HDCLSSRS Ch 152

Chapter 152 Choice (2)

Baek Ryeoil lowered himself as if his body had collapsed under its own weight. His trembling hand reached through the bars and clasped Young Master Muyeon’s cold fingers.

“By now, the messenger hawk must’ve reached the Paeng Clan in Hebei… Those who tried to stop the people screaming for your death have been injured, and because of that, they’re desperate to drive Mount Hua out of the manor. We won’t hold out much longer. And once the message reaches the Paengs…”

The Paeng Clan would never forgive the man who killed their heir.

His eyes were dark, shadowed with despair.

“That’s why I told you…”

Ryeoil’s head fell forward helplessly. His shoulders shook like trembling leaves as he gripped the iron bars.

“I told you not to get close to Paeng Wongeum…”

“…Ryeoil.”

Muyeon could tell those words weren’t meant as blame. When faced with ruin, humans instinctively searched for a cause — a desperate attempt to make sense of pain, to prepare themselves for what was to come. But who could’ve possibly predicted that Paeng Wongeum would go that far? No matter how careful one is, some disasters can’t be foreseen.

Watching Baek Ryeoil’s suffering, Muyeon’s chest twisted painfully. This man didn’t deserve to bear such torment. Everything that had gone wrong had begun with him — with Muyeon.

After a long silence, Ryeoil finally straightened. When he lifted his head, the helpless grief had vanished. His face was once again that of a cold, resolute martial artist.

“…Stay put. I’ll handle this somehow.”

“How?” Muyeon’s voice was unsteady, tight with fear.

Ryeoil didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked away.

The heavy clang of the cell door closing was the last sound left behind before darkness and silence swallowed Muyeon whole.

Sanggeol sat at an angle, tapping his index finger against the table. The deep furrow between his brows spoke of long, bitter thought. Around him, the room was crowded — disciples of Mount Hua with high standing filled every inch of space, their expressions grim.

The situation was dire.

The mission had ended in complete failure. They had set out to eliminate the Ghost-Slaying Unit, only to find that most of the enemy had fled ahead of time. Someone had warned them. It was a disastrous blunder — and the blame fell squarely on the commander, Jegal Un.

After wiping out the few remnants and scouring the surrounding area to no avail, they returned — only to be met with chaos. Regardless of sect divisions, a successor from one of the Five Great Clans had been slain within the manor — by none other than a supposed ally, a son of the Demonic Sect.

Worse still, senior representatives from various sects had witnessed it with their own eyes.

Sanggeol couldn’t shake the feeling that they had all been pieces in someone’s well-laid game.

Should I have followed Young Master Muyeon’s advice and searched for the spy first?

He was now paying for his own complacency. Who could’ve imagined that the Third Prince of the Demonic Sect had embedded a spy so deep within their ranks? Even now, accepting it felt impossible. To discard all faith in Paeng Wongeum and Jegal Un — two men who had proven themselves countless times — was no easy task.

Paeng Wongeum, the one to blame, is dead… and Jegal Un is in no condition to answer for anything. What a cursed mess.

A heavy sigh escaped him, rumbling from deep in his chest.

The door creaked open. Baek Ryeoil stepped inside. Sanggeol’s frown deepened.

And there’s the boy causing me even more grief.

A few hours earlier, Ryeoil had done the unthinkable — drawing his sword against his own allies in an effort to protect Muyeon. It had taken every ounce of restraint to stop the situation from collapsing entirely. Though his actions might be excused as desperate, the damage was done. Other disciples had sided with him, shielding Muyeon — turning public opinion violently against Mount Hua.

And that wasn’t all. Sanggeol had a sinking feeling this was far from over.

One glance at the cold defiance in Ryeoil’s eyes confirmed it. His stomach churned.

“I’m taking Young Master Muyeon back to Mount Hua.”

Of course. Sanggeol muttered a curse under his breath and sighed heavily.

“You think anyone will allow that?”

“I don’t need permission.”

“Oh? And how do you plan to do that? Draw your sword again?”

Ryeoil said nothing — but the look in his eyes was answer enough. He would, if it came to that.

“Muyeon is the man who killed a clan successor — a criminal guilty of a grave sin. We can’t just spirit him away. You’re already overstepping by blocking access to his cell!”

“So we should let him die, then?”

“If he’s guilty, yes. Let him die — again and again, if that’s what it takes! Who are you to deny the Paeng Clan their vengeance?!”

“Muyeon didn’t kill him.”

“Nonsense! I was there! You were there! You saw him plunge the blade into Paeng Gongja with your own eyes!”

Sanggeol slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming like thunder. But Ryeoil only let out a dry laugh, lifting one corner of his mouth.

“Do you really think Muyeon could have killed Paeng Wongeum?”

“…That…”

Sanggeol’s face faltered. Around them, the other disciples began to murmur — they too had harbored doubts but had been too afraid to voice them.

“Besides, Jegal Un was there too. He could’ve stopped it easily if he wanted — Muyeon wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. So why didn’t he? And why hasn’t he said a word since?”

“I agree with Senior Brother.”

The voice came from Jang Hansu, who had just recovered after being found unconscious in the Central Hall’s underground chamber.

“Hansu! Be quiet!”

But Hansu pressed on, frowning in confusion.

“I still don’t understand what happened. When I came to, everything was already over. I don’t even know how I lost consciousness — or how Paeng Gongja suddenly appeared.”

He clenched his fists.

“And now, Jegal Un — the one we suspected as the spy — claims he remembers nothing and refuses to face questioning. I need to uncover the truth.”

Sanggeol’s eyes darkened. He, too, believed there was more to this than anyone yet knew. But as Mount Hua’s acting representative, he couldn’t allow personal doubt to override proper procedure.

As murmurs spread through the hall, Ryeoil spoke again, his tone calm and deliberate.

“I’m not asking to hide Muyeon forever. I’m asking for time — for the Paeng Clan to cool their fury and for a fair investigation to take place.”

“And if I refuse?”

Sanggeol’s gaze sharpened. From the Paeng Clan’s perspective, this would be an act of betrayal — Mount Hua siding with the murderer. Declaring them enemies would not be unjustified.

“I have full authority here. My will is Mount Hua’s will. The Paeng Clan is a precious ally. We will not risk that alliance for your reckless sympathy.”

“Then treat this as my own decision. I don’t need Mount Hua’s backing.”

“You dare—!”

“If you wish, expel me.”

“You—are you out of your mind?!”

Sanggeol leapt to his feet, fury twisting his features.

“…Master, please calm yourself.”

“Let go of me! Calm? You expect me to stay calm when this ungrateful wretch spits on everything Mount Hua has given him? We raised you, trained you, gave you everything — and this is how you repay us? Have you forgotten your master’s face?”

At the mention of Ma Jincheon, Ryeoil visibly wavered. Seeing that, Sanggeol pressed harder.

“When Senior Ma becomes Sect Leader, who will stand beside him if not you? He’s poured his entire life into you, taking no other disciples because of you. And you’d betray all that — all him — for some demonic prince you barely know? How can you even look at yourself?!”

Ryeoil’s silence stretched long and heavy.

Sanggeol exhaled roughly, softening his tone.

“You know the rule. Expelled disciples of Mount Hua have their tendons severed — their martial arts stripped from them. You’d lose everything.”

“…”

“Ryeoil, Young Master Muyeon isn’t worth this. I know how hard you’ve worked, how far you’ve come.”

When Ryeoil didn’t answer, Sanggeol mistook his silence for hesitation and spoke more gently.

“Think carefully. Don’t throw your entire life away in a moment of—”

“You said expelled disciples have their tendons severed, that their martial arts are reclaimed?”

Ryeoil’s head rose. His eyes gleamed with sharp defiance.

“And you think I’ll just stand there and let you do it?”