TSBIRBV Ch 207

Chapter 207. Revelation (2)

‘I never said that, though?’

At Yegyeol’s private interpretation, the corner of Jinyoung’s eye twitched.

And Baembaemi, coiled at Yegyeol’s wrist, made matters worse—no longer hissing menacingly, only flicking its tongue as if it were giggling, mocking the other man outright.

“…Jinyoung! Are you taking his side?”

At Geum-ya’s outcry, Jinyoung began to regret stepping in at all.

He had known at a glance that this young man brimmed with venom. But to handle even the head of the Geum clan, one of the Six Families of the Demonic Sect, with such audacity—this could not be explained by venom alone.

Even seasoned martial men faltered against those trained in demonic arts. The aura they exuded was so alien that even great talents or veterans of decades in the jianghu often found themselves unable to draw out their full skill, perishing in bewilderment.

What chance, then, did ordinary men have?

Common folk could not even meet the eyes of a practitioner of demonic cultivation.

And yet here was Mun Yegyeol, speaking with unruffled composure to a man strong enough to inherit the lordship of the Geum clan.

Jinyoung felt a knot in his chest. He had come to lend a hand, only to find himself reduced to an onlooker beside Samrang.

Does our lord know?

Did Je Haryang, who saw his disciple as nothing but delicate and pitiable, realize that in truth this disciple claimed ownership of him with a ferocity more terrifying than a fighting hound?

It was a scene too dreadful to ever repeat aloud.

“If you truly serve the Heavenly Demon as lord, you should counsel him—for the sake of his posterity!”

Geum-ya’s flushed face betrayed the fury he was holding back.

“Posterity?”

Yegyeol let out a short laugh through his nose.

“When I have no intention of letting him go… how could there be posterity?”

The smile tugging at his lips was chilling.

“I heard one can change sex by mastering the Guihwa Secret Manual to its extreme… but alas, I was born a body that cannot cultivate martial arts.”

He spoke of what most would call a humiliation as if it were nothing. He himself believed every word—if he could not bear children, then how could Senior Brother possibly have them?

To tell the truth, Yegyeol preferred it that way. It meant there was no room for anyone else between them.

That another could wedge themselves between Je Haryang and him was unthinkable. But children were different. Yegyeol was not even wholly Haryang’s benefactor. Because of him, Haryang had endured lifetimes of torment—was it any wonder he had strangled his disciple in a nightmare?

But a child? Born of his own blood, free of all the tangled burdens of the past—how could Haryang not cherish such a one? He was a good man, one who could become a good father. Unlike Yegyeol, a child would have no shadow, no guilt, nothing but purity.

Yegyeol could not be certain he would not lose. He could not be certain he would still be loved.

If defeat is certain before the fight begins, best to avoid the battle altogether.

Even in this second life, denied the love of parents, he knew he must carry hidden flaws he had yet to uncover. Until he discovered them—and perhaps even then—a head-on contest would be fatal.

“Besides, just because one is the Heavenly Demon’s child doesn’t mean one inherits his place. From what I’ve learned these past days, this sect follows only the strong.”

He flexed his fingers as if striking piano keys, and golden sparks crackled between them. The serpent basked in that current, slithering up to rub its head against his hand.

“Then if I’m stronger than you, wouldn’t Senior Brother have to listen when I say not to bring anyone else to him?”

He had already confessed with his own mouth that he could not cultivate, and yet there was no ordinary aura about him. His eyes gleamed with a strange light, carrying the weight of a pressure that pressed Geum-ya down.

Geum-ya faltered. He opened his mouth, then forced out a sneer.

“Such a tongue! Sharper than most swords.”

His lips twisted, and he whispered in menace:

“Take care. If a fool who knows nothing dares to challenge you to a duel, what then? You’ve no weapon but that tongue—you’d best watch your step in the dark.”

An empty threat, perhaps, since the Heavenly Demon stood behind him. Still, Jinyoung prepared to step in.

But Yegyeol, instead of retreating, lifted his chin and smirked.

“I’ll tell Senior Brother.”

The words struck Geum-ya dumb, as if he had tried to call Yegyeol a mere concubine but choked on his own incredulity.

Abandoning the quarrel, the clan head cast one last look at Jinyoung.

“To think that you—once trusted by the late Demon Lord himself—would betray that trust, only to end as the favored plaything of the new Heavenly Demon. What a wretched life you lead.”

Jinyoung remained silent, unmoving.

At his nonresponse, Geum-ya snapped his robes straight and turned on his heel. His long entourage trailed behind in pompous procession—more farcical than intimidating. Without his escort wound round him like layers of silk, would he have had the courage to face even “the new Heavenly Demon’s paramour”?

Once the last of the party vanished from sight, Yegyeol suddenly asked:

“Are you close with that man?”

Jinyoung’s face twisted as though stung, his expression slipping despite himself.

“…So you’re not.”

“If you’re curious how I was entangled with him—” Jinyoung began, deciding some explanation was necessary.

It was a sordid tale, worn thin on the tongues of many within the mountains.

“No need. As long as you’re not close, that’s enough.”

Yegyeol waved dismissively.

“Did you not hear him accuse me of betrayal? Surely you cannot be content to let that pass without explanation.”

Jinyoung studied him carefully. He wanted to know whether Yegyeol truly did not care—or whether there was some hidden intent.

“You, betraying Senior Brother?”

Yegyeol blinked.

“I don’t really think so.”

Jinyoung had expected mocking amusement, but Yegyeol’s face was calm, almost plain.

“Why not?”

“Because Senior Brother has always been blessed with loyalty.”

“…I know.”

Jinyoung had been at Je Haryang’s side longer than Yegyeol.

“But that blessing—it was more than just his. Those who came to know him, to follow him, were the ones truly fortunate. Because he was good, and steadfast, and never once betrayed the hopes placed on him. Everyone knew it well.”

It was a declaration blind with devotion, and yet Jinyoung found himself nodding before he realized it.

“I think you know that better than most.”

“…I have served but one lord.”

The words slipped from Jinyoung’s mouth like a defense, though he had not intended them so.

“That’s enough, then.”

Yegyeol waved a hand airily.

“I have a question.”

At his words, Yegyeol tilted his head, granting leave.

“Why are you stirring such chaos within and without the sect?”

“Because there’s so much filth. It must be cleaned.”

Yegyeol wrinkled his nose.

“Senior Brother may have endless patience, but my stomach is weak.”

He never once spoke the thought that Je Haryang’s restraint frustrated him.

“…I see.”

For some reason, Jinyoung felt relief.

For all his unmatched talents, their lord was never one to care much for himself. Perhaps this wild creature was exactly the hound he needed.

When Yegyeol had first arrived, Jinyoung had bristled with suspicion. But now he could not help but see him differently.

Perhaps what the Heavenly Demon required was not a gentle, tender consort—but a venomous stoat with teeth bared.

“The reason I asked—”

Yegyeol hesitated, then spoke.

“That man. His words may have been aimed at me, but after you appeared, all his anger fixed on you instead.”

He had lived his life reading the moods of others, ever wary of malice. Sensitive by nature, he had heard Geum-ya’s taunts of concubine with mild indifference. They had sounded like lines from a bad play, delivered without conviction. So he had played along.

But after Jinyoung appeared, the hatred in Geum-ya’s eyes had been vivid.

Whatever their past, he had earned a true grudge.

The Demon Lord…?

So Geum-ya’s “true master” must have been that one.

By rumor, it was Jinyoung’s betrayal that had killed him—or all but.

“I must go back to Cheonghyeongjeon. Senior Brother is waiting.”

His tone was warm, almost coaxing, as though to reassure someone who might otherwise hold him back. Jinyoung frowned.

“I have no intention of stopping you.”

Whether he gazed at the heavens or reached for stars within that hall mattered nothing to him.

Yegyeol chuckled at the open distaste, turned, and strolled away, light and jaunty.

Dragged here unconscious, limp as a doll, he now strutted as if these mountains were his own courtyard.

Jinyoung’s brows drew tight.

I should loathe the sight…

And yet, strangely, he felt relief.

For he remembered the day their lord had carried that disciple in his arms, veins pressed for transfusion, climbing to Cheonghyeongjeon.

That day, Jinyoung had nearly collapsed to his knees in a terror he had never known, not even when Je Haryang first resolved to become the Heavenly Demon.

Samrang brushed his shoulder before following after Yegyeol.

“Geum-ya’s at it again. But that bastard’s already dead. Relax.”

Without waiting for an answer, she strode ahead.

Trust lingered in the disciple’s back as he walked away without looking.

“…I know.”

Yes, he knew.

For it had been his own hand that slew that man.

Jinyoung’s lips curved in a faint, crooked smile.