HDCLSSRS Ch 121

Chapter 121 The Spirit Core (2)

Seong Mujai dropped the gong where he stood and crumpled to the floor.

“Ugh… going to die…”

“Me too…” Muyeon lay beside him, wheezing through what little air remained. His neck had been spared; his bones, miraculously, not broken. Mujai’s intervention saved him from coughing blood until death.

Even so, Muyeon forced himself upright. The tavern master’s corpse had to be checked; if he leapt up brandishing that saber again, they truly were dead men.

“Don’t kill him!” Mujai shouted urgently.

“…I won’t,” Muyeon answered reluctantly. The tavern master was contemptible, vile even, but not deserving of execution. He foamed at the lips, yet still breathed, his heart still drumming faintly.

“Good. After all, he once fed and housed us…” Mujai muttered awkwardly. Then, jolting awake with a start, he exclaimed—“The orb!”

He snatched up the saber and slashed open the pouch already half-severed; from its mouth tumbled the yeongdan⁽¹⁾—the spirit core. With shaking hands, Mujai wrapped it hastily in cloth and shoved it deep within his robes, unwilling to risk another’s grasp.

“Let’s go, brother…” Both men were utterly drained, but the orb was recovered.

“Wait.” Mujai turned back to the tavern master, rifling his pockets. Muyeon immediately realized what he was doing—searching for gold.

“This isn’t the time!” Muyeon hissed. Beyond the walls, their allies fought to the death against Ghostslayers come for Mujai. Yet here Mujai rummaged for coins.

But Mujai snapped back louder: “You don’t understand! Try living destitute on the streets. Moments like this are when you must gather funds. Ah—found it!”

He hoisted a heavy pouch of gold.

“Brother,” Muyeon said coldly, gripping his shoulder. “…Then split it half.”

Silence. But at last, they divvied the coins between them—Muyeon’s reasoning plain: the debt had been made in his name. Whatever the tavern master’s fate, some recompense was owed.

Coughing awkwardly, Mujai accepted. Both brothers, bloodied and ragged, burst out laughing at their pitiful appearances. Mujai, bruised, kicked, and slammed through walls; Muyeon, equally battered.

“…We have the orb. Let’s get out.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

If they could drive back the Ghostslayers and return safely to Mount Hua, they might yet live.

Meanwhile, Baek Ryeoil suppressed a curse.

With Je Cheondeuk having joined, the Ghostslayers no longer seemed an overwhelming threat. Their numbers dwindled one by one.

The problem was Myeong-Gwi, their captain. Stronger than the rest, though not to the point of overwhelming Ryeoil. Neither an easy kill, nor a foe to dismiss.

After a brief exchange of blades, Myeong-Gwi must have realized the gap between them, for he never pressed directly again. Instead he loitered, darting in to harass whenever Ghostslayers faltered, forcing Ryeoil to guard vigilantly.

“Where do you think you’re going!” Ryeoil blocked his advance, driving him back. Again he retreated to wait.

What a tiresome pest.

Their ploy was transparent: a stalling tactic. Unable to enter the building against Ryeoil’s guard, they waited for Mujai and Muyeon to emerge.

Despite his losses, Myeong-Gwi showed no anger. Eyes like dead things, utterly free of emotion—eerie more than surprising.

At last, the brothers stumbled out. Ryeoil’s eyes blazed—Muyeon, filthy, dust-smeared, bloodied mouth, red bruises ringing his throat.

Useless bastard… Can’t even protect his younger brother. Ryeoil’s gaze skewered Mujai.

And as though they were waiting for this moment, Myeong-Gwi’s aura shifted, gathering for full assault. Ryeoil readied himself—and was glad. He had grown weary of chasing a coward’s feints.

But instead of charging, Myeong-Gwi whistled, signaling the retreat. Together, he and his men vaulted through the roof’s shattered hole and vanished.

“Shall we pursue?” Muyeon asked.

Je Cheondeuk answered at once, eyes blazing. “Of course. You think anyone dares harm Wudang and walks away unscathed?”

Before Ryeoil could stop him, Je Cheondeuk had already leapt after them into the night sky.

Fool, Ryeoil seethed.

Je Cheondeuk was competent—enough to face Ghostslayers handily. But that had been while Myeong-Gwi was neutralized by Ryeoil. Now, blind with zeal at the thought of Demonic prey and Wudang’s honor, he rushed in without sensing the deeper scheme.

He did not know—they had never come simply to fight. They sought Mujai. They sought the orb.

“You stay here. Kang Ung, guard him.”

“Yes, Master.”

And with that, Ryeoil too vanished into the night. An uneasy silence swallowed the gambling den.

“Are you all right, Young Lord?”

“Where are you hurt?”

Bang Gyeom, equally bloodied, hurried to Mujai’s side. Kang Ung—with his own cuts seeping blood—turned anxiously to Muyeon.

“I’m fine. Nothing serious. But you’re bleeding badly—”

Muyeon reached for salves hidden in his sleeve—when Mujai shoved Kang Ung roughly aside.

“Uh!”

Weakened and exhausted, the boy toppled onto a shattered table. With a groan, it splintered beneath him.

“What are you doing?!” Muyeon shouted. The boy lay unconscious. Muyeon moved to check him, but Mujai seized his arm.

“Now! We must escape!”

Cold rage flooded Muyeon, chilling his veins.

“…So I was wrong to trust you after all.”

Mujai yanked, dragging him toward the exit. “You’re naïve, little brother. Do you truly trust Mount Hua? Do you truly think Yakseon will heal you? Hah! More likely they’ll take the orb and cast you aside. This is our chance!”

Muyeon resisted fiercely. “Big Brother will understand, once we tell him of Third’s treachery! If we return to Headquarters, even your illness can be healed!”

“Bang Gyeom!” Mujai barked.

“Yes!”

Before Muyeon could react, Bang Gyeom lurched forward, hoisting him up like a sack.

“Are you insane?! Put me down, damn you! Let me go!”

“I am sorry, Seventh Prince,” Bang Gyeom muttered. Regret tinged his words, but he did not disobey.

“Baek Dojang! Dojang! Help me!”

Muyeon screamed, but Mujai only clicked his tongue, trying to stuff a filthy rag into his mouth for silence. When Muyeon thrashed wildly, he gave up, sighing.

“Hmph. I had meant to flee alone. You should be grateful, being taken along. One day, you’ll even thank me.”

“…Not a chance!” Muyeon rasped, even as he clawed at Bang Gyeom’s arms. The man’s strength outclassed his own by far.

“Stop!”

Je Cheondeuk chased the Ghostslayers into the forest’s black maw, heedless of anything else. Ryeoil’s voice rang after him—but he ignored it, drunk on the pursuit of enemies.

Trap, Ryeoil cursed inwardly. They would never run without laying snares. But he too had to follow.

By the time Je Cheondeuk froze, realizing too late, it was done. Arrows and hidden darts whistled in from every side. Devices primed for ambush.

He parried steel with steel, ducked low, slipped past blades, unscathed. To one like him, these were trivial. But—Ryeoil noticed something. A deeper wrongness.

At that instant Je Cheondeuk stepped back from a poisoned dart. The ground gave way beneath him with a clunk.

“—?!”

The rain of darts had never been to kill. It was bait—to herd prey into the real trap.

The floor yawned open, a pit of black emptiness.

Ryeoil lunged, seizing his collar, dragging him back—only for the momentum to hurl Ryeoil over the edge himself.

For a heartbeat, he expected the true strike—arrows, spikes at the bottom, death to break a cultivator’s fall. But there was nothing—only darkness, deep and endless.

Because the trap had not been laid for them at all. It was for Mujai—bait for the Sixth Prince and his orb.

Ryeoil clicked his tongue in disgust, twisting his body midair, preparing to kick free of the pit’s radius.

But the Ghostslayers pounced, dragging him down.

And Ryeoil fell into the abyss.

Footnotes:

1. Yeongdan (영단, 靈丹) – The “Spirit Core,” a crystallized essence of a cultivator’s lifetime of internal power—here formed upon the Fourth Prince’s death.