HDCLSSRS Ch 123

Chapter 123 The Spirit Core (4)

Though he never said it outright, Zhuge Yun clearly knew the truth of Seong Muyeon’s condition.

“In any case, it is fine to let him in,” Zhuge Yun remarked, his tone feigning civility.

“If the Young Lord commands so…” someone murmured.

“By the way, have you two greeted each other? This is the master of Yangha Pavilion⁽¹⁾—he was the first to bring word of the warehouse incident to our House.”

The Pavilion Master of Yangha looked at Zhuge Yun as though he were mad. Zhuge Yun only smiled as if entertained.

At that very moment, Mujai’s vile curses rang out once more from the prison cells.

“Return my spirit core! Or I’ll kill all of you!”

Zhuge Yun laughed coldly.

“Judging from his tantrum, it must be hardly an ordinary medicine. The color does not suggest an artificial pill… could it be a neidan⁽²⁾? The Unfeeling Sword offered me no answer—what about you, Seventh Prince? Will you explain?”

He turned the yeongdan over in his hand, studying it intently. Even the Yangha Pavilion master eyed it with undisguised curiosity.

It seemed Baek Ryeoil had revealed just enough to prove that the Ghostslayers’ raid on Hubei had not been orchestrated by the Seong brothers. But clearly, Zhuge Yun’s probing was not out of any real desire for understanding. He only sought to provoke, savoring the vision of brothers locked away in his dungeons.

For a moment Muyeon’s fingers itched to snatch the glittering orb from his palm, yet he curbed the impulse.

“Yes. It is a treasure—and I would thank you if you returned it.”

Zhuge Yun sighed theatrically, realizing Muyeon would not play along. “We shall see. Nothing the Demonic Cult does is ever innocent. I must verify before deciding whether it leaves this place.”

With a flick of his sleeves, he turned and left.

“…”

Muyeon watched him depart, then stepped into the prison.

He bares his hatred openly…

For being of the Cult, Muyeon had endured hatred before. But so naked, so undisguised—it was rare.

Well. Rare, but not unique. He was reminded of another who despised him utterly.

Inside, Mujai quieted the instant Muyeon appeared, his glare burning from behind the bars. His curses stopped—but only long enough to focus that hostility.

At the entrance, the Yangha Pavilion master crossed his arms, watching coldly, a silent threat in his stance: try anything, and you will regret it.

Muyeon stepped to the bars where Mujai and Bang Gyeom were held. All the other cells were empty. Bang Gyeom still lay insensible.

“Look at you, Seong Muyeon,” Mujai sneered. “How does it feel, being discarded by the righteous sects you grovel to?”

“Discarded? Who?”

“You!”

With a clang, Mujai slammed against the bars, gripping with bound hands, eyes flaming bloodthirst.

“If you don’t bring back the spirit core, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“And you have the strength to do that?”

“How can you be so calm, knowing what it is? Idiot! Didn’t I warn you never to trust them?! This disaster is all your fault!”

Saliva foamed at his lips as he screamed vitriol.

“…”

Only then did Muyeon realize why he had come here. His stomach boiled like a lidded cauldron over fire—anger, frustration, the humiliation of triumph stolen. He needed someone to vent it on. And who better than this mirror of himself, raging impotently behind bars?

But as he listened, some clarity came. Looking at Mujai, he thought—and I would look the same if I gave in like this.

He found his anger quieting instead.

“So, what will you do now, Brother?”

Mujai only spat more venom, incoherent. Plainly he was beyond reason. Muyeon shook his head and began to leave.

“I will recover the core. As for you—sit quietly, cause no more trouble.”

“You disgust me, Seong Muyeon.”

The words stopped his steps.

Mujai leaned against the wall, forcing a smirk through his rage. His voice dripped poison.

“Did you hit your head? Why wrap yourself in virtue now? Be yourself—the true you makes me sick enough as it is.”

“….”

“What? ‘Stay quiet’? You say that, and anyone listening might think you actually care. But among us seven brothers, none is so heartless as you.”

Not worth replying.

Muyeon turned again—but Mujai’s next words froze him mid-step.

“Though none said it aloud, we all thought it. We were relieved when you fell ill. Better you collapsed than growing strong. Do you know what people whispered? That if Seong Muyeon ever matured with power in his grasp, horrors would follow.”

Muyeon flinched.

Even his cult peers—who prided themselves on ruthlessness—said quietly, at least we do not kill without reason. But he…

“Enough,” Muyeon said.

“Have your new friends heard, I wonder? What you did back then?” Mujai jeered.

At last Muyeon turned. His eyes, suddenly fathomless, pooled dark as abyssal night, drawing in every shadow.

Mujai grinned wickedly.

“Ha! There’s my little brother. I thought your mind had broken. That stare—that’s the Muyeon I’ve known.”

But a heartbeat later, that oppressive glare dissipated. Muyeon sighed heavily.

“…That was long ago.”

That was before he remembered his past life. Before he met Baek Ryeoil. Back when he was only the powerless Seventh Prince—angry, hopeless, self-destructive.

Then, he had defied the Cult Leader himself in blind fury. It was still part of him—dark, ugly, unrefined.

Had he not remembered, had he never met Ryeoil… he would already be dead, killed by his own spiral of carnage.

“People can change.”

“Hah! Convenient doctrine. Change when you wish, and sin is erased? Tell me—then who killed your mother?”

“…”

This time, Muyeon’s grip on the bars whitened his knuckles. Now he was the one pressed to iron. Mujai basked in his silence, emboldened.

But Muyeon, looking deeper, saw the truth. Beneath his brother’s bravado—desperation. Mujai was cornered enough to bare even this wound.

“…What is it you want?” Muyeon asked softly.

His brother’s bitter smile said it all.

“The orb. Tear out their throats if you must, but bring it back and place it in my hands.”

“That much, I also desire. You have not forgotten, I hope—without it, Yakseon cannot brew the medicine to heal me.”

“And one more thing. Release Bang Gyeom.”

He glanced to where his retainer slept pale on the cold floor.

“He did no wrong. He was just an ordinary man, dragged into this. Now, whether inside or outside the Cult, his life is ruined. He’s endured enough, standing by me till the end.”

For once, Mujai’s twisted face betrayed something else—a glimmer of raw sincerity. Regret. Guilt. The Mujai Muyeon knew would never have shown this. That, too, unsettled him.

“…I wish I could promise it. But I cannot.”

“Of course not! Ha! I wasn’t expecting miracles. Just do your utmost!”

He had driven him into a corner, yet still claimed not to expect. Whose game was this?

“…Little brother.”

“Yes, Brother.”

Muyeon answered readily, even attentively. Mujai shuddered, rubbing his arms as though cold.

“Remember this. You’ll be used, exploited, and in the end discarded.”

Again, that warning.

“Do you truly believe we can belong among them? You put such faith in that Unfeeling Sword—or whatever you call him. Better you forget it. I say this for your sake.”

The words sounded like the same litany he had repeated all along. Yet Muyeon hesitated. This time his brother’s face was grave, serious beyond jest.

Footnotes:

1. Yangha Pavilion (양하각, Yangha-gak) – A minor martial institution or guild-like gathering house; here its master is an informant to Zhuge.

2. Neidan (내단, 內丹) – “Internal Alchemical Core”; crystallized inner energy, usually found in long-lived beasts or cultivators. The yeongdan pill resembles this.