Chapter 56. At Least Tell Me Why You're Trying to Kill Me!
Hwa Yeo-wol smacked Won Seung on the back.
Thwack!
“Ow!”
Hwa Yeo-wol shot him a glare.
Who was this guy to kiss her out of nowhere and then slander her...
Won Seung rubbed his back, frowning.
“Did you learn Iron Sand Palm or something? You nearly burst my heart.”
“Geom Yak Jong is the head sect of Cheongsu Gate. Don't be rude. The people of Geom Yak Jong are peak experts.”
“Tch.”
“Anyway, it's great news. For someone from Geom Yak Jong to come...”
Hwa Yeo-wol's face lit up with joy.
Won Seung turned at the piercing energy stabbing at him from behind.
Byeok Gyoo Un was staring this way, his blade-like eyes locked on Won Seung.
When Hwa Yeo-wol followed his gaze and turned, Byeok Gyoo Un masked his hostility as if nothing had happened and flashed a bright smile.
'He must've heard me.'
It was quite a distance away—could he really have heard?
Won Seung covered his mouth with his hand and whispered to Hwa Yeo-wol.
“Look, he was glaring like he wanted to devour me a second ago, but now that you're looking, he's smiling all bright.”
Byeok Gyoo Un's eyes flashed with intense light again as they met Won Seung's.
'He's really listening?'
This guy's a true master. As expected of Geom Yak Jong.
Won Seung took Hwa Yeo-wol and headed straight to the rear garden.
“What's this about?”
When Won Seung said he had something quiet to discuss, the curious Hwa Yeo-wol asked.
He'd planned to bring up the kiss from before and feed her the prepared excuse.
But disappointingly, that wasn't it.
Once they reached the rear garden and confirmed no one was around, Won Seung asked.
“You know my real name, right?”
“Ah...”
Put on the spot, Hwa Yeo-wol was at a loss for words. She knew Won Seung was sensitive about his identity being exposed.
“It's fine. I was planning to tell you my real name anyway. But it's a problem if others know. Who in Cheongsu Gate knows my identity?”
“Just Father, Uncle, and my cousins. Father told us to keep quiet.”
Hwa Cheon-un must've clamped down to avoid tangling with court politics.
“Thanks for that. It'd be trouble for me if my identity got out.”
“I know. That's why I call you Unsaeng.”
Hwa Yeo-wol smiled and nodded firmly.
Her face had brightened the moment she heard Geom Yak Jong had arrived.
Won Seung tilted his head. Seeing how much she welcomed Geom Yak Jong showed just how desperately Cheongsu Gate had been waiting for reinforcements.
But...
The atmosphere in Hwa Cheon-gang's office earlier had been incredibly heavy.
'Hwa Cheon-gang was even pissed off.'
Did Geom Yak Jong demand too much in return? Nothing in the world is free. Calling in masters means paying the price. But if they demanded too much, the callers would feel insulted too.
As the two chatted, a guard came running up to report.
“There you are. We've been looking everywhere. The Gate Lord wants to see you.”
“I'll come too.”
Hwa Yeo-wol tagged along.
Hwa Cheon-un frowned at the sight of his daughter following Won Seung inside.
Why does she keep hanging around that guy?
Clueless to her father's irritation, Hwa Yeo-wol asked.
“I met Byeok Gyoo Un from Geom Yak Jong. Does this mean reinforcements have finally arrived?”
“We'll talk family matters later.”
Hwa Cheon-un dodged her question and turned to Won Seung.
“We'll accept the three-way duel.”
Won Seung glanced at Hwa Cheon-gang, who nodded in agreement.
“Then just sign this pledge of compliance.”
“However, if things don't go as you say... we'll hold you accountable.”
Hwa Cheon-un added the condition.
What did it mean for a martial clan to hold someone accountable? Surely not chopping off his head?
Won Seung rubbed his neck in protest.
“That's a bit much, isn't it? I'm stepping up out of goodwill for Sangyang, and you're talking accountability?”
Hwa Yeo-wol backed him up.
“Unsaeng's just mediating...”
“Lives are on the line. If it goes wrong, someone has to take responsibility. Since Unsaeng's doing this for massive gain, he should stake his life on it.”
Hwa Cheon-un cut her off and looked to Hwa Cheon-gang, who nodded, signed the pledge, and handed it to Won Seung.
“Third Lord's right. Whatever your intentions, you're set to gain big. Big gains come with big prices—that's only natural.”
“Understood.”
Won Seung took the signed document and tucked it away.
“In two days, Cheon Il-hae will formally propose the three-way duel. Just accept then.”
“Got it.”
“One request.”
“What?”
“If things go as I expect, Cheon Il-hae will face the Yong descendant first. Then the Yong descendant spars with Second Lord. If you subdue the Yong descendant, please spare his life.”
Hwa Cheon-gang shook his head.
“Why should I? That bastard's dragged Cheongsu Gate's honor through the Sangyang mud.”
“Killing both father and son is too cruel.”
“The martial world is ruthless by nature.”
Hmm. Not buying it. Then...?
“His origins are impressive. You know that, right?”
“...”
He knew. Of course he did.
“There'll be repercussions.”
Hwa Cheon-gang snorted.
“You don't know the martial world. No sect picks fights over a legitimate life-or-death duel. And since he's from such an impressive sect... I might even lose. I'm not begging for his life.”
With Hwa Cheon-gang unyielding, Won Seung sighed.
“If that's Second Lord's will, nothing to be done.”
As he passed, he casually added,
“Anyway, with Sangyang's martial world agreeing to settle it via duel, Dosanrim and Geom Yak Jong's masters came all this way for nothing.”
Hwa Cheon-gang and Hwa Cheon-un said nothing, their faces still stern.
'Hmm. Something's up, alright.'
Won Seung's instincts tingled. But he couldn't ask outright.
'But I've got a thread to pull.'
A pretty thread named Hwa Yeo-wol.
Bowing to the Hwa brothers on his way out, he said to Hwa Yeo-wol,
“See you later.”
He mimed painting with his hand, and she nodded in understanding.
As Won Seung left Cheongsu Gate, coachman Seok-bo waited with the ebony carriage ready.
“Go on ahead. I'll walk.”
Telling the coachman that, Won Seung strolled down the street.
When his head was cluttered, walking cleared it best. He pondered what words might have passed between the Hwa brothers and the Geom Yak Jong reinforcements as he wandered the narrow alleys.
A guard had let slip there were four of them.
'The third disciple of the Geom Yak Jong Lord? That unlucky bastard had such an arrogant face.'
Won Seung grimaced, recalling Byeok Gyoo Un's face. He hated that haughty look that treated him like dirt.
Lost in thought, a sudden chill prickled the top of his head.
Instinct screamed danger, cold sweat trickling down his spine.
'Killing intent?'
His back felt icy.
The path from Cheongsu Gate to Baekhwa Pavilion had a main road and narrow alleys. The main road was a detour, so Won Seung took the alleys.
Even after several trips, these cramped alleys rarely had people—and now someone followed.
Light, steady footsteps marked a martial artist.
Won Seung quickened his pace; the pursuer sped up too, realizing he'd been spotted.
Won Seung whipped around.
A sturdy middle-aged man approached.
“Why are you following me?”
In a flash, the man launched like an arrow, kicking off the alley wall to leap over Won Seung.
'A master!'
Won Seung spun in shock, but a brutish hand shot out from behind, grabbing his jaw. Then a thick palm clamped his crown.
'This is...?'
A neck-twisting kill he'd learned himself. The man had landed behind him in one leap, hands poised to snap his neck.
Startled, Won Seung surged every ounce of inner energy.
Crack!
He felt the man apply force.
Crack, pop!
His neck bones creaked but held—thankfully.
Without forty years of inner energy shielding him, his neck would've shattered instantly.
“!”
The man recoiled in surprise at Won Seung's formidable inner energy.
In that gap, Won Seung slammed his head back.
Thud!
The back of Won Seung's head smashed the man's face. He stomped the man's instep with his right heel and drove an elbow at his solar plexus.
Simple self-defense, but perfect for the moment.
Crunch!
The instep connected solidly, but the elbow was blocked by the man's thick forearm.
“Urk!”
The man groaned in pain. Even masters felt that agony.
Won Seung darted forward, spinning while grabbing a hidden vial from his waist. It held Mountain Air Powder.
The man stared in disbelief.
“You practice martial arts. Fooling everyone as a mere painter...”
Drip, drip!
Blood trickled from the man's nose. He pinched it shut with a thick palm, wiped the blood, and glared at Won Seung.
“Jong Wonbo sent you?”
“None of your business.”
The man lunged. Impeccable footwork. Won Seung retreated a zhang, sprinkling the vial into the air.
Mountain Air Powder burst forth.
“Poison too?”
The startled man flung his arms wide, then clapped thunderously.
Boom!
The shockwave blasted Won Seung's ears and scattered the powder.
'Damn! A Peak Expert!'
Won Seung's scalp prickled again.
To encounter a fabled Peak Expert in Sangyang's back alleys.
Won Seung had ten years of brutal training, but he was still just a sixteen-year-old boy. Forty-plus years of inner energy or not, the man was a seasoned master with perfect harmony of energy and form, at the pinnacle of refinement.
No wasted moves.
And those eyes—eyes of a serial killer. He saw Won Seung as already dead, not even bothering with words.
'This is bad!'
Summer meant light clothes, so he only carried Mountain Air Powder and Dream Oblivion Powder.
He had stinger poison smeared on ear acupuncture needles, but a Peak Expert would shrug it off.
His last resort was the masterwork deadly poison from his master, hidden in his dagger hilt—Seven Treasures Soul Separation Powder. But the man wouldn't just open wide.
Won Seung's frantic mind settled on one conclusion...
Flee.
'One chance only.'
Gripping his last vial of Dream Oblivion Powder, Won Seung glared at the man.
The man eyed the white vial warily, advancing slowly.
“Hey, at least tell me why you're trying to kill me!”
“...”
The man glared silently, calculating the killing blow.
“The Jong family sent you, right?”
“Too chatty.”
Grunting curtly, he charged. One step closed a zhang, fierce wind pressure roaring like a gale.
'A master assassin like this...'
Amazed inwardly, Won Seung swung the Dream Oblivion Powder vial at the charging man.
But the man was gone—feinting a charge to retreat.
Won Seung had only feinted too, so it evened out.
“This time for real!”
Won Seung rushed, swinging again. The man retreated three zhang.
Feint again.
The man fell back another zhang. As distance opened, Won Seung bolted without hesitation.
“You little shit!”