Chapter 197
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 197
Chapter Title: Manchu Slum's Father-in-Law and Son-in-Law (2)
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A man walked through the Moyong Family's inner courtyard, which somehow felt strangely unfamiliar even though he hadn't been gone for all that long.
Moyong Wicheon glanced up at the sky for a moment.
The sky over Liaodong was as clear and crisp as ever.
Though a sandstorm had already swept through once, it was still crisp, regardless.
At any rate, he now gazed up at the cloudless, perfectly clear night sky, where not a speck of that sandstorm remained.
"Hoo."
He steeled his heart for the storm that was sure to come.
And then.
"Mother. Your son has returned."
"Why are you back so soon?"
A cold voice echoed from beyond the closed door.
As he paused in silence for a moment.
"While those lowly scum are shedding their blood with all they've got, you should be honing yourself further to grasp a power befitting the young lord of the house. So why on earth have you come back?"
Lowly scum.
Lowly scum...
There had been a time when Moyong Wicheon thought the same.
They were born different.
With noble blood mixed with noble blood, he was destined to become the noblest person under heaven.
Seduced by that sweet whisper.
There had been a time when Moyong Wicheon believed it with every fiber of his being.
A time that wasn't all that long ago, even now.
And so.
Everyone else had always seemed inferior to him.
No matter the era, the blood of the emperor who once commanded the entire Central Plains had mingled with another such blood.
Thus, he had believed he alone could restore the Moyong clan's greatness to the world.
But.
The well──
Leaving the clan for the wider world.
Stepping foot in the Hundred Flowers Academy, rubbing shoulders with others.
Moyong Wicheon had come to realize, painfully and viscerally, that he had been nothing more than a fledgling bird, blindfolded by his mother's hand in the nest.
And then.
Moyong Seol and Moyong Taek.
Those collateral siblings weren't the filthy, base-blooded lowly scum scheming to steal his promised glory, his position as young lord──
- Wicheon, aren't you pushing yourself too hard lately? It's okay to take it easy sometimes. The Moyong sword blooms at the end of endurance.
- Brother, are you having a tough time lately? There's this game called mahjong that's really fun.
...Now that he thought about it again.
Moyong Taek really was a bastard.
The phrase "like father, like son" must have been made for him.
Daring to treat people's eyes like loopholes in a sack and try to swap tiles on the sly.
"Why are you silent? I asked why you've come back."
Only upon hearing his mother's voice, colder than the biting blizzards of the Northern Sea Ice Palace, did Moyong Wicheon finally feel the smile tugging at his lips.
"With the family in crisis, how could I, as young lord, sit idly by?"
"Wicheon!"
Moyong Wicheon clamped his mouth shut again at his mother's voice, which came out almost like a scream.
"It's you. You are the Moyong. Wherever you are, that is Moyong. So why tie yourself to this wretched, filthy wasteland?"
"...Mother. This place is Moyong."
In the end, unable to hold back, Moyong Wicheon added one more word.
"You've truly gone blind."
The blind one is you, Mother.
...Words he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.
"I'll come see you again tomorrow. Rest well, Mother."
As he turned away, teeth gritted slightly.
Crash──!
The sound of shattering glass rang out deafeningly.
But.
Moyong Wicheon did not look back.
.
.
.
Sima Ran closed her eyes.
Her beloved, her pride, her one and only truly noblest child in all the world.
Was carrying kindling on his back, throwing himself into the fire like a moth.
Her child, born with karma far too noble to end his days in this hellish frontier.
Yet why was he wandering, deluded like a blind man with his eyes shut?
The reason was clear.
Those rootless bastards, those mongrel scum with tainted blood, had clouded her dear son's eyes.
Grind.
She could never, ever accept that.
The family head was incompetent, unable to wield his authority properly and instead scattering precious seed elsewhere.
What was the point of uniting houses?
Wasn't it a strategic decision born from overcoming weakness and striving for greater strength?
Yet Moyong Danha, that foolish fool, seemed content in this backwater village, calling himself the chief of the barbarians.
More.
Before this clan decayed further, special measures were needed.
Sima Ran opened the wardrobe door and groped deep inside.
Soon, a vial chilled with cold energy came into her hand.
"What in the world is this disgrace?"
The leader of the Stormwind Clan, the great warrior of the great tent, the khan of the grasslands.
Ironwood Bear cast a cold gaze over the assembled group.
"An explosion of unknown origin? If the Central Plains dogs had that kind of firepower now, do you think we could've built our strength all these years? Even if they blew up a gunpowder depot right in the middle, it wouldn't explode like that!"
This was already the sixth time.
To avoid provoking the governor's ire as much as possible, the Stormwind Clan had deliberately dispersed their forces across the Liaodong wilds.
So they could scatter at any moment.
And gather at a single point to charge whenever needed.
But what had come of it?
Four of the gathered tribes had been nearly annihilated already, not just lives lost but even the warhorses vanished without a trace.
All that remained were massive craters, as if stars had fallen from the sky.
Did the warriors just evaporate into those craters?
"Those crafty Central Plains bastards must have pulled some scheme! Why haven't you caught their tails yet? And you call yourselves great tent warriors?"
Ironwood Bear's roar echoed thunderously.
Though they hadn't fully recognized each other as father-in-law and son-in-law yet, it was obvious this was a collaborative masterpiece by those crazy Central Plains folks playing among themselves.
Explosion is art.
Art is explosion.
The aftershocks of Mr. D's will, inherited through diversionary tactics, were brutally battering the great warriors' morale.
But.
A true great khan had to lead by example in such times.
"I'll handle it myself."
Ironwood Bear's resolute voice rumbled low.
"That spot looks good for today."
Gazing at the map, spreading out his senses.
Geum Sihyeon designated today's unlucky site for a tactical nuke.
"Got it."
Of course, Moyong Danha never questioned the geographic spots Geum Sihyeon picked.
His role was singular from the start.
This damn guy with his guts hanging out would hurl something insanely powerful—whatever mad martial art he'd learned, beyond even what a steel ring could produce—then collapse.
Could killing the bastard now save his daughter? No, his daughter would surely throw a fit and follow him to the grave. What a conundrum, a real pickle.
Torn by such inner turmoil, he hoisted the insolent madman grinning smugly on his back and returned.
That was it.
Though he did feel like this rude, rice-brained bastard was subtly sucking away his internal energy.
And those orbs he threw seemed to pulse with blatantly blazing demonic qi.
But whatever.
If he was a Demonic Cult sprout, he'd probably make good money.
That was Moyong Danha's extent of sentiment.
That vile parasite Geum Sihyeon must have already eaten away at his brain.
Otherwise.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
He'd never spout such polite nonsense.
.
.
.
But perfect happiness never lasts.
As he settled on a high plateau overlooking the outpost to gift another blazing explosion to the empty camp today, humming some random beat—thud thud thump thud thump.
"Hm."
Moyong Danha's senses picked up something slithering in the distance.
It would be nice if it were just grassland beasts moving about.
But gradually.
Thud thud, thud thud...
Clop clop, clop clop...
As if racing to the ends of the earth.
As if charging to the heavens themselves.
Again and again spurring forward, refusing to give up, believing in themselves—the Stormwind Clan's cavalry shook the ground as they approached.
The dreams of the Mongols, oppressed for ages.
Facing them as they charged with all those dreams on the line.
"Ha, damn. We've been spotted."
Sighing, Geum Sihyeon's hands still moved busily this way and that, flicking about dazzlingly, like shuffling mahjong tiles and pulling aces from the bottom.
Watching the sight.
"Scared?"
"As if."
At Geum Sihyeon's reply, Moyong Danha smiled faintly.
With the hoofbeats drawing ever closer, gray dust rising under the dark night sky.
"Just toss 'em roughly."
Omitting "I'll take the lead first."
Moyong Danha drew his twin swords and charged ahead.
Strangely, whenever he was with that crazy young punk.
The weight of the clan, the weight of the family head, the weight of the patriarch, the dignity as a martial world elder—all faded away.
He felt like a brash youth again.
And Moyong Danha rather liked that feeling.