Chapter 373: I Told You to Go Have Some Fun, Didn’t I? (3)

Flap flap—

A pigeon flitted over the high walls of Duke Deokhyeon’s royal estate, utterly fearless.

Of course, no one in such a grand manor would fly into a rage over a pigeon.

No one would shout, “How dare this beast enter the royal residence without permission!” and demand its execution.

And it’s not as if a pigeon could politely peck at the front gate and say,

“I may not know my parents, being born in the wild, but I have heard of the virtue and renown of His Grace Duke Deokhyeon, and have come to visit him out of earnest admiration. May I have your permission to enter, coo coo.”

But this pigeon was a little different.

It had been trained to find its way back to the royal residence no matter where in the Central Plains it was released.

If it survived hawks, stray dogs, wild cats, and the most dangerous predator of all—hungry beggars—it would always return to its perch.

It was a message pigeon.

And so, the pigeon keeper at the royal estate was overjoyed to see Youngsun (female, six years old, coincidentally sharing a name with the kitchen maid he had a crush on) suddenly return.

“Well now, Youngsun, what’s this? Did you miss big brother? Let’s see—”

He bantered affectionately, reaching for the message tube tied to her leg... and froze.

The tube was stained red with dried blood.

His hands moved quickly.

Even when Youngsun jabbed at his fingers with her beak—trained to protect her message with sharp pecks—he didn’t even flinch.

He had no time to feel the pain.

No. No, this can't be. There has to be a message.

But the message tube was empty.

The pigeon keeper’s face went pale.

This was the gravest kind of distress signal.

Whoever sent her had no time to write—just painted the tube in blood and released her.

Which could only mean something had gone terribly wrong with the prince in the wilds.

The keeper burst out of the pigeon loft.

Moments later—

The gates of the royal estate swung open. A squad of martial artists rushed out in unison, leaping over the ground with silent, masterful lightness techniques, slicing across the capital like arrows loosed from a bow.

****

A wide, expansive indoor training hall.

Large enough to lay down a hundred grown men without overlap.

Inside, amid dozens of dry corpses and mummified remains, only one person sat alive, cross-legged in the center.

Had any outsider seen her, they would instantly understand what was meant by “beauty that could burn nations to ash.”

Hair clung to her sweat-drenched face. Beneath it sat the embodiment of desire.

Her eyes, the very shape of them, dripped with seduction.

A single mole on her nose radiated sensuality.

Her garishly red, glistening lips were obscene beyond belief.

She was lust itself, in human form.

A face and body so alluring it could spark bloodlust just from breathing.

And then—

Haaahh—she sighed. It was barely a moan.

Even her sigh was obscenely seductive.

And then, she opened her mouth:

“...I’m hungry.”

The idiotic voice clashed so violently with her mesmerizing beauty, the mood shattered like glass.

The woman got up, briskly dusting off her butt, and walked over to the wall to open a box of Wall-Nutrition Pills.

Only three remained.

But they were covered in a layer of green and blue fuzz—

Mold.

These pills, meant to suppress hunger and cleanse internal toxins, had gone bad. Eating them now would probably kill her.

The woman’s face crumpled into a pout.

“They’re spoiled...”

She gave up on the pills and turned toward the massive iron door at the edge of the training hall.

Her stomach growled. Eyes sultry and seductive as ever, she placed a hand on the door.

A solid sheet of iron, a full man’s height in thickness.

But the slender woman pushed it open with effortless inner strength.

Grrrk—!

The door scraped against the floor, groaning open with weight.

Outside sat a man, cross-legged and meditating.

At the sound, he opened his eyes.

Mid-thirties, broad features, stubborn jawline, and ruggedly handsome.

Yet one of his eyes was hollow—dark and sunken, the eyeball long gone.

He tied a black cloth over the empty socket and bowed deeply.

“You’ve entered the final stage. Congratulations on your Great Achievement, Aunt.”

“Great Achievement? What’s that?”

“It means you’ve reached a significant milestone.”

“But I haven’t reached the Fire Realm yet.”

“There’s no need to rush. The villains of the world still roam freely. But your internal force is still unstable. Take more time.”

“But I have to protect my little sister.”

“Impatience is a poison in itself. Come, you must be hungry. Let’s eat.”

“Okay. Let’s eat.”

Despite her seductive appearance, the woman responded in a dull, airheaded tone and nodded.

She led the way.

The one-eyed man followed closely behind.

Suddenly, she looked back over her shoulder and asked,

“By the way, the purge? Is it done? Are there more of the Teapot Faction left?”

“It’s the Mainline Faction, not Teapot. The Black Demon Cavalry you took care of was the last. With that, the Cult has been purged. You’ve done a great service. Even those apostates you absorbed with your inner force must be thanking you from the afterlife.”

“They were still cursing me though.”

“Yes, well—that’s why I said ‘afterlife.’ When they died, they were resentful. But after death, facing King Yama, they’ll understand. Passing their inner force to you was redemptive in its own way.”

“Hmm. Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, if my dear nephew says so, it must be true! I don’t know stuff like that.”

The woman nodded quickly.

Her blind trust and inability to doubt were some of her few virtues.

“Heehee. Then I can go see my little sister now, right? I miss her.”

At that, the one-eyed man hesitated. He stopped walking.

When she turned to see him not following, she caught the look on his face—

Something was off.

She offered brightly,

“Wanna come too, Nephew?”

“Would... would that be all right?”

“Of course! A foster son going to see his foster mother. Besides, I think my nephew is already a very good person. So my little sister will definitely be happy to see you too.”

...Whether the sister agreed or not was another matter.

But this woman was so brainlessly pure that such higher-order thoughts were beyond her.

And the man’s face lit up.

Despite looking over thirty, his smile was that of an innocent child.

****

Sect Leader Kang Suyang of the Gyerim Sword Sect watched as smiles bloomed on his disciples’ faces.

In that moment, it felt like a heavy blow struck him in the head.

When had he last seen them smile?

For days, the Yogyayeombang—backed by the Demonic Union—had tormented and threatened them.

The disciples had endured insults no martial artist should ever tolerate.

Even if it was for the sake of the sect’s survival, the humiliation must have been soul-crushing.

And yet, if they gave up the estate—where would they go?

Any city would reject them.

Even if they settled, they’d carry the disgrace of being a sect that fled in defeat.

If they stayed in Namnyeong and gave up their martial estate and shops, what could they do?

But what had enduring really gotten them?

Just a fragile hope—

That somehow, the Murim Alliance might intervene.

Too weak to fight.

Too scared to flee.

Tomorrow was the eve of the Spring Festival already.

This wasn’t how it should’ve gone.

He should’ve made a decision.

Whether it meant sleeping on logs and licking bile in exile, or launching a suicidal attack to go down in history with honor—

Anything but this limbo.

At last, a dry, enlightened smile touched Kang Suyang’s lips.

Yes. We should abandon the estate.

What is an estate? A shop?

Why cling to them?

No one lives their whole life praised. Everyone gets smeared in mud at some point.

Even the founders of the Gyerim Sword Sect had left their original home in Gyerim and built anew in Namnyeong.

They had done it once—why not again?

As long as one disciple lives, smiles, and breathes like today—

The Gyerim Sword Sect would not die.

His decision was noble.

For the life of a martial artist could be summed up in a single line:

To lose honor... was to embrace death.

Sure, some might scoff—

“What honor? You’re just thugs with swords.”

But people always obsess over what they lack.

That’s why martial artists—and the Chinese people in general—cling so fiercely to honor.

So when Qing looked at Kang Suyang, she found him oddly dignified, like a true Daoist master.

Even though the sect was little more than a secular fraud, the leader himself exuded a kind of transcendence.

“Thanks to you, laughter has returned to this hall for the first time in ages. I’m embarrassed you had to see such shameful things right after arriving.”

Kang Suyang was embarrassed for another reason too.

He had unjustly placed blame on this remarkable girl.

Granted, Qing had arrived late.

But in the martial world, travel dates are never exact.

Even a month’s delay is understandable.

To scold her over it would be culturally absurd.

He’d only grumbled because his disciples had voiced their desperation, hoping against hope.

But it wasn’t Qing’s fault any of this had happened.

And to think she could’ve fixed it all if only she’d arrived sooner—that was just self-pity.

Kang Suyang let it go and asked courteously,

“How are your elders faring?”

“Well, Sect Leader? Before I answer that—I need to tell you something first.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Prince Deokhyeon of Sichuan wishes to stay here in the Gyerim Sword Sect. He’s currently waiting outside. I came in first to ask if that would be okay with you.”

“...?”

Kang Suyang doubted his ears.

Did she just say—Prince Deokhyeon?

Of Sichuan?!

“Did I hear correctly? His Royal Highness came here with you?”

Qing scratched her head sheepishly.

“Hehe, yeah. It just kind of happened. If it’s too much, feel free to say no.”

“How did that come about—?”

“Oh, we met on the way.”

As if she’d picked him up off the road.

(Which, frankly, she did.)

“...?”

Fireworks exploded in Kang Suyang’s brain.

“......!”

The final ultimatum was due tomorrow.

But no matter how lawless the Demonic Union was, they couldn’t attack a residence housing a royal prince.

Forget attack—they couldn’t even approach with weapons drawn.

To do so would be seen as treason.

A dagger near the prince’s residence? That was no different from being an assassin.

The Daoist-like Kang Suyang vanished—

And the martial Kang Suyang re-emerged.

Abandon the estate? HELL NO!

This bought them time!

If they could just hold out until the Murim Alliance sent aid—

Those arrogant Yogyayeombang bastards would pay dearly!

“Quickly! We must receive the honored guest at once! No, wait, that won’t do! It would be improper for His Highness to enter first. I must go personally to greet him with proper etiquette!”