HDCLSSRS Ch 156

Chapter 156 Choice (6)

Outskirts of Wuhan, Hubei Province — deep within the mountain woods.

Second Prince Seong Muryong stood at the cliff’s edge, his face as cold and still as the night sky. His gaze was fixed on the manor below — a speck of golden light flickering in the valley like a trapped sun, bright enough to turn midnight into day.

Yeon-ah…

As he thought of his youngest brother, now imprisoned within that place, the severe composure on his face softened for the first time, shadowed by quiet sorrow.

The moment he heard that the Demon Sect’s young master had been captured in Hubei, Muryong had mobilized his elite unit and left the main temple at once. This time, he intended to bring his beloved brother home — no matter the cost.

That Mount Hua bastard must be there too.

His fists clenched. The memory of Baek Ryeoil, the merciless “Sword of Tranquility” who had thwarted him before, made rage surge through his veins. If not for that man, his brother would have already been safely home.

Of course, the Demon Sect was no place of kindness — not even to one of its own princes. But that would soon change. No — he would make it change.

The cult leader was dead. Once his eldest brother, the First Prince, ascended as the new leader, the entire sect would be reborn — a new era rising from the ashes.

I wonder if he’s eating well…

The manor glimmered peacefully in the distance, but Muryong knew that the peace was an illusion. His brother would not be resting there in comfort.

Those wretched bastards!

He struck the tree beside him with a clenched fist. The bark split open with a crack, pale wood gleaming beneath.

How dare they lay hands on Yeon, my brother…!

The journey from Xinjiang to Wuhan had been long and grueling. To reach faster, Muryong had traveled almost in a straight line across provinces, cutting through wilderness, barely stopping at villages. And then came the news — that Seong Muyeon had been thrown into the Jegal Clan’s prison. The fury that rose within him was impossible to quell.

Why is Ilgwang taking so long?

He looked impatiently toward the dark forest, anxiety twisting his chest.

They were trapped between urgency and helplessness. The city of Wuhan was swarming with martial artists, all eager to capture the Demon Prince and claim glory. Because of that, Muryong and his men couldn’t risk entering the city openly. They had taken refuge in the outskirts, hiding in the dense woods.

There was no way to contact their hidden outpost within the city either. In the end, Muryong had no choice but to send Ilgwang, one of his most trusted subordinates, to slip inside alone.

Time dragged on. Finally, the bushes rustled — and Ilgwang emerged.

“Ilgwang! What did you find? How’s Yeon?”

Muryong stepped forward eagerly, but Ilgwang’s dark expression told him all he needed to know.

“…It’s true, my lord. The Seventh Prince has been detained. Our local branch tried to intervene, but there are too many eyes watching.”

“So it’s true, then — the rumor that Yeon killed the Paeng heir.”

“Yes.”

Muryong’s face twisted in disbelief — half grimace, half frown.

The Paeng Clan had always been their sworn enemy; he felt no sorrow for Paeng Wongeum’s death. Yet…

“That’s not like him.”

“I agree,” Ilgwang sighed. “The Seventh Prince could easily handle Paeng Wongeum. But at a time like this… he’d never start something unnecessary.”

“Right.”

“It’s clear we must extract him as quickly as possible. The Paeng Clan in Hebei has surely heard by now. They’ll be marching here in fury. If we don’t act first, it’ll be too late.”

“…That’s dangerous.”

Muryong knew the Paeng Clan’s temper all too well.

“Hm? Who’s that you’ve got there?”

He pointed toward the limp figure dangling from Ilgwang’s grasp.

“This man was loitering near our branch. He seemed suspicious, likely a member of the Demon Sect — I brought him in.”

Ilgwang dropped the unconscious man to the ground. Muryong crouched down to get a better look — the face was unfamiliar.

“Hey, wake up.”

Ilgwang slapped him across the cheek. The man flinched, eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across his face — until they landed on Muryong. His eyes widened in shock.

“Th–The Second Prince?!”

“You know my face,” Ilgwang said. “So you are one of ours.”

“State your name and affiliation,” Muryong ordered, his voice low and commanding.

The man, still dazed, quickly straightened and bowed low.

“M-My name is Bang Gyeom, my lord.”

Bang Gyeom had escaped the manor under Seong Muyeon’s orders. But he had no intention of running for his own life alone. He’d immediately sought out the nearest Demon Sect outpost. Yet after avoiding the area for so long, finding its exact location proved nearly impossible. That was when Ilgwang had discovered him — and struck him down before he could explain.

“Your division?” Muryong asked coldly.

Bang Gyeom hesitated, sweat beading at his temple. The pause made Muryong’s eyes narrow sharply.

Bang Gyeom knew the risk. Officially, the Sixth Prince — Muyeon — was branded a traitor who had killed his own brother and fled. To admit allegiance to him now was to declare himself a criminal as well.

But there was no time for hesitation.

“My lord, I—”

He had barely begun to speak when a faint whistle split the air. A flash — and Bang Gyeom crumpled, lifeless, to the ground.

“Who’s there!”

Muryong and his men drew their weapons in unison, fanning out defensively. From the shadows, a figure emerged into the moonlight.

“It’s been a while, Second Brother.”

“…Third?”

Muryong blinked, lowering his sword slightly.

“I’m sorry for the abruptness,” said Seong Muguk, bowing his head lightly. “He was the last surviving servant of the Sixth. I’ve been tracking him for some time.”

“I see. And the Sixth Prince? I heard rumors on the road, but couldn’t get details — the city’s locked down.”

“I’ve been looking after him,” Muguk replied calmly. “I was planning to return to the main sect once we recovered our youngest brother.”

“My apologies, then. I should’ve taken the lead, but I was caught up in internal affairs at headquarters. I’m grateful you stepped in.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s my duty to assist my brothers. But tell me — what brings you here, Second Brother? You came for the Seventh, didn’t you?”

With a flick of his hand, Muguk gestured to his black-clad subordinates. They silently picked up Bang Gyeom’s body and disappeared into the trees.

“Indeed,” Muryong said. “But we’ve hit an impasse. Too many enemies.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Muguk smiled. “You may borrow my men. I’ve been hesitating to leave as well — it doesn’t sit right with me, abandoning our little brother here.”

“With your help, I’ll rest easier,” Muryong said, clapping his shoulder.

But then his gaze dropped back toward the manor, now faintly glowing beneath the moonlight.

“…What are they doing down there?”

“Bring out the young master of the Jegal Clan!”

Dozens of martial artists surrounded the manor courtyard, their stance exuding menace. At their head stood a middle-aged man, voice booming through the night with internal energy that made the very tiles quiver.

“Who are you to make such a ruckus at this hour?!”

One of the Jegal servants rushed out, shouting indignantly — though his voice trembled slightly. His expression betrayed unease; too many guests were staying at the manor already, and another disturbance could destroy what remained of the clan’s dignity.

“You? The young master? You’re too old for that title,” the intruder sneered.

“State your name. Courtesy demands at least that much.”

“No need to give my name to a servant. Bring out the real young master!”

“You insolent fool!”

At that moment, Kang Ung appeared alongside his fellow disciples to see what the commotion was — and froze when he recognized the shouting man.

“Sunwol’s Master of the Pavilion?”

“You know him?” asked Jang Hansu.

Kang Ung nodded grimly. “Yes. He was involved with the Sixth Prince’s affairs. The owner of that warehouse I mentioned before. I heard he was arrested for running illegal businesses… how is he free?”

Hansu snorted. “He reeks of money. Probably bribed his way out.”

Kang Ung’s eyes swept the armed men surrounding the manor — hard-eyed, dangerous, and clearly not here in peace.

Moments later, Jegal Un pushed through the gathering crowd and faced the intruders.

“I am Jegal Un, young master of the Jegal Clan,” he said coolly. “And you are?”

His sharp gaze moved over them, calm but piercing. The middle-aged man — Sunwol’s Pavilion Lord — faltered slightly. He had heard that Jegal Un had lost his mind after Paeng Wongeum’s death. Yet the man standing before him now was composed, steady, and radiating authority.

For the first time, the intruder’s confidence wavered.