TSBIRBV Ch 288

Chapter 288. Cause and Effect (15)

To be perfectly honest, not everyone who had spoken out that day had done so out of a sense of justice.

Some merely wanted to weaken the influence of the Nine Great Sects and the Five Noble Houses that made up the core of the Martial Alliance. The likes of the Ami Sect likely stood up only to proclaim, “We are not like the rest.”

Even if many among them were blind to Yegyeol’s innocence, the current tide could not be resisted.

For the first time, the righteous cause—that precious banner the orthodox world so adored—was no longer in their hands, but on his.

Yet beyond all these calculations, Haryang quietly studied the faces of those who had spoken in defense of Yegyeol.

There was Namgung Un.

There was Jeok Nogae.

There were high-ranking officials from the Alliance, masters from every sect, and even ordinary spectators who had watched Yegyeol’s duels with idle indifference—now shouting with unrestrained fervor.

Even those who had lost to “Je Haryang” were now raising their voices against the injustice he had suffered.

By the Alliance’s own protocols, the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament would soon be suspended for review.

In that time, Yegyeol’s name would be cleared—and when that was done, he would rise again, climbing the ranks toward the finals.

“You’re doing well,” Haryang thought to himself.

He had come all the way to Wuhuan to bring his disciple back to the Ten-Thousand Mountain Range.

He had stifled the restless heart-demon clawing at his chest, forcing reason to prevail through sheer will and deep, burning drags of tobacco.

But in truth, that belief—that he had managed to hold on to reason—was an illusion.

Had he not, even now, joined hands with that young whelp from the Namgung Clan to secure his disciple’s place in the finals?

Surrounded by a crowd chanting the name of a man the world had long forgotten, Haryang struggled to breathe, as though the air itself pressed down upon his chest.

It reminded him of the first time he had climbed to the peak of Mount Kunlun.

The snow-capped summit was unbearably high. Even with his trained body, his lungs had burned and his chest had felt crushed beneath the sheer weight of the heavens.

And yet, from that height, the world had seemed impossibly vast, while he—small beyond comprehension.

He had stood there in silence, transfixed and powerless.

That was the first time Je Haryang had ever felt true helplessness.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The words had come from Baek Unjin, his old master, who had spoken lightly, as though they stood not atop a perilous peak but upon a grassy hill.

“I’m… afraid.”

“…I’m afraid,” Haryang murmured aloud now, repeating the words his younger self had once whispered.

“Afraid, Master…”

“…Afraid, Master.”

The scene Yegyeol had placed before him now was just as alien, just as overwhelming.

He did not know what would come next—and it terrified him.

Haryang slowly rose to his feet and began to walk out of the stands.

When did I get caught up in all this?

Was it when Yegyeol had invited the Black Ghost to witness the tournament?

Or had it begun the moment he found that runaway plan his disciple had left behind on the mountain?

A faint smile curved his lips.

He didn’t know where Yegyeol’s intentions began or where they ended.

He only knew one thing.

At that moment, all he wanted—was to see his disciple again.

Master Yonghyeon of the Wudang Sect exhaled deeply.

Before him stood Elder Kang of the Martial Alliance.

He had anticipated this and gone out of his way to avoid it.

A day had passed since the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament had been abruptly halted.

Elder Kang insisted that no outside pressure had interfered with the investigation—but no one believed him.

The tide had already shifted toward Je Haryang’s innocence, and in the orthodox world, to lose moral legitimacy was tantamount to defeat.

Elder Kang’s rival, Elder Ak Gucheon of the Shandong Ak Clan, was reportedly gleeful—already preparing to seize his downfall as opportunity.

The moment Yonghyeon heard of the unrest at the tournament, he had withdrawn. If Wudang were implicated as a hidden hand behind the controversy, its reputation would suffer irreparable damage.

Good thing I stayed cautious until the end, he thought grimly.

Clicking his tongue, Yonghyeon regarded the elder before him with clear distaste.

He had avoided Kang and anyone associated with him since the rumors began, yet now, fate had seen fit to bring them face to face.

It could not be coincidence.

He’s been waiting for me to appear.

Barely an hour ago, one of his disciples had timidly confessed that they believed Je Haryang was being wronged. Yonghyeon had brushed the comment aside.

And now, here stood Kang—his eyes bloodshot, his manner desperate.

“I cannot fall like this,” the old man rasped. “Help me. Please.”

“Elder Kang,” Yonghyeon sighed, “I sympathize with your plight. But there is nothing I can do here.”

It was as good as a refusal.

The elder’s face twisted as though he’d been struck.

He had known this would happen and yet still come crawling.

In truth, the Jinju Eon Clan would’ve been a safer ally—but their patriarch had been suddenly arrested.

The Iron Tiger Guard, an elite unit under direct command of the Alliance Leader, had moved against him.

No one knew why the Eon Clan Head had been taken, and to show any association with him now would be suicide.

Even someone in Kang’s position—privy to the Guard’s movements—knew that one misstep could make him next.

They wouldn’t mobilize just because a young contestant was framed.

The Iron Tiger Guard only moved for two reasons: when a traitor colluded with the demonic sects, or when something catastrophic enough to shake the entire orthodox world occurred.

Yet fear crept into Kang’s chest nonetheless—because guilt always recognized its own shadow.

And so, while he floundered, his allies drifted away, leaving him isolated.

A memory surfaced—Elder Ak’s mocking grin on the day they imprisoned Je Haryang before the investigation had even begun.

“At this rate, people will start doubting the Alliance itself!”

He had laughed, adding that perhaps they’d never see Elder Kang in the council chambers again.

Kang had scoffed then.

As if such a minor incident could shake him. As if the life and honor he had built through decades of service could crumble so easily.

How hard he had fought to secure his position as one of the Alliance’s elders—every scar, every compromise, every betrayal.

All of it flashed before his eyes like a lantern slide of a fading life.

His eyes reddened further.

“I have spent my twilight years working for Wudang’s sake,” he cried. “Will you turn your back on me now?”

The plea carried a venomous edge.

Cornered rats, after all, often bit the cat.

But Yonghyeon of Wudang was no mere cat.

His jaw tightened.

“Watch your words, Elder. The Wudang Sect has gained nothing from this affair.”

And it was true.

Elder Kang had once promised that his disciple, Cheongyong, would replace Je Haryang in the finals—but Wudang had declined.

Yonghyeon’s only act had been to ask that the investigation be handled with care, since his disciple’s honor was at stake.

He should have left evidence of that secret meeting—anything to prove his innocence.

But blinded by the opportunity to indebt Wudang’s greatest sword to him, Kang had failed to foresee the disaster.

How could he have imagined that crushing a nameless youth—one without clan or sect—would come back to ruin him?

Not in his worst dreams.

So even this rope was rotten all along.

He shut his eyes tightly.

The only path left was to cling to the Eon Clan, to drag them down with him.

He couldn’t afford to alienate Wudang as well.

Better to lose his title in disgrace than his life altogether.

The old man’s jaw quivered.

“…It seems I have misjudged things.”

“As long as we understand each other,” Yonghyeon said curtly.

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, the elder turned sharply on his heel and stormed down the corridor.

Yonghyeon’s teeth ground together.

Must I really… withdraw like this?

The board had been overturned.

However much he despised the man named Je Haryang, he could not allow Wudang’s prestige to be tainted in the process.

In truth, he had never truly believed the rumor—that a mere youth had used poison in the duel.

But the claim had spread far, even reaching the lips of Beggar’s Union spies.

Use it, he’d thought.

His disciple’s loss had felt like his own humiliation.

It wasn’t like losing to Namgung Un, whose noble lineage and sword techniques carried centuries of legacy.

But this Je Haryang—he belonged to no sect, wielded an unfamiliar, rootless martial art.

An outsider, much like that forgotten genius from Kunlun long ago—his origins uncertain, his path unacknowledged.

To lose to someone like that—how ridiculous would Cheongyong look in the eyes of the world?

Still, this Je Haryang had no powerful backing.

So what harm could a little mud do, if it sullied his name?

No one would step forward for him.

Yonghyeon remembered how everyone had turned a blind eye before—how the first Je Haryang had been erased from history. He had assumed this time would be no different.

But he had been wrong.

This time, people had risen to defend him.

I can’t let this stain reach Wudang.

That same pride which had pushed an innocent man off a cliff now forced him to stop before he went any further.

Hiding his trembling hands beneath the flowing sleeves of his robe, Yonghyeon straightened his back.

And then—

“Who’s there!”

Sensing movement, he snapped his head around.

He had been so preoccupied with Je Haryang that he hadn’t noticed anyone listening.

Worse yet, the conversation he had just had was with one of the Martial Alliance’s elders—about the very conspiracy surrounding the case.

A rat dares to eavesdrop…

He hadn’t intended to kill anyone, but he was prepared to act decisively if needed. A wave of killing intent rippled through the air.

“Master…”

The voice stopped him cold.

From around the corner stepped his disciple, Cheongyong.

The young man’s face was pale, his expression full of confusion and disbelief.

“How did you…?”

“I met someone looking for you, Master,” Cheongyong said softly. “I came to deliver their message. But that conversation just now—what was it?”

He had only heard part of it, but enough to understand.

Cheongyong was no fool.

He could read the truth between the lines.

So Master… was involved in spreading those rumors about Je Haryang?

He couldn’t believe it. His teacher—his pure, incorruptible teacher, the man he had revered above all others—couldn’t possibly…

Shame flooded him for even daring to think it. He lowered his gaze to the floor.

Yonghyeon, oblivious to his disciple’s turmoil, asked curtly:

“Who was it that sought me out?”

“Baekyang Jinin of Kunlun,” Cheongyong answered.