TSBIRBV Ch 272

Chapter 272. Yongbong Gathering (12)

Even as Jinyoung spoke, his expression was one of disbelief. The report had come straight from Samrang—not even an hour old—so there was little chance of error.

“And this Je Haryang fellow… who is he?”

The Central Plains was vast; there could easily be another man bearing the surname Je and the given name Haryang somewhere. But if it were merely a case of mistaken identity, Jinyoung would never have brought it up at all.

“…It is said that Lord Mun is currently using that name as an alias.”

Haryang sank back into his chair, his body that had been leaning forward collapsing heavily into the seat. He could not fathom what Yegyeol was thinking.

Was it a joke? A bit of mischief aimed at the lover who hadn’t followed him?

He couldn’t tell.

“What a reckless thing to do…” he murmured, voice low with restrained frustration.

It had been twenty years since the Kunlun Blood Massacre. Two decades—time enough for a mere prisoner to ascend to the title of Heavenly Demon. Yet it was far too short a span for those memories to be forgotten.

Moreover, his face had already been exposed once before—during the Changbo Sword Incident involving the Divine Moon Martial Emperor. Anyone holding a high position within the Martial Alliance, which now hosted the Yongbong Gathering, would certainly remember Je Haryang.

The only relief—if it could be called that—was that what Haryang had taught Yegyeol was not the sword, but the fist.

It would be best if they dismissed him as merely a namesake…

But a protruding stone always draws the hammer’s strike.

Haryang recalled words spoken long ago within the secret chamber of the Divine Moon Martial Emperor.

“Brother Je—no, since no one’s listening, let me speak plainly—Brother. Do you know why you were abandoned so easily?”

The pale face of Hwangbo Yakrin had trembled faintly as she said it.

“It was because you were too exceptional.”

More so than the successor of the Wudang Sect, more so than the heir of the Hwangbo Clan.

He had been rumored to be the next Supreme Under Heaven. Yet to the righteous factions, he was merely a promising youth—expendable if necessary. They hadn’t come to Kunlun’s aid because they had already judged that whether he lived or died, it wouldn’t change the power balance of the martial world.

Because they wanted Je Haryang to die in the Ten-Thousand Mountains.

He could no longer recall the feeling he’d had upon hearing his half-sister’s confession of what he had long suspected.

But now, thinking that Yegyeol might face the same fate, he felt a creeping unease.

If it’s my disciple… he won’t stop at being a finalist.

In Haryang’s eyes, Yegyeol was capable of nothing less than victory itself.

His strength defied the boundaries of martial logic. In sheer destructive power, Yegyeol could rank among the mightiest men Haryang had ever faced.

Unlike most martial artists, Yegyeol’s abilities seemed optimized for fighting multiple opponents rather than one-on-one duels. His strength, unlike inner qi, seemed to have no limit. Even after shattering Cheonghyeong Hall in half, he hadn’t shown the faintest sign of depletion.

Normally, any martial technique pushed beyond its threshold twisted one’s qi channels, inflicting severe internal injuries. But in Yegyeol, there was none of that.

If someone unaffiliated with any sect were to defeat the most elite disciples of the righteous factions and emerge champion of the Yongbong Gathering—and did so under the alias Je Haryang—what then?

Some extremist was bound to start spreading nonsense—that he was a spy from the Demonic Cult.

“I’m leaving for Wuhan immediately.”

At Haryang’s sudden declaration, Jinyoung’s face tightened with concern.

“You’ve just crossed the desert without rest and only now reached Sichuan. Gathering information about the missing villagers from Yegok will take time. Please, at least rest briefly before—”

But Haryang’s hand came down over the wooden box before him.

“You and I both know,” he said evenly, “that I couldn’t rest even if I tried.”

Inside the box was a pipe of polished bamboo.

Jinyoung’s lips pressed together tightly. Haryang had been consuming strong medicinal smoke for years now—often coughing up blood afterward. His heart demon was clearly nearing its peak. Though he had not yet succumbed to deviation, it was a precarious balance to maintain.

Yet his eyes remained sharp, always fixed on a map—or on the horizon, as though looking toward someone waiting just beyond it.

“Jinyoung, you’ll remain here.”

“My lord!”

“You know why I can’t take you with me.”

Jinyoung fell silent. He had followed Haryang until his inner qi was almost drained, reaching the limits of his endurance. But that wasn’t the reason.

During his final interrogation, Lord Gong had revealed that survivors remained from the two clans Haryang himself had annihilated.

That, in itself, hadn’t been surprising. He had never believed he’d killed every last one. Even if a few rats had escaped, the fall of the Eight Great Demonic Clans to Six could not be undone.

After all, even Samrang had spent three years after Haryang’s ascension to the Heavenly Demon combing through the Ja Clan’s hideouts, dragging out every survivor to the Ten-Thousand Mountains for execution.

Thus, if any survivors remained, they could only be from the Wi Ji Clan.

“Even if someone from the Wi Ji Clan survived, it doesn’t matter. I still wish to stay by your side, my lord.”

“It’s not just any survivor.” Haryang’s voice lowered. “If the one Lord Gong served in my stead still lives… there are only two possibilities. One is the patriarch of the Wi Ji Clan, Wi Ji Kang. But I killed him myself. The other…”

He stopped and looked directly at Jinyoung.

“…I watched him drink the poison with my own eyes,” Jinyoung said quietly.

His tone was calm yet unyielding, almost defiant—as if to insist that such a thing could never be.

“Wi Ji Cheon cannot still be alive.”

He lowered his head and saw his hands trembling. Clenching them tightly, he steadied his breath. He had personally confirmed Wi Ji Cheon’s death—ensured there would be no resurrection.

After composing himself, he straightened his back.

“I entered your service for one reason only—to kill Wi Ji Cheon. I have never betrayed you, my lord, nor deceived you.”

If his loyalty were in doubt, he would stake his life to prove it.

“I do not question your loyalty,” Haryang said, shaking his head.

“If anyone under heaven longs most for Wi Ji Cheon’s death, it is you. But the Demonic Cult harbors countless techniques—some that can even feign death.”

Even here in the Central Plains, such martial arts existed. The Ghost Breath Technique, for instance, slowed the heartbeat to near nothingness, plunging the user into a deathlike state. Though it left the body vulnerable and unable to move, it could serve as a desperate means of escape.

“…I see,” Jinyoung said slowly.

“But even so, that’s no reason to leave me behind.”

“If Wi Ji Cheon still lives, who do you think he would want dead first?”

Jinyoung’s face paled—not from fear, but from the weight of painful memory.

There had been too many unfinished things between them.

Among Haryang’s three subordinates, Jinyoung alone had once been a captive like him. But unlike the others, Jinyoung hadn’t been a test subject for demonic experimentation—he had served as a low-ranking attendant of the Wi Ji Clan.

And his master had been Wi Ji Cheon.

That man—Demonic General of the Wi Ji Clan, once destined to become Heavenly Demon himself—had given Jinyoung much. Kindness. Education. Shelter from torment and experimentation.

But what Wi Ji Cheon had taken from him in return was something no gift could ever replace.

And so Jinyoung had sought freedom. Knowledge and life itself had become unbearable burdens.

It was during that time that he met Je Haryang, then an enslaved enforcer of the Cult. The moment he swore allegiance to him, he abandoned Wi Ji Cheon—and his past.

Some knots are easier cut than untied.

Jinyoung had cut that tie cleanly and never looked back.

To dwell on it would have consumed his life entirely.

But if Wi Ji Cheon truly lived—

“Then the dead must be sent back to their graves,” Jinyoung said firmly, regaining composure.

“But for now, I’ll obey your command.”

Haryang studied his downcast face.

“What changed your mind?”

“Speaking of it stirred something in me,” Jinyoung replied. “Above all… I can’t allow myself to become a burden on your path.”

He smiled faintly—rarely, for someone usually so stiff and restrained.

“I’ve never once thought of you as a burden.”

“Just being able to follow a master who’s reached transcendence all the way to Sichuan was miracle enough,” Jinyoung said gently. “Even though your spirit had long since soared beyond mortal limits, you slowed your steps for someone like me.”

It was true. Jinyoung’s internal energy had been nearly spent, yet he’d barely managed to keep pace. Even that was a miracle—he was still at the peak level of mastery, while Haryang had already stepped beyond the mortal realm.

“For now, all reports from Samrang will be routed through you. Should any urgent dispatch arrive while I’m gone, it would be troublesome if no one could act on it.”

“Understood. The Flood Dragon King’s ship should be waiting at the Yangtze. Since Lord Mun and Yeonso are said to be traveling toward Yegok Village, you may wish to speak with them along the way.”

Haryang hesitated a moment, as if weighing his words, then swallowed them back.

“…You’ll serve as liaison between the Ten-Thousand Mountains and Wuhan for now. When the one behind this becomes clear, I’ll summon you.”

“By your command.”

And with that, Haryang departed from Sichuan.