HDCLSSRS Ch 134

Chapter 134 Kill and Erase the Mouths(5)

“That’s sophistry!”

Someone shouted, face reddened as if personally insulted.

“How could killing demonic cultists be the same as what we did? You murdered companions within your own ranks!”

“And what about your mother? How do you explain killing your own mother?”

Seong Muyeon’s face turned cold, and his chest seemed to freeze over along with it. Dozens of people with hostile expressions surrounded him.

Deliberately avoiding the sight of where Kang Ung and Paeng Wongeum stood, Muyeon forced his stiff lips open.

“I do not wish to talk about that.”

“Nonsense! You’ve nothing to say, that’s why! Lord Yang, why don’t you tell us in detail again.”

People looked to Yang Ha-gakju as though expecting clarification, and he stepped forward.

“There isn’t much to explain. The devilish Seventh Young Master Seong Muyeon’s eyes went red one day, and he summoned a storm of blood. According to my informants, the young boy stormed into a banquet hall without warning and, before all present, slaughtered three hundred unarmed cult members before he was finally subdued. Later, they found the Seventh Young Master’s mother lying dead in her chambers. Who else could it have been?”

“Have you ever seen a more heinous parricide? Do you think it’s acceptable to harbor such a one in your midst? Most likely he killed Master Je Cheondeuk as well! I’ve heard Cheondeuk obstructed him, so he must have removed him.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, to do something so foolish? If I had wanted revenge, I would have waited until everything was settled and then dealt with it quietly when no one was watching.”

Muyeon gazed at Lord Yang in silence. The ratlike man blanched visibly, then slipped timidly back into the crowd.

“Just look at him!”

“Chilling, truly.”

At that moment, a young disciple of Wudang came running up. Elder Hyeonjin bent to hear his hurried whispers, and his face paled.

“…They say there were no traces of foul play on Cheondeuk’s body.”

“W-what…?”

A hush fell at once. Hyeonjin stared long at Muyeon with a troubled look, then released a deep, weighted sigh.

“I must see to my disciple’s remains now. You all, come with me.”

“…Yes, Elder.”

At his sharp, commanding gaze, the Wudang disciples pulled back, their expressions subdued. Their fury, with its target now uncertain, turned once more into sobbing grief.

As the Wudang Sect filed away dragging their steps, the remaining crowd stood awkwardly, not daring to meet Muyeon’s eyes.

He threw them one last cold look before he turned and walked off.

“…”

A heavy silence lingered after his departure. None dared move, each watching the other uneasily, until at last someone broke the quiet.

“S-shouldn’t we follow him?”

No one volunteered. Time passed with everyone wavering uncertainly until one man at last drew his weapon.

“We can’t just let him go.”

“That’s right. Whatever happens, we must at least capture him and talk after.”

“Let’s do it!”

“Stop this! Didn’t you hear? Young Master Seong has done nothing wrong!”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Kang Ung spread his arms wide, blocking their way. But before so many men, the boy’s figure was too small, too fragile.

“Silence! How dare a mere child interrupt the talks of adults! Step aside. Are we to leave unchecked a man who could spell great danger to us all?”

Weapons were drawn, the crowd ready to rush in pursuit, when suddenly a blade’s sharp aura slashed down before their feet.

“The Merciless Sword!” 

Baek Ryeoil stood there, glaring at them with eyes sharp as blades. The upper half of his robe flapped open because his broken arm was braced tight against his chest, revealing his bandage-wrapped torso. His sickness still showed starkly, but his gaze blazed more vivid and alive than ever.

With an expression cool and unyielding, he swept his gaze slowly across each face, a warning like the edge of steel.

The air froze—no one dared breathe or move.

Then, in an instant, Baek Ryeoil turned and strode off in pursuit of Muyeon, who was already far ahead.

“What are you all doing, cowering before an invalid?!”

Yang Ha-gakju barked at the stony crowd, then, unable to suppress his own agitation, stormed away.

Though he left the manor with reckless strides, once outside, Muyeon halted. A wide road stretched before him, filled with peasants and merchants hurrying along.

He drew a shallow breath.

There was nowhere for him to go.

He walked aimlessly, letting his feet carry him wherever they might, until at last he stood staring down at the curving river where he had once fallen.

His face contorted bitterly. His mood was foul.

‘Should have cursed them more.’

His anger boiled unresolved. He repeated the words stubbornly, even as the chill wind scraped sharply at his skin.

The shocked faces of Kang Ung and Paeng Wongeum flashed before his mind. What must they think of him now? Perhaps he should return and explain a little more. They were among the very few who had ever offered him trust in his life.

But picturing himself stammering excuse after excuse filled him only with anguish.

‘Who would believe me, anyway?’

Grinding out curses between his teeth, Muyeon rubbed at his eyes.

What tormented him more than anything else was the way his mother’s final image kept surging back to him.

The tightly locked box inside his heart—the one he had buried deep—was opening at last.

At the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot, Muyeon turned around.

Baek Ryeoil was standing there.

Meeting that hard face, Muyeon felt his heart plunge straight down an abyss. Cold spread across his chest, then, all at once, his heart began to hammer. His limbs went weak, his legs shook.

“Go away.”

He turned his body. Right now he didn’t want to face anyone. Especially not Baek Ryeoil.

“Seong Muyeon.”

“I said just go!”

When the man’s hand touched his shoulder gently, Muyeon flinched as if struck.

“Judging by your reaction, it doesn’t sound like those were lies he spouted. Was it true?”

“…”

Muyeon’s face twisted in misery. With all the uproar outside his door, Ryeoil could not help but have overheard.

Anger, irritation, and beneath it all, shame.

And he had always known at heart. The words he rattled off as self-justifications—“There was a reason,” “They deserved to die”—had never been anything but excuses to protect himself.

“And if it is true? Will you also point a sword at me, Master?”

His voice was laced with sarcasm, but trembled so terribly that it lost its bite.

And no one was more shocked at these words than Muyeon himself. When they first met, he’d feared Baek Ryeoil could kill him as easily as crushing an ant. He had tried countless times to keep away, out of his reach.

And now—now he threw out words making himself an enemy, as though testing him. Had he grown too relaxed? His chest tightened as he waited in trepidation.

Baek Ryeoil, cool and detached, said flatly:

“Do you think I was dumb enough to believe that a man who fights without flinching at rivers of blood has never killed before? I expected as much. And for now you’re keeping still.”

Seeing him shrug his shoulders indifferently, as though this were nothing at all, Muyeon felt cold anger surge.

He ground his teeth.

“Yes. The only reason I’ve done nothing is because I lack strength! Aren’t you lucky? If not, I’d have already slaughtered every last one of them!”

Just like that day—when he cut down all who blocked his path, soaking the earth in hot blood.

“Perhaps you would have,” Baek Ryeoil agreed easily.

The words only sank icy dread into Muyeon’s chest. He did not even know what he wished anymore.

“You seem to be mistaken, though…”

As Ryeoil spoke low, Muyeon squeezed his eyes shut. He dreaded what would come next.

“Do you think I’d ever let you do such a thing?”

Muyeon was struck dumb. For long moments he stared blankly at him, mind emptied.

“I could tie you up and lock you in a room, if necessary.”

“…”

And Baek Ryeoil was the very man who would actually do such a thing.

A hollow laugh escaped Muyeon. Since when had this man grown such boundless tolerance?

Or perhaps… Was this mercy something he showed only to him? The thought made Muyeon’s heart thrum wildly, absurd for the moment. A minute ago he had wanted nothing more than to spill the world’s blood.

But soon ice washed over him again.

Opening his trembling hand, he thought he saw once more the blood that had once drenched it.

“I am no different from the demonic cultists you loathe so.”