HDCLSSRS Ch 160

Chapter 160 Choice (10)

Step, step—

The sound of footsteps pressing into the earth rang sharply through the air. Even the Ghost-Slayer Unit, who had been fully engaged a moment ago, froze as every ounce of their attention shifted toward the newcomer’s approach.

Only one person had arrived, yet the tide of battle instantly changed.

Though Jang Hansu could not tear his gaze away from his opponent, he didn’t need to look to know who it was. Baek Ryeoil had emerged from seclusion, his energy circulation complete. The sight of his senior brother—someone he often found overbearing—had never been so reassuring.

Jang Hansu even let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

Baek Ryeoil stepped into the center of the battlefield without the slightest trace of fear. His calm, composed gaze swept across the scene, assessing the situation with a serenity that almost defied the chaos around him.

“Where is Seong Muyeon?” he asked flatly.

Kang Ung, who had been trembling with relief at his master’s arrival, blinked before realizing the question was directed at him.

“I… I don’t know, Master.”

“I see.”

Baek Ryeoil tightened his grip on his sword.

There was nothing left to discuss.

This was a battlefield, and battle had its own simple law:

Cut down anyone who raises a blade against your ally.

That was all that mattered.

“Finish this quickly,” Baek Ryeoil ordered. “We join the others afterward.”

“Yes, Master!”

“Your youngest brother is right,” said Seong Muguk calmly. “I killed the Fourth.”

There was no guilt, no remorse in his tone. He spoke as if he were merely mentioning what he’d eaten for dinner.

For a moment, Seong Muryong didn’t even process the meaning. His jaw hung open before the words fully struck him. Rage spread slowly across his once-stunned face.

“Why… why would you do that? What wrong did he ever do to you?!”

“If I must explain,” Muguk replied, tilting his head, “it was because he was weak.”

“What?”

“That’s always been your problem, Brother. Once Father dies, every one of us becomes a contender for the Sect Leader’s position. And yet, you ask me why I removed an obstacle? I can’t understand your confusion.”

“So earlier—you lied to my face. If you were just going to confess now, why bother pretending?”

“Because,” Muguk said with a faint smile, “I didn’t want to kill you. Not yet, anyway. My subordinates were still recovering, and I was short on capable men.”

He stepped forward lightly. At once, Muryong and Ilgwang moved to shield Seong Muyeon, forming a human barrier in front of him.

“And besides,” Muguk continued, “I assumed your presence might make our youngest brother more… cooperative. But it seems I miscalculated. I thought you’d at least hold your tongue until we were clear of this place. Now, by speaking so freely, you’ve placed even yourself in danger. I suppose that just means you never mattered much to him, did you, Brother?”

“You bastard!” Muryong’s face turned crimson with fury. It had been a long time since Muyeon had seen his second brother lose his composure like this.

Muguk merely shook his head in mild disappointment. Then, with a small gesture of his hand, the Ghost-Slayer Unit disengaged from their fights and swiftly surrounded the three men in a tight formation.

“What the…”

The righteous sect warriors, suddenly abandoned by their opponents, froze mid-battle.

The Ghost-Slayer Unit’s swords gleamed as they encircled the brothers, every blade angled inward. There was no escape—one wrong movement, and their hearts would be pierced a dozen times over.

Muryong gritted his teeth as the sound of his own men shouting his name reached his ears from beyond the steel ring.

“You understand what to do,” Muguk said coolly from outside the circle. He was taller than most, and could look easily over the shoulders of his men.

“I hope you appreciate how much effort I’ve gone through for you, Brother.”

“…What are you talking about?” Muryong hissed, his gaze fixed on the sword points inches from his chest.

Muyeon sighed deeply. “Truly…”

Without another word, he ignored Ilgwang’s confused look and reached into his robe. His fingers brushed against the hard lacquered surface of the Spirit Seal’s box. In one motion, he flung it toward Muguk.

Muguk caught it effortlessly with a raised hand.

Slowly, he opened the box.

When his eyes met Muyeon’s again, they curved like crescents.

“At last,” he said softly.

He tilted his palm, letting the now-empty box fall to the ground.

At that instant, a violent storm of qi erupted from the center of the formation.

“Y-Yeon-ah?”

“Seventh Prince!” Ilgwang cried.

The surge of internal energy blasted outward, whipping Muyeon’s hair and robes into a frenzy. When he swept his arm, the Ghost-Slayer Unit’s blades were deflected as though struck by invisible force; their wielders were thrown aside like leaves in a gale.

The circle broke.

Muyeon launched forward, kicking off the ground. His palm, glowing with surging qi, struck straight for Muguk’s throat.

But Muguk pivoted lightly, his movement too quick, and the strike missed by an inch.

Muyeon slid, his boots carving long furrows in the dirt as he spun back, eyes blazing, and charged again.

“You’re angry, little brother,” Muguk murmured.

“How could I not be?!”

Muyeon’s fist shot out, shattering the air with a resounding crack.

“You think you can play god with my life?! You think you get to decide everything for me? It’s my life!”

In a blur, Muyeon vanished from sight—only to reappear right before Muguk. His knee slammed into Muguk’s abdomen.

A thunderous explosion of energy followed, the air rippling like water. Muguk crossed his arms to block, but the sheer impact sent him hurtling backward, crashing through a pavilion wall and out of view.

“Tch. Annoying bastard,” Muyeon muttered, rolling his sore shoulder. Then he realized—the battlefield had gone dead silent.

“…”

“…”

Righteous and demonic warriors alike were frozen in place, mouths agape. For the first time in history, both sides stood united—in collective shock.

“Cut down the Ghost-Slayer Unit!”

The first to recover was Seong Muryong. His voice carried across the field like a commandment. His subordinates, still reeling, instantly turned their blades on the dazed assassins.

“Kill them!”

“For our prince!”

Shouts erupted. Muryong’s soldiers attacked with renewed fury. Somewhere off to the side, a warrior from the Jegal Clan murmured, bewildered, “…They’re fighting each other now?”

“Yeah. What are we supposed to do?”

“What do you mean, what?!” came an indignant roar.

It was Jegal Un, emerging from the shattered prison gates, his face dark with fury.

“Are you all just going to stand there? Don’t you remember how much humiliation these bastards have caused us?!”

“Yes, Young Master!”

“Understood!”

The Jegal Clan warriors joined the fray—reluctantly aligning themselves with Muryong’s men. Their expressions were uneasy, but practicality prevailed: the enemy before them was the greater threat.

The Ghost-Slayer Unit retaliated viciously, striking indiscriminately at everyone. In contrast, Muryong’s forces focused entirely on them, ignoring all others.

Amid the chaos, Sanggeol met Muyeon’s gaze across the courtyard. The old master’s face was drawn with exhaustion. He muttered something under his breath, too weary to yell, before finally turning away.

Then, his voice boomed.

“Mount Hua! Draw your swords! Show no mercy to the enemy!”

“Yes, Master!”

The Wudang Sect refused to be outdone. “Disciples, advance! The heavens shall judge the wicked!”

In an instant, the sky was aflame with color. Mount Hua’s signature Plum Blossom Sword Art painted crimson arcs through the air, while Wudang’s flowing sword energy rippled alongside it.

As battle erupted anew, Muyeon suddenly stiffened. His sharpened senses caught a faint, sharp shift—something foreign amid the chaos.

A shadow.

On the rooftop, a solitary figure stood, robes black as midnight, fluttering in the wind.

Seong Muguk.

He gazed down coldly, his expression unreadable—perhaps even faintly disappointed, as if Muyeon’s defiance was something beneath his notice.

Muyeon met his eyes, burning with fury. Did he really think that throwing him a single pill would make him wag his tail in gratitude?

There were limits to how much a man could be underestimated.

“Muguk… how could you do that to your own brothers?”

Muryong had noticed him too. He gripped his sword tighter, ready to strike.

But before he could act, Muguk raised one hand and leapt backward, vanishing into the darkness.

At that signal, the Ghost-Slayer Unit began to retreat, one by one.

“They’re fleeing! After them!” someone shouted.

Warriors surged forward in pursuit, but as Muryong prepared to join them, Muyeon caught his shoulder gently.

“We have to leave. They’ll come to their senses soon—and when they do, we’ll be the next targets.”

“…You’re right,” Muryong admitted, reluctant but wary.

Though he burned with unfinished rage, he turned away. The three of them—Muryong, Muyeon, and Ilgwang—slipped out of the manor amid the confusion.

But before they could disappear completely, Muyeon halted, glancing back.

In the distance, a violent surge of qi exploded against the horizon—an ominous pulse, fierce enough to shake the earth.