TSBIRBV Ch 183

Chapter 183. Pillow-Side Litigation (10)

A black bird, loosed by someone’s hand, cut across the sky.

Jinyoung? Yegyeol wondered, trying to gauge where the bird had been released, though from his vantage point he could not tell.

Far above the gorge, figures stood poised on the high cliffs. At the sweep of their dark-blue banners, the deep, resonant pounding of drums began, and the colossal gate slowly yawned open.

It was like the maw of some abyssal beast, black and unending, from which one might never return.

What lurked beyond, Yegyeol dared not even imagine.

The carriage began to roll forward again, its movement deceptively smooth. Yegyeol expected Haryang to close the window, but his Senior Brother remained seated as serenely as a painted figure.

Yet it was not hard to sense the tension running through him.

Though his gaze appeared careless, never resting directly on his disciple, every subtle shift in Yegyeol’s breathing, every twitch of restless fingers, every turn of the head to absorb the foreboding scenery—Haryang’s posture adjusted in response.

The carriage emerged from the narrow gorge. Yegyeol now saw ranks of people arrayed before them. Their clothing seemed ordinary enough, yet its cut was subtly distinct from that of Central Plains attire. Like soldiers gathered for some vast ceremonial event, they held their places in ordered lines.

Yegyeol tried counting their numbers, but gave up. The further the carriage rolled, the more stretched the ranks became, as though they multiplied without end.

Then, as Haryang’s carriage cleared the gorge fully, every person dropped to their knees and prostrated.

“The Heavenly Demon has returned!”

“Ten thousand horses rejoice!”

One voice led, another echoed, and soon the chant surged like a tidal wave.

“The Heavenly Demon returns, ten thousand horses rejoice!

The Heavenly Demon returns, ten thousand horses rejoice!”

No whip cracked, no overseer commanded, yet the voices rang out in perfect unison—so fervent it bordered on madness.

When first beholding the Shishan Range, Yegyeol had felt overwhelmed. Now he was engulfed in an entirely different sense of awe.

This was no ordinary sect.

These were not disciples of a martial order. They were worshippers, acolytes of a god—the Heavenly Demon.

I think I might be sick…

It was like that dread of walking into school knowing the homework was left undone: a gnawing pull in the gut, the flutter of butterflies battering against his insides.

He feared the future his actions had summoned.

When he shrank back, curling his shoulders, Haryang’s arm wrapped warmly around him. Amid the alien landscape, the touch of guiding energy steadied him.

Still, the chants roared, relentless, as though a single phrase were recorded and endlessly replayed.

At last the carriage halted. A cautious knock resounded at the door. Yegyeol’s eyes rolled anxiously, seeking some clue. His Senior Brother moved.

“Forgive me a moment.”

Haryang pressed his disciple’s acupoints—both throat and heart channels.

“Ah—!”

Not only was Yegyeol’s voice sealed, but his body slumped limp, a puppet bereft of strings.

This is his home ground anyway. Even if I tried to run, I’d be caught instantly. Why bind me like this?

Rolling his eyes in mute protest, Yegyeol grasped at Haryang’s reasoning.

“Understand me,” Haryang murmured. “This place is dangerous. Should you bolt, you might be hurt.”

So—that was it. He feared panic.

But I had no thought of fleeing.

The shock of learning his Senior Brother’s true identity aside, Yegyeol had no desire to abandon him. As a fish cannot live outside water, so too an Esper[1] could not leave his Guide.

Even if he dared dream of escape, it was impossible. Against such numbers, against the entire Demon Sect, stealth was futile. Suppose by miracle he slipped past—what awaited beyond but the desert? No Esper could cross it unaided.

And in truth, Yegyeol had no wish to.

“Come.”

Haryang kissed his disciple’s fingertips tenderly, then looped Yegyeol’s arm over his neck and lifted him into his embrace.

The carriage door opened. Cradled in the arms of the man he once thought only his Senior Brother, Yegyeol was carried into the very heart of the Demonic Sect he had so long imagined as enemy territory.

“The Heavenly Demon returns! Ten thousand horses rejoice!”

The ocean of voices crashed around them, full of worship, adoration, and unbridled fanaticism.

And yet Haryang walked slowly forward, unmoved.

The torrent of madness seemed powerless to engulf him. It was the bearing of one who knew beyond doubt that nothing in this world could.

Yegyeol, locked within his own body, could only watch the straining throats, the raw cords of the zealots as they screamed. It sickened him. Their fervor hammered home a truth: this was no dream, no illusion.

Soon the reason for disembarking became clear. A stairway rose before them.

The higher they ascended, the fewer men stood, yet each radiated strength tenfold greater.

Yegyeol, who had half-believed the brainwashing tales that “the Demonic Sect is evil, its followers devils,” felt himself shrink instinctively.

But no one cares about me…

All gazes fixed unwaveringly on Haryang. Not one so much as spared curiosity for the short-haired youth borne in his arms.

Not stupidity—disinterest.

There’s no reason for them to care…

Haryang did not simply command them. He was their god. To serve him was to serve as one body, without question.

And that was more terrifying than any army.

Yegyeol looked up. His Senior Brother’s face, turned only forward, felt stranger than it ever had.

No… no, it’s me who’s changed.

Haryang had never altered. It was Yegyeol who had forced him into the mold of a hero, refusing to see. Even after glimpsing him as the Black Ghost, even after Jinyoung spoke of his expulsion, he had blamed the orthodox sects instead.

Haryang had hidden the truth not out of shame, but out of kindness.

It’s my fault…

Heavy guilt pressed down.

At the final tier, just before the summit, six figures fell to their knees. Their adornments, their garments, their aura—they were clearly among the highest of the Sect.

For the first time, Yegyeol felt eyes upon him. Skilled though they were at masking, he could not mistake the subtle glances.

But Haryang passed them by with indifference. Yegyeol thought he would continue through the next doors—until he heard him speak, without turning.

“Lord Gong.”

An elder stepped forth from among the six, bowing low. His hands, held forward, were pale and translucent as carved jade, incongruous against his time-worn face.

“You sent a welcome most intriguing. I shall summon you later for due commendation.”

“…I await your call.”

With Yegyeol in his arms, Haryang moved onward. Wooden doors opened soundlessly without need of keeper.

Only after passing several such did they come before a towering black hall, so grand its weight seemed to crush the beholder.

〈Hall of the Azure Shape〉

No sooner had Yegyeol read the plaque than Haryang stepped within.

“This is my dwelling,” he said, as though showing off a new home.

“The bedchamber lies deepest. Down this corridor, turn left, and you may reach the adjoining hall, where I’ve had a bathhouse prepared—you’ll like it.”

His disciple, limp and voiceless, could only lie there. Yet Haryang’s voice was faintly alight, betraying excitement.

“The courtyard is planted with rare blooms unseen in the Central Plains. There were poisonous herbs, but I had them cleared—nothing here can harm you now.”

Yegyeol’s eyes trembled.

Had Haryang always intended to bring him here, preparing even the smallest details in advance?

“I know it must seem frightening. But even here, people live. Do not fear too much.”

‘People live here’… His old Senior Brother would never have spoken so.

Haryang’s shadow stretched long down the corridor as he walked.

At last they reached the bedchamber. As always, the doors opened at his touchless will.

The chamber was more lavish than Haryang’s austere quarters at Cheonghae Manor. Where once there had been nothing but barrenness, here stood elegant furnishings, heavy with grace.

Round windows looked out onto the courtyard; before them, silk screens strung with jade and pearl beads hung low, veiling the bed. A lotus-shaped incense burner of exquisite craft gleamed to one side.

And yet—there was no trace of human life. No flowers in the vases, no writing tools upon the carved tables.

Haryang laid Yegyeol gently upon the bed and released the acupoints.

“A-ah…”

Yegyeol touched his throat, parted his lips, and found his voice again.

He gazed at Haryang, words tumbling at the edge of his tongue, but too much had happened in too short a time.

“This foolish Senior Brother has frightened you.”

He brushed Yegyeol’s cheek softly, recognizing his hesitation.

“But I am a wretched man…”

He took Yegyeol’s hand, pressing his face into the palm.

“…and yet, having you here brings me joy.”

With eyes closed, his face seemed almost serene.

Footnotes:

1. Heavenly Demon (천마, Cheonma) – Title of the absolute ruler of the Demonic Sect. Revered like a living god, both feared and worshipped. 
2. Ten Thousand Horses Rejoice (만마앙복) – A ritual chant of the Demonic Sect, signifying prosperity and glory under the Heavenly Demon’s reign.