TSBIRBV Ch 274

Chapter 274. Cause and Effect (1)

“Damn it!”

Eon Chaegwol stormed across the central courtyard, face twisted with fury.

A servant sweeping the floor gasped, “Eek!”—and tried to flee—but before he could, his hair was seized, and a stinging slap cracked across his cheek.

“Dare you run from me?”

“Y-young Master, that’s not what I meant—”

“Bring me wine. Wine! I said bring the wine!”

Clutching his swollen face, the servant ran.

When Eon Chaegwol returned to his room, he seized a porcelain vase from the cabinet and hurled it to the floor. The shattering sound rang sharply through the chamber, fragments scattering everywhere. Still unsatisfied, he threw a chair, then a bronze mirror.

He wasn’t especially skilled, but as a direct descendant trained in the Jinju Eon Clan’s martial arts, his outburst left the room in ruins in a matter of moments.

Finally, he slumped onto his bed, clutching his head.

“This is bad… too big, too big this time. What if Father finds out?”

His voice was a low, trembling mutter, soaked with fear.

“It’s not my fault. That bastard—he provoked me first! Me! The heir of the Eon Clan of Jinju! And that powder—it was colorless and odorless, it must’ve dispersed already. No one will know. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine…”

He grit his teeth. That poison had never been meant for Je Haryang.

It had been his father—the clan head himself—who’d given him both the poison and the command.

“It’s colorless and odorless. Even a breath of it is deadly. Use it on one of the young martial artists you meet at the Yongbong Gathering.

But only on one who’s certain to be eliminated—someone with no connections or background.”

“Yes, Father.”

He hadn’t dared ask why. In the Eon Clan, obedience was absolute.

This time, he had planned to earn real merit and finally earn his father’s favor.

He had guarded that poison preciously ever since.

The problem was that Je Haryang had provoked him again.

When that man mocked him, his already paper-thin temper snapped. If only they could’ve fought properly in a match—but their official duels were weeks away.

And what if that bastard got eliminated before then?

“How dare he… mock me?”

He couldn’t bear to swallow the rage boiling inside him. And then his father’s words echoed in his mind—

“Colorless and odorless… even a breath is deadly.”

He had always been one to give in to sudden impulses.

Just a little, he’d told himself. Just a pinch. If that arrogant bastard who’d spent years preparing for this competition collapsed mid-duel, what a sight that would be.

“It’s not like anyone cares about a nobody like him. And it’s not as if he’s out of the competition yet…”

It had been a reckless moment. He hadn’t even used it properly—just dusted a little onto Je Haryang’s clothes.

And yet, somehow, Je Haryang had coughed blood on the stage.

Worse, word was spreading like wildfire through Wuhan—that Je Haryang’s poisoning had been the work of the Wudang Sect.

The alleged culprit was none other than Cheongyong, disciple of the Wudang Sect’s greatest sword master, the Number One Sword Under Heaven—the man Wudang had chosen as its shining successor.

Now that such a man had been accused, the sect would stop at nothing to find the true culprit and make an example of them.

And Je Haryang himself had publicly declared that the Wudang Sect’s disciple couldn’t possibly have done such a thing—and that he would fully cooperate with their investigation.

That day, their argument had broken out in a tent where other competitors were gathered. Even if he wanted to silence witnesses, if Wudang began to pry, there’d be no hiding from them.

And now, with the Royal Marquis Wangya no longer backing their clan…

Eon Chaegwol tore at his hair.

Thinking of Wangya brought his mind full circle—to why he’d quarreled with Je Haryang in the first place.

The man’s physique—tall and strong—had reminded him of a slave from years ago.

His father, once connected to the military, had received that slave as a “gift” from a general—a scrawny young barbarian boy. He’d been told the boy could be treated as property, and indeed, he’d been used for anything and everything.

After Eon Chaegwol had developed a fear of horses following a fall in childhood, his father had insisted he couldn’t afford to lag behind other noble heirs in horsemanship. And so—he used the slave in their place, riding him like a horse, whip and all.

Later, it was discovered that the boy had an uncanny gift for handling animals, and he was passed from master to master. Especially to the Marquis Wangya—who prized a legendary Crimson-Blood Steed.

And somehow, that barbarian had managed to tame it—and even helped it bear foals.

The Marquis was overjoyed, laughing ear to ear.

Those had been the happiest days in Eon Chaegwol’s father’s memory.

But such fortune never lasts.

That ungrateful wretch of a slave had one day fled—riding none other than the Marquis’s beloved foal.

Because the slave had been recommended by the Eon Clan, they had borne the brunt of the Marquis’s wrath.

The slave’s tribe had once been condemned for stealing imperial warhorses—a crime for which they should have been executed—but they’d been spared in exchange for servitude.

Now the clan that had vouched for him was disgraced.

Eon Clan lost the Marquis’s favor, and with it, their military allies. They’d been on the verge of climbing into the ranks of the Five Great Houses—and now they were collapsing instead. Several major businesses had to be shut down.

His father had been furious for months.

And Eon Chaegwol—he could never forgive the slave who had stolen his family’s glory. Ever since, he’d lashed out at any barbarian he met.

How could he have known that this very hatred would drag him into the mud himself?

“You wretch!”

The door slammed open. His father stormed in and struck him across the face before he could even rise.

He toppled backward over the chair he’d thrown earlier, blood running from his mouth.

“How dare you! You! Ruin! The family’s grand design!”

Each word came with another slap. His teeth cut into his lips; he tasted blood.

But he didn’t fight back—only sobbed like a beaten animal.

“Enough—please, my lord,” said a calm voice from behind his father.

The man called Kang, who had followed the clan head into the room, spoke mildly—but his fingers traced the lotus engraving on his sword sheath. His expression was detached, as though this spectacle had nothing to do with him.

“You know what this idiot almost cost us, Kang,” the clan head roared.

“That poison—before the operation was complete—it was never to be revealed! And yet you—let it slip—because you couldn’t control your temper?!”

Eon Chaegwol squeezed his eyes shut. Somehow, his father already knew everything.

“Of all things, the only one of my sons competent enough to enter the Yongbong Gathering had to be you,” his father snarled. “I should’ve had you chained like a dog instead of merely watched!”

He ground his teeth in rage—so like his son’s own tantrums.

“B-but Father,” Eon Chaegwol stammered, “no one knows! No one saw—no one knows it was me!”

The air hissed through the gap where his teeth had been knocked loose, making his words sound pathetic. His face was desperate.

“They’ll find out soon enough! The Wudang Sect has already reached out to the Beggar’s Union for intelligence. They’ll start by investigating everyone who clashed with this Je Haryang. You’ll be on that list before long.”

Murderous light gleamed in the clan head’s eyes.

After years of clawing their way back toward prominence, it enraged him that a stupid, impulsive son might ruin everything.

Eon Chaegwol trembled, realizing that if things went wrong, his father might cripple him himself and imprison him for life to bury the scandal.

But then—unexpectedly—someone spoke on his behalf.

“I heard,” Kang said slowly, his hand still tracing the lotus patterns, “that this Je Haryang fellow is… close with the young master of the Sichuan Tang Clan.”

His tone was thoughtful.

“What if,” he continued, “we were to suggest that Je Haryang’s victory over Wudang’s prodigy was due to manipulation—psychological warfare, perhaps? Enough to sow doubt.”

“Would… would that work?” Eon Chaegwol asked, hope flickering desperately in his eyes.

If it might—then he could have his followers spread the story across Wuhan by sundown.

Kang’s reply was light, almost cheerful.

“The Wudang Sect won’t want to admit defeat. Not to someone bearing that name.”

The clan head’s eyes widened slightly in understanding.

Of course—he remembered.

Back when the Number One Sword Under Heaven had been a mere late-stage disciple, there had been a young genius he’d never once managed to defeat—Je Haryang of Kunlun.

Rumor had it that Wudang’s “Heavenly Dragon” had long harbored a sense of inferiority toward Kunlun’s “Cloud Dragon,” Je Haryang.

The sect had dismissed it as nonsense—how could such a serene Taoist harbor jealousy?

But the Eon Clan Head knew better. He had seen the same look once before—that raw mix of admiration and hatred—when the Heavenly Dragon had watched Je Haryang spar with Chae Bong.

It was a look he himself knew all too well.

The bitter inferiority one feels toward an opponent they can never surpass.

Even as he languished below the Five Great Houses, unable to match even the remote Sichuan Tang Clan, he had understood that anger intimately.

He had even felt a grim kinship with the Wudang swordsman because of it.

“No,” he said finally. “We can do better than that.”

A vile grin curved his lips.

“What if we claim that Je Haryang tried to poison the Wudang disciple—and the poison backfired?”

“Would anyone believe it?” Kang asked.

“Oh, they will. The Number One Sword won’t stand it—knowing that even his prized disciple couldn’t defeat someone bearing that name. He’ll lose his mind.”

The clan head laughed—a sharp, ugly sound.

A strange light flickered in Kang’s eyes. Truth be told, he had been planning to sever ties with the Eon Clan after this incident. Clean cuts were best.

Still, unlike the useless Tang woman he’d discarded, the Eon Clan might yet prove useful.

“That’s… a very good idea,” he said smoothly.

“Excellent,” said the clan head. “We’ll proceed with that.”

This new Je Haryang, unlike the one of Kunlun’s past, had no support, no allies. Once his reputation was soiled, he’d crumble in an instant.

The more his name was dragged through the mud, the easier it would be for the Eon Clan to slip away unscathed.

“Get up.”

The clan head kicked his son.

Bleeding, shaking, Eon Chaegwol scrambled upright to face him.

“There’s something you must do,” his father said coldly.