Chapter 149

Chapter 149
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**Chapter 149 – Third-Rate Martial Family Becomes the Best Under Heaven**

“Hyeongsan Yinblood. Let us step aside and speak privately.”

A low, rumbling snarl rose in Hyeongsan Yinblood’s throat, bursting forth before he could rein it in—and truly, who could have blamed him for such unbridled fury?

“Speak? What is there left to discuss?! You drove your blades into our backs without a flicker of hesitation! Have you not kept even the smallest shred of conscience or honor after all you’ve done?!”

Hearing a man deeply rooted in the unorthodox factions lecture anyone on integrity struck Namgung Cheonhu as darkly absurd, yet he held his true reactions locked tight behind a calm, unreadable mask. It chafed unbearably to endure such reckless, insolent shouting from someone he regarded as little more than a savage cur, but he knew better than to snap now—patience was the only bridge to what he needed to achieve this day.

“There are far too many eyes watching from the shadows and the sidelines,” he said, his voice steady and low. “If you refuse to speak calmly where we stand, then take your leave of me now and be done with it.”

Even as rage threatened to consume him entirely, Hyeongsan Yinblood could not simply cast him out and end the meeting. He might have lost his composure in the heat of the moment, but he remained a man of deep cunning and long sight—sharp enough to recognize when larger stakes demanded he swallow his anger and look past his wounded pride.

“…Follow me.”

He turned sharply and led the way toward a narrow, tree-shaded hollow well beyond earshot and sight of the rest of the unorthodox party. The instant they stopped, shielded by dense foliage and rising earth, Namgung Cheonhu turned to face him and spoke at once.

“Let us untangle this confusion from the very start. You accuse me of betrayal. I ask you plainly: how, specifically, did I turn against you?”

“Well… well, you—!” Hyeongsan Yinblood drew breath to shout, then clamped his jaw shut with a visible effort, his face flushing as he forced himself to pause and actually think through the charge he had leveled so readily. *Now that I stop and weigh it carefully…*

“I see realization taking root in your mind,” Namgung Cheonhu observed quietly. “You never sent a single message to me—this Young Clan Leader—detailing when your forces would join ours, how you would move through the terrain, or what arrangements you had made once we entered Gangseo Province.”

It was the unvarnished truth, and neither could deny it. Though they had struck a secret pact of mutual benefit months earlier, Hyeongsan Yinblood had never trusted the Namgung Clan enough to share detailed, actionable intelligence—he had always held something back, guarding his own cards too closely to lay them fully on the table.

“Our agreement was written in clear terms,” Namgung Cheonhu continued. “I would pass what information I gathered to you; you would use it to launch calculated strikes against Baek Clan Manor strongholds and undermine their standing. I ask you once again: where lies this supposed betrayal?”

Hyeongsan Yinblood had climbed to his high station through equal parts formidable martial skill and cold, calculating shrewdness, and in that moment he grasped exactly where Namgung Cheonhu was leading him—and how thin his accusations truly were. “Even if that holds… why did you send your men against us? And why did your own forces advance at the very front of the fighting?”

Namgung Cheonhu’s mouth twisted into a thin, bitter smile. “It was Baek Yang-hui. That sharp, untested whelp laid a trap designed to tear us apart—and we both stepped right into it.”

“Did he… did he uncover our pact?” Hyeongsan Yinblood’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper.

“Impossible. Without a scrap of hard evidence, how could he?” Namgung Cheonhu shook his head firmly. “If our secret alliance were exposed, it would fall heaviest on me—not you. Your unorthodox circle might claim you were merely probing for advantage within a divided orthodox alliance, but the broader orthodox world would never forgive or forget that one of their own had conspired with those they call enemies.”

“I guarded our words as closely as any secret can be guarded,” he went on, his eyes narrowing. “Only one trusted subordinate of mine knows the full truth of what we agreed. And that brings me to what truly troubles me.” His gaze sharpened, fixing intently on the other man. “Baek Yang-hui moved and spoke as though he knew exactly what we had plotted together. If word did not slip from my side… then it must have slipped from yours, Hyeongsan Yinblood. How many of your people were entrusted with this deadly secret?”

Hyeongsan Yinblood stood silent, unable to offer a single denial. In all honesty, he had shared fragments of the arrangement with a small handful of senior lieutenants—partly to prepare them for what lay ahead, partly because he could not resist boasting that the prestigious Namgung Clan had come seeking his aid, a fact he had imagined might serve as powerful leverage later on.

*I cannot admit this,* his mind raced. *We have already suffered such devastating, crippling losses. To place myself at an even greater disadvantage now would be ruinous—unthinkable.*

As if reading every chaotic thought churning behind those eyes, Namgung Cheonhu softened his tone and shifted course. “One fact stands beyond all doubt: Baek Yang-hui holds just as deep and burning a hatred for my Namgung Clan as he does for all who hold power in Honam. Every calamity that befell us today was engineered by his hand alone.”

“He was… setting us both up against each other,” Hyeongsan Yinblood said slowly, the full weight of it settling over him.

“Precisely. That was the true heart of the trap—turning allies into enemies before either could draw breath to defend themselves.” Namgung Cheonhu nodded grimly. “Now tell me: why should you believe my word?”

“I came here entirely alone,” Namgung Cheonhu answered simply, “straight into what could easily have been a trap of your own making. If that is not proof enough of my sincerity, then there is truly nothing more I can say to convince you.”

In his heart, Hyeongsan Yinblood already believed him. Reason told him there was no practical purpose Namgung Cheonhu could serve by offering alliance only to betray it instantly—and beyond that, the Heaven-Covering Sword Unit had suffered the heaviest casualties of any force on the field, treated as disposable sacrificial pawns no differently than his own Hyeongsan Sect warriors had been.

*Baek Yang-hui… what a terrifying, cold-hearted bastard,* he thought, a shiver running through him. He had nearly set two powerful, battle-hardened factions tearing each other apart using nothing but suspicion, timing, and clever manipulation. This was no ordinary strategist—his mind worked with the ruthless, unflinching pragmatism so often seen among those steeped in the darkest unorthodox or even forbidden paths.

“So,” he asked at last, drawing a long breath, “why come alone to me like this? What is it you truly seek?”

“Must I spell it out?” Namgung Cheonhu’s voice grew harder, edged with steel.

“I suppose not,” Hyeongsan Yinblood acknowledged. “Breaking the Baek Clan’s spirit is not enough for you, is it? You mean to see them gone entirely.”

“The Baek Clan Manor has grown far too dangerous to leave standing,” Namgung Cheonhu said, killing intent flashing bright and cold in his eyes. “I intend to erase their line from this world entirely.”

“Dangerous… you do not exaggerate,” Hyeongsan Yinblood conceded heavily. “Baek Yang-hui specifically is dangerous in ways I cannot fully explain.”

Was it his raw, exceptional talent? No. No matter how gifted, one young man could not hope to bring down an established clan rooted in the land for generations. History held tales of peerless masters toppling great factions, but Baek Yang-hui was barely more than a youth—and yet, that was not what truly terrified people. The real danger lay elsewhere: he had never once failed. Every move he made, every plan he set in motion, ended exactly as he intended.

“This reaches beyond clever strategy,” Namgung Cheonhu murmured. “It feels as though Heaven itself leans his way.” He lifted his head and spoke with renewed purpose. “You have secured your hold over Honam and have long cast your gaze toward Gangseo Province. Why should we fight over it alone? Why not claim and rule it together?”

“By wiping the Baek Clan Manor from existence?”

“Exactly—and stepping into the place they will leave empty.”

Gangseo Province sat perfectly positioned between the Hyeongsan Sect’s territories in Honam and the Namgung Clan’s ancestral lands in Anhui—a prize that glowed brighter with every moment Hyeongsan Yinblood considered it.

“You speak in utter earnest,” he said, studying the other man closely. “Are you certain? The closer we stand together, the greater the chance someone will see what we are and speak of it.”

“When a peril as great as Baek Yang-hui looms over us all,” Namgung Cheonhu replied without hesitation, “why should we shrink from smaller risks?”

“Well reasoned.” Hyeongsan Yinblood nodded, his resolve hardening. “So—what is the plan?”

Sharing the province was one matter; how they would seize it was what truly counted. The Baek Clan Manor was no minor power—it stood as a respected mid-sized force, protected by alliances with the Tang Clan, the Jeon Gal Clan, and the mighty Shaolin Temple itself.

“A half-hearted scheme will not serve,” Namgung Cheonhu said firmly. “Do you agree?”

“Entirely. We must stack the deck so no counterplot of theirs can take root or prevail.”

“In that case, I have laid out a course of action.” Namgung Cheonhu leaned forward slightly. “Intentionally lose every engagement. Withdraw before battles conclude. Let every skirmish, every clash, every fight go against us as though we are losing our grip entirely.”

At first it sounded like madness—utter absurdity—yet Hyeongsan Yinblood saw the shape of it instantly. “Lull them into believing they have the upper hand… let their guard fall away… and then strike with everything we hold?”

“Our combined strength remains far greater than theirs,” Namgung Cheonhu confirmed. “We gather our full might, crash down upon them in one overwhelming, decisive blow, and the threat is ended forever.”

It was ruthless, and it would work. “I will arrange a string of staged victories to raise your standing and authority among your own,” he continued, “clearing every obstacle from our path. Then we strike together and cut down Baek Clan Manor in a single, shattering stroke.”

Hyeongsan Yinblood let himself imagine it for a heartbeat—watching everything they had built crumble before Baek Yang-hui’s eyes, seeing the arrogance drain away when he realized he had been outmaneuvered at last. What excuses would he find then? What smooth, clever words would he offer to save himself? The thought tasted sweeter than any victory he had ever known.

“Very well,” he said, extending a hand. “I will trust you one more time. But you will give me proof—something tangible to hold—that you mean what you say.”

And there in the dappled shade, sealed by silence and shared purpose, their shadowed pact was renewed.

—

Elsewhere, deep within the principal council chamber of Baek Clan Manor, the atmosphere was heavy and expectant as Baek Yang-hui stepped forward to address the gathering. “The situation on the field has shifted,” he said clearly to the room. “The strategy we have followed until now must shift with it. I put the question before you: what path should our clan take from here?”

“You seem to have already weighed what lies before us,” his father, the Clan Leader, observed gently. “Speak your thoughts openly—we are listening.”

Instead of answering directly, Yang-hui turned toward the young man sitting quietly at the edge of the assembly.

The Little Scholar stood at once, stepping forward with a quick, self-assured bow. “If I may be permitted—since this is my first time sitting in this chamber, some of you may not yet know me. I am Little Jia; I have just returned from Namchang where I was entrusted with important matters, and the Young Master has long called me his Little Scholar.” Even now, he could not resist introducing himself properly—plainly eager to be recognized and taken seriously among those he admired.

“Two distinct paths lie open to us,” he laid out. “First: we seize this exact moment, when their reinforcements have not yet fully settled, and strike with overwhelming force to claim control of the Gang Leader region. The Honam unorthodox have sent their most trusted senior leaders—the chief of the Black Alert Room and five powerful gang heads—to shore up their hold there. With their core commanders stretched thin and distracted, now is the hour to strike and gain the greatest ground.”

He paused, then continued thoughtfully. “And yet—truth be told—sparing the region for a short while longer may yield an even greater, more lasting reward.”

“Explain yourself,” someone called from the side of the room.

“It is simple,” the Little Scholar said. “The common people who live there—the guest clansmen—have watched outside armies march through their land and order them about, and they resent it more deeply than anyone yet realizes.”

“Go on,” Yang-hui encouraged him quietly.

“We draw the Honam unorthodox back in force once they have regrouped,” the young strategist outlined. “Being who and what they are, they will rule with cruelty and care nothing for the people’s suffering. We let resentment grow until it reaches a breaking point—and then we sweep in to protect and deliver them.”

He had spoken of this before: seizing the Gang Leader region and joining it with Akam County to form a strong, lasting heartland for the clan. But true strength was never won through conquest alone—it was built when the people loved, trusted, and identified themselves wholly with those who ruled them.

“It may look like a loss in these early days,” he finished, “but in the long years ahead, this is the surest way to bind the guest clansmen to us as one family.”

He fell silent, glancing toward Yang-hui with bright, confident eyes, as if asking *Is this not exactly what we have always stood for?*

*A clever, sharp-tongued boy,* Yang-hui thought fondly, *but his mind works faster than anyone I have ever known.* He had shared news of their unexpected victory only moments earlier; there had been no time to weigh options or plan together, yet the Little Scholar had pieced every thread together and laid out the perfect course—truly worthy of being called a master strategist, no matter his youth.

“As the Little Scholar has shown us, two roads stand before us,” Yang-hui said to his father. “We await your word and your command.”

Baek Mu-ryang sat in long, thoughtful silence, looking first at his son and then at the young scholar, before letting out a soft, weary sigh.

“Hui-ya,” he said at last