Chapter 108
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 108
Chapter Title: Rumors Aren't Meant to Be Believed
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Ignoring the whining Biyeon as best he could, Baek Geon smiled with crinkled eyes and spoke up again.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me? I can listen well.”
“Yeah? If I ask you to lose, will you?”
“Shall I?”
His mouth, which had been chewing on a dangho, froze at the unexpected response. Under the stinging glares from the Wudang bastards, he just gave an awkward laugh.
As if those words were sincere. And he hadn’t even planned to ask Baek Geon to throw the match in the first place. Overcoming this preliminary dropout crisis was Biyeon’s responsibility.
“Nah. Do your best out there.”
“Great Senior Brother? Could you please tell Baek Geon Dojang to lose just once?”
“Don’t you have any pride?”
Piiik-! With the signal, the preliminary round for the group containing Biyeon and Baek Geon began.
Biyeon still wore a soul-crushed expression, unable to accept the reality of dropping out in the prelims. And his opponent was none other than Baek Geon.
Mount Hua Purple Generation’s weakest versus Wudang White Generation’s strongest.
The preliminary rules were simple.
Sword hits the ground: eliminated. Incapacitated: eliminated. No serious injuries allowed. Step off the stage: eliminated.
Two from the group stuck to Biyeon, while one went after Baek Geon. It looked like a strategy to take out the slightly weaker-looking Mount Hua disciple first.
“Not me—go after the Wudang bastard!”
Biyeon swung his sword wildly, venting his frustration like a possessed heroine yelling at the original lead. Even as the weakest among them, Biyeon’s skills were far from lacking.
While Baek Geon leisurely dispatched the one charging at him and watched Biyeon’s fight, Biyeon cleverly shoved one opponent off the stage and squared off against the other.
“Opening!”
Biyeon’s sword thrust straight into the side that had fully exposed its weakness. He didn’t miss the reflexive defensive hand coming down, smashing it with all his might.
“Youngest, you’re awesome!”
Biyeon, smirking confidently at the cheers from below the stage, saw Baek Geon standing before him and immediately let his mouth droop.
“Uh, I really don’t want to drop out of the prelims…”
“Since I’ve heard ‘do your best,’ I have no choice.”
“Wow… you really have no ego…”
Biyeon let out a listless exclamation and raised his sword, forming a sword seal.
Mount Hua’s weakest versus Wudang (third-generation) strongest—the result of the match…!
“Ughhhheeeeng!”
“Youngest, stop crying. It’s embarrassing.”
“Yeah, man. Crying your eyes out over dropping out of prelims is way more shameful than the dropout itself.”
“Senior brothers, what do you know! I’m as good as dead to Master and the elders!”
“But the opponent was Baek Geon—surely there’s room for leniency…?”
The Purple Generation’s glorious first dropout, Biyeon roughly wiped his tears with his sleeve.
Then he strode right up to Baek Geon, who was impassively receiving congratulations on advancing to the finals from his senior brothers.
Standing in front of Baek Geon, Biyeon thrust out his hand. Baek Geon shook it, a hint of reluctance on his face, as Biyeon grinned through his tear-streaked expression.
“Since you’ve already knocked me out in the prelims and made it to the finals, keep going all the way—and get utterly crushed by our Great Senior Brother in the championship match.”
“Thank you for the kind words. I hope Biyeon Dojang achieves great results at the next Dragon-Phoenix Assembly.”
Baek Geon smiled like a flower in full bloom.
After the brief handshake, Biyeon shuffled back, shaking his head.
“Great Senior Brother’s ‘that person’ isn’t right in the head…”
* * *
The day’s prelims wrapped up, and evening arrived. The dropouts were Biyeon and Bijun—only two.
Chuwol House was the grandest upscale tavern in the Ak Yang Martial Alliance headquarters. Even with sky-high prices, it was swarming with people.
Not just the third-generation disciples from Wudang and Mount Hua, but heirs from prominent clans in fine clothes were everywhere.
He caught a glimpse of the bastard who’d groped Bireung and gotten kicked in the back by him. Unfortunately, their table was close enough to overhear.
He wanted to move seats for Bireung’s sake, but there were none left.
At least the fly-like clan bastards had enough sense—or maybe lacked the guts to approach with others around—not to even glance their way.
“One bottle of every type of liquor!”
“Biyeon, have you lost your mind?”
“Let go—don’t stop meee! I’m drinking myself to death today!”
“Last time you passed out after one drink and had to be carried back by a palace maid. Cut the nonsense and drink water.”
Biyeon rampaged, vowing to drink till he dropped. Baek Geon glanced at him, eyes filled with pity.
“Why, did Master chew you out hard?”
“No! Not even a little? But my pride’s been trampled! My pride, saddled with the disgrace of a prelim dropout!”
Yelling at the top of his lungs for all to hear about his prelim dropout, Biyeon slammed a shot down his throat and face-planted onto the table, out cold.
“Bijun, drink in moderation.”
“In moderation? In moderation? Are you the one who made me want to drown my sorrows?”
Bijun glared daggers at Bihwan, who was stopping him from pouring. Bihwan let out a short sigh and corrected himself.
“No, the real culprit’s the organizers who stuck you and me in the same group.”
The group assignments really were pure luck, and they’d shoved two Mount Hua disciples—same age, no less—into one.
That’s how Bijun ended up losing to his fellow sect member Bihwan’s sword in the prelims.
“I know, I get it was unavoidable… but did you have to smash my head with your sword hilt right in front of everyone, Senior Brother?”
“That was truly an unavoidable choice—my sword’s path was blocked—”
“There were plenty of gentler options, so why’d you have to bash my head in front of all those people, you damn Senior Brother!”
Spewing half-informal curses, Bijun grabbed Bihwan’s collar and shook him. The guys on either side pulled him off.
The Wudang White Generation bunch watched the drunken antics with great interest.
They were a more worldly Taoist sect than Wudang (though the elders would scold them if caught), with some drinking experience under their belts, but the strict precepts of Wudang made it unthinkable for them.
But how could young men in their prime resist the temptation to cut loose?
“Want me to tell you what our sect elders said after the last sparring event? They wondered what insane blessing Mount Hua was born under to have a kid like that dumped right at their gates.”
The Wudang senior brother, face flushed red from a few drinks, threw an arm around his chin and shoulder, chuckling.
“Blessing… You call this a blessing? More like a curse.”
Bidam, equally buzzed, muttered to himself and quickly averted his eyes upon meeting his gaze.
“But do you know what Elder Myeongbeom said? Even if abandoned at our sect gates, they’d have shipped him off to Geunhyeon anyway—no injustice there. Biyeon, if you’d been dumped in front of Jasogung, it would’ve been a disaster, ahaha!”
“Damn it, why not spread it around town that I’m some abandoned orphan bastard?”
He snapped back, and the Wudang senior brother patted his back.
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Who’d be dumb enough to call Mount Hua’s Mad Sword an abandoned orphan? Are we the type to get held back by our origins?”
Should he smash a bottle over that head to knock him out?
Baek Yun noticed him eyeing the bottle and the Wudang senior’s skull and urgently stood up, wedging himself between them.
“Senior Brother, ease up on the drinking. At least be able to walk back to the quarters.”
“Our Baek Yun, always with ‘orphan bastard’ on his lips, poking at me!”
Thankfully, with Baek Yun intervening, the Wudang senior’s target shifted from him to Baek Yun. He pounded Baek Yun’s back painfully and muttered what sounded like lamenting advice.
“You, man, tone down the mouth a bit, yeah? I worry sick you’ll get stabbed somewhere in the jianghu because of that trap of yours.”
“Ah, I’ve been watching my mouth lately.”
Tuning out the bickering senior brothers, he secretly topped off Bireung’s water glass with liquor and took a sip when the conversation from the neighboring clan bastards drifted into his ear.
“…Namgung Seheon… expelled from the family….”
“Strutting around so cocky… serves him right….”
“…not heartless, but abandoned all humanity….”
His hand, mid-pour, froze.
He stood up and headed straight for the clan fly bastards’ table. He slung arms over their chins and shoulders, patting their stiff bodies.
“I’d love to hear more details on that conversation.”
“W-what conversation…?”
“Weren’t you talking about the Namgung family heir?”
At his words, laughter exploded from the guy across the table.
“Puhaha, heir? Looks like you two were pretty chummy at the last gathering but haven’t heard the news? Did you two have a falling out or something?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
The guy chuckled, swirling his cup, and unleashed a torrent of sarcasm.
“Well, if you knew, you wouldn’t call a criminal struck from the registry—who not only murdered his young nephew to claim the succession but even stole a forbidden clan manual without permission—just ‘heir.’”