TSBIRBV Ch 110

Chapter 110 Mission Complete (6)

Yegyeol waggled his hand, sparks glittering.

The palm, ringed with golden current, blazed like a piece of the heavens’ stars set in his grasp.

Zhang Qi didn’t know what it was—only dimly guessed it resembled lightning cast from the sky—and if nothing else, he was certain it would hurt terribly.

He gulped ragged breaths, strangled by terror.

“Three.”

Without even a “two,” Yegyeol’s hand sank, close enough to kiss the water.

Why already three!

Unable to scream, Zhang Qi shrieked inwardly and squeezed his eyes shut.

He thought a life’s montage would flash by, but his sight was only dark—nothing at all.

The pain should have been an instant, but time stretched, long enough to count to a hundred; he thought all deaths must be like this—

Until a cheerful laugh cut across the night.

“Ha ha ha ha!”

Zhang Qi’s eyes flew open.

The Cheonghae master’s hand hovered just above the water—so near, yet stopped.

Under the bright yellow light that cleaved the dark, Yegyeol’s face shone with a radiant smile.

“You laughed that happily when you were the one threatening.”

He reached out; at the closeness, Zhang Qi inhaled. He wanted to flee, but his legs wouldn’t move.

He bent back as far as he could—there were limits.

“But when it’s your turn, look how blue you go.”

The smile vanished; Yegyeol’s face went cool. Like flicking a forehead, his hand snapped: tap.

Zhang Qi’s vision washed white. White flame lit by lightning in his skull twisted his whole body, and there was no way out of that pain.

The body that had shivered in the water collapsed with a splash.

Without a scream, he rolled; an arm halted, then flopped limp. A char‑black burn bloomed on his brow like a brand where Yegyeol’s hand had touched.

Watching the convulsing man with whites of eyes showing, Yegyeol recalled the fear Haryang had stripped from him.

If he had been as panicked as on first returning to Seonye after rebirth, he might not have thought to hold back, and simply burned the man.

Had he felt release seeing Zhang Qi blackened like failed zitan wood—a bungled attempt at making something fine?

No.

Even if this man died here, he would not shed the memories of living as a slave; Crooked Ear had been fear itself ruling his most fragile days, before he was even an esper.

But now—he felt clean.

“Senior brother.”

From the darkness at his back, Je Haryang stepped out slowly.

“Do you find it too hard?”

He asked as gently as if speaking of dressing down fresh game or cleaning a fish just caught—

So gently it made one think he might forget the subject was a living man. Lifting both hands to either side, Yegyeol said,

“This is enough.”

He had wanted to write Zhang Qi’s entire criminal history across his brow in giant characters; he refrained—the space was too small.

And he hadn’t wanted to lay hands again on that well‑fed, greasy face.

“Better than dying easy is to be hunted for life. As you said—if he’s ‘missing,’ the city lord will pin it all on him.”

Then Zhang Qi would never again be called “sir.” With a bounty on his head, he might run more miserably than in his Crooked Ear days.

As if remembering, Yegyeol added,

“Oh—spread word that Zhang Qi tried to lighten his sentence by accusing the Red Blood Sect’s master of everything. Say he used that time to escape.”

Heterodox fighters are tenacious; beyond blades, they wield cruelty and fear. There is no better example than a good example, when one wants to swell a reputation with infamy.

If rumor spread as Yegyeol wished, the Red Blood Sect’s master would have no choice, for survival’s sake, but to find Zhang Qi and exact payment—

Such is the custom of the heterodox, as long and old as the history of the orthodox.

“Heterodox hands are cruel. If anything, better the constables find him first—that would be mercy.”

A prophecy as chill as evening breeze.

“If ‘Master Zhang’ had truly won favor, perhaps someone will pull him out and hide him.”

Crinkling his nose, Yegyeol whispered,

“Right?”

Zhang Qi’s body twitched—though his senses had returned, he’d been feigning unconsciousness.

“You thought you’d just shed ‘heterodox drifter’? Too bad.”

Leaning close, Yegyeol murmured,

“Dress in silk all you like—die because you couldn’t drop the drifter’s ways.”

Lifting his head, Yegyeol wore a slanted smile.

He stepped back; Haryang, directly behind, wrapped a hand over his shoulder and whispered,

“The night air is bitter; you’ve done well.”

“I hardly did anything. Baembaem did the work.”

Rolling up his sleeve slightly, Yegyeol credited it all to the snake. Having feasted at last, Baembaem moved sluggishly, perhaps sleepy; yet knowing, like a ghost, when it was being praised, the round head tilted.

“Are you sure it’s all right that he lives to see tomorrow?”

Even in speaking of a man’s death, Haryang’s tone stayed level.

Yegyeol nodded.

“Living will be worse. This is enough. Killing him won’t bring Old Huang back.”

Having done this much, even Old Huang beyond would be content.

Come to offer incense—and delivered proper revenge—Yegyeol shrugged.

Just carving Zhang Qi—Crooked Ear—out of his life gave relief.

And senior brother is watching.

Even the rashest esper minds steps before a guide; for all that Haryang was a martial man, he hadn’t trained demon arts, and was originally an orthodox chivalrous one—no lover of blood.

More than that—something about ending Zhang Qi’s life now snagged in him.

He glanced up at senior brother.

He had handed it wholly to me—but… seems… angry.

Having vented enough, he meant to leave the rest to Haryang.

All neatly prepared; Zhang Qi wouldn’t dare so much as scuff a hair of senior brother’s head.

So this is the feeling of a cat gifting its master spoils.

With a subtle pride, he looked up at Haryang.

“Let’s go back.”

“Very well.”

At his words, Haryang laughed low.

“Let us return.”

—

No sooner reached the manor than Yegyeol, nodding off, collapsed on the bed without even changing.

An old weariness washed over him like a tide.

Nights sleeping rough in the dyehouse storehouse to avoid Crooked Ear; nights writhing sick on a straw mat; nights endured when no path out of that life could be seen—all at once seemed to have come for him.

Feeling the warmth beside him rise, Yegyeol reached out.

“Don’t… go.”

Mumbling—like a sleep talk—brought the presence back into the seat; a very soft humming sounded by his head.

It was like the lullaby he had once begged senior brother to sing; even half‑asleep, a smile came of its own.

A touch, belonging to who knows who, came to his face. Along the meeting of skin to skin, a dense and tender energy soaked into his body.

This is… guiding.

A sigh, like a moan, slipped out. So the warmth at his side was senior brother’s.

Guiding that poured in when his guard was down sent him under again; a comfort like sinking into very deep water wrapped him.

When Yegyeol opened his eyes again, all was dark. Not truly night—curtains had been dropped over every window.

And Haryang lay at his side.

Senior brother slept deeply.

Like a statue a stone mason had spent a lifetime shaping—so straight—watching the man with eyes closed, a bad thought crept up.

What if… pounce on him.

He had already confessed a once‑in‑a‑lifetime to the Black Ghost; and yet senior brother was too unguarded.

As he rose, Yegyeol felt something from his lower half and curled in on himself; worse, he was half‑risen there.

No embarrassment like this.

With a woeful face, he worked through the cause.

He had used his esper power against Zhang Qi; not meaning to take a life, he hadn’t turned him into a roast, yet he had already drawn not a little for showy visual effect. The body now craved guiding.

He hadn’t changed into nightclothes himself; sleeping as soon as they returned—senior brother must have tended him.

So guiding had seeped in.

He had clung, asking him to stay, when senior brother would have stepped away to let him rest; though done asleep, in the end, he’d brought it on himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

An esper may be near to a beast, but does guiding always trigger heat? This was surely rebound to power that had flowed into a body briefly short of guiding.

He had lived years in a Center; no one had told him of this side effect. He knew, of course, this wasn’t something to tell others—

Update the sex‑education manuals for espers, please!

Venting at seniors not present, Yegyeol rose carefully—very carefully. He meant to slip to the bath before senior brother noticed.

A brush of fingertips with Haryang, lying facing him—mm—slipped a low sound.

He bit his lip, but too late.

He met Haryang’s thin‑opened, drowsy eyes.

“…Gyeol-Ah?”