HDCLSSRS Ch 157

Chapter 157 Choice (7)

It lasted only a moment. The pavilion lord quickly regained his confidence.

“Disorder, you say? You’re the ones causing chaos here, not us.”

“…What are you talking about?”

Jegal Un’s brow twitched in visible irritation.

“You made such a loud show of boasting about slaying the Demon Sect, and yet you’ve accomplished nothing. And now, I hear you’ve even lost the Spirit Seal.”

“…”

Jegal Un’s face hardened, his features sharpening with anger. The pavilion lord, mistaking his silence for weakness, pressed on triumphantly.

“Hand over the Demon Prince to us.”

“‘Us,’ you say?”

Jegal Un’s gaze swept over the group behind the man. They were an unsightly mix — neither righteous nor demonic, a rabble of mercenaries and wandering swordsmen, exuding the stink of greed and blood.

To think he had fallen so far that even such men dared to sneer at him.

“Ah, stop wasting words, Pavilion Lord. Leave this to me.”

From within the crowd, a towering man emerged — more than six cheok tall, his shadow enormous under the moonlight. The curved blade of the massive crescent halberd on his back gleamed coldly in the darkness.

“That man—! Th-the Blood Rain Ghost?!”

A cry rose from among the spectators.

“The Blood Rain Ghost? Is he famous?”

“He’s called the Butcher of Shandong,” Jang Hansu answered grimly to Kang Ung’s whisper. “It’s said that wherever he passes, the ground is drenched in blood.”

Hansu bit his lip anxiously.

This is bad. Very bad.

If the man was truly the Blood Rain Ghost, then he had come prepared for war — and there would be no quiet resolution. Sanggeol’s plan to smuggle Young Master Muyeon out of the manor had depended on speed and secrecy. Now, both were impossible.

“Hansu! What in the world is going on here?!”

As expected, Sanggeol, who had rushed over upon hearing the commotion, pressed a hand to his forehead in dismay.

“Master Jegal,” the Blood Rain Ghost said smoothly, “I am the one they call the Butcher of Shandong. The Demon Sect is the Central Plains’ sworn enemy. Everyone here bears that grudge deep in their bones. Until now, we’ve trusted your noble clans — the Five Great Families and the Nine Great Sects — to handle it properly. But tell me, what is this disgrace I see before me?”

“…”

“You’ve done nothing but take beating after beating, never striking back. And now, you’ve even lost something as important as the Spirit Seal. We can’t sit idly by any longer. From now on, we’ll take matters into our own hands. You should step aside and focus on licking your wounds.”

Jegal Un’s tone was calm but cold. “And what exactly is it you want?”

“Hand over the Demon Prince,” Blood Rain Ghost replied, smiling faintly. “And let us search your estate for the Spirit Seal.”

“What—! You mean to tear through the Jegal Clan’s manor as you please?!”

The steward’s shout cracked through the night. His face flushed red with fury.

“Y-you wretched dogs! Do you know where you stand?!”

Blood Rain Ghost only shrugged.

“Then find it yourself and bring it to us. You can’t? Then step aside.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. All eyes followed his movement as he approached Jegal Un directly.

Standing face-to-face, the difference in their heights was striking — Jegal Un looked almost small beside him.

“Why don’t you move on your own?” Blood Rain Ghost sneered. “It’ll look better for you than being tossed aside.”

Up until that moment, Jegal Un had watched him in silence, unreadable. Then his voice, low and sharp, cut through the air.

“Then allow me to return those words to you,” he said.

Before anyone could react, a faint glint flashed between them — Jegal Un’s iron thread, coiled and taut, now pressed directly against the man’s chest.

“Leave of your own accord,” Jegal Un murmured, “or crawl out like the dog you are.”

“You little brat…”

The Blood Rain Ghost’s face twisted in shock and fury. He had assumed Jegal Un to be nothing more than a pampered young master — he hadn’t even realized when his vital point had been targeted.

“That’s enough. Break in!” cried the pavilion lord. “Search the manor! Find the Demon Prince and the Spirit Seal!”

“Do not enter!” the steward shouted. “You’ve been warned!”

“Can’t you see this blade? Move, unless you want to die!”

“Hah! When else will we get the chance to walk inside the Jegal estate?”

Jegal Un’s teeth ground together. He was about to command his men to strike when a mocking voice called from above.

“What’s wrong? Is the great Jegal Clan’s courtyard too clean for filth like us to step foot in?”

Smiling once more, the Blood Rain Ghost brushed aside the steel thread and stepped forward.

“Go on then! Kill me, if you dare!”

The mob surged forward, shoving past the panicked guards. The righteous sect disciples, drilled to restrain their blades unless absolutely necessary, found themselves helpless against the chaos.

Though the intruders were trespassers, there were too many to subdue without bloodshed — and none of the younger disciples had ever been trained for this.

The visiting sect members, guests of the Jegal Clan, had no authority to act and could only watch the disorder unfold.

“Y-young Master! What are your orders?”

In mere moments, the manor’s courtyard had turned into pandemonium. The steward’s voice trembled as he awaited instruction.

Jegal Un clenched his fists, his gaze dark as he surveyed the chaos overtaking his home.

“We cannot let them defile the Jegal Clan as they please. Stop them — if they resist, kill them.”

The steward nodded sharply and relayed the order in a booming voice.

Jegal Un turned and strode after the Blood Rain Ghost, who was already pushing deeper into the estate. The man’s direction was clear — straight toward the prison where Young Master Muyeon was held.

As Jegal Un disappeared, Kang Ung, who had been frozen in place, suddenly gasped.

“Master!”

Baek Ryeoil was still meditating — vulnerable, defenseless.

Kang Ung sprinted off at once. Sanggeol and Jang Hansu exchanged quick glances.

“Go to your senior brother!” Sanggeol ordered. “I’ll go to Young Master Muyeon!”

“Yes!”

Inside his cell, Seong Muyeon sat in silence, waiting helplessly for the moment of departure.

A strange unease tugged at him.

…

The Third Prince had wanted him to take the Spirit Seal, to consume it, to become his tool. Paeng Wongeum had confessed that all of this had been staged — a scheme to bring him to “enlightenment.”

So what was this now?

Death — or escape. Those were the only two paths before him.

No… could it be…?

A chilling thought struck him. His eyes widened.

Paeng Wongeum’s final words echoed in his mind — You won’t escape this time. Surely, that hadn’t meant he wanted him dead.

“Don’t tell me…”

Frantic, Muyeon scoured every corner of the cell, his movements wild and desperate. And then he froze.

Beneath the black iron bars, something glimmered faintly.

He crawled toward it, his joints creaking, and reached under the bars. His fingers brushed against something smooth and solid.

He pulled it out — a small, lacquered box, small enough to fit in his palm, its golden hinges catching the flickering lamplight.

His throat went dry. His heart thundered.

With trembling hands, he opened it. A familiar scent filled the cell — the faint, intoxicating fragrance of rare medicine.

Resting on silk within the box was the Spirit Seal.

Muyeon nearly dropped it. Every instinct screamed at him to throw it away — yet he forced himself to stay still, cursing under his breath.

So that was the plan. Push him to the edge — leave him no choice but to consume it, to surrender to the Third Prince.

“He’s insane…” he whispered.

But he knew it was true.

Paeng Wongeum’s death had only accelerated what was inevitable. The righteous sect and the demonic cult could never coexist. And Muyeon, no matter his intentions, would always be held accountable for the sins of his bloodline.

Not that he had ever intended to stay in Mount Hua forever anyway.

‘You were always destined to come to me.’

So that was what he had meant.

A chill shuddered through him. Such madness — such obsession.

Why?

Even among brothers, Seong Muguk’s fixation defied all reason. This was a man who could kill his own kin without blinking.

Why me?

Simply because he liked him? Because he wanted him?

But the thought was cut short.

The clang of clashing blades erupted outside — the ring of steel on steel, the cries of battle.

At first, Muyeon thought Sanggeol had returned, that everything was proceeding as planned. But the noise grew closer — harsher.

The screams. The sound of something heavy crashing to the ground.

Dread tightened his chest.

Surely Baek Ryeoil hadn’t drawn his sword against his fellow disciples…

KWAANG!

His thoughts were shattered by an explosion. The cell door blew off its hinges, and a giant figure ducked through the opening.

“So, you’re the Seventh Prince — Seong Muyeon!”

It was a man he’d never seen before, towering, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the entire space.

Muyeon’s expression darkened instantly.

Sang Dojang’s plan has failed.