TSBIRBV Ch 228

Chapter 228 Star Instructor of the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains (5)

Their training lasted until late afternoon. Only when the sun had sunk behind the ridges of the Ten-Thousand-Great-Mountains did Haryang put away the wooden sword. Yegyeol collapsed where he stood.

At first, he had endured for the joy of it, and later, through sheer stubborn grit. But when the tension left him, his legs trembled, and his arms could scarcely hold strength.

It was the fault of muscles he rarely used.

From experience, he knew he would recover soon enough, yet at present he felt like an old man past eighty.

Testing his condition, Yegyeol looked up at the man standing solid before him. Seeing the worried gaze turned upon him, he forced a bright grin as if nothing were amiss, and saw Haryang’s expression relax in relief.

It’s not Senior Brother’s fault.

When those steady eyes lit with conviction, believing wholly that Yegyeol could succeed, how could he possibly admit defeat? Showered with praise upon praise, he had lost himself like a cat intoxicated on silvervine, throwing himself into the Thunder Spirit Fist.

Thanks to his Senior Brother’s guidance, he managed to mimic its form without inner energy, rendering the flow of linked movements surprisingly credible. He had nearly memorized the entire sequence.

Applying it in real combat, however, was another matter entirely.

Yet Yegyeol trusted himself.

When the time comes, I’ll manage somehow.

“Up you get.”

Haryang extended a hand. Taking it, Yegyeol let himself be pulled to his feet. The arm that steadied him felt harder than usual, muscles tight from swordplay. Yegyeol stifled the urge to press against that firmness with his fingers.

“You’ll be fine so long as you avoid trying to grasp a blade.”

From his robes, Haryang drew the spirit-hound’s sword. Yegyeol reached out to take it, but Haryang smoothly pulled it back.

“A martial artist can channel qi into a weapon. Catch it barehanded, and you could be gravely hurt.”

Speaking gently, he reached forward to wipe the beads of sweat from Yegyeol’s brow.

“Ah.”

Yegyeol had shrunk back slightly, fearing his sweat might offend. But the cool hand calmed him, and he simply nodded into the touch.

“I thought, since you matched your speed to mine, I could manage to catch it. My hand just moved on its own.”

“A spar is still only a spar. Your power is unlike any in the Jianghu—devastating and unique. But it has limits. You cannot gather inner energy, cannot shield yourself with protective qi. Because it was only a wooden sword today, without sword-qi or sword-gang, it may have felt safe. Real combat is different.”

Withdrawing his hand, Haryang’s voice grew stern.

“In the blink of an eye, you could lose a hand.”

Even a pair of chopsticks, with qi imbued, could reap a life. Haryang wanted Yegyeol ready for such threats.

“Yes.”

Yegyeol nodded earnestly. Though Espers healed quickly, he knew well that a severed hand would never regrow.

“Perhaps because of that recovery, you tend to accept injuries lightly. But in true battle, any wound yields an opening to your enemy.”

All Haryang wished to impress upon him was one thing:

Avoid direct confrontation.

Yegyeol understood another reason left unsaid.

He could not wield protective qi, yet his recovery was abnormally swift. Any sharp-eyed foe, after a few exchanges, would realize something was strange.

The lightning itself he concealed so as not to be branded a sorcerer. If, after all this effort at mastering martial forms, he failed to deceive in actual combat, then all would be for naught.

“Your priority must be evasion and deflection. Do not meet them head-on unless you must.”

Haryang’s tone was serious, repeating the warning as if it could never be said enough.

“I’ll remember.”

Listening in silence, Yegyeol nodded obediently. Haryang gazed at him quietly, his expression faintly troubled, almost anxious.

Why?

Puzzled, Yegyeol met his eyes. Haryang hesitated, then spoke.

“Does my teaching… frustrate you?”

“In what way?”

“Martial men are taught never to retreat before an enemy. Yet here I am, telling you to avoid them.”

“Well… honestly, I’ve never been much drawn to martial arts.”

Yegyeol wrinkled his nose.

“When I first entered Kunlun, I was more interested in the food than the sutras. I went because I wanted to meet my benefactor—my Senior Brother.”

If he had possessed outstanding talent and earned Baekyang Jin-in’s recognition, perhaps he would have spent more time at his Senior Brother’s side.

“Even now, it’s not that I yearn to master martial arts. I just need a way to blend into this world. I’m not here to save anyone, nor to earn renown.”

Speaking thus before a man who had dedicated his entire life to martial arts made him feel slightly sheepish. Wasn’t it arrogant to say he sought neither the path of a hero nor that of a warrior?

But Yegyeol knew Je Haryang would understand without reproach.

“I just want to be with you for a long, long time.”

“….”

He glanced at Haryang’s face, but could not read his expression. Feeling awkward, he scratched at the back of his head.

“What kind of shallow disciple seeks teaching with such a heart? Truly, I must be the problem.”

“No.”

Haryang’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

“It is the teacher who is lacking. You are a child so clever anyone would wish to take you as their disciple.”

His heavy yet tender hand ruffled Yegyeol’s hair. Yegyeol opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and instead grinned foolishly.

Sunlight poured warm upon the training ground.

At dusk, Yegyeol woke.

Blinking into the dark, his eyes adjusted quickly. He rolled over, lying on his stomach. The muscle aches that plagued him by day had vanished, his body now wholly recovered. Sharing a bed with a guide more potent than any wild ginseng had its effect.

He studied Haryang’s face quietly. His breathing was deep, steady.

Should he pinch his nose, perhaps? Mischief stirred. Instead, Yegyeol reached out and began braiding strands of his hair. Silken locks slid between his fingers.

The ends had been trimmed neatly—likely because Yegyeol had hacked through them while trapped in the formation—so they were shorter than before.

When I awoke to see him drenched in blood, I was so shocked I didn’t even gather the cut hair…

It pained him to think of it, though he never spoke of it aloud. Asking Haryang to cut it anew? He would sooner slice his own flesh.

Finishing the braid, Yegyeol held its end and teased it lightly across Haryang’s lips. When the firmly shut eyelids twitched, his lips curled faintly upward.

“Won’t you wake?”

He whispered playfully, swinging his legs lazily.

“Someone approaches.”

Haryang’s lashes stirred. His black eyes opened, calm and mirror-clear, as though he had never slept. They fixed on Yegyeol.

“You noticed.”

Yegyeol nodded.

Turn your head, and you could see them—the sparks of bioelectricity flowing through the approaching figures’ bodies. Not one or two, but so many, dazzling bright.

“Will you wait inside?”

Haryang’s voice, only slightly languid, carried no trace of drowsiness.

“No. Real combat has walked to my doorstep—what kind of martial man would refuse?”

Feigning nonchalance, Yegyeol invoked the code of warriors. Haryang’s lips curved faintly at the sight.

“Then let us receive our guests.”

Rising, he draped an arm around Yegyeol’s shoulders, and with a flick of his other hand, the chamber doors burst wide. The black-clad intruders faltered visibly.

Their weapons, darkened as if smeared with charcoal, gleamed no whit in the moonlight. Their purpose was plain. Even realizing their perfect ambush had failed, they did not flee. They rushed instead for the bed where the two men had been.

They advanced noiselessly, as if running upon clouds.

Even caught off guard, they adapted instantly, forming a tightening encirclement. The situation was, on the surface, a perfect trap.

Yegyeol gently pushed aside his Senior Brother’s arm and stepped down to the floor.

“I’ll be right back.”

Without glancing back, he spoke, and golden currents shimmered in his eyes.

The black-clad men had thought him merely the Heavenly Demon’s cherished pet. Now they sensed something far more ominous, yet still struck without hesitation.

Clad only in a thin sleeping robe, Yegyeol had no intention of standing still to meet them. His bare feet struck the floor.

First form…

He channeled current through his hand and slammed the skull of the first attacker into the ground.

The crash thundered. The body crumpled, twitching. Yegyeol winced.

Too much?

There was no time to linger. Planting a foot on the fallen foe, he vaulted forward.

Seeing their comrade felled so easily, the next attacker steadied his blade and cast hidden weapons to widen the gap.

With a flick of Yegyeol’s hand, a curtain of lightning spread, charring the projectiles to black before they clattered to the ground. He had mimicked the sword barriers Haryang and Samrang often used.

“What sorcery—!”

The muffled cry came from beneath a mask. Only the eyes showed, but their shock was unmistakable.

“Fortunate, aren’t you.”

Yegyeol bared his teeth in a sharp grin.