TSBIRBV Ch 276

Chapter 276. Cause and Effect (3)

“I didn’t come here seeking pleasure, so it’s all right.”

Though his words were polite, Yegyeol felt the corners of his lips twitch—an involuntary reaction to the wall he’d just put up. Even so, he managed to keep his expression firm.

“There’s no need to be so guarded,” Black Ghost said lightly. “I have no intention of doing anything you don’t consent to, Young Master Mun.”

His tone was casual, but Yegyeol couldn’t bring himself to relax. His eyes dropped.

“I didn’t mean to imply I don’t trust you,” he murmured softly, guilt faintly edging his voice. “It’s just… my heart feels uneasy. If I seemed overly defensive, I apologize.”

“How soft-hearted you are.”

“…Pardon?”

A barely-there smile played on Black Ghost’s lips.

“You can sever ties with an old lover without hesitation for the sake of the one you love now,” he said slowly, “yet here you are, coming all this way because I told you I couldn’t sleep.”

“I—”

Whatever Yegyeol had meant to say caught in his throat. He shut his mouth tight, as if pierced through.

He could feel the man’s gaze trailing over his face, cool and deliberate. His shoulders tensed, and he whispered,

“I owe you a debt of life.”

In the martial world of the Central Plains, that phrase carried the weight of a binding vow.

To owe one’s life was to be bound by it—until the debt was repaid in kind.

“A debt of life…” Black Ghost repeated, rolling the words on his tongue.

He remembered vividly the night he’d taken Yegyeol into his arms—still clad in crimson wedding robes. Driven by the desperate need to save his disciple, he had torn through every moral restraint, never once pausing to feel guilt.

And now, Yegyeol called it a debt of life.

“If I had known it would come to this,” he said dryly, “perhaps I shouldn’t have taken the bride’s first night.”

“Do you regret saving me?”

“How could I?”

The wind from the open window stirred faintly, cool against their skin.

“It’s just…” His voice was even, yet heavy with emotion beneath the surface. “It seems the only thing I’ve taken from you is guilt.”

He wanted to claim something else—something more—but the words never came.

Yegyeol turned his gaze away deliberately. His eyes fell upon the bed. Considering the size of the chamber, it was surprisingly modest—large enough for one, but narrow for two.

Upon the gold-embroidered silk coverlet, a metallic gleam caught his eye.

“That…”

Seeing where Yegyeol’s gaze had landed, Black Ghost gave a small nod.

“The manyeon-hancheol restraints you requested.”

“It’s barely been two hours since we parted…”

Yegyeol’s tone was faintly bewildered.

He approached the bed and examined them. There was a single shackle for the ankles and two for the wrists. To the eye, they looked less like chains and more like thick, unadorned bracelets—simple, yet ominously heavy.

Lifting one, Yegyeol hesitated. The surface wasn’t perfectly smooth—there was a faint unevenness, as though it had been shaped by hand.

Surely he didn’t make them himself…

He tested its weight with a bit of force—but it didn’t budge, even under his esper strength. As expected from manyeon-hancheol—the so-called “orichalcum” of the martial world.

“This should do nicely,” he murmured.

Black Ghost lifted the restraints as well.

“I made them as light as possible, but…” His tone lowered slightly. “Seeing you in front of me now, I can’t help but feel uneasy.”

He took Yegyeol’s wrist in one hand—his grip firm yet careful.

“There’s soft leather lining inside, but still—you should wrap your wrists with silk. I wouldn’t want your skin to chafe.”

Without waiting for an answer, he brought his sleeve to his mouth and—rip!—tore the fabric cleanly with his teeth.

He used the torn cloth to wrap Yegyeol’s wrist with practiced gentleness.

The sensation of silk brushing his skin was nothing compared to the faint drag of Black Ghost’s calloused fingers—rough, but impossibly smooth in their precision.

Yegyeol thought of Haryang waiting for him at the martial arena—how he’d taken his wrist then, how his touch had seared a small spark beneath his skin. His pulse now throbbed at that very spot, every beat drumming against his restraint. Fine hairs along his arm lifted as tension pooled within him.

He swallowed hard, glancing at the man’s profile—but Black Ghost’s expression revealed nothing. He was entirely focused on what he was doing.

It almost made Yegyeol feel as if he was the only one entertaining thoughts he shouldn’t.

He didn’t know how to arrange his face. Should he look embarrassed? Or composed? He couldn’t decide.

If their eyes met now, he felt, he’d never recover. He quickly looked down.

“All done,” Black Ghost said quietly.

Yegyeol immediately pulled his hand back, the movement sharp—instinctive, almost like a prey animal flinching from a predator.

Black Ghost’s fingers twitched in the air where he’d let go. His eyes lowered slightly, and he bit his lip as if to suppress something bitter.

As though hurt—simply because Yegyeol had pulled away.

If Yegyeol hadn’t known who he truly was beneath that face, he might have believed he’d spent years in seclusion perfecting this act of subtle torment.

So this is what it means to know and still be fooled.

If this went on, he’d be dragged into the man’s rhythm completely. And that—he could not afford.

“Why did you tear your sleeve instead of fetching fresh cloth?” he asked abruptly, hoping to divert the tension.

A wry smile curved Black Ghost’s lips.

“It’s foolish, but after I caught sight of you, I found I didn’t want to let you out of view. Even for a moment.”

“…”

“Who knows? You might leap out that window and disappear again.”

Yegyeol winced. Having once fled from the Ten Thousand Mountains, he could only manage an awkward laugh.

He had clearly chosen the wrong topic. Quickly, he changed it again.

“I’d heard there’s nothing Heukjeom can’t procure, but I didn’t expect even this. Shackles made from manyeon-hancheol—strong enough to forge swords.”

“Humans,” Black Ghost replied, “always crave what they can’t possess. Some wish to imprison a bird—and for that, only manyeon-hancheol will do.”

Though he said bird, Yegyeol knew he meant something else entirely—perhaps a warrior powerful enough to defy the world itself.

“And yet it ended up in Heukjeom’s hands?”

“To covet beyond one’s means,” he said simply, “is to accept death as the price.”

In other words—the original owner was dead.

“You should rest before it gets too late. There’s still time before the final match.”

“You think I’ll make it to the finals?” Yegyeol asked, arching a brow. “Just a few months ago, I couldn’t even handle a single water bandit and ended up as a hostage.”

He’d meant it as a jab, but the man remained unruffled.

“The Central Plains is vast,” Black Ghost said, “and filled with things beyond reason.”

“So if I told you I fell off a cliff, met a hermit, and ate a divine elixir that turned me into a master swordsman, you’d believe me?” Yegyeol teased.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” came the quiet answer.

Of course not.

After all, the man standing before him was the one who had trained him—Heavenly Demon himself, merely wearing Black Ghost’s face.

“And besides,” the man continued softly, “sharing a night together hardly means I know all of you, does it?”

Yegyeol had expected bitterness—a reproach for abandoning him after that night—but none came.

“I’ll be content,” he added, “if pity is all you can offer.”

And with that, he clasped the manyeon-hancheol cuff around Yegyeol’s wrist.

Clack.

The heavy click of metal rang through the quiet room.

Yegyeol realized, with a strange clarity, that pity was precisely what had trapped him here tonight. Voluntary imprisonment or not, if the man before him hadn’t been Haryang, this would have been a dangerous situation indeed.

To the world, Black Ghost was a shadowy figure of the underworld—a man who ruled the black markets of the martial realm. And yet here Yegyeol sat, willingly bound, preparing to spend the night in his company.

Perhaps I’ve been too calm about this, he thought. Maybe I should be more on guard.

As he mulled this over, he trudged toward the bed. Removing his shoes, he climbed onto the inner side and sat, face solemn, waiting for Black Ghost to join him.

Instead, he reached into his sleeve and produced the golden snake. Setting it down in the center of the bed, Yegyeol said,

“Beambeam will stay here.”

Black Ghost arched a brow. “The spirit creature? Why?”

“So you don’t cross this line.”

It was absurdly childish—like drawing a chalk line on a shared school desk. But he needed something visible between them.

“To think you’d make the Thunder Serpent your guardian,” Black Ghost chuckled quietly.

“She’s the one I trust most.”

At this, the little snake proudly lifted its head, hissing softly.

“Very well. I’ll allow it,” he said with amusement. “Since I’ve already taken liberties with the bed, I suppose it’s fair.”

He’d expected this from the start.

“Still,” he added, eyes gleaming faintly, “may I ask one thing?”

“Go ahead.”

“If you cross the line first—does that count as breaking your own rule?”

Yegyeol lifted his manacled wrist with a faint smile. “I won’t.”

“A shame… but your will is noted.”

Black Ghost handed him a silk coverlet. There were two of them—folded neatly, one for each.

Yegyeol felt his cheeks warm; he must have been the only one taking this so seriously.

“When night deepens, the air will grow cold,” said Black Ghost. “I’ll close the window.”

“…Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

A pause—then his voice, lower.

“If even tonight does nothing to ease my sleeplessness… I’ll never trouble you again.”

Yegyeol didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled the blanket over his face and turned toward the wall, presenting his back.

He heard the faint creak of movement as the man rose, the quiet click of the window closing.

The rustle of silk followed—the sound of him returning, sitting down once more. Then a soft breath—and the candlelight vanished.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Night in the Central Plains was not like modern night; when the light was gone, there was nothing—no glow, no gleam. Sometimes, even the stars felt strange, distant, unreal.

Yegyeol lay stiff beneath his blanket, tense, listening for movement.

Would he come closer?

The thought alone made his heart race. He shifted slightly—then froze, startled by his own motion, limbs locked straight.

Just pretend you’re asleep. Pretend you’re asleep.

He thought he heard a small, stifled laugh. Heat rose to his ears—he must have been far too obvious.

He braced himself for a teasing comment—something about how he could breathe under there—but none came.

Only silence.

Calm, steady air filled the room.

Perhaps because he was near Haryang, the energy in the chamber was different—gentle waves of guiding force brushing faintly through the air. It was the first time since leaving the Ten Thousand Mountains that he’d felt such peace.

He hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying—fear of overexertion, of running out of energy, of being cut off from that bond.

Now, all of it ebbed away.

It was like being laid in a cradle, gently rocked. His eyes fluttered closed.

I shouldn’t let my guard down like this…

That was his last conscious thought—before sleep claimed him.