Chapter 228

Chapter 228
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**Chapter 228**
**Chapter Title: The Flag Collection Bet**

Great Sea Dragon Prince Pang Beom had heard word that Yin Hou and the Supreme Ultimate Sword Elder intended to have their disciples compete through proxy. Finding the idea thoroughly entertaining, he insisted his grandson take part, entirely unconcerned with how it might reflect on his standing. He even subjected the young man to relentless training, all to secure victory in a new wager he had struck with Yang-hwi.

Given the lingering resentment he harboured, what sort of proposition would draw him in?

The answer was straightforward.

“How does this sound for a bet?”

Before laying out the terms, Yang-hwi once more spoke through Chudal to learn the precise structure of the second preliminary round.

“There are three core rules,” came the explanation.

“First: each team has three members, their legs bound together with iron chains measuring one zhang in length.
Second: ten teams—thirty competitors in all—will be placed within an arena roughly three hundred zhang across.
Third: locate the hidden flags and deliver them to the judges to advance. The number of flags collected will determine which teams are eliminated.”

“Submission must be made directly to the judges. That means you can either safeguard what you find well, or take them from others who reached them first. It will be absolute chaos.”

There were five flags in total. At minimum, half the participating teams would be sent home.

Worse still: should a team secure even a single flag, two of its three members would be eliminated.

In effect, teammates would have to vie among themselves for the right to present the flag. All while chained together.

“Realising it now—can they possibly conduct a contest under such rules?”

Dozens of overseers would likely be stationed throughout to prevent misconduct. The very thought made it sound like a trial.

“The crowd will go wild for it, though. The excitement will carry right through to the Murim Alliance’s forthcoming proclamation.”

That was surely the reason the rules had been framed this way.

“I have a wager that fits this format perfectly.”

“Do not presume to use some bet as a pretext to persuade this Pang Prince of anything.”

“Have no fear—this is purely for enjoyment.”

“Very well. I am listening.”

Ultimately, everything hinged on how many flags each side gathered.

“We shall compete to see who collects the greater number.”

Pang Prince scoffed dismissively.

“I intend to ensure you do not obtain a single one. Did I not say I would utterly defeat you?”

Yang-hwi clicked his tongue. The resentment built up over being pushed around ran too deep to be swayed by mere goading alone.

“If word of this gets out, it will be rather embarrassing for you.”

“Everyone faces embarrassment from time to time in this life.”

There was no effective counter to that. Yet there remained a way to win him over.

“If I find any flags, you will come and try to take them, will you not?”

“Naturally.”

“Defeat is defeat whenever it comes—so why not make it a little more interesting along the way?”

The logic held, and Pang Prince paused. If victory was decided by the count of flags, he could simply seize all of Yang-hwi’s at the last moment and pass them off as his own.

“You are confident you can take what I find, are you not? Then it matters not how many I gather. Does it?”

It was a subtle challenge, and Pang Prince took the bait at once.

“Precisely!”

True to form as a young clan heir, he quickly offered a sharp retort.

“Yet hear me well, Baek Gongzi! You are not foolish enough to believe you can locate any flags while contending with constant interference from this Pang Prince, are you?”

Confidence was not the issue—annoyance was. More than anything, he did not wish to be left in a difficult position because of a teammate determined to cause trouble.

“To be honest, he would likely undermine me anyway. Best to steer clear.”

“If I were to defeat the young heir of the realm’s most distinguished clan openly and fairly, it would do much to enhance my own standing.”

Pang Prince’s expression hardened.

“Hahaha! So you would use this Pang Prince as a stepping stone to fame. You have grown bold—downright insolent. No wonder your grandfather speaks so highly of you.”

Yang-hwi shrugged and pressed on. Any proper wager required stakes.

“If I win, you will join me for a drink in the banquet hall, in full view of everyone present.”

It seemed a small thing, but the implications were significant.

“And if Baek Gongzi should lose?”

“There is a calligrapher of my clan known as One Brush Stroke. I shall commission him to compose a work praising the Pang Clan and the Young Prince. What say you?”

Pang Prince’s face lit up with genuine interest.

“That renowned One Brush Stroke? He is of the Baek Clan?”

“You know of him. If you require confirmation, speak to the Zhuge or Tang Clans.”

“Ah. So the Baek Clan stands close with the Tangs. That explains why One Brush Stroke published that work praising them previously.”

Pang Prince struck the table with his hand.

“Agreed! I accept! This will be most entertaining!”

“He has not seen the trap,” Yang-hwi thought with a quiet smile.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

The day of the second preliminary round arrived.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jin So-hyeop. I am Yang-hwi of the Baek Clan.”

The young man receiving his greeting wore a look of evident displeasure.

Jin Yeong-jin. Scion of the Bung Mountain Jin Clan—renowned for its fist techniques among the Thirty-Six Great Sects—and Yang-hwi’s partner in Team 16.

“Baek Yang-hwi. I understand you are approaching thirty. As the senior among us, I shall speak plainly. That said—why have you only just appeared now?”

Their feet would be bound together with chains; every movement would require perfect coordination among all three.

“Other teams began training together the moment partners were assigned. Some have even practised coordinated formations. Are you aware of this?”

“I am.”

Yang-hwi replied calmly, though the accusatory tone stirred a flicker of irritation.

“Then why have you not come to me sooner?”

Open displeasure on first meeting—did he imagine a lesser clan ought to seek audience with a greater one? After all, the Bung Mountain Jin Clan far outshone the Baek Clan in renown and influence.

“I saw no pressing need to rehearse.”

“Why ever not?”

“Count the rhythm, move in step—that is all that is required.”

“What sort of absurdity is…”

“Strange—you find it impossible? Everyone I have ever trained with manages well enough.”

The blunt implication stung, and Jin Yeong-jin’s face flushed.

“I see now,” Yang-hwi realised. “His displeasure runs deeper than mere pride.”

His keen senses picked up on the young man’s true feelings. The flush was not simply anger or offence.

“Fear of failure, obsession with performance. Resentment and insecurity toward a peer. That is why he did not come to me first.”

It was not arrogance keeping him away. If status were the issue, he would have sought out Young Prince Pang first.

Jin Yeong-jin had stayed away from both Yang-hwi and Pang Prince deliberately, initiating a silent test of wills. When neither side made the first move, he took it as an affront. His pride wounded, he had grown sullen and distant.

It would be easy enough to put right.

“Jin So-hyeop, I give you my word: stand with me, and I shall ensure we advance.”

“Empty boasts. Why should I believe you?”

“Believe it or not, as you choose. But know this: it is the truth.”

He had already soothed one partner who had made his displeasure plain; there was no need to alienate the other. The assurance seemed wise.

“Hmph. Greetings are done—let us be bound.”

Pang Prince spoke from where he stood watching, arms folded.

The three made their way to the judges’ station.

“Team 16. Decide who shall stand at the centre.”

At the judge’s instruction, the three exchanged glances.

“Jin So-hyeop, our fist specialist, at the centre. Young Prince, you on the right. Does that suit?”

A formation placing their hand-to-hand fighter at the core, with a swordsman on the left and spearman on the right.

“Baek Gongzi, you take the left?”

“I do. I am equally skilled with the sword in my left hand.”

Recent training had made it so.

“Then it is settled.”

Once the chains were fastened, they waited roughly half a shichen.

A judge raised his voice.

“Attention! I shall now announce the teams entering together!”

Unlike partner assignments, the grouping of the ten teams had been kept secret to prevent any arrangement of matches.

“Teams 113, 25, 50… these ten will proceed together!”

Yang-hwi had committed every team to memory. His eyes gleamed.

“Quite the formidable assembly of rivals.”

Namgung Cheon-yeong glared daggers in his direction. A-du waved cheerfully. Even Ok Cheong was present.

“Baek Gongzi! They say fate draws people together! It seems we shall contend over flags! As a disciple duty-bound to uphold the honour of Mount Hua, I shall give everything—let us make this a memorable contest!”

His voice carried the same familiar, booming enthusiasm. Yang-hwi had wondered why he had not approached after their last meeting, but his willingness to speak first showed he had set any uncertainty aside.

“Ok Hyung, please—call me Baekje.”

“I could not presume! There is an age difference to consider! Though you may address me however you wish, Baek Gongzi!”

In past lives, he would not have responded unless addressed as “Ok Hyung”. It seemed he had not yet fully settled his thoughts.

“Very well. Let us both do our best.”

Yang-hwi offered a knowing smile and turned away.

In that moment, his eyes met Namgung Cheon-yeong’s fierce, displeased gaze.

“You are entirely predictable,” he thought. “Clearly planning to see me removed by whatever means necessary.”

Five flags hidden across the arena. Only five teams could proceed—half of all competitors. Flags might be found close together, and having determined opponents in another team was far from ideal.

“If the Namgung Clan’s young heir were to fall at this stage, the people of Anhui would be astonished, would they not? So young, so quick to take offence. If I should be the one eliminated, I shall console myself spending all my time with Seolha. Beg me to spend time with you if you are the one to go—perhaps I shall agree.”

“How dare you!”

“And Seolha finds you quite tiresome, by the way. She has spoken of nothing else!”

Namgung Cheon-yeong radiated palpable fury. Yang-hwi turned away with an exaggerated grin. Useful ammunition to keep in reserve.

“Attention all competitors!”

The judge clapped sharply to command attention.

“Locate the flags placed throughout the arena and bring them here immediately to qualify! Do you understand?”

Yang-hwi raised a hand.

“May a single team collect more than one flag?”

“Bring as many as you can—there is no limit.”

“Understood.”

One team could claim all five, and nine others would be eliminated. The rules were designed to ensure maximum drama.

“I shall count to three—then you may enter! Proceed to your designated starting positions!”

They stood upon the marker marked “Sixteen”, one step from the arena floor.

“One! Two! Three! Begin!”

As competitors surged forward, channelling their inner energy to move with exceptional speed—

“Yap!”

Team 91 moved alongside them. Closing the gap instantly, Yang-hwi struck out, landing a kick squarely on one opponent’s knee.

“Kaaak!”

The competitor crumpled, clutching his injured joint. All eyes turned toward Yang-hwi.

“Why do you stare? This is no mere spectacle.”

“Is that not against the rules?” someone murmured.

Yang-hwi met the question openly.

“There is no rule forbidding action against opponents before flags are even found!”

He spoke entirely without remorse. It was simply prudent to remove rivals early. They had been careless, and had lost their mobility as a result.

“You scoundrel! Have you no sense of honour?!”

Namgung Cheon-yeong erupted in anger.

*(For the record: Team 91 was Namgung Cheon-yeong’s own.)*
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