TSBIRBV Ch 233

Chapter 233. Biheeyeon (3)

Yegyeol’s body lurched forward with a sharp pull. With his wrist caught and his own strength used against him, retreat was out of the question. Instead of struggling to resist, he stamped the ground and hurled himself straight toward Haryang. Once ensnared in that golden net, escaping was all but impossible.

So the only choice was to charge with all his might.

It was a brutally simple decision, but one all the more effective for its directness. Haryang did not evade the disciple throwing himself at him. Yet at the final instant, with the lightest push of his hand, he altered Yegyeol’s trajectory. In the blink of an eye, the man who had stepped lightly into new footwork was already at Yegyeol’s back. Yegyeol twisted his head aside, pushing away the palm that sought to cover his face.

As though planned from the start, Haryang’s long robes wound around Yegyeol’s wrist. When Yegyeol tried to wrench free and open some distance, he clicked his tongue.

His Senior Brother had favored using cloth against him since the last bout. It seemed a choice meant to minimize injury. Yet for Yegyeol, that cloth proved more troublesome than any blade. Infused with inner energy, it was far tougher than ordinary fabric. It spread as wide as Haryang desired, obstructing vision or binding movement. On the far end of the cloth, Haryang’s lips curved in a languid smile.

“It seems this is as far as you go.”

Rather than be dragged in again, Yegyeol resolved to attempt something new.

“Not necessarily.”

Clutching the strip of cloth Haryang had cast, Yegyeol poured his own energy into it.

The fabric, stretched taut as if pulled from both ends, snapped and whipped violently. Being cloth, not steel, the inner energy Haryang had delicately woven into it strained against the raw power Yegyeol unleashed. It looked as though it might tear at any instant.

A faint trace of surprise flickered across Haryang’s face. The cloth was burning away, starting from Yegyeol’s side.

“You intend to render it useless.”

“I don’t think I can control my strength as delicately as Senior Brother can…!”

Yegyeol’s power was formidable but coarse, unlike Haryang’s refined inner energy. Even if he seized the cloth, he could make little use of it. But Haryang, in losing it, forfeited a means of restraining Yegyeol.

Sensing that persisting would only turn into a futile struggle, Haryang released his hold. Deprived of its thin shield, the silken cloth blackened instantly under the coursing gold of lightning and crumbled into ash.

Freed from his bonds, Yegyeol saw Haryang decisively open the distance. Each time he thought he had caught up, his Senior Brother was suddenly far ahead again, and frustration prickled. Yegyeol chased close on his heels.

Striking at the space Haryang had just occupied, Yegyeol’s hand met only empty air. He clicked his tongue.

Illusory Substitution…!

The man had moved so quickly he left behind a trail of false images, shadows crafted to deceive. Until the very moment his hand passed through, Yegyeol had been convinced it was real. He clicked his tongue in frustration.

Though grateful that his Senior Brother exposed him to every stratagem in the martial world, Yegyeol swallowed a pang of grievance at the unyielding refusal to concede even a single exchange.

Now distant once more, Haryang gazed back at him with cool eyes and a faint smile, as though idly passing time in divine leisure.

Yegyeol too began to seethe. Watching Haryang skirt the line, always just within reach yet untouchable, it was only natural he burned with the urge to break through.

Here… perhaps sturdier than Cheonghyeongjeon?

Convinced he could not touch Haryang otherwise, Yegyeol resolved to use his very last resort. His golden eyes gleamed.

Waves of gold roared about his gaze. He sprinted toward Haryang. As he struck out, the current of lightning coiling around his fist split the air with a savage crackle.

Yet again, Haryang evaded, slipping away with another illusory shift, narrowly beyond reach. His black hair rippled lightly in the wake of the attack. Smirking, Yegyeol let the misdirected blow crash down into the floor.

Bang!

Light split into three streams—no, into five—that surged after the shadowy doubles Haryang had cast.

The golden trajectories split and veered, chasing the distorted images. Yegyeol tightened the reins with iron will.

A crushing pressure filled his body, his veins alive with electric ecstasy. This was a recklessness he had never before allowed himself. Yegyeol, who had always feared his own power, had never dared attempt such wild feats.

For the first time with a clear mind, he wielded his strength in full. The roaring lightning swelled as if about to burst beyond his control, only to be drawn back again—rising and ebbing, a dozen times.

Yegyeol’s strained face twisted in fierce focus. Sweat gathered on the bridge of his nose, then rolled down and fell.

As the lightning traced black scars across the floor, the stone beneath cracked open with splitting jaws.

In a flash, the bolts caught up with the multiplying shadows of Haryang. When the golden waves struck, the illusions shattered, leaving only one.

The true Haryang swept his hand, raising a barrier of energy. He avoided a direct hit, but his long sleeve was scorched black by the lightning.

All of it had happened in an instant.

“Success…!”

Yegyeol shouted, lifting both arms high. Adrenaline surged to his crown, and he grinned in triumph.

He had thought it impossible to ever reach him, had resigned himself to that truth. But to finally catch even a fragment, to graze his Senior Brother’s ankle—it was intoxicating.

“Does it please you so much?”

“Of course.”

The hellish training was over.

Still laughing, Yegyeol glanced around, then flinched at the sight of the charred ground.

As expected of the Cheonma’s training hall, the underground of Taehyangjeon had endured the storm of their clash. Yet the marks, like those left by a giant beast’s claws, remained etched deep.

Over the past days he had mastered the forms of Thunder Spirit Fist and driven his body to its utmost limits. Through this near-real battle, he realized he could now wield his power more freely.

As his body grew stronger, so too did his control.

No longer the boy who, without a guide, suppressed everything for fear of runaway storms, he had at last found balance.

This strength was not the purely dangerous force he had once believed, but something he could command as easily as an extra arm or leg.

“It’s strange,” he murmured dreamily, gazing down at the scorched floor.

He was half drunk on the omnipotence coursing through him.

“What is?”

Haryang handed him a cloth as he asked.

“When I was trapped in that nightmare, and woke to see your face covered in blood. At that moment, I thought—I’ve finally done it, I’ve lost control.”

Overcome with heat, Yegyeol buried his face in the cloth, then slowly raised his head again.

“Even when I was told it wasn’t your blood, I was terrified. I couldn’t even imagine raising a hand against you. But now…”

He stared long at his own palms and muttered,

“…It seems I can.”

“Of course.”

Haryang tilted his head slightly.

“No matter what you do, you cannot harm me.”

The black eyes that met his were calm and assured.

Like the evergreen pine that does not wither in midwinter, like the boundless sea that does not dry even in drought—so too was Haryang’s strength. Yegyeol was strong, but his Senior Brother far surpassed him.

No matter how wildly he struck or clawed, his guide would never be wounded. That truth granted Yegyeol boundless security.

“You know it instinctively as well, don’t you.”

Though he trusted in his Senior Brother, to have the man speak it aloud made him feel oddly bashful. Yegyeol turned his eyes aside.

“…I at least singed your sleeve.”

“Well, that is true.”

Haryang held up the scorched cuff with a smile. Though the torrent had been fierce enough to tear up the floor of the hall, Yegyeol had managed, at last, to burn the tip of his robe. It had not spread into flame, but it was a blow landed, a breach in his defenses.

And astonishingly, Haryang was smiling with pleasure.

Though it was a conditional victory, a man unaccustomed to defeat of any kind showed not the slightest trace of injured pride. On the contrary, expectation glimmered faintly in his eyes, and Yegyeol was taken aback.

“To be able to strike without touch—that is something best kept secret until the very end.”

Haryang even added advice.

“I’ll remember.”

Yegyeol answered readily, then opened the hidden passage leading to the upper level. As soon as they stepped out from Taehyangjeon’s underground, the scent of medicine filled the air.

Several cauldrons of decoction were steaming, just as Haryang had instructed to be set. Anyone spying from outside would surely conclude that Yegyeol’s condition was grave.

Unconcerned, Yegyeol walked past the cauldrons and entered his chamber. Having breathed this aroma since the day before, it now felt almost like air freshener.

A little pungent, perhaps.

Sliding open the paper door, the first thing he noticed was the basin set near the window.

From within, Baembaem rose, having returned to Yegyeol’s side while Samrang was away. The gold scales gleaming beneath the rippling water shone with an otherworldly light.

As Yegyeol approached, the little snake raised himself sluggishly and bit his finger—lightly, without pain. Thinking he must be hungry, Yegyeol sent a pulse of current through his hand. As though waiting for it, Baembaem’s tail curled into a small circle, then uncurled again, over and over.

When he finally released Yegyeol’s finger, he rubbed the tip of his horn lightly against it. At first Yegyeol thought he was being affectionate, but then he felt something like a peeling shell.

Is he about to shed?

His eyes, turning a cloudy blue as if veiled by mist, confirmed it.

Knowing only a little about reptiles from secondhand knowledge, Yegyeol exclaimed softly in awe. They had met only a few months ago, and already Baembaem was preparing to molt.

Resolved to provide plenty of water for him, Yegyeol once again offered his finger, letting Baembaem play to his heart’s content.