If You Can't Prove It (2)
“If you can’t prove it?”
Yeom Hwa-sin asked coldly.
Even in that moment, Baek So-cheon caught it—the flicker of curiosity in Yeom Hwa-sin’s eyes.
“With your personality, you’d just let me walk away?”
The onlookers assumed Yeom Hwa-sin would kill Baek So-cheon on the spot.
But Baek So-cheon was certain he wouldn’t. He’d mock him thoroughly, then leave him alive.
What Yeom Hwa-sin truly craved was to flaunt everything that followed—to show off the war he’d ignite, his conquest of the Murim, every detail laid bare for Baek So-cheon to witness.
And somewhere in that saga, at the most pivotal instant, he’d deliver the killing blow.
So the true answer to “if you can’t prove it” wasn’t Baek So-cheon’s death—it was the outbreak of war.
With Yeom Sa-won’s corpse between them, their gazes locked in the empty air.
“Do you want to die right here?”
“Better than wearing the false charge of killing your son.”
“False charge?”
“That’s right. The frame job you pinned on me.”
Baek So-cheon’s brazen certainty planted seeds of doubt among the watching powerhouses. Maybe there was more to this than they knew.
“May I examine the body briefly? I won’t damage it or show any disrespect.”
Yeom Hwa-sin hesitated, and Baek So-cheon pressed on.
“You owe at least that much to a man accused of murder.”
The crowd nodded in agreement. They weren’t fully committed to either side yet. Righteous faction or not, on this matter, they remained neutral.
They’d all seen it clearly: Yeom Sa-won dying mid-spar with Baek So-cheon.
Still, many half-believed Baek So-cheon was just stalling.
At his insistence, Yeom Hwa-sin lowered the body to the sparring platform’s floor.
“Fine. Take a look.”
“Thank you.”
Baek So-cheon examined the corpse methodically.
No one just drops dead—there has to be a trace on the body.
Not a drop of blood had spilled, so any wound was internal. He regretted not being able to infuse qi to probe the meridians and organs. Yeom Hwa-sin was too close for that.
Baek So-cheon parted the outer robes. Beneath lay the Black Dragon Divine Armor.
As he moved to remove it, Yeom Hwa-sin barked.
“Show some respect for the dead!”
He meant no stripping the body bare in front of everyone.
Baek So-cheon checked everywhere the armor didn’t cover. It would have shielded the torso anyway—if a hidden weapon had struck, it’d be in an unprotected spot.
He scrutinized Yeom Sa-won’s exposed skin. A hidden finger-flick of wind would leave marks. Or a dart.
Nothing. No wounds at all.
Ak So-gun sent him a transmission.
-I’m telling you this to help. We feared Yeom Alliance Lord’s interference, so our headquarters’ masters watched him and his Black Heaven warriors. None moved.
In other words, no projectiles from Yeom Hwa-sin’s side.
Baek So-cheon didn’t reply. Yeom Hwa-sin loomed too near for qi use.
The crowd held its breath, watching.
Moments later, Yeom Hwa-sin asked.
“Need more time?”
His gaze dripped ridicule—no anger, just amusement at the farce.
He definitely did it.
Baek So-cheon was sure. Yeom Sa-won’s unnaturally thick killing intent alone screamed it.
But how?
His eyes returned to the corpse.
The onlookers watched with pity. It looked impossible for Baek So-cheon to pinpoint the cause. Many were convinced he’d killed the man.
“We’ve given you plenty of time.”
As resignation crept in, a thought flashed through Baek So-cheon’s mind.
What if…?
He pried open Yeom Sa-won’s mouth and sniffed.
A foul, eerie stench wafted up.
Baek So-cheon shouted.
“Young Master Yeom was poisoned!”
Murmurs rippled through the powerhouses. Poisoned mid-spar? Outlandish.
In that instant, as he yelled, Baek So-cheon watched Yeom Hwa-sin.
Even with his ironclad composure, he’d flinched at “poisoned.”
Gotcha.
Yeom Hwa-sin squatted to eye level.
“Any signs of poison?”
His low voice, laced with deep qi, reached everyone.
Baek So-cheon replied loudly.
“None on the visible areas.”
“So it’s hidden?”
“Yes.”
“Does that even make sense? No hidden weapon could pierce the Black Dragon Divine Armor.”
“No one fired a weapon.”
“What? He poisoned himself?”
“Exactly. The Black Dragon Divine Armor was the weapon.”
Baek So-cheon saw it again—a split-second tremor on Yeom Hwa-sin’s face.
“You sent it to your son yesterday, laced with poison. That toxin made him exude unnatural killing intent during our spar.”
“Strong killing intent in a fight? That’s a stretch for proof of poisoning.”
“And there’s that bizarre stench from his mouth. Proof a potent poison melted his meridians and organs.”
Right then, a transmission arrived.
-Certain extreme poisons from the unorthodox sects activate when qi surges past a threshold. One absorbs through the skin: Pi-gong-duk, Skin-Qi Poison. It intensifies killing intent.
The sender: Yi-seon Ban Wol-ryang, seated among the luminaries, watching the duel.
Baek So-cheon turned to Yeom Hwa-sin.
“Isn’t Pi-gong-duk smeared inside the Black Dragon Divine Armor? It absorbs through the skin.”
Yeom Hwa-sin recoiled. His flawless mask cracked—How did he know? plain on his face.
“Pi-gong-duk triggers at high qi levels. That’s why you sent it the day before the duel.”
Silence blanketed the arena.
Ban Wol-ryang stood and stepped forward.
“I am Ban Wol-ryang, the alliance’s physician.”
He addressed the crowd.
“Pi-gong-duk reacts to a specific antidote. A quick check will confirm.”
He dispatched a disciple for the reagent.
Yeom Hwa-sin stared wordlessly at Baek So-cheon. His face blank, but Baek So-cheon knew he’d nailed it.
Soon, Ban Wol-ryang probed the armor’s interior with a thin wooden stick, scraping without removing it.
Finished, he declared.
“On my name as Yi-seon, I swear: Pi-gong-duk coats the inside of the Black Dragon Divine Armor.”
Murmurs swelled, then silence as eyes turned to Yeom Hwa-sin.
He showed no panic.
“Even if poisoned with Pi-gong-duk, how does that prove we did it? Maybe you snuck in last night and applied it.”
A desperate excuse, yet plausible doubt.
“Two of the Eighteen Ghost Swords guarded your son. Qi-less as I am, how could I tamper with your gift?”
“Who knows? An alliance master could’ve helped. To win, what wouldn’t you do?”
His glance at Ak So-gun implied complicity.
Baek So-cheon roared.
“Enough! You sacrificed your son to rally the unorthodox, boost morale, and spark war—your plan’s in ruins!”
Murmurs surged anew. They’d half-thought, A parent wouldn’t…
Now: That’s why he did it?
Yeom Hwa-sin bellowed.
“Lies! You’re the framer!”
No ironclad proof existed. A third party could’ve laced the armor—slim chance, but possible.
Still, Baek So-cheon deemed it enough. Yeom Hwa-sin’s desired scenario lay shattered.
Ak So-gun transmitted.
-Well? Strike now and kill him?
Baek So-cheon had considered it. Heavy losses, but viable.
Leading the charge himself, he could minimize casualties. Worst case: Yeom Hwa-sin proved stronger, taking him and Ak So-gun. Plus Black Heaven’s three elites weren’t pushovers.
Numbers didn’t guarantee victory—chaos could hobble them.
But that wasn’t the issue.
Baek So-cheon rose, strolling casually toward Ak So-gun—as if deferring to him. At maximum distance from Yeom Hwa-sin, he replied.
-Killing him here, with one subordinate in our headquarters? Every unorthodox sect will unite in vengeance.
War inevitable, fueled by pure hatred. Not what Baek So-cheon wanted.
-Best to let him go today.
-Understood.
Ak So-gun stood.
“Yeom Alliance Lord, your son’s death is tragic. Leave for now.”
Yeom Hwa-sin replied.
“I’ll mourn him. No war for a year. But in one year, you’ll pay for this plot.”
No war meant conceding defeat; payment meant denying the poisoning to the end.
Obvious. Admitting it would crater unorthodox morale.
Yeom Hwa-sin lifted his son’s body and descended the platform.
Jeon-gwi, Jan-baek, and Go-gong followed.
His final transmission came, laced with fury and admiration.
-You should’ve been my son.
Baek So-cheon suppressed the urge to reply.
You mad bastard, give it a rest.
They departed.
Only then did applause erupt for Baek So-cheon.
“Waaaaah!”
Without him, war might’ve erupted immediately.
Yi-seon’s aid was crucial—without the precise poison name, Yeom Hwa-sin wouldn’t have yielded so easily.
Baek So-cheon descended the platform.
Whether Yeom Hwa-sin would honor the truce was unknown. If he did, Baek So-cheon had bought his desired year.
Myeol Ji-ryun approached first.
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
Her beaming smile drew his own faint grin—and a pointed gaze.
You’re next.