TSBIRBV Ch 178

Chapter 178 Pillow-Side Litigation (5)

“Do you know that a Beggar’s Sect disciple vanished in Cheonghae?”

Namgung Un recalled the report he had once received from his subordinates and nodded slowly. Since no formal request for cooperation had reached him, he had not intervened.

“This old beggar was dispatched to investigate that very case.”

“If the Beggar’s Sect was involved, finding the culprit should not have been difficult. Why then would Elder Hwang himself need to take the field?”

There were countless beggars, and they appeared and disappeared easily. But for a Beggar’s Sect disciple to vanish without a trace—that was no ordinary occurrence.

The Beggar’s Sect, said to have a hundred thousand disciples, was arguably the greatest intelligence network in the martial world.

“The culprit covered his tracks with shocking perfection.”

Elder Hwang Geolgae shook his hand wearily, his face gaunt.

“The missing disciple was under my command. That is why I took to the field myself.”

“Though those who walk the rivers and lakes tread always upon a knife’s edge, for a gallant Beggar’s Sect disciple to lose his life in a single day is truly lamentable.”

Elder Hwang grunted, nodding. Upright, courteous—Namgung Un bore himself exactly as the heir of a great clan should.

But this was not the heart of what Namgung Un wished to ask.

“…And yet, I cannot see what the disappearance of a Beggar’s Sect disciple has to do with my friend.”

Namgung Un pressed, his gaze restless toward the marketplace.

Elder Hwang could see that Namgung Un’s pursuit of this “acquaintance” was not so simple as a greeting. That made it all the more urgent to hold him back.

“At first, I felt only grief and rage. But as I scoured Seonyong, I came to realize—he had stumbled into something he should never have pried into.”

Foolish child… The old man muttered, his haggard face creasing further. Already lined, it seemed to age before the eye.

“Something he should not have touched? Does Seonyong harbor such secrets? Elder, what could terrify even you of the Beggar’s Sect?”

Namgung Un’s question, half a jest, hinted at whether the culprit might be a powerful official. But Hwang Geolgae shook his head firmly.

“The Beggar’s Sect fears nothing because we have nothing to lose. On my back I carry rags, in my hand I wield only a bamboo staff. Such mongrels as plague the world we may strike down whenever we wish.”

Namgung Un nodded silently.

In all the history of the martial world, there were times when the deeds of beggars shone brighter than those of any great sect. The Beggar’s Sect sought no reward, yet smote down villains and saved innocents.

“But even the Beggar’s Sect has taboos that must not be broken. The Imperial Palace, for example.”

The martial world and the court were inviolate.

Namgung Un began to speak, then faltered. A Beggar’s Sect taboo was little different from a martial taboo.

If so, then what force in the west of Zhongyuan could rival the palace in peril?

“But Young Master Namgung, the man you sought to seize—he is…”

Hwang Geolgae’s lips, parched, moved a few times before he bowed his head at last. His face looked drawn with unbearable effort.

“No. Impossible.”

Namgung Un cut him off before he could finish. He already knew the name that elder intended to utter.

If he listened, he would lose all chance of rescuing Yegyeol. He bore the Namgung clan on his back.

“Young Master Namgung. Do you not understand why I risked myself to drag you away?”

Though the din outside was loud, the beggar could not even raise his voice, speaking in a hushed rasp.

“If my eyes have not deceived me, that man is surely—Heav—!”

Namgung Un might have flung him off, but he could not. Pretending not to hear the word the elder had spilled, he spoke instead:

“…Perhaps Heaven and Earth have sent Elder Hwang to me.”

“At last…!”

Believing that his long, desperate persuasion had moved the stubborn Namgung heir, Elder Hwang’s face lit.

“I will need your help.”

“Un, I am glad to meet you again. But I am not alone right now…”

“Yegyeol. You must leave this place at once.”

Namgung Un was blunt. The guiding wave flowing from his wrist was unstable, desperate.

Yegyeol frowned in puzzlement.

A shabby old beggar, grinning, suddenly reached toward him. By a hair’s breadth Yegyeol evaded the grasp, his brow furrowed.

A master. A formidable one.

“…You dodged my point strike?” the elder muttered.

“Yegyeol knows no martial arts. Don’t frighten him. Come now, Yegyeol.”

Wary of the elder, Yegyeol turned his head.

“If we leave here, I’ll explain everything. We must go before that man returns.”

“Ah!”

Namgung Un hoisted Yegyeol onto his back. Had it been the old beggar, Yegyeol would have lashed out, but to Namgung Un he had let his guard slip.

“Let go! Put me down!”

Struggling availed nothing; Namgung Un had already unleashed his qinggong. The teahouse where he had been laughing with Haryang moments ago shrank into the distance.

“What—Namgung-gongja!”

Yegyeol’s voice trembled.

Since crossing into Zhongyuan, he had always been wary of martial artists. They wielded powers unlike espers, against which he could not defend himself fully.

He had thought himself careful enough to avoid danger. Yet here was Namgung Un of all people.

“What are you doing?!”

“A spirited one, isn’t he.” The old beggar muttered as he leapt alongside.

“What did you whisper to him?”

At those words, Yegyeol reacted sharply.

“Namgung-gongja—you are said to be gentle and virtuous, are you not?”

Elder Hwang looked uneasy beneath Yegyeol’s venomous glare. If looks could kill, he would have been split in two.

“Even so, he hasn’t struck or kicked though he’s being carried away.”

There was faint tenderness in Namgung Un’s voice. He had no idea this restraint came from the near-brainwashing of senior espers, who drilled never to lay hands on one’s guide.

Had it been Elder Hwang carrying him, Yegyeol would have bitten him a hundred times over.

“…That is true. Well then, Young Master, please be calm. Once we reach the Beggar’s Sect’s safe house, all will be explained.”

As they dashed over rooftops, the scenery of Seonyong slid beneath them.

Banners of the performing troupe waved; fireworks burst; crowds roared in delight; hawkers shouted. Yegyeol’s veil slipped from Namgung Un’s back, fluttering down into the throng and vanishing without trace.

No one noticed the desperate flight unfolding above.

Yegyeol felt the distance from Haryang widening with each heartbeat. He clenched his teeth.

If I knock Un unconscious now, I’ll fall with him.

Even if he survived the landing, he’d be injured. And with the beggar’s martial skill, facing both without using esper powers was impossible.

A hopeless mix.

Then I’ll wait for the safe house. That moment, I’ll strike.

He steeled himself.

Soon they dropped into a tangled alley. Yegyeol shoved off Namgung Un’s back, retreating.

“Yegyeol, let me explain.”

“Explain? You could have done that back there.”

Planting himself with the alley wall at his back, Yegyeol glared, ready to flee at a breath. Namgung Un gave a bitter smile.

Even now, Yegyeol did not speak his name—that alone weighed on his chest.

“I could not risk your companion’s return. I had no choice but to act.”

“Senior brother? Why?”

“…You are thoroughly brainwashed.”

Elder Hwang clicked his tongue. Namgung Un raised a hand to silence him, and said:

“Yegyeol. That man is not your senior brother.”

Pity clouded his face.

“I went to Kunlun, to meet your master. Baekyang Zhenren—you remember him?”

Yegyeol had known this would surface eventually, and showed no surprise.

“And what of it?”

“He begged me to save you. Long ago, he said, a madman once connected to Kunlun kidnapped his disciple—”

“Ha. A ‘madman,’ is it.”

Yegyeol laughed through his nose.

Of course. The righteous sects, narrow as ever. If one was not of their color, he was a demon, a sorcerer. Haryang, expelled, would be painted the greatest fiend of all.

Master, honestly…

He had been useless in his past life, and now only sowed calamity. Such a master-disciple bond was nothing but a curse.

“Young Master Mun. I am Elder Hwang Geolgae, disciple of the former Beggar’s Sect chief Red Elder, now serving as an elder myself.”

At last he spoke, thinking his rank would lend weight.

But what gave Yegyeol pause was not the title, but that familiar name—Red Elder. The old man mistook this and pressed on:

“Namgung-gongja speaks true. The man with you—he is not.”

His lips parched, he swallowed hard before forcing the words.

“He is not your senior brother.”

“And how do you know this?”

Yegyeol’s voice was icy.

“Because the disciple he yearns for died twenty years ago.”

Elder Hwang bowed his head.

“You, Young Master Mun, are nothing but a substitute.”