TSBIRBV Ch 241

Chapter 241. Thunder Dragon Ascends (1)

The raging tide of white fire, which had seemed impossible to stop, split cleanly in two.

Haryang’s long, loose hair billowed behind him, its dark strands gleaming in the firelight. The inferno his sword had cleaved faltered, dwindling to a thin flicker before dying entirely.

One cannot cut water with a blade—nor can one slash through fire. Yet Je Haryang had done both. It was as if he had severed not the flames themselves, but the very life that sustained them.

When he sheathed his sword and extended a hand toward the fading embers, a small white flame rose weightlessly onto his palm, flickering faintly.

The silence that followed was so heavy it pressed upon the lungs. Then, a trembling voice broke it.

“Th-The Cheonma has returned!”

“Ten thousand devils prosper!”

The cry was taken up again and again, spreading like a storm through the crowd.

“Cheonma returns! Ten thousand devils prosper!”

Some even wept openly, tears gleaming as they caught the last of the firelight.

Yegyeol’s heart stirred. In any other moment, he would have found the emotions of the demonic followers—devotion, awe, worship—foreign and terrifying. But now, he understood them, at least in part.

How could he not? He had seen the sacred flame falling toward them, felt its searing heat at his back. Acting purely on instinct, he had driven Yao Hongyeo’s crescent blade into the ground to hold the collapsing structure upright. Yet on the other side, frenzied cultists had hurled themselves at it like human battering rams.

Even Yao Hongyeo had been unable to control the chaos, sparks flying in all directions. The holy fire would have fallen, the explosives beneath the dais would have ignited—an inevitable catastrophe.

And then Haryang had intervened.

He hadn’t asked what was happening or what he should do. As if he had known from the beginning, he had pushed both Yegyeol and Hongyeo safely behind him and struck downward with his sword.

No legendary technique, no grandiose martial display—just a single, steady motion, perfectly measured, perfectly beautiful.

That one cut, executed perhaps millions of times in his life, was already complete in its form.

Yegyeol would never forget it—the breathtaking line drawn by Haryang’s blade. Thanks to his Esper senses, he saw it more clearly than any other, not merely as light but as movement—every detail of the divine cut.

And that single motion had quelled the raging flames that moments ago defied all control.

An ordinary man could never have borne the weight of their faith, Yegyeol thought.

A lesser person would have been consumed by the power, crushed by the expectations of those who believed in him. But Haryang was different.

He stood still amid the storm of reverence—unshaken by the awe, untouched by the madness. Surrounded by hope, fear, and worship, he remained himself, steady as the mountain beneath their feet.

Then, Haryang raised one hand.

Instantly, the sea of chaos fell silent. Even the breath of the crowd stopped, every demonic follower’s gaze fixed upon him.

“The results of every duel have been decided,” he said softly.

The low, resonant voice, laced with internal energy, rippled outward like a current of calm.

“The victors may rejoice, but let them not grow arrogant. The defeated may grieve, but let them turn that grief toward progress.”

As his hand lifted higher, the small flame in his palm flared brilliantly.

“With this, I declare the end of Biheeyeon.”

“Waaaahhh!”

The roar that followed rolled like waves crashing upon the shore, filling every corner of the arena.

It was astonishing—after everything that had happened, not a single person questioned the truth or demanded an explanation.

The sacred flame had fallen. The Myeong Lord had taken his own life. Madmen had attacked the flame’s structure. Even the presence of explosives had been revealed—any of these should have driven the crowd into chaos.

Do they really not know about the explosives? Yegyeol wondered briefly.

Then he shook his head. No—it wasn’t ignorance.

They simply believed.

They believed utterly in Je Haryang—their Cheonma.

Yegyeol gazed at his back in silence.

Once, this man had been called the Nightmare of the Green Forest, the slayer of bandits and heretic sects, the hunter of demons.

Now, he was the ruler of the Ilwol Cult—the object of awe and reverence for the very beings he had once hunted.

A blank sheet of paper can hold any color, and Je Haryang, wherever he stood, reshaped the world around him.

The memory of their first meeting in Soryeong—when Yegyeol had been horrified to learn his true identity—felt distant, almost unreal.

Wherever he stood, he shone.

As Biheeyeon concluded, the cultists streamed out of the arena like receding tides.

[Lord Hyeon.]

The head of the Hyeon Clan, who had risen to leave quickly, froze at the sound of the Cheonma’s voice.

[Stay a moment.]

A short while later, she was led into the inner chambers of Taehyang Hall.

Hyeon Soyang maintained an outward calm, but inside, unease twisted in her stomach.

She swore—she had done nothing.

Yes, she had discovered the explosives hidden beneath the dais where the Cheonma’s seat had been placed—but she had chosen to ignore them.

After all, Lord Gong—imprisoned in the dungeons and cut off from the outside world—could no longer act. A small “accident” that wounded the Cheonma would not have been such a tragedy for her.

If the explosion occurred, the Gong Clan—already weakened—would crumble completely. And when that happened, its survivors would have nowhere to turn but to her own Hyeon Clan. Her power would naturally grow.

The Cheonma is a transcendent martial god. Even if the explosives detonated, he would not die.

In that sense, Hyeon Soyang considered herself practical.

While the other clan heads trembled in fear of annihilation and whispered of rebellion, she alone saw that the current Cheonma stood at the height of his power.

The quiet in his gaze, the calm in his demeanor—it was the poise of one utterly in control. She had noticed the change and attributed it to the “child” he had taken under his wing.

Many mistook it for gentleness. But to her, it was the serenity of a predator—a beast watching over its young, always ready to strike.

The other fools believed the Cheonma’s “beloved” was merely a distraction, a smokescreen for some greater plot.

Idiots.

Thanks to that, provoking Myeong Jinyu had been easy.

During a meeting of the six remaining clan heads, she had subtly mentioned the fire that destroyed Cheonghyeong Pavilion, suggesting that the Cheonma might soon seek another scapegoat.

Later, she had visited Myeong Jinyu privately, claiming that the Gong Lord had hidden explosives for Biheeyeon’s preparations and that she needed his help to move them.

She had seen the shadow flicker in his eyes—but had done nothing to stop him.

When the meeting of the six clans ended, she had felt certain of success.

But things spiraled too far.

Of all the surviving lords, Myeong Jinyu was the one most loyal to the Ilwol Cult. He had been the most furious when the new Cheonma refused to invade the Central Plains.

She had never expected him to go so far—to use the sacred flame itself to destroy Biheeyeon and attempt to assassinate the Cheonma.

She had only intended for a brief scandal: a bit of chaos, an accidental explosion, and suspicion cast upon the Gong and Myeong Clans.

But half of it actually succeeded.

Now, she realized just how difficult it was to act without her old ally, Lord Gong. Had he been there, he would have warned her of Myeong Jinyu’s strange behavior long before it came to this.

She sighed inwardly. Finding another accomplice as capable as he had been would be nearly impossible.

“Lord Hyeon,” came a voice.

When had he entered?

Haryang stood before her, hair slightly damp, a fresh robe draped over his shoulders. Clearly, he had just bathed.

A faint spark of irritation flared in her chest. To make one of the Six Clan Lords wait while he took a leisurely soak—such arrogance.

But she suppressed the feeling quickly. This Cheonma was not like his predecessor. His authority was absolute.

And of course, her being brought here—to Taehyang Hall, isolated and sealed off—was deliberate. He intended to strip away her defenses without laying a hand on her.

Haryang sat and poured tea, offering her a cup.

She declined politely.

Pouring his own, the Cheonma looked, for a fleeting moment, like an unassuming young man. Even knowing the monster beneath that calm façade, Hyeon Soyang nearly found herself deceived.

“Ordinarily, it would be proper to interrogate the Myeong Lord first,” Haryang began, “but since he’s already dead… I called you instead.”

He wasted no time.

“To be direct—the explosives were found beneath the dais that held the Taesa.”

“E–explosives, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said, voice cool. “The same kind the imperial government strictly regulates in both production and transport.”

His lips curved slightly.

“I’ve handled such things before. If that much had gone off at once…”

He let the words trail into a sigh.

“…the blast would have rivaled thunderfire. One-fifth of the people present would have been annihilated—including myself and all six clan heads.”

A chill ran through Hyeon Soyang’s chest.

She didn’t believe everything he said, but among the six lords, she was one of the weaker fighters. She might not have survived such a blast.

“To think you could have been harmed, my lord—such a dreadful thought!” she exclaimed, masking her fear with loyal concern.

Her mind, however, had gone blank.

Myeong Jinyu had given her no warning, no hint of escape. Clearly, he had intended to take her down along with Je Haryang.

Ungrateful wretch!

The older one grows, the tighter one clings to life.

Je Haryang watched the subtle tremor at the corners of her eyes and asked, in a tone as calm as the still air before a storm—

“Tell me, Lord Hyeon. Were you aware of the explosives hidden beneath the dais?”