to fetch him.”

“Is it all right to hand him to Samrang?”

For the first time, a hint of concern appeared on Hongyeo’s face.

“She has long been very interested in the abilities of spirit‑beasts.”

To draw worry out of such an undemonstrative man — Samrang’s fixation truly was formidable, Yegyeol thought.

“…Has Red Thunder suffered at her hands as well?”

“He came close to being kicked several times, but she did not give up.”

Remarkable tenacity. Yegyeol was impressed.

“Persistent indeed…”

“She means no harm. Securing as many methods as possible is simply her way of life.”

The way Hongyeo, a colleague, smoothed things over showed a certain loyalty.

“Samrang is interesting. I consider it very fortunate that she took on my protection.”

Better than Jinyeong or Hongyeo. If Jinyeong had been assigned, he would have monitored Yegyeol constantly; and if it were Hongyeo, Yegyeol could never have begged indulgence as he did with Samrang.

“For a double agent, one needs Samrang’s flexibility; Hongyeo is clearly not the sort to compromise.”

Yegyeol again felt grateful for his senior brother’s choice of personnel.

“Well then, Baembaem. I’m off — if Samrang bothers you, give her a zap, all right?”

Not even knowing what “zap” meant, the golden serpent bobbed its head earnestly.

“You do answer well,” Yegyeol murmured with satisfaction, then took his leave of Hongyeo and stepped out of the stables.

The air in Cheonghae was unusually clear, unlike Sichuan, where one could almost taste spice upon the air.

Perhaps it was because of Kunlun seen far in the distance. The scent of snow — somehow familiar, dearly missed, yet so far away.

“I thought I would yearn my whole life…”

Unable to forget that scent, Yegyeol had always been lonely. Kunlun, which did not exist on any map and appeared only in myth or fiction, felt impossibly far.

What Yegyeol sought had no place in his reality.

In his previous life, Mun Yegyeol had thought that having his real parents would be vaguely good. But they feared his madness more than they worried over his loneliness.

“Born a monster, after all.”

Statistically, the group most often harmed by underage espers are their families. So to Yegyeol, their fear seemed fair.

Only, with no one knowing how to care for even Yegyeol himself, the loneliness was left untended, pooling within him.

Without even the manner of overflowing — endless, and without end.

“Gyeol.”

Torn from his reverie, Yegyeol faced his dream.

“Senior brother.”

Turning toward the voice, Yegyeol ran to Haryang. As he staggered at the last moment, Haryang reflexively reached out. Yegyeol, as if waiting for it, caught hold, clung to him, and whispered into his arms,

“Your disciple has returned.”

Yegyeol’s clear smile was like sunlight glinting on perennial snow.

“Welcome home.”

Answering as if entranced, Haryang stroked Yegyeol’s cheek with his free hand.

He did not ask why he had fled, but took back the prodigal.

“It seems you went and returned safely from Sichuan. Where is Samrang, that you’re alone?”

Raising his bare wrists, Yegyeol answered,

“She wanted to train Baembaem, so I sent him.”

“Never be without a guard, wherever you are.”

“But senior brother is here.”

In Yegyeol’s steady answer was a deep‑rooted trust.

“Who would dare so much as to raise a finger against me where senior brother is?”

“…You trust this elder brother too much.”

Frowning as if displeased, Haryang nonetheless took Yegyeol’s hand and led him on.

“You seemed to be gazing at Kunlun.”

“Ah.”

Yegyeol hesitated. Of all scenes to be caught in, this one was delicate.

“Do you long for Kunlun?”

His gaze had been lifted to the far blue mountains, to the clouds wrapping those high peaks — suffused with a melancholy difficult to name.

“No. Rather…”

Yegyeol chose honesty.

“It somehow doesn’t feel real.”

“Doesn’t feel real?”

At Haryang’s repetition, Yegyeol nodded.

“I thought it was something that could never be achieved while living. To behold Kunlun, even from afar — to come to meet senior brother…”

The faint anxiety that often clung to Yegyeol took clear shape.

“I fear I might be walking a dream.”

Haryang’s expression, when Yegyeol looked, was ambiguous — as if worried, and yet somehow also smiling.

“If it is a dream,” Haryang whispered,

“what will you do when you wake?”

If he woke and returned to reality?

“Return? More likely, die,” Yegyeol thought coldly.

He had ripped open his seal and turned the assailants to cinders; in exchange, his body had gone berserk.

Without a matching guide, even if he woke, he would only be subdued and left to beg for painkillers that barely worked as he waited in an esper bunker for death.

Even if there were a way to survive, he did not wish to live.

Yegyeol tightened his grip on Haryang’s hand.

“If I fall asleep again, then I can dream again.”

He deliberately closed his eyes.

“If I am fortunate enough to find senior brother, then I won’t wake next time.”

“I see.”

Haryang slipped his fingers through Yegyeol’s hair.

“I’m glad to hear you say so.”

The atmosphere was as gentle as could be.

The guiding flowing from Haryang was soothingly soft. Fearing he might doze off, Yegyeol clutched his senior brother and demanded boldly,

“Senior brother, sing me a lullaby.”

“A lullaby?”

Awkwardly, Haryang repeated it. Such a request was a first in his life.

“Yes.”

Yegyeol’s hand tightened slightly on him.

Truly, if this was a dream, and there was a chance he would wake, it felt as though he might have nightmares. If he dreamed without his senior brother, he might tear the roofs off a couple of halls.

“Baembaem is with Samrang too.”

Perhaps this was what it meant that even the hardest esper must bare his soft underbelly before his guide.

“Then I think I could have a very good dream.”

There was no way Haryang could refuse a Yegyeol who clung to him like this.

“I know only one lullaby… and I don’t remember it well.”

Relieved to find something his senior brother wasn’t good at, Yegyeol laughed softly.

“Humming is enough.”

“That, at least.”

Haryang accompanied him to his quarters. Freshly washed, Yegyeol was about to lie down when Haryang caught him.

“You should dry your hair.”

“It’s fine.”

“What if you catch a chill?”

Yegyeol rolled his eyes. This was the martial world, true, but he was an S‑class esper — and an offensive one, at that. Having met his matching guide, what influenza could survive here?

The only person in this room who could catch a cold was Je Haryang.

“I’m sleepy.”

At his low grumble, Haryang laughed.

“I’ll do it.”

Producing a drying cloth from somewhere, he personally dried his disciple’s hair. Rough and unpolished compared to a salon professional’s touch, but Yegyeol preferred it this way.

“Good thing there’s no hair dryer.”

While his hair was dried entirely by hand, Yegyeol nodded off for a moment — less from accumulated travel fatigue than from the comfort of the moment.

Realizing his disciple was dozing, Haryang carefully laid him on the bed and drew the coverlet up to his chest.

As he slipped out quietly, a call reached his back.

“Where are you going?”