TSBIRBV Ch 285

Chapter 285. Cause and Effect (11)

Haryang gazed down at Hongyeo, who knelt before him.

“I failed to properly guard Young Master Mun. Please, punish me as you see fit.”

His bowed head and solemn tone carried absolute sincerity.

“I was told Yegyeol withdrew you from the confrontation with Eon Chaegwol out of concern for conflict. There’s no reason to punish you for that.”

Even so, Hongyeo did not rise.

“This isn’t the time for that discussion, Hongyeo.”

At last, he lifted his head to meet Haryang’s eyes.

“I intend to deal with the Jinju Eon Clan.”

Even as he spoke of toppling one of the most venerable martial families—if not one of the Five Great Houses themselves—Haryang’s expression remained calm, almost casual.

“At the very least, I’ll make certain Eon Chaegwol can never hold his head high again. What do you think?”

“I don’t understand why my lord would ask for my opinion.”

Haryang regarded him in silence for a moment.

“The Jinju Eon Clan is connected to your past, is it not?”

His dark eyes lingered on the faint scar that traced the side of Hongyeo’s neck. Haryang remembered well the time when Hongyeo had been little more than a slave. During those years he’d spent in Hebei under the orders of the Demon Lord, he had seen a reflection of himself in the boy.

It was why he’d offered him a chance to escape. He had promised: if he came out at the hour of the ox, when all were asleep, he would take him away.

But on the night of the escape, Hongyeo had been bound by a rope around his neck like a dog—Eon Chaegwol’s doing. That night, the boy had broken the wooden figure he’d been carving during the day, rubbing the sharpened splinter against the rope until it frayed and snapped.

Bleeding and gasping, he had approached Haryang, asking him to help free both himself and the young foal he had cared for.

Now, that boy had become a resolute young warrior.

“I’ve no wish to steal a vengeance that rightfully belongs to you.”

“I’ve never sought vengeance.”

Hongyeo shook his head.

There had been a time when hatred had lived in his heart. Yet, he was not one to cling to grudges or dwell in bitterness.

Even when he was dragged across thousands of li into foreign lands, what he longed for was not retribution, but home—the endless grasslands where the wind never stopped, the scent of sunlight caught in a horse’s mane, the freedom of galloping under open skies.

With Haryang’s help, he had found the surviving members of his tribe, and knowing they would live in safety for the rest of their lives had been enough.

To live alongside his sworn brother, Jeokroe, was more than he had ever dared to wish for.

He had long since left behind his hatred for Eon Chaegwol and the Jinju Eon Clan.

“So if my lord wishes it, the downfall of Eon Chaegwol and his family shall be your victory, not mine.”

Haryang’s fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair, the rhythm slow and deliberate. Then, his hand stilled.

“I understand your intentions.”

“If you truly mean to bring down the Eon Clan, you must first cut their ties with the military.”

“A brave act from your youth already severed their connection with the royal household, and the Grand General now keeps his distance to avoid royal scrutiny. Recently, I heard they acquired a fine herd of warhorses… Aren’t you curious where those are headed?”

A languid smile curved Haryang’s lips.

“Where do you intend to send them, my lord?”

“I’ll have their correspondence intercepted. And then… I’ll send emissaries to both the royal palace and the Grand General’s residence. Both will be made to expect generous gifts from the Jinju Eon Clan.”

Hongyeo smiled faintly. He had no interest in vengeance, yet imagining the clan’s eventual collapse made his heart race.

It was fortunate, he thought, that he would not be the one to strike Eon Chaegwol down.

His own revenge would have been nothing more than splitting open the man’s chest.

His lord’s vengeance, however, would unmake him piece by piece—crumbling him from the roots up.

“For now, meet with the men from the Temple of Potal, and deliver my letter to them.”

“As you command.”

Hongyeo bowed low.

“This time, you’ll go as the Black Spot’s envoy…”

Haryang’s gaze shifted toward the doorway.

“…It seems a guest has arrived.”

Moments later, a servant’s voice came from outside.

“The Young Master of the Namgung Clan seeks an audience.”

Haryang’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He wasn’t surprised that Namgung Un had found him—after all, he had seen him traveling with the Old Beggar.

But he hadn’t expected the man to come in person.

“My lord, allow me to send him away.”

Sensing his master’s distaste, Hongyeo lowered himself and spoke. But Haryang shook his head.

“You may go.”

Bowing once more, Hongyeo slipped out through the side door, his movements so soundless it seemed unnatural for someone of his build.

Only after confirming he had gone did Haryang speak again.

“Let him in.”

The door opened quietly, revealing Namgung Un.

His gentle features were unusually taut with tension tonight.

Haryang gestured for him to sit, saying nothing.

Namgung Un obeyed, taking the seat awkwardly before finally speaking.

“An unexpected visit, I know.”

“I wasn’t expecting hospitality,” Namgung Un replied stiffly, unable to conceal his unease.

“If you’ve something to say, say it.”

Haryang’s gaze weighed him, silent and steady, as though measuring his worth.

Namgung Un was acutely aware of the Old Beggar’s absence—there was no one here to shield him. Even so, he spoke.

“I wish to save Young Master Mun.”

“That is not your concern.”

“Then allow me to help.”

“I’d think walking through Wuhuan day and night in my shadow would already make your skin crawl—and yet, here you are.”

The gaze fixed upon him was heavy, suffocating. Namgung Un had to fight to meet it without flinching.

Words alone would not move this man.

Sensing that, he reached into his robes and drew out several documents sealed with wax. Each bore a different signature—Peng Munhyeong’s guarantee, Tang Segi’s testimony, the Old Beggar’s intelligence report, and a written pledge to mobilize the Namgung Clan’s resources.

Haryang skimmed the pages in silence before setting them down, his eyes lifting back to Namgung Un.

“So after seeing how the Martial Alliance handles things, you still wish to make this an official matter?”

“What were you planning to do, then?”

Haryang gave no answer, nor did he seem inclined to. He had no need to explain himself, nor to justify anything to Namgung Un.

“If you plan to take matters into your own hands, please don’t.”

Haryang’s brow creased faintly at the interruption.

“If you came all this way to stop me, then you’ve wasted your time. Leave.”

Namgung Un spoke quickly, fearing he’d be dismissed.

“Because that’s what Young Master Mun would want.”

The moment Yegyeol’s name was spoken, Haryang paused.

“I believe… he had a reason for using that name,” Namgung Un continued carefully.

“To leave a trail for me to follow,” Haryang said flatly.

“No.”

Namgung Un shook his head with conviction.

“Even without such a signal, Young Master Mun would never escape your sight. Am I wrong?”

“…”

“And I believe he knows that, too. So tell me—why would he need to leave a mark at all?”

Haryang said nothing.

“Because that name is precious to him.”

Namgung Un’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke. His face, distorted by emotion, carried no hint of deceit.

“He must have wanted to restore the honor that name once held.”

It was a roundabout way of putting it, but Namgung Un had managed to grasp Yegyeol’s intent.

He had joined the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament not merely for glory, but to make the name Je Haryang shine again.

It was just that the path had turned out far darker and more tangled than Namgung Un could have imagined.

“…Honor, you say.”

But Haryang could not understand it.

Was there truly any “honor” left in that name?

How many in the martial world even remembered the young prodigy who’d vanished twenty years ago into obscurity?

Those few who did likely spat at the memory.

That was why he had come to Wuhuan—because he feared Yegyeol might be hurt.

And that fear was not without reason. Even before the final match, Yegyeol was now rotting in the Martial Alliance’s underground cells.

“You speak amusingly.”

He had never once considered things from that perspective. Perhaps that alone made the argument worth hearing.

He could not see Yegyeol’s actions through Namgung Un’s eyes.

He recalled the day he’d heard that “Je Haryang” had become a favorite to win the tournament—and the confusion that had filled him.

If he could think like Namgung Un, as he once had in his youth, would he have felt anticipation instead of disquiet that day?

He didn’t know anymore.

“But even so, such things don’t outweigh my disciple’s safety.”

“I understand. That’s why I’m here. My father—the Namgung Clan Head—is currently within the Martial Alliance. For now, no one will dare touch Young Master Mun.”

Those who had sided with the Jinju Eon Clan would tread carefully, lest they draw Namgung Akcheon’s attention. They would likely delay any action.

“You mean to clear his name while all eyes are fixed on the Heaven-Piercing Sword King?”

Even at the mention of his old acquaintance, Haryang’s face remained detached, as if discussing a stranger.

“It’s true that this matter was handled unjustly. But I don’t believe the entire Martial Alliance agrees with his imprisonment.”

Namgung Un’s eyes—steady, upright—met the gaze of the ruler of ten thousand devils.

It was something Haryang himself had long lost.

He no longer believed in justice, righteousness, or the goodness of others.

It wasn’t surrender—it was inevitability.

To endure those long, cruel years, there were things he’d had to abandon.

Once, Je Haryang had let go of all he thought was right. He had discarded what could not be touched or seen—and found himself freed of a crushing weight.

That was how he had become the man standing here now.

“So, you plan to overturn public opinion—to rally those who still believe in what’s right and expose the truth?”

“Do you think the Jinju Eon Clan is the only one on the other side of the scale?” Haryang asked quietly.

Namgung Un answered without hesitation.

“On our side stand the Peng Clan of Hebei, the Tang Clan of Sichuan, and the Namgung Clan. Surely that’s enough to make the fight worthwhile.”

He hadn’t expected Peng Munhyeong’s support, but it was a welcome surprise.

“Worthwhile, you say.”

Haryang regarded the younger man’s determined face with tranquil eyes.

Now he understood why Yegyeol found this man intriguing—why he had given him his attention, why their fates remained intertwined.

And for a fleeting moment, a surge of something dangerous rose within him.

Whether it was his own emotion or merely an echo from the heart-demon that haunted him, he could not tell.

“You didn’t come to ask for my permission, did you?”

“I’m already in motion.”

“I see. Then, do as you will, Young Master Namgung.”

Haryang’s lips curved into a cool smile.

Namgung Un had his way.

And he, too, had his own.