HDCLSSRS Ch 151

Chapter 151 Choice (1)

“It’s too late to kill me now. Even if you do, you won’t escape. Let it go.”

“Hah… you still don’t understand anything, do you?”

“What?”

The blade did not turn toward Young Master Muyeon. Instead, Paeng Wongeum pointed it at his own heart.

“I have no intention of running. Nor do I intend to deny what I’ve done.”

“W–what are you doing?!”

Slowly, the tip of the sword pressed toward Paeng Wongeum’s chest. Shocked, Muyeon tried to pull his hand away, but Paeng Wongeum did not let go.

Puk.

His entire body went rigid. Beneath his palm, he could feel the blade pierce through flesh and muscle — the sickening sensation of something sharp slicing deep, layer by layer.

Paeng Wongeum’s brow furrowed from the pain, but even then, he refused to release his grip. Their joined hands trembled violently, their combined struggle driving the sword ever deeper.

“Are you insane?!”

Muyeon’s face drained of color, his voice breaking into a shrill scream.

“I told you… this is to awaken you, Young Master…”

Paeng Wongeum was smiling — his lips stained with blood.

“This time, you’ll never escape the truth.”

Even as life ebbed from him, he didn’t let go of Muyeon’s hand. His grip was so tight that the blood had long drained from his fingers, turning them a lifeless white.

Then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed toward them. Within moments, the narrow corridor filled with people, their bodies pressing against the walls as they froze at the sight before them.

Through the crowd, Muyeon caught sight of Sanggeol, his face ghostly pale. The expeditionary group had returned already. And among them—

A familiar tall figure emerged from behind a pillar, every motion slowed as though time itself had thickened. Baek Ryeoil.

Muyeon could see the exact moment his expression changed — the irritation on his face giving way to disbelief, then to horror.

That single heartbeat felt as long as eternity.

Finally, Paeng Wongeum’s fingers lost their strength. He collapsed, blood gushing from his chest in a crimson torrent. Muyeon, drenched in red, staggered back one step, then another.

Shouts and screams broke through the air. People rushed forward, laying Paeng Wongeum’s body flat—

Something slammed into Muyeon from behind, forcing him to the ground.

“Murderer!”

“…”

Even through the haze of chaos, Muyeon’s gaze locked on one person.

Baek Ryeoil.

He stood rooted in place, his face frozen in shock — an expression Muyeon had never seen before.

No. It wasn’t me.

Muyeon tried to speak, but his throat refused to work; only a faint breath escaped, like wind passing through broken glass.

Baek Ryeoil’s eyes closed — the agony in them sharp and clear. The moment they did, Muyeon felt a blunt impact against his skull, and his vision went black.

A loud thud jolted him awake. Muyeon groaned as his body hit the floor — someone had shoved him hard. His vision swam in gray fog. He shook his head several times, but the world only spun faster.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Move aside!”

Angry shouts erupted, followed by the clang of weapons colliding.

Muyeon tried to stay conscious, pushing himself halfway up, but dizziness overtook him. His limbs turned to water, and the darkness swallowed him again.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he next opened his eyes. The world was still. Blinking up at the ceiling in confusion, Muyeon slowly sat up, every muscle aching as though he’d been beaten senseless.

Cold iron surrounded him.

He was in a cell — the same one where Seong Mujai had once been held.

“Y–Young Master! You’re awake?”

From outside the bars, Kang Ung ran up, clutching the iron grate. He had clearly been waiting for this moment.

“What happened?”

“They… they brought you here while you were unconscious.”

“I think I heard fighting before I blacked out… what was that?”

Muyeon frowned, trying to recall the last fragments of memory.

“The crowd stormed the prison. If the masters hadn’t stopped them in time, it would’ve been terrible. They’re guarding this place now.”

Kang Ung’s face was pale as he spoke, as if reliving the panic.

“What about the others? Seo Munyuha? Bang Gyeom? Jang Hansu?”

“Master Jang woke up earlier, but Seo Mun Gongja still hasn’t regained consciousness. As for Bang Gongja… he disappeared in the confusion. No one’s seen him since.”

So he managed to escape.

A faint breath of relief left Muyeon’s chest. Everything had fallen apart, but at least one thing had gone right.

“Stay here, Young Master. My master said to tell him the moment you woke up.”

Kang Ung looked as if he wanted to say more, but hesitated, then turned and left.

Muyeon leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled deeply. Slowly, his memories began to return in full.

How… how could Paeng Wongeum have been the spy?

He spread his hands, staring at them in silence. Dried blood clung to his palms, and the faint cut from Jegal Un’s metal fan wire had scabbed over.

The feel of the dagger’s hilt — the tension of Paeng Wongeum’s hand clasped around his — the sickening resistance of the blade as it tore through flesh — all of it replayed vividly in his mind.

Paeng Wongeum is dead…

Or was he?

It didn’t make sense. To throw away his life merely to frame one man — it was madness. Muyeon couldn’t understand.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

How could Paeng Wongeum do this?

He had believed in him — admired the strength that hid behind his gentleness, even considered him the last light in a chaotic world.

But it was all a lie.

Paeng Wongeum had been nothing but a man consumed by vengeance so deep it devoured his sanity.

Muyeon curled into himself, covering his face with both hands.

And I never even saw it…

The creak of a door broke the silence. Muyeon’s head snapped up.

Baek Ryeoil stood in the doorway.

At the sight of him, Muyeon’s throat tightened. He crawled forward on his knees and gripped the bars.

But the closer Ryeoil’s footsteps drew, the more Muyeon wanted to shrink away. His head lowered; his eyes burned with unshed tears.

“…”

When he finally opened his eyes, he could see only the tips of Ryeoil’s boots beyond the bars. The man stood there for a long time, saying nothing.

What kind of face is he making right now?

Muyeon couldn’t bring himself to look up.

Unable to bear the silence, he finally spoke first.

“Paeng Wongeum…”

“He’s dead.”

Muyeon froze. Ryeoil’s voice was lower than he’d ever heard it — flat, heavy, and cold enough to make his breath catch.

“You…”

Ryeoil’s voice trembled.

“…I don’t know what to do with you.”

When Muyeon finally lifted his head, it felt like lightning struck through his body.

Ryeoil’s face was twisted with fear.

Not anger. Not disgust. Fear.

For the first time, Muyeon realized that Ryeoil cared for him far more deeply than he had thought — that his feelings ran terrifyingly deep.

That realization made him desperate.

“Y–you believe me, don’t you? I didn’t kill him. Paeng Wongeum… he did it himself! I don’t know why—”

Muyeon’s voice shook as he poured out everything — how Seo Munyuha had brought Yang Hagakju, how they’d followed Jegal Un out of suspicion, how they’d entered the underground chamber beneath the Central Hall.

“Paeng Wongeum was a Hwahjeonggol. He used Jegal Un to lure the alliance into a trap.”

“Stop talking.”

“He stole the Spirit Seal—”

“I said stop!”

Ryeoil’s voice cracked, sharp and raw. Muyeon flinched, silenced at once.

“Don’t you understand? None of that matters anymore! Who was the spy, who used whom — it doesn’t matter now! The moment Paeng Wongeum died, the truth stopped mattering!”

“…”

“Jang Hansu swears it was Jegal Un, but he remembers nothing clearly. Jegal Un himself just sits there like an empty shell. Meanwhile, you—” his voice broke, “—you were seen holding the sword. Dozens of people saw you kill him. Do you understand what that means?”

“Ryeoil…”

“You…”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“…You’re not leaving this place alive.”