Chapter 86
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Is Mount Hua a Dog?
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He'd just tossed out an abrupt apology that had nothing to do with the earlier spat, and suddenly he came off like the disciple of a prestigious sect—fierce but polite.
Watching Jin Seoryun beam at me with instant fondness, while Paeng Haran smiled contentedly from the side, it hit me anew: protagonists who thrive on misunderstandings just weren't my style.
You had to be pretty thick-skinned to wander around oblivious, head in the clouds, and I just couldn't pull that off.
The reason I didn't bother clearing up the mix-up was simple: the moment I spilled the truth, I'd look like some weirdo, and that was that.
Anyway, that prickling glare had been drilling into me for a while now. I glanced sideways on instinct and locked eyes with sharply arched brows—what was her problem this time?
"You pick fights with just anyone?"
Why the hell was he flipping out now? As I raised an eyebrow at Namgung Seheon's gruff words, he grabbed my arm in a frantic grip.
"If you're gonna spar, do it with me. What if you lose again?"
"Losing's losing. It's not a duel to the death—do I drop dead if I lose? What the...?"
"No, if you lose...! There's someone else besides me that you're worried about... Argh!"
He couldn't even finish, just huffed and ruffled his hair wildly. I clicked my tongue watching him. His curly mop hid the mess so well, just like mine.
"Now that you mention it... Biyeon, you said Namgung Seheon was your first loss, right?"
Paeng Haran, who'd been smirking—practically sneering—at the sight beside me, unnecessarily confirmed it with me.
I scowled and nodded reluctantly, and he covered his mouth, chuckling.
"He's consistently such an idiot. What matters isn't the defeat—it's the qualifier slapped in front."
I shrugged instead of affirming his sharp point.
"But Biyeon, things look tense between Mount Hua and the Tang Clan. You sure you don't need to head over?"
I turned at Paeng Haran's words and spotted the green-robed group facing off against the black Taoist robes.
Even without me there, how long ago did the Wudang standoff end, and they were already picking fights again? No clue.
"Hah, what now."
Even a gathering of so-called righteous elites always sparked brawls. Righteous didn't mean they were all saints with flawless morals.
At the end of the day, the sects, clans, and factions were interest groups backed by force. Forget martial virtue or chivalry—the big line dividing black from white was whether they drew one or not.
In short, the righteous were just crazies with a code.
Told you—anyone knee-deep in the jianghu was mostly nuts.
I took a step toward my sect brothers, only for a hand to yank my arm desperately. I sighed deeply.
"What is it now?"
"Can't you just not go? Nah, the Tang Clan has eyes on them—they won't kick up a huge fuss. Oh, and you're the youngest by age anyway. What good's the littlest guy doing there?"
I flicked Namgung Seheon's forehead as he blabbered nonsense and shook off his grip on my sleeve.
"What're you on about? I'm the youngest age-wise, but not the shortest."
He scurried after me as I strode off, yapping nonstop like he had endless energy.
"Hey, got it? Ignore weirdos saying weird shit, okay? Promise!"
Yeah, that's what I'm doing right now, weirdo.
With Namgung Seheon trailing me, I reached the plum disciples, and Bidam rushed over, jabbing a finger at one of the Tang Clan guys while whining.
"Eldest Brother! That bastard to Senior Sister Biryeong...!"
"Don't you dare say it. Makes my blood boil just thinking about hearing that crap again."
Biryong, face set in a menacing scowl, cut Bidam off in a voice barely holding back rage.
If it riled her like that, he'd either mocked her looks or dissed her skills—one or the other.
I swept my gaze over the group in wide-sleeved green robes, all sharing similar sharp features.
Sacheon Tang Clan. One of the Five Great Clans, hegemons of Sichuan.
Notoriously insular and clan-focused, specialists in poisons and hidden weapons.
In *Sword God Returns*, they were a nest of vile, ruthless bastards, barely spared from annihilation because one sane guy helped the protagonist Jin Seoryun.
"Ah, you're the eldest brother? You look like the kid of the bunch."
The guy—textbook sleazy archetype—eyed me, scanned the plum disciples around me, and sneered. His tone dripped contempt.
"What a pack of mutts."
He cracked up at his own line, and I laughed along—ha ha.
I met the gaze of that narrow-eyed prick raking me up and down like trash, then clenched my fist tight.
Crack—! My knuckles smashed into the Tang guy's cheek.
He toppled with a crash, off-balance from the full-force haymaker. I yanked his hair, slamming his head down to force his chin up.
His cheek swelled red instantly, lips split and oozing blood, nose starting to drip crimson drops.
"If you're gonna start shit, be ready to eat fists, snake-eyes."
Pack of mutts? Fuck that—is Mount Hua a dog?
Rage boiled over, my voice dropping low. Pride stung, he gnashed his teeth and slipped a hand into his wide sleeve.
"Enough."
A heavy command rang out, and a grip clamped my wrist holding his hair. I glared and snarled.
"Who the hell are you to order me?"
"Urk." A small pained groan—glancing down, a woman's foot ground his hand into the dirt. A few darts scattered before it.
Instead of answering my growl, she looked down at him.
"He's not for you to handle."
"But Sis, the insult was to—"
"Enough tarnishing the Sacheon Tang name. Back off, Tang Haeun. There's a limit to overlooking your recklessness."
He started desperately, face twisting, but she sliced through coldly. Chilled by her icy stare, he bowed his head and shut up.
I roughly released his hair; she let go of my wrist.
"What, stepping up to take the beating for your little bro?"
I twirled my throbbing wrist, smirking. She let out a small laugh.
"For a prestigious sect disciple, you've got a filthy mouth."
"Yeah, your bro's trap's been mopping floors."
Her faint smile faded at my jab. I stared straight into those serpentine eyes boring into me, hand on my sword hilt.
Namgung Seheon wedged between us, back to me, trying to talk her down.
"Why not call it? Can't you see all the eyes and attention on us?"
"You dared touch a Tang Clan member. Time to pay the price."
"Wasn't it your brother who started the trash talk?"
"Your brother, Seheon? So presumptuous."
Her voice sank low, calling him by name alone—intimate, no clan prefix.
Even as the unlikely youngest son to inherit, he was still Namgung Clan. Who was she to call him cocky?
But seeing Namgung Seheon clench his fists without his usual hotheaded outburst, I sensed something between them.
"Your fiancé siding with outsiders doesn't look good."
Her voice oozed displeasure—whatever, but that word made my jaw drop.
...Fiancé?
My already sour mood plunged deeper. What the fuck—why me?
"Hey, come on."
Staying put might reveal the source of this filth, so I shoved Namgung Seheon aside and drew my sword.
"You're not buying that, right? I warned you! Ignore weirdos and their bullshit!"
"I'll humor you without poison arts," she said, brushing off his desperate plea to me. Her condescending tone grated.
"Use poison."
"Sorry, my poisons don't do half-measures."
Her already narrow eyes crinkled in a smile—pure villainous schemer vibe.
"Don't care. Use 'em. I'll own whatever happens after."
"You'll regret it."
"Even if you get wrecked, you'll whine later you held back—hate that shit, it's bullshit. So go all out this round."
Countless eyes poured our way; Mount Hua and Sacheon Tang were already the hot topic.
Our path: flawless victory to exalt our group, or crushing defeat and shame. Pick one.
"Fine, as you wish."
She leisurely slipped on black half-gloves and stated her name.
"Tang Hakyeong of the Sacheon Tang Clan."
"Oh, formal intros? Sure, why not. Biyeon of Mount Hua."
"Such... a motormouth."
Immeasurable misfortune, immeasurable misfortune!
Short greetings done, Tang Hakyeong crossed her arms in an X and hid them deep in her sleeves—the Tang Clan's signature for hidden weapons.
I assumed the stance for the 24 Plum Blossom Sword Techniques.
She stepped back, sleeves flapping as hands whipped out at blinding speed.
Scree—! Darts hurtled at me sharply.