HDCLSSRS Ch 132

Chapter 132 Kill and Erase the Mouths(3)

Seong Muyeon trudged to open Baek Ryeoil’s door. He had gotten into the habit of dropping by several times a day to check on his condition.

Baek Ryeoil was lying on the bed with a pale and drained face. His bare torso, with his broken arm fixed firmly across his chest, was wound thickly in bandages. He looked no less wretched than Je Cheondeuk.

“…What have you been doing, wandering around all day?”

As Muyeon added charcoal to the dying brazier in the room to feed the heat, Baek Ryeoil, whom he had thought to be asleep, asked in a hoarse voice. He tried to raise his body slightly, only to groan and fall back again. His long, abundant hair spread loose like a dark spill across the bedding.

“Please don’t get up. The wound will reopen.”

“…I feel like I’m dying. I don’t have a shred of strength left.”

At the moment, he was suffering a torment he was experiencing for the very first time in life. He had never once even suffered from catching a cold or the flu, so strong was his constitution, but his current injuries seemed to have knocked down his resistance. A harsh feverish exhaustion and the faint ringing of a mild concussion left him in constant headaches.

Even when he awoke for a short while, just taking a little food would drain his energy until he fell asleep again and again.

“When will the aid dispatched from Mount Hua arrive?”

After touching his forehead to make sure no fever had risen, Muyeon pulled the fallen blanket back up to his neck.

“The distance is a bit far, so they should arrive today or tomorrow at the latest. Why?”

“I was just curious.”

Baek Ryeoil looked at him steadily with a suspicious face.

“I’m warning you, don’t go poking around where you shouldn’t. Do you think things won’t handle themselves without you wearing yourself out? Don’t go bumping into some odd character and running into trouble.”

Baek Ryeoil spoke in a surly manner.

‘…It’s already too late.’

Muyeon had already stumbled upon the strangest person in the world and suffered bitterly for it. Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to say that out loud.

“Understood. Please get some rest.”

“I’m not joking. Until aid arrives, stay put in here. If only I weren’t in this state…”

At that, Seong Muyeon placed his palm gently over the other’s eyes.

“Focus only on your recovery, Dojang.”

Baek Ryeoil flailed, asking what nonsense that gesture was, but soon his strength left him and he went quiet. When Muyeon drew his hand away, he was already breathing softly in sleep. Even speaking a handful of words had drained him.

Baek Ryeoil was in no condition to do anything but concentrate fully on recovery. Muyeon had no intention of adding to his anxiety by mentioning anything about Seong Muguk plotting schemes.

‘I have to resolve this myself.’

Hadn’t he already endured worse trials than this? Idle stares from strangers meant nothing—it wasn’t enough to so much as itch him.

That afternoon, Muyeon ran into a face that surprised him with joy. He had been loitering in the courtyard, half-wondering if he might spot Yan Ha-gakju or any suspicious figures, when he caught sight of two tall men wearing bamboo hats.

“Brother Paeng! What brings you here?”

He greeted the Paeng brothers, known as the Twin Poles of Hebei. They were speaking with the chief steward but, upon seeing him, broke into warm smiles.

“Seventh Young Master! It’s been too long! Hahaha!”

The younger sibling, Paeng Dohwan, clapped him heartily on the shoulder in his familiar manner. Naturally, it hurt. His elder brother, Paeng Wongeum, smiled with gentle composure as he said,

“Have you forgotten? My brother and I are wandering to gain worldly experience. We happened to be nearby, and when we saw crowds of martial men converging here, we grew curious and came to see.”

“The Young Master is always at the center of uproars, isn’t he!”

Muyeon let out a strained laugh.

“We just spoke briefly with the chief steward—it seems you’ve gone through something grave. Are you unharmed?”

“To think that the Heartless Sword himself has been injured and lies bedridden. Such a rare spectacle cannot be missed!”

The hot-blooded Dohwan actually started toward Baek Ryeoil’s chambers as if ready to barge in, but Wongeum’s stern look halted him in his tracks. Dohwan pouted but snapped his mouth shut.

“You two—seems you’re acquainted with this one.”

At the icy voice, Muyeon turned. It was Jegal Un approaching with a retinue, coldness writ upon his face.

Wongeum nodded with his mild smile.

“We met once before in Henan.”

“This man is not someone to keep close. Be wary of him.”

Jegal Un’s glance at Seong Muyeon was sharp and frosted. With his frigid words, an awkward silence fell over them.

“You brat. You’ve grown, haven’t you?”

Dohwan suddenly broke the silence by throwing his arm around Jegal Un’s neck.

“Second Brother! Please stop. I’m the heir of my house now!”

“Oh? And you dare talk back to your brother?”

Because the Five Great Families had long shared deep exchanges, their young heirs seemed to get along like true siblings, free of formality and distance.

“Elder Brother! Please rein in our second. My reputation is on the line here!”

Jegal Un pleaded with desperation toward Wongeum, who only returned his gentle smile.

“Young Master Muyeon of Seong risked his very life in Henan to retrieve the Sword of Fortune. He should be treated with honor befitting such a feat.”

“But…!”

“No ‘buts.’ With these brothers here, one burden is lifted from your shoulders, Young Master Jegal.”

“Tch!”

Watching Jegal Un flounder helplessly under the Paeng brothers’ weight, Seong Muyeon felt as though all the humiliation he had endured until now had suddenly melted away. He almost laughed aloud, but as Jegal Un cast a sideways glare at him, he quickly swallowed it back.

“I know your concern. Now that I’m here, we’ll investigate together. Prejudging people only leads to failure.”

“…Yes, Elder Brother.”

Muyeon’s eyes went wide. To see the insolent, ill-mannered Jegal Un turned meek in an instant!

Indeed, Paeng Wongeum was an extraordinary man.

He then sent Muyeon a reassuring smile that seemed to say, Trust in me alone.

‘Brother Paeng…!’

In the absence of Baek Ryeoil, the only ally he had had here, the man who had now appeared felt like a savior to him. His heart ached with relief.

The Paeng brothers, saying they must first pay their respects to the house master, departed with regret but promised to visit him again later.

In the original tale, Paeng Wongeum became the Alliance Leader of the Martial World, stabilizing the fractured Central Plains with his eloquence and trustworthiness. Now that he had appeared, Muyeon believed that with Je Cheondeuk’s help, even hostile factions butting heads like jagged stones might at last know peace.

Thus he returned with hope in his heart.

But the very next day, his hope was shattered.

Before dawn, noise and commotion outside roused Muyeon from sleep. Opening the door to see what was happening, he spotted Kang Ung stumbling out bleary-eyed from the next chamber.

“I’ll find out.”

Kang Ung went off, but returned before long with a face drained of all color. Dread gripped Muyeon’s chest.

“What happened?”

Kang Ung struggled wordlessly, lips trembling, before at last forcing himself to speak.

“Master Je, Master Je Cheondeuk’s dojo… it has…”

Someone suddenly shoved Kang Ung back inside and in the same motion stormed through the door to seize Muyeon by the collar, hurling him outside.

It all happened in an instant.

Unprepared, defenseless, Muyeon was flung hard onto the courtyard. Pain slammed into him and his breath choked out in gasps.

What was happening?

As he lifted his head weakly, his eyes met a row of countless black boots standing packed before him.

“Young Master!”

Kang Ung screamed, rushing forward, but a burly martial man blocked his path. Another dragged Bang Gyeom from the corner of the room and tossed him down beside Muyeon like a discarded thing. All of them—disciples of the Wudang Sect.

“Because of you, my elder brother is dead!”

“We’ll avenge our senior brother’s blood!”

One of the Wudang disciples drew his sword, shouting fiercely. Grief and rage combined to make his voice tremble.

Muyeon raised his torso, dazed. His mind was in such turmoil he could not piece anything together. Dead? Who was supposed to have died? Whose vengeance were they speaking of?

“This… this must be some mistake. Just yesterday, he was recovering well. How could he be…?”

“Stop pretending! It was just as you said yourself—yesterday our brother finally managed to rise from his sickbed! The physician assured us there’d be no aftereffects and that he’d recover fully. But this morning when we found him, he was already…”

The disciple’s voice faltered as sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword tip to Muyeon.

“If not you, then who else could have harmed our brother? Enough is enough. A life for a life!”

He swung without hesitation.

Stunned, his head blank from the shocking words, Muyeon failed to dodge or block in time and squeezed his eyes shut.

But the pain he expected never came. Opening them, he saw Bang Gyeom gripping the blade with his bare hands.

“…Calm yourselves. The Seventh Young Master did not harm your sect brother.”

“As if we’d believe the words of a demon cult! You must be an accomplice. I’ll kill you both together!”

The disciple shouted, straining his grip, but the blade, seized fast in Bang Gyeom’s scar-knuckled fist, did not budge an inch. Instead, blood streamed steadily down from his clenched hand.