Chapter 34. Conviction (4)
That day, Namgung Hyeon held a grand banquet. It was meant for everyone to gather and unwind with drinks after the martial arts competition. However, the guest of honor did not attend.
There was one more person absent from the banquet.
Yeon Ho-jeong.
The young disciples were disappointed. Regardless of the circumstances, Yeon Ho-jeong had become the center of attention at this gathering. Many had hoped to speak with him.
Yet people understood.
After his duel with Chu Seong, Yeon Ho-jeong had sparred with the young disciples and even faced Myeong Ho-rim.
He must have been exhausted. He needed rest.
Thus, the final night of the young disciples’ gathering came to an end.
The night was bitterly cold.
Yeon Ho-jeong sat cross-legged in the backyard of his residence, completing his Qi circulation.
“Hoo.”
He exhaled, expelling stagnant energy.
He had killed Ma Bang at Choseong Tower, overwhelmed Dang Yang-seon, driven back Chu Seong, and finally clashed with Myeong Ho-rim.
For someone at Yeon Ho-jeong’s current level, this should have been impossible.
Of course, his comprehension of the ByeokRa True Technique neared perfection, touching its very core. The Black Demon Emperor’s insights and knowledge had accelerated his cultivation at an astonishing pace.
But there were limits. At the very least, he had yet to reach a level acknowledged by the martial world.
Yet he had emerged victorious in every battle for one reason:
Experience.
Profound insights gained through experience allowed him to compensate for his lack of raw strength and physical conditioning.
However, experience and enlightenment could not replace everything.
His shoulder began to tremble.
Overworked muscles. His mind and instincts demanded feats his body could not yet sustain. Forcing it had only caused harm.
This was why completing even his basic Qi circulation had taken over half a day.
“……Hmm.”
Color gradually returned to Yeon Ho-jeong’s pallid face.
Finally.
He was stable—not fully healed, but mobile enough.
“Hoo!”
Yeon Ho-jeong released his posture and lay flat on the ground.
Damn, I’m stiff.
Every muscle ached. His joints creaked with every slight movement.
I need to train harder. My current efforts aren’t enough.
He clenched his fist.
It wouldn’t close fully. A full day of rest would likely be needed for recovery.
Whooong.
As his body relaxed, the Black Tortoise Energy activated spontaneously.
His kidneys stirred, followed gradually by his other organs.
Good enough.
He had done all he could. With the Black Tortoise Energy at work, his recovery would hasten.
Yeon Ho-jeong gazed at the sky.
The night was clear. Though the moon was not full, its light bathed the earth, and the stars shimmered mysteriously.
A sight worth lingering on.
But Yeon Ho-jeong’s eyes turned icy as he stared upward.
“Yes. It was the Myeong family.”
More precisely, the Myeong family’s martial arts.
He was certain. While stances and internal energy could be imitated, the flow of Qi was nearly impossible to counterfeit.
Inner energy techniques followed strict formulas and principles, passed down through meticulous tradition. Ninety percent of this lay in how Qi was circulated.
Each sect’s Qi circulation method was wholly unique. Unless shared through direct lineage, duplication was impossible.
Then there was Myeong Ho-rim’s sword style.
Simple, yet focused purely on power and speed.
That was a sword technique, not a palm technique.
He remembered clearly: twenty-six years ago, the attacker who shattered his brother’s spine had used a devastating palm strike.
This was why he hadn’t recognized it immediately. The palm technique from his memory was an adaptation of Myeong Ho-rim’s sword style.
…….
His feeble fist trembled. The mere recollection flooded him with strength.
Pyeong-ah.
Emotion surged in his chest.
Even as he lay dying with a broken spine, his younger brother hadn’t glanced his way. A single look might have revealed Yeon Ho-jeong’s hiding place.
But Yeon Ho-jeong had heard Yeon Ji-pyeong’s silent scream.
Run, brother!
He’d always thought “tears of blood” were mere hyperbole—something only the gravely ill or injured experienced.
But true grief? It drew blood.
He knew. He had shed such tears himself.
He’d wept until the crimson stains around his eyes lingered for three days. Such was the depth of his hatred.
Never again.
Swish.
The grass beneath Yeon Ho-jeong withered. His killing intent was so potent it strangled the life from the plants.
I won’t live with regrets anymore.
At that moment—
“Damn, you’re intense.”
Yeon Ho-jeong sprang to his feet. A man stood before him.
“Whoa, this intense? I could barely approach. My hand’s gone numb.”
“Yong…?”
“Not Dubangju. Huga.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, mind toning down the murderous vibe? I brought the Jegal twins, but they fled to their rooms.”
Yeon Ho-jeong hadn’t realized his killing intent had spilled out so fiercely.
The chilling aura dissipated.
Ga Deuk-sang looked genuinely impressed.
“The more I see you, the more remarkable you become. Killing intent stems from will. The stronger the mind, the stronger the aura.”
“…….”
“Whatever baggage you’re carrying—you’re something else.”
Though still stiff, Yeon Ho-jeong couldn’t remain lying down in front of this man.
“Why are you here?”
“This.”
Ga Deuk-sang lifted two large bundles.
“Didn’t you promise me lunch? You stood me up.”
“Ah……”
“Ah? Keuhahaha! So you can make normal noises! The more I see you, the more I like you. Huh?”
Yeon Ho-jeong gestured to an outdoor table.
“Let’s eat there.”
“Perfect. Brought drinks too.”
Ga Deuk-sang’s face was already flushed from alcohol, glowing in the moonlight.
They settled at the table.
“How’s Pyeong-i?”
“Enjoying himself. You know your brother—Young Master Lee charms everyone. Half the crowd wants to be his friend.”
“I see.”
“Here. Drink.”
Yeon Ho-jeong raised his cup politely.
Ga Deuk-sang chuckled.
“Relax. No need for formalities with a beggar.”
“Give it to me.”
“Hah! Stubborn, aren’t you?”
Yeon Ho-jeong took the bottle and filled Ga Deuk-sang’s cup instead.
Ga Deuk-sang didn’t stand on ceremony, exuding the ease of a vagabond king.
“Let’s drink.”
“Let’s.”
They drained their cups in unison.
“Damn, the Seven Great Families spare no expense. Is this that famed Shaoxing wine?”
“Seems so.”
“First time tasting it. I usually swill cheap gutter brew. This stuff’s making my head spin.”
He hawked and spat. “Ptoo!”
Propping a leg on the table, he patted his belly—a picture of carefree slovenliness, yet somehow unoffensive.
“You alright?”
“Fine.”
“Looks it. You overexerted your muscles, yet you’ve mostly recovered. Impressive.”
He’d noticed the strain immediately. Sharp-eyed, as expected.
“No wonder you’re the Huga.”
“Damn right. Only the top beggar bastard gets the title.”
The phrasing was odd, but Yeon Ho-jeong let out a dry laugh.
Ga Deuk-sang grinned back.
“Good to see you smile. Do it more often. Don’t be so tense.”
“I’ll smile when there’s reason to.”
“Hahaha! Fair enough. So Young Master Yeon hasn’t had much to laugh about lately?”
His laughter carried a sly edge, the joke laced with probing intent.
Yeon Ho-jeong didn’t deflect.
“Do happy men stir up storms?”
“Exactly. Heard you wrecked the Dang family’s eldest yesterday?”
“You heard about that too?”
“Stopped counting after seventy-six people mentioned it.”
“He was a brat.”
“True. But you went too far. The Dang family won’t overlook this.”
Yeon Ho-jeong shook his head.
“I don’t care.”
He didn’t.
The words could have meant anything, but his tone held no resignation.
Ga Deuk-sang opened his mouth to press further, then grinned and raised his cup instead.
“Another round!”
“Another.”
They drank.
Strange, considering this was their first meeting. Yet they conversed like old friends, effortlessly at ease.
Half an hour passed swiftly.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Choseong Tower.”
“…….”
“The Tower Lord said you saved his life. Told me to thank you if I ever saw you.”
Yeon Ho-jeong smirked.
“He wasn’t afraid to speak of it?”
“Hoh? How’d you know?”
“A hunch.”
“More than a hunch. Burning a man alive—no matter how vile—shakes anyone.”
Yeon Ho-jeong stayed silent.
Watching him, Ga Deuk-sang reached a conclusion:
He’s not emotionless.
He knew exactly how his actions appeared.
But he wouldn’t compromise his principles. He believed himself right.
Ga Deuk-sang stretched with a groan.
“Aigo, drank too much. I’m spent. We’ve cleaned up here, yeah?”
“Before you go—I have a request.”
Ga Deuk-sang’s eyes widened.
A request? Yeon Ho-jeong didn’t seem the type to ask favors.
Interest sparked.
“What kind?”
“Not a request. A job.”
“A job? We do trade in information. But we’re allies, right? No need for transactions. Just ask.”
Yeon Ho-jeong laid out his terms.
Ga Deuk-sang’s expression sobered.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“…The first is manageable. The second, trivial. But the third? Do you know how difficult that is?”
“I do. Hence asking you.”
“Too much?”
“Who said that? It’s doable.”
“As expected of the Beggars’ Sect.”
“But I’m curious. No charge—just tell me why.”
Yeon Ho-jeong’s eyes glinted blue.
In the moonlight, they shone cold and ghostly.
“Do this right… and you’ll understand without my explanation.”
Ga Deuk-sang would uncover the truth through his investigation.
Ga Deuk-sang smirked.
“Trying to rattle me? You’re sharp for your age.”
“I’ll take that as praise.”
“More than praise. Who are you?”
“Yeon Ho-jeong. Eldest son of the Byeoksan Yeon Clan.”
Ga Deuk-sang knew this wasn’t the full answer.
He stood.
“I’ll take my leave. Expect results soon.”
“Discreetly?”
“You think I’m an amateur? Of course.”
“Understood.”
Ga Deuk-sang turned to leave.
“Watch your back tomorrow. Those humiliated youngsters might seek revenge.”
With those words, he vanished.
Yeon Ho-jeong looked up.
The moon remained—incomplete, yet bright, mirroring his frigid gaze.
“…Time to act?”
Rustle.
The weeds beneath his feet shriveled instantly.
