TSBIRBV Ch 82(NSFW)

Chapter 82 The Price (5)

Ending it already would be out of the question.

Haryang brought his lips to the tooth-marks, then lifted his hand and bound it above with the gag.

It was loose enough not to bite his wrist, but if he tried to escape, it went taut.

A cunning knot. Short of burning it with lightning, it seemed impossible to slip free.

‘Where in the world did senior brother learn this?’

There couldn’t have been anything like a scouting camp in the Central Plains’ martial world.

“T-this… binding, hnng! How… how can you…?”

Flustered, Yegyeol reproached Black Ghost.

“U-un… untie… please, untie it.”

But the other did not so much as lend an ear.

Naturally so. The one here now was not the considerate senior brother but a ruffian of the demonic way.

“Did I not tell you before? That rather than some back-alley vagrant of unknown provenance, it would be better to seek out a proper young master of the Five Great Houses.”

The low whisper could not have sounded more villainous.

“Because you tried to save a man through the Black Spot, you are suffering such rough treatment.”

Yegyeol whispered, cheeks wet.

“Hh—… but… the Black Ghost is here. In the Black Spot.”

Those lips, mouthing the words, goaded Haryang.

“There’s nowhere… I can go… but here.”

Haryang laughed.

The claim that his disciple, cherished and locked within his arms, had nowhere to go but the Black Spot made his insides twist. He knew full well that what had been desired was Je Haryang himself, and yet that circumstances had driven him to seek Black Ghost instead.

This was not judgment rendered by reason.

Stowing away his jealousy, Haryang patted his disciple’s cheek lightly.

“Here, your secret is safe.”

Nibbling at his ear, he whispered in Black Ghost’s voice.

“Call for the one you want.”

As before.

Yegyeol whimpered like a puppy but let out no moan.

Je Haryang, intent on moving his hips, gave a small snort at the sight of his disciple’s stubbornly shut mouth.

What of it if he had spoken that name again and again; why must it weigh so crushingly?

What was so great about a man who deceived his own disciple like a beast and took him?

“Go on.”

Haryang urged. Yegyeol only shook his head in silence.

But no matter how he resisted, Haryang had ways.

“N-no, ah—!”

His senior brother’s hand closed upon Yegyeol’s sex, pressing insistently. Yegyeol felt his veiled vision go white.

It was climax.

“Ah! Ah—! Senior… senior brother…!”

A heartfelt plea slipped from Yegyeol’s lips.

“S-stop, p-please… please, senior brother. P-please?”

The sounds spilled, words all slurred as if something in him had broken.

“Well done.”

Cutting through the sobs, Black Ghost’s voice sounded almost kind.

“Hah… ha-eu… heuh—”

“Since the Black Spot has brought out something it does not sell for Young Master Mun…”

Haryang brushed back the hair stuck to his damp brow and moved his lips.

“Should not Young Master Mun show the bottom as well, to make the balance fair?”

A deal must be equal.

That was the last whisper Yegyeol heard before he fainted away.

[My lord.]

Burying himself deep, parting the soft inner flesh, Haryang slowly returned to his senses.

[My lord!]

For a moment — a very brief moment — his reason had not been whole.

‘How did it come to this?’

He carefully retraced the day’s events.

No sooner had they arrived in Sichuan than Samrang urgently sought him out. The disciple had come slung over a horse, drunk, she said. Haryang set all else aside and hurried over.

Even after sobering, his disciple, drunk on misery, confessed: he was in rut for the one he must never desire — his senior brother.

At a confession that should have felt horrific and preposterous, Haryang felt a thoughtless surge of joy.

‘The very senior brother you revere so is here.’

His disciple trembled as he made his confession before the man wearing another’s skin.

He had quailed so much merely at saying that Black Ghost was his senior brother — what if he learned the truth, that the man before him was that very person?

Bottomless cruelty rose in him. The disciple who had fled, unable to even approach, had walked into his grasp.

Haryang could not pretend ignorance of the secret his disciple had bared, flushed and ripe. There was no way he would refuse the chance to own his all, to possess Yegyeol to the very bottom.

There in the very chamber where a bride had once been deflowered, he beheld his disciple waiting for his touch, nerves hidden beneath a calm.

‘How lovely.’

Haryang had longed for Yegyeol in every form he could imagine.

But never had he imagined it like this. Thus, he felt more keenly that it was real.

From the moment he grasped his disciple in his hand, Haryang moved with a single purpose.

To engrave supreme bliss into that body, he took pains to hold him.

Knowing why Yegyeol had avoided him, Haryang resolved to do everything to set that aside.

To wring him dry until no trace of desire remained, and return to ordinary life.

But once more, Haryang let slip the reins of restraint.

This was the second time the disguise technique had unraveled. After his great breakthrough, even while carrying out assassinations, he had never struggled to control his form.

The first time might be called a mistake, but the second could not be so packaged.

Haryang acknowledged that before his disciple, his reason became utterly useless.

The more he held Yegyeol, the sweeter he became. The reddish handprints remaining on those widely opened thighs were a feast to his eyes — enough that he almost regretted that all this would soon fade.

Despite relentless, stubborn caresses, Yegyeol responded with all his strength. At some point, “service” ceased to be service, and Haryang simply pursued his own pleasure.

Even after his disciple fainted, Haryang did not stop his thrusts.

It came to the point where he wondered if it had been Yegyeol who had sought Black Ghost to resolve his desire — or the other way around.

“M-more… more.”

A delirious plea slipped from Yegyeol’s lips. At that murmur, Haryang’s vision flushed red for an instant.

Even half-lost in pleasure, Yegyeol, begging for more coupling, seemed a temptress testing Haryang’s patience.

Without hesitation, Haryang drenched the way with essence, and, along that path, buried himself deeper.

He pitied his disciple, opening himself endlessly, not knowing that the beast astride him was the senior brother he revered beyond measure.

He had to do his utmost.

For pleasure was the only torment this loathsome hypocrite could bestow upon his disciple.

Having retraced his every step, Haryang sent a voice-transmission beyond the door to Samrang.

[Yes. What is it?]

Though their tryst had been interrupted, Haryang’s face was calm. He knew Samrang was not one to disturb him without cause.

[Traces of a demonic physician have been found.]

[Where?]

At the words “demonic physician,” Haryang’s hands tightened upon his disciple.

[Hangzhou.]

Hangzhou.

Supporting Yegyeol’s slackening body in his arms, Haryang replied,

[I will be away from Xinjiang longer than usual. Make preparations.]

[By your command.]

Rising, Haryang checked the skin-mask he had tossed to the floor.

He had torn it roughly; it was ruined. Haryang summoned true fire and burned the mask.

Unless made of a real human face, the materials were costly, and few craftsmen could produce them, but Haryang felt no regret.

After reducing it to ash, Haryang returned to Yegyeol’s side and pressed his ear gently to his chest.

His fainted disciple’s heartbeat was steady; his breathing was fine.

Haryang embraced him. Patting his back tenderly, as if soothing a child, he reviewed the situation.

All was proceeding more or less according to plan. Considering that life usually goes nothing like one intends, it would not be strange to call it smooth sailing.

Yet Haryang’s tranquil face was closer to the calm before a storm.

More than the name “demonic physician,” heard after years, one thing gnawed at him.

Lowering his head, Haryang bit Yegyeol’s shoulder savagely. The engorged flesh would soon bruise blue, no doubt.

Without agitation, he slid his hand over it. His tooth marks vanished as if they were a lie, leaving only skin as clear as Kunlun’s eternal snows.

A recovery beyond the norm.

Haryang slowly lifted his hand and clenched his fist tight.

He had seen such humans a few times. Specimens that could be called “successes” were rare. Regeneration of this degree was nearly impossible to house within a human body and came with vicious side effects.

People whose bodies twisted and died because of regeneration beyond proper limits…

As he recalled a past he thought long put behind him, a scent of blood brushed his nose. He had clenched too hard; a few drops fell from his palm where his nails had dug in.

“Ng… senior brother?”

In a haze, Yegyeol, who had only been letting out ragged moans, called to him as soon as Haryang released him.

Even knowing his disciple’s eyes were blindfolded, Haryang hid his palm beneath his sleeve.

“Rest easy…”

At the familiar address, Haryang, by habit, soothed his disciple — then smoothly slipped back into Black Ghost’s manner of speech.

“Unless you want more, it would be best to take your rest now.”

Yegyeol’s shoulders twitched. Even half-asleep, a shudder of aversion ran through him.

At this rate, Haryang thought with a dry laugh, there might be no next time.

The regret was unbidden.

Suddenly, the saying about first love being fearsome came to mind. Until today, Haryang had never imagined he would be bound by it; but seeing his state now, he was clearly enthralled.

But would his disciple be the same?

A perverse curiosity lifted its head.

The deliberation was brief; Haryang’s concern was not deep. He could accept it if Yegyeol left now and never returned.

‘Even if your first man is the Black Ghost…’

Haryang’s fingers gently stroked Yegyeol’s cheek as his eyes remained closed.

‘I will forever be your senior brother…’