HDCLSSRS Ch 162

Chapter 162 Truth (1)

Baek Ryeoil was not in his right mind.

His intent was clear — to bind Seong Muyeon by any means necessary. There would be no more restraint, no half-hearted sparring like before.

Muyeon’s heart pounded violently, his palms slick with cold sweat. And yet, beneath the fear, the grief, and the tension, a strange thrill stirred — an inexplicable pulse of excitement that only those born to battle could feel.

Just how long could I last against Baek Ryeoil at his full strength?

He knew victory was impossible. But hadn’t he already managed to strike Seong Muguk once when the man was off guard?

He was, after all, still a warrior.

Baek Ryeoil’s blade gleamed sharply under the pale light. He came at Muyeon without mercy — every movement clean, efficient, and meant to disable. The sheer focus in his eyes said it all: he fully intended to make Muyeon incapable of resistance.

Muyeon met each strike by a hair’s breadth, as if walking a tightrope between life and death. There was no chance to counter.

But something strange began to happen — Baek Ryeoil’s strikes weakened. His power and speed, once blinding, started to falter, dwindling with every swing.

Then, with a sharp crack, his sword snapped.

Startled, Muyeon instantly withdrew his weapon. Baek Ryeoil stumbled forward, unable to balance, and fell hard to his knees.

“…Dojang?”

Muyeon expected him to rise immediately — but Baek Ryeoil stayed down, his breathing ragged, his face ashen and drenched in sweat. He tried to stand, only to collapse again.

Alarmed, Muyeon infused a bit of internal energy into him to probe his condition. The flow of qi was erratic and blocked. The realization hit him at once.

“…Poison Freak?”

Baek Ryeoil didn’t answer. His labored breaths were the only reply he gave.

Muyeon cursed under his breath.

“You idiot… even in that state, you still pushed yourself like this?”

Frantically, he searched his sleeve — he still had an antidote left from before.

“Don’t go,” Baek Ryeoil murmured weakly.

“If you leave like this,” he whispered, “then the next time we meet… we’ll be enemies.”

Muyeon froze mid-motion.

“Are you really fine with that?”

Baek Ryeoil’s face, twisted in pain, lifted slightly. Though his tone sounded calm, his trembling voice betrayed the plea beneath it. He leaned on his broken sword as though it were a crutch, barely keeping himself upright.

Muyeon drew in a long, steady breath.

“I know,” he said softly. “But there was never a place for me there to begin with. I’m just returning to where I belong.”

He could not drag Baek Ryeoil down with him — not for the sake of selfish attachment. That path would destroy them both.

“Do you really not understand,” Baek Ryeoil rasped, “or are you just pretending not to?”

Finally, he unsheathed his last weapon — the truth.

Muyeon’s heart tightened. He already knew what Baek Ryeoil was about to say. Words that had been cut short twice before — words he was not ready to hear.

“How I feel about you—”

“No matter what you say,” Muyeon interrupted sharply, “my decision won’t change.”

He couldn’t let him finish. If he did, the fragile shell of composure he’d forced upon himself would shatter.

A dry laugh escaped Baek Ryeoil’s lips. He exhaled — and then his body slumped forward.

He’d fainted.

“…”

Muyeon stood frozen for a long time, staring down at him. Even unconscious, the tension in his face had not eased. His furrowed brow, the clenched jaw — it was as if pain still bound him in his dreams.

Muyeon’s hand hovered over his face, trembling, wanting to touch him one last time.

But a voice rang out before he could.

“I knew it! Seong Muyeon!”

Jang Hansu’s figure blurred as he leapt forward, blocking Muyeon’s path of escape. His gaze flicked between the unconscious Baek Ryeoil and the sword in Muyeon’s hand — and his expression twisted in satisfaction.

“So it’s true! You’ve been hiding your real strength all along, pretending to be weak! You might’ve fooled everyone else, but not me!”

He raised his sword in a righteous fury.

“You slipped away once with that act of yours, but this time, it won’t work! Draw your blade, Seong Muyeon — we’ll settle this properly!”

As Jang Hansu’s crazed laughter echoed, Muyeon felt only exhaustion.

“…Can’t you just let me go?”

“Not a chance.”

How distant that moment seemed — when Hansu had once lost control, driven mad by his emotions. It felt like a lifetime ago. Yet clearly, the man had never let it go.

“…Fine,” Muyeon sighed. “But you’ll accept the result, whatever it is.”

“That’s more like it!”

The words had barely left his mouth before Hansu’s eyes widened — Muyeon was suddenly right in front of him. His face registered only a flicker of confusion before the hilt of Muyeon’s sword came crashing down.

Thud!

Foam flecked Hansu’s lips as he collapsed, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

At that exact moment, Kang Ung arrived, eyes wide with horror at the scene before him — his master and Baek Ryeoil both unconscious, and Seong Muyeon standing over them with a drawn sword.

“Y-Young Master…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

His expression was pitiful — like a lost child. He had followed his teachers with all his might, only to find both fallen and the supposed culprit standing alive.

Muyeon offered a faint, bitter smile and reached into his sleeve, taking out a small vial.

“It’s an antidote,” he said quietly. “Give it to him right away.”

He placed it beside Baek Ryeoil’s head instead of handing it over, then rose to his feet.

“Take good care of Baek Dojang.”

Kang Ung pressed his lips together, nodding silently, eyes glistening.

Muyeon looked down at Baek Ryeoil one last time — his teacher, his torment, his tether — and whispered, barely audible:

“Then… let’s hope we never meet again in this life.”

And with that, he turned and left.

Dawn had begun to break beyond the mountain ridge, the cold light of morning spreading slowly over the devastated manor.

The sunlight kissed the ruins gently, as though trying to erase the carnage of the night — but inside, Seong Muyeon felt nothing but desolation.

Was it right to hurt him like that?

Even as he left the manor and entered the forest, he fought the urge to turn back. It took all his will not to run to Baek Ryeoil again.

“Yeon-ah!”

A familiar voice called out. When Muyeon reached the edge of the forest, Seong Muryong appeared, hurrying toward him.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I used your sword well,” Muyeon replied, returning the weapon.

Seeing the expression on his brother’s face, Muryong wisely chose not to press further.

Nearby, Ilgwang and their attendants waited beside a single carriage — ornate and gleaming, utterly out of place in the wilderness.

“I thought the road might be rough,” Muryong said sheepishly, “so I prepared something more comfortable.”

He helped Muyeon into the carriage, and soon, the wheels began to rattle along the uneven mountain path.

Muyeon leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. The final moments with Baek Ryeoil replayed endlessly in his mind — every word, every look.

What do I do now…

It took effort to push those memories aside, to focus again on his original purpose.

“Brother,” he said finally, “I have a request.”

“Anything,” Muryong said at once, visibly surprised. It was rare for Muyeon to ask for help.

“Will you come with me to meet someone?”

“Someone?”

“Lady Yakseon.”

He briefly explained what had happened — how Yakseon had promised to create a medicine that could cure his affliction.

“She said the medicine requires the blood of kin. Sixth Brother was supposed to help, but…”

At the mention of their sixth sibling, Muryong’s face clouded, but he soon smiled faintly.

“If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.”

“Truly?”

“Of course. But Yeon-ah,” he added gently, “you know there are other ways to cure you — even without Yakseon’s help.”

“You mean that Soul-Devouring Pill again?” Muyeon frowned. “Don’t even think about binding my soul with your forbidden techniques.”

“No,” Muryong sighed, “not that.”

He paused, his voice softening.

“I’ve thought a lot since then. Forcing you into something you didn’t want… that was my own selfishness. I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

“Brother…”

“I made a promise to our mother,” Muryong continued quietly. “To keep you safe. I failed her in many ways. The Soul Pill is yours — you owe nothing in return.”

At the mention of their mother, memories resurfaced — sharp, vivid, painful. Muyeon hesitated before speaking.

“…That day,” he said at last.

“That day?”

“The day Mother died.”

“Ah.”

Muryong’s face stiffened.

“Father knew about our plan to escape. I thought someone must’ve spied on us… but Paeng Wongeum said something strange — that it might’ve been someone inside who betrayed us.”

Muyeon chose his words carefully, making it clear he wasn’t accusing — only seeking truth.

“It wasn’t you, right? Father would’ve done that himself. He would’ve.”

“Yeon-ah…” Muryong breathed, his tone heavy with sorrow.

The truth — the one Muyeon had spent years refusing to acknowledge — loomed before him, silent and terrible.

“…Please,” he whispered, “tell me it wasn’t you.”

But Muryong’s lips stayed sealed, his face pale and unmoving.

Muyeon’s heart went cold.

“I see,” he said faintly. “It was you, then, Brother.”