HDCLSSRS Ch 136

Chapter 136 Let’s go back(2)

“Mother! Stop it, if you go on like this—!”

Seong Muyeon struggled to pull her away. Lady Mi-mi’s face had gone chalk-white, but with superhuman strength she clung to him, refusing to release him, continuing to draw his energy into herself. The savage life force coursed through her, tearing her body inside out into a ruin.

At last, red blood trickled from her lips, and the arms that Muyeon had fought so desperately to shake off went slack and fell away.

This time, it was Muyeon who refused to let go. He clutched her limp body and cried out her name again and again.

Then his body jerked—his arm was being yanked. Raising his head, he saw a demon warrior wrenching at him.

“No! Let go! I said let her go!”

The demon tried to pull Lady Mi-mi’s body from his arms, and Muyeon thrashed, fighting to keep her, but in the end they tore her free and dragged him away.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Lady Mi-mi’s form receded, discarded on the floor, her body blurring in his tear-filled vision.

She had told him to seek his maternal family. She had died without even telling him where they were. Perhaps he could discover it if he tried hard enough, but…

‘But Mother… how could I go alone, without you?’

His mother had died because of him. Who would welcome a grandson who had brought about their daughter’s death, walking alone up to their gate? Especially when the one who had driven her to such a death was none other than his own father.

No matter how shameless, he could never bring himself to step into his maternal family’s household.

Dragged along by the demons, Muyeon lifted his eyes to the blood-red sky.

Then… the only place left to return was…

Suddenly, he wrenched his body, catching his captors off guard. The demons, thinking him resigned to his fate, loosened their grip—and lost him.

Their mistake cost them their lives.

In a flash, Muyeon’s blade swept, severing two throats in one wild strike, then he rolled over the ground.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were bloodshot with crimson madness.

‘There is no place to return to.’

He would never go back to the side of the man who had killed his mother. Nor would he meekly lie down to die.

But neither would he crawl away and live like a coward, pretending nothing had happened.

Even if it meant burning everything, though in truth—there was nothing left for him to lose.

He shot onto the rooftops, cutting down the demons who scrambled after him, one by one. Thanks to his mother’s sacrifice, his body felt feather-light, his mind razor-clear.

Clinging to eaves, dropping down to strike an enemy’s neck, or perching in a tree waiting for his pursuers, Muyeon dispatched them all.

He gave no thought to his own life.

Once stripped of fear of death, facing warriors far beyond his own level became startlingly easy.

Advancing toward the main palace, he came across townsfolk screaming at the slaughter he wrought. He drove his blade into a villager’s chest without pause.

Time flowed, and before long, not a soul nearby remained alive.

Soaked in blood, he wiped the dripping stains from the tips of his hair with his sleeve and continued onward.

The grand palace was filled with the sound of music and laughter—the banquet was in full swing. Guards, lulled by celebration, stood lax at their posts.

The closer he drew, the louder the laughter.

The instant someone caught sight of him—a boy drenched head-to-toe in gore—they shrieked. But the scream was pierced as a blade impaled their throat.

All at once, the music stopped. The voices, too.

“What madness is this!”

The steward who managed the banquet collapsed in a spray of blood.

“Protect this hall!”

All high-ranking officials of the cult were present at the feast. Their guards rushed forward at their orders.

Muyeon swung mercilessly, carving his way closer to the seat of honor.

For a boy not yet twenty, his swordsmanship was chillingly calm, ruthless in its precision.

“Yeon-ah…!”

Faces at the high table drained, aghast. Of them all, only the Second Young Master, Seong Muryong—the only one with whom Lady Mi-mi and her son had held some human bond—leapt to his feet.

As the cult leader’s guards shifted, stiff-faced, ready to leap, the cult leader raised a hand, bidding them still.

He watched the carnage as if enjoying a performance, slowly raising a cup of wine to his lips.

And as Muyeon cut down opponent after opponent, the boy left a trail of bloodied footprints until he stood before the cult leader himself.

Unfeeling black eyes locked on his father. Blood streamed down his arms, dripping from his sword in heavy drops.

“You would kill me, then?”

Muyeon said nothing. The cult leader laughed, deep and booming.

“Then do it, if you can.”

It wasn’t mockery. He meant it. If his son had strength enough to kill him, he would gladly offer his neck. If that proved the Demonic Cult would rise stronger, then so be it.

But Muyeon’s sword never touched him. He never even swung it.

Thud—

Muyeon collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut.

For the first time, a crack showed in the cult leader’s mask of composure.

“Yeon-ah!”

Seong Muryong rushed to him. Muyeon still breathed, but faintly, cold as ice. Muryong opened his mouth to call for a doctor—only for another hand to seize Muyeon’s arm, lifting his limp body as if to inspect it.

“…This child.”

The cult leader, who had not flinched even when his son came at him with a blade, now wore a face twisted with fury. Muyeon’s body, scorched from the final blaze of his power, was battered almost beyond recognition. The cult leader tossed him aside carelessly.

Seong Muryong barely managed to catch his brother’s small frame.

“Mi-mi deceived me.”

The cult leader muttered darkly, then turned away, striding off as if discarding a distasteful thought.

That night, Lady Mi-mi’s corpse was found in the village, amid the bodies of countless demon warriors. Few were surprised. Of the seven consorts, only a handful had survived this long.

From then, Muyeon was confined to his quarters. But he had no strength, nor will, to leave. He expected the cult leader to come for him soon, and so he lingered in torpor, awaiting death.

And yet, the cult leader left him alone. Perhaps it was pride—unwillingness to admit he had been deceived. Or perhaps it was punishment: to leave the boy hollow and broken.

No one spoke of that day. The cult carried on, as though nothing had happened.

Servants cleaned, meals were brought. But nothing could return to normal.

The fire Muyeon had ignited—one final blaze—left an impression upon all. But it guttered quickly. Soon he was a Young Master in name only, dismissed as a fraud, and no one sought him.

A dead fire rarely reignites. Ashes were all that remained. Muyeon dragged himself through each day in apathy.

Sometimes Seong Muryong would return with a physician, trying to rebuild him. But Muyeon himself had no will to recover.

On rare days when strength returned, vengeance blazed up again in him. But it died quickly, leaving him collapsed once more.

Listless living became a habit.

He sank deeper and deeper into that mire, so far that even if someone stabbed him with heated iron rods, he doubted he could emerge again.

“In any case, you managed to run.”

At the end of a lingering silence, Baek Ryeoil spoke. His warm hand rested on Muyeon’s shoulder. Muyeon turned to him, the man who alone had drawn him up from that depthless swamp. Ryeoil’s heavy eyes seemed intent, as though reading all his thoughts.

Oddly enough, having confessed all, Muyeon felt lighter. One who had staked his life had no actions left unreachable—but he knew it had not been righteous. Whatever criticism might come, he was prepared to accept it.

He felt the tug of a hand at his collar. Ryeoil pulled forth from under his clothes the necklace that hung upon his chest.

“Your mother’s family… shall I help you find them?”

At last the words came. Muyeon shook his head.

“There was a time I wanted to, but not now. The best help I can give them is to stay away.”

For a family whose daughter had willingly become the consort of the demonic cult leader, the stain was too much. No matter how great their lineage, shame of that scale was irredeemable.

Perhaps sharing that thought, Ryeoil said no more, silently tucking the necklace back beneath his clothes.

“…But did you really come out dressed like this?”

Only then did Muyeon notice his bare chest. Flustered, he pulled Ryeoil’s robe tightly closed.

“A sick man walking around half-dressed—what were you thinking! That’s enough. Let’s just go back. I’ve no wish to see those people’s faces again, but still…”

“Then let’s not go at all.”