TSBIRBV Ch 8

Chapter 8. Homeless, Templeless, and Now Guideless (1)

Crouched in a corner of the garden, Yegyeol sighed heavily. It had been exactly a week since Je Haryang had dropped that bombshell. In the meantime, his body had recovered with infuriating smoothness.

Heaven really has no mercy.

He wanted nothing more than to fall ill again—but that was impossible. An esper with a guide constantly at his side could hardly become sick.

He could exhaust himself temporarily if he recklessly overused his powers, sure, but the real problem was that he was an S-class esper.

If he drew on his energy enough to weaken himself, there would probably be lightning striking out of a clear blue sky.

This was the Central Plains, after all—a place where human life was worth less than a fly’s.

And right now, Yegyeol had no martial arts to rely on. Even if espers were physically superior to ordinary people, it was anyone’s guess who would win against a high-level martial master.

For his own safety, he had to keep his strength hidden.

But more than that, he couldn’t forget what Je Haryang had said to him seven days ago.

“I cannot return, but you can.”

There had been a strange, desperate earnestness in Haryang’s expression as he said it.

Yegyeol had wanted to protest—What’s the point of going back to Kunlun if you’re not there?—but the words had died in his throat.

Even if his mind screamed otherwise, the look on Haryang’s face made it impossible to defy him.

If he’d been sent away simply because he was a burden, that would’ve been one thing. But Haryang’s intention was painfully clear—he genuinely believed this was for Yegyeol’s sake.

If only a gate would open right about now…

He remembered a senior esper at the Center who’d volunteered for every gate deployment possible—just to see his estranged guide.

The man had begged the heavens for a gate to open that would wring him out like laundry—so long as it didn’t take any lives. Yegyeol had mocked him for it back then.

Now he understood all too well.

And this wasn’t even a temporary separation. Given the state of transportation and communication in the Central Plains, this could be permanent.

How long could I last without my guide?

He yanked at the grass beneath him, tearing up clumps with a sigh.

Half a year, maybe?

If he was lucky—and if he avoided using his powers. Otherwise, his condition would deteriorate quickly. His energy would keep cycling within his body until it consumed him from the inside.

An esper’s body was like a battery that discharged even when unused. That’s why every esper was advised to keep their abilities sealed until they found a guide—without one, death was only a matter of time.

“That’s not a weed, you know.”

Yegyeol looked up. A man stood before him. It wasn’t Samrang—her voice was distinctly feminine.

“Who are you?”

He quickly hid his grass-stained hands in his sleeves. He’d been caught venting his frustration, so he might as well pretend to feel guilty about it.

“I am Wi Jinyeong, attendant to the lord of the trading company.”

The man’s features were sharp, severe—more scholar than warrior, by the look of him.

“I was expecting my senior brother,” Yegyeol said casually.

The man’s expression didn’t change a bit.

“The lord is occupied with business matters.”

“Ah, well. Can’t be helped then.”

“The lord has been neglecting sleep to remain by his guest’s side.”

There was no trace of warmth or softness in his tone. Either he was brutally honest, or he just didn’t like Yegyeol. Maybe both.

“Yes, my senior brother is a very responsible man.”

“Indeed.”

“If his subordinates were more competent, he wouldn’t have to work himself so hard.”

Yegyeol let out a dramatic sigh, clearly meant to be overheard.

Jinyeong’s eyes twitched, his gaze sharp as a blade.

What? Don’t glare at me like that.

Not every esper had a terrible personality—but every esper Yegyeol had ever met, himself included, was insufferable in their own unique way.

Well, might as well take my bad mood out on someone.

It wasn’t thoughtless spite, though. He was confident this Jinyeong wouldn’t dare tattletale to Je Haryang.

Since waking up in this world, Yegyeol hadn’t seen a single servant. Haryang had handled everything himself—clothes, meals, baths, even minor tasks. The only other people he’d met were Samrang and two physicians—and Haryang had been present for all of those encounters.

So there was no way this man was here with Haryang’s approval.

No chance.

Yegyeol smirked inwardly.

“My senior brother must be very worried about me,” he said aloud. “For him to send even one of his most trusted men to check up on me, despite being so busy.”

“The lord didn’t send me,” Jinyeong replied flatly. Then, after a pause, his gaze flickered toward Yegyeol’s eyes.

“But I noticed you sitting outside under the strong sun. Since your vision has only just begun to recover—and the lord often expresses concern—I thought I should check.”

Ah. That explained it.

Yegyeol eased a bit of his hostility. So he wasn’t here to snoop—just to make sure he wasn’t collapsing somewhere.

“I’m relieved to see you’re healthier than the lord described. Kunlun’s mountains must be cruel indeed, for him to worry so.”

He knows I’ll be sent back to Kunlun, then.

Yegyeol’s lips twitched into a bitter smile. So that’s all this was—concern for a man about to leave.

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

“My senior brother does worry too much,” Yegyeol said lightly. “I so much as cough twice, and he’s already shutting the windows and bringing me warm water. He even stuffed cotton into my pillow once—it was so hot, I thought I’d die.”

At that, Jinyeong’s brow twitched violently.

They stared at each other like a dog and cat ready to brawl.

“So,” Yegyeol said finally, “when do you think he’ll be back?”

It was phrased like an idle question, but really, it was a polite dismissal.

“…Before sunset,” Jinyeong answered curtly.

“Wonderful.” Yegyeol smiled sweetly. “Nice meeting you. Here—this is for you.”

Before Jinyeong could react, a clump of dirt-smeared greenery landed in his hand—the same grass Yegyeol had been tearing up moments ago.

“Let’s meet again sometime.”

He waved his hand cheerfully, shooing the man away.

Jinyeong, expression stony, gave a brief nod and turned to leave.

Only after he’d walked some distance did he look down at his palm. His immaculate sleeve was now stained green.

It felt like being handed a dead mouse by a cat he’d been feeding.

“…Ha.”

His lord had called this guest “a kind and gentle boy.” Jinyeong had agreed, to an extent. People with ulterior motives often hid behind such harmless façades.

But this one—this one had fangs.

“Lord Je… what on earth have you brought into our home?”

He sighed, staring glumly at the withering weed still clutched in his hand. Then, shoulders drooping, he trudged toward another building.

Outside, a tall man—easily seven feet—was whittling a block of wood with a small carving knife.

Jinyeong approached quietly, noting the row of tiny horse figurines lined up on the wall. From a colt to a full-grown stallion, each was intricately detailed, almost lifelike.

“Hongye,” Jinyeong called. “Is the lord inside?”

The man paused mid-carve and nodded. Yayu Hongye, like Jinyeong, was one of Je Haryang’s subordinates—taciturn to the point of silence.

“…Flowerpot.”

Jinyeong froze at the sudden word. He looked down at the handful of greenery he still carried. With Hongye’s piercing gaze fixed on him, he couldn’t exactly drop it to the ground.

“Where… where’s the flowerpot?” he muttered.

Moments later, he entered the building with a small pot cradled in his arms. Despite being torn apart when given to him, the plant now looked surprisingly neat and well-trimmed—Hongye’s massive, scarred hands had somehow tended to it with delicate precision.

How can someone with hands like that be so meticulous…

Jinyeong shook his head and stopped before a door. Before he could even knock, it slid open soundlessly.

Clutching the flowerpot tightly, he stepped inside.

At the desk by the window sat a man whose beauty was as cold as the moonlight—a presence so sharp it made the air feel heavy. The calm, unfeeling mask on his face radiated quiet power, the kind that made others bow without thinking.

“My lord,” Jinyeong said, forcing his voice steady. “News from Xinjiang.”

Je Haryang didn’t move.

“The Six Demonic Families are in motion,” Jinyeong continued. “At least two of them seem to have formed an alliance.”

It was no secret that Haryang had been away for some time. And now, with his absence prolonged, the vermin that had long lain crushed beneath his heel were starting to stir again.

“There used to be eight,” Haryang said quietly. “And even after losing two, they still haven’t learned.”

His tone was utterly flat—devoid of anger, betrayal, or even irritation.

“Prepare for the return.”