TSBIRBV Ch 230

Chapter 230 Star Instructor of the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains (7)

In the shadowed cavern, the flame of a Sammae fire-lamp spread its glow along the petals of a white lotus. It was not as bright as day, but enough to reveal the faces of those gathered.

At the seat of highest honor sat Wol Hyeong-so, head of the Wol clan. He surveyed the surroundings. Of the eight places arrayed around the broad table, four now stood empty.

“Where is Lord Geum?”

“He claims to be unwell, and so absent,” answered Myeong Jin-yu, head of the Myeong clan, second only to the fallen Ja clan in matters of intelligence.

“…Cowardly wretch.”

The mutter came from a man half-shrouded in shadow—Tak Gil-san, head of the Tak clan, a figure with a harsh temper.

Once, eight clan lords had gathered here—the descendants of families that had stood with the Sun-and-Moon Sect for centuries upon centuries.

But the Eight Demonic Families had been reduced to six, when Je Haryang rose as Heavenly Demon.

Of the six who remained, the head of the Gong clan had been imprisoned in the deep dungeons, and now the head of the Geum clan had fled with a paltry excuse.

Wol Hyeong-so’s eyes lingered on the empty seats—not in longing, but in bitter lament. How had the mighty Eight, who once wielded power enough to sway even the seat of the Sect Lord, come to such ruin?

“The Heavenly Demon means to grind us all to dust.”

“We cannot simply fold our arms and watch. Something must be done.”

Tak Gil-san struck the table with a resounding thud.

“And if the four of us attack together—can we stop him?”

The one who spoke was the matron of the Hyeon clan. Her wrinkled face was cold as if frost would cling to the touch.

“The Wol clan will act with its usual caution, and so not move. The Tak clan has domineering martial arts but cannot easily coordinate in joint assault. The Myeong clan has already tasted defeat at the hands of the Heavenly Demon. And the absent Geum clan—too young, too weak, a coward with no worth. As for the Gong clan, imprisoned as he is, how could he help us?”

Her voice trembled faintly when she spoke of the Gong lord.

“Then why not you, clever Hyeon clan—come up with a stratagem?”

Wol Hyeong-so’s tone was cutting. The old woman snorted.

“The Hyeon clan has never played the role of strategist. That mantle belonged to another.”

Her gaze fell upon the empty place of Gong Hyeong-won.

“If a stratagem is to be laid, it must be swift… for the Heavenly Demon is tightening the noose upon us all.”

It was a truth known by all here, though none dared voice it until now.

“And how do you propose we slay that monster?”

The blunt words of Tak Gil-san froze the air.

“The physician of devils made a madman’s play.”

Of all Heavenly Demons through history, the last Sect Lord had been among the weakest. For generations, the Eight Families had grown entrenched, placing their own scions upon the seat in turn. In practice, the lord of the Wi clan had wielded greater power than the Sect Lord himself.

Yet that Sect Lord had made a mistake—he had taken a demonic physician as his personal attendant, then as his confidant. None among the families stopped him, for none understood what such a “ma-ui” might do.

They had laughed to see their Sect Lord cling to medicine instead of martial arts. That had been their folly.

While they dismissed him, the Sect Lord’s power swelled. By the time they learned the physician’s arts were sorcery itself, it was too late. Those touched by his hands became something other, reborn. Even the Sect Lord himself was transformed.

Where once he had barely grasped the Heavenly Demon Arts, with the physician’s aid he soon crushed the heads of the families by force, until even the Wi clan bent the knee. He then declared conquest of the Central Plains.

The demonic physician devoted himself to research, raising corpses to march once more, seeking not wealth but the ultimate fruit of his dark science. His aim—to create asura blood-fiends from living men.

From the moment he seized a famed prisoner of Kunlun—one of its brightest talents—the physician became half a madman. He sought to remake martial men without cultivation or enlightenment, solely through the sorcery he named medicine.

The families scoffed. None believed he could succeed.

Yet though his experiments failed, the captive did not die. The man survived—long enough to slay the physician, topple the Sect Lord, and hurl the Eight Families to the brink.

In the end, even the strongest—the Wi lord himself—fell to Je Haryang’s hand. With no one left to claim the throne, Je Haryang became Sect Lord of the Sun-and-Moon.

Only then did the lords, now reduced to six, truly know fear.

“We must strike at his weakness.”

A thought came to them all—the young man who had stirred such storms in the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains.

“Touching his reverse scale will only bring greater ruin,” Myeong Jin-yu warned. He, too, had heard the reports of the brown-haired youth who walked ever at Je Haryang’s side.

No matter the outcome, the scheme reeked of peril.

“And if calamity falls just after we meet here? How will we deny the Heavenly Demon’s suspicion then?”

“Shall we kneel, then?”

Myeong Jin-yu’s voice was bleak.

“Will we suffer a child to topple sacred halls and strike at us again and again, and yet endure it meekly?”

At this, the Hyeon matron interjected. Wol Hyeong-so frowned. He knew too well that such words would only inflame the Myeong lord’s fervor.

“Better to die outright than to abase ourselves one by one, as the Gong lord did.”

The old woman’s voice trembled, but her words were sharp. Myeong Jin-yu’s rough reply made Wol Hyeong-so fear he might act rashly. All gathered surely thought the same—but none spoke it aloud, lest they become complicit.

Though bound together for centuries under the banner of the Eight Families, their bonds were shallow. Self-interest had ever outweighed loyalty.

“I hope we may gather again,” Wol Hyeong-so murmured.

The vast wealth and power they once held had long since slipped through their fingers. Pressed to the cliff’s edge, now they clung only to their lives. Yet with the Gong lord’s fall, even that seemed precarious.

One by one, the others departed. The Hyeon matron, last to leave, returned to her manor. Sending her retainers away with the excuse of needing solitude, she entered her study and recalled a night months past.

Late at night, she had found the study door ajar—and within, Gong Hyeong-won, eyes bloodshot.

“At this hour? What are you doing here?”

They were near siblings in all but blood, their families close, their years alike. They had grown together, sharing a quiet kinship.

“Sister… the Heavenly Demon has caught my scent.”

His eyes had trembled.

“What do you mean?”

“He has begun hunting, desperately, for the disciple of the demonic physician whom I hid away. Soon he will uncover the ties.”

“…What else must I know?”

“The white lotus has sprouted again.”

Her shoulders had flinched.

“Truly… it succeeded?”

Her voice had held horror, not joy. Gong Hyeong-won had smiled faintly, as if relieved.

“Yes. Soon, all will return to its rightful course.”

Long after he left, she pondered his words.

When Je Haryang returned and had Gong seized, she did not lift a hand to save him. Instead, she resolved upon her own path.

“Rightful course, he said…”

But the heavens of the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains had long since changed. To speak of old order was the senility of age. The azure sky of memory would never return.

Thus she believed Gong Hyeong-won sought to overturn Heaven itself.

“Madness and delusion… but if the board is overturned, one must seize the chance.”

Her lips tightened. Even if the white lotus had indeed sprouted anew, even if old glories rose again, it was not yet time.

She had sown seeds of chaos instead. She neither rallied allies nor betrayed the truth to the Heavenly Demon—for confusion itself was her weapon.

Others spoke only of stratagems. She had already moved. The imprisoned Gong lord would by now have met the visitor she had sent. That spark upon dry tinder would draw the Heavenly Demon’s gaze.

If the Wol clan vanished, the Tak clan fell, and the Myeong clan crumbled—it mattered not.

“The balance must be redrawn. The Gong clan has fallen—another must be struck down.”

Once, there had been eight. Now six. Yet the Hyeon clan had endured. And after the Gong’s fall, she still lived.

The others erred in saying they must resist the Heavenly Demon head-on. Strength does not preserve life—survival itself is strength. In this perilous age, one must seize profit without mercy.

Her wrinkled fingers tapped the desk. She smiled faintly.

If only one of the great demonic families endures with the Sun-and-Moon Sect, it shall be the Hyeon clan.

“Five is too many.”

First—the Myeong.

A gentle predator slithered in the dark. His hunts had always ended in success, and this time was no different.

Rustle.

The sound he made as his belly brushed the beam was so soft that only the keenest ear would notice. The warmth rising from below told him he had found his prey.

Dangling from the rafters, the predator lowered his gaze. He had but one chance.

And so—

Whip!

The golden serpent uncoiled, dropping swiftly.

His target merely lifted his face, arms raised, and caught the Thousand-Year Thunder-Horned Python as it wound toward him.

With nimble ease, “Bbaem-Bbaemi” slithered into his sleeve, coiling proudly around Yegyeol’s arm. Its head poked free, swaying triumphantly at its master.

“Ahhh, that tickles!”

Yegyeol laughed, stroking the serpent as its tongue flicked. The show of menace was utterly endearing.

“You’ve been training hard with Samrang, haven’t you? Your stealth grows sharper by the day.”

The python stretched itself proudly, having spent their time apart learning to traverse terrain with cunning.

“How many times have you succeeded now, hmm?”

Since the annex of Cheonghyeong Hall burned, Yegyeol had moved to Taehyang Hall. There, he devised a game that doubled as training—he would set the python at a distance, and it must return to him within a set time, to be rewarded with a share of energy.

The beast could feel its growth, stronger with each trial. Its coils stretched proudly, glad to be reunited with its master.

“My dear serpent, you’ve grown so much. At this rate you’ll be twenty meters in no time. One day you’ll grow as vast as the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains themselves, and devour any fool who dares trouble my Senior Brother.”

Buoyed by Yegyeol’s fiery words, the serpent swelled with pride. In truth, it was still no thicker than a silver ring, but Yegyeol’s enthusiasm made it mighty.

Next, Yegyeol pondered hiding places for their game—when suddenly he turned toward the door.

Three presences approached swiftly.

So—the investigation is finished.

Rising with a smile, he slid open the paper door to the adjoining chamber, where Haryang was overseeing matters. As though he had expected Yegyeol’s arrival, Haryang shifted to give him room.

Declining the place beside his Senior Brother, Yegyeol settled instead at the corner, stroking the python’s head as Jinyoung, Samrang, and Yaryul Hongye entered.

Now, at last, they would learn why the annex of Cheonghyeong Hall had burned—without Yegyeol ever lifting a hand.