My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 105

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Early twenties, perhaps. Hyeoldu had a young, clear face. His gender was impossible to discern.
A youth whose appearance sat oddly in this place. His shirt was clean and crisp, unmarred by a single stain.
Clean to the point of revulsion.
It wasn’t merely his dress. The very air around him lay distant from the grimy texture of the slums.
A composure as though he’d transcended something. Hyeoldu fell silent in thought, then opened his mouth.
“Their resources and military strength are no trifle. We should retreat for now and investigate. Activate the Teleportation Circle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Afterwards, burn the blood-selling shop to the ground.”
The merchandise in the basement would burn along with it. Yet Hyeoldu’s voice remained unmoved.
The guards nodded in unison. They shifted toward the massive magic circle carved into the corner of the basement.
Beside it sat a well with a sunken floor. Beneath a glass lid, blood sloshed in abundance. Even from a distance, powerful mana radiated from it.
One of the guards touched the magic circle with his staff. The sound of incantation rose. The Blood Well shuddered in response.
They could not be allowed to escape. Dein burst from the shadows. His target was not Hyeoldu.
—Crunch!
“Ahhhhh!”
The blade severed the wrist bone with precision. The severed hand fell, still gripping the staff.
Another guard frantically drew his blade. Dein drove his body forward. His knee thrust upward beneath the man’s jaw.
—Crack!
The dull crackle of bone fracturing. The magic circle, glowing red an instant before, lost its light.
Dein stopped his breath and turned to face Hyeoldu. The young man stood there, his eyes widened slightly with surprise.
“Dein Balanus.”
His name was spoken, yet Dein gave no reaction. Hyeoldu regarded him quietly.
There was no urgency in that gaze. Not even as his guards crawled across the floor.
“Coming alone—how unexpected. You were always with your disciples before.”
At those words, the nape of Dein’s neck prickled. A suffocating sensation rose within him.
It was neither hatred nor anger. The response came from something more primal.
Oppression. The instinctive reaction of prey before a predator.
Blood Aura poured from Hyeoldu, filling Dein’s lungs. With each breath, the air itself became a blade.
“I’ve been curious about something.”
The tone suggested he’d observed Dein for a long time. Hyeoldu blinked his innocent eyes.
“Why do you cherish people whose blood doesn’t run with yours?”
It was a flat question. Not mockery. Genuinely curious, it seemed.
For Dein, it was unwelcome conversation—yet also an opportunity. He observed Hyeoldu as he spoke.
“Must one only love those bound by blood?”
“Most would say yes.”
“Then I could love only Dein Balanus.”
He was an orphan without bloodline. The only person connected to him by blood was himself. If blood were love’s condition, how unbearably lonely would life be?
Dein remained vigilant. He read Hyeoldu—his expression, his bearing, each word.
“I have a question too.”
“Yes?”
“You claim to be guardians of the world. Do you not protect those dying in that prison?”
A low groan escaped from our side. Hyeoldu’s expression didn’t waver, as though he couldn’t hear it.
“We are not unconditional philanthropists. The greater cause requires sacrifice.”
Dein did not rage. He only watched.
“Surely you understand. You’re a wise man, after all.”
“An old friend once told me I was a fool.”
Dein’s grip tightened on the sword hilt. Hyeoldu showed no response. He simply spoke in a low voice.
“Seize him.”
—Crack!
The guards crawling on the ground forced themselves to rise.
They lunged at Dein, thrashing without hands and without voice. In the moment Dein retreated in panic—
A sharp wind brushed past his ear.
—Slash!
The air cleaved at his ear. Had he retreated even an inch less, his ear would have been severed.
Hyeoldu’s incantation echoed through the chamber. Each time the brief chant ended, a Wind Blade raked across the space from all directions.
The Wind Blade did not approach in a straight line. It curved off the walls and bent inward. Dein strained to listen.
The wind ricocheted where wall met ceiling. He twisted hard to the side, sweeping his blade up to meet it.
—Clang!
One wind blade struck his sword and scattered. The second grazed his thigh. The third, he blocked.
The wind came so hard and fast that breath caught in his throat. Even so, Dein’s vision remained sharp. Now, at last, he grasped Hyeoldu’s aim.
Dein read the trajectory in an instant.
‘Not trying to kill me. He’s avoiding the vital points—only going for the limbs.’
The scene from the Memory Stone surfaced in his mind. The Underground Chamber where all his disciples lay dead, and only he remained.
‘Hyeoldu’s purpose is to capture me alive.’
It was absurd. Both Hyeoldu and Dein were trying to capture each other. Blood seeped steadily from his thigh.
‘He means to use me as a hostage.’
That would serve better to bring down Balanus. Dein’s death would only stoke his disciples’ rage.
But if he were taken captive instead?
Hesitation would paralyze his actions. Even as he moved to kill Hyeoldu, he would falter and stop.
Dein felt certain that Hyeoldu would not kill him. That was Hyeoldu’s weakness.
Just before the Incantation finished, Dein twisted his wrist—the one holding the blade.
The angle was upward.
Crash!
The lights suspended from the ceiling shattered in succession. Glass rained down, and the light died. The Underground Chamber was swallowed whole by darkness.
The wind blade ceased.
Now Hyeoldu could no longer see Dein. Without the intention to kill, he could not strike blindly.
But Dein saw him clearly.
Click.
In the darkness, a click—the sound of a tongue against teeth. As the echo returned, Hyeoldu’s position resolved in his mind.
Clang!
Metal shrieked against metal. Wind erupted from Hyeoldu. The furious gale tore at one side of the ceiling.
Rumble!
Light from the upper floor poured down through the jagged gap at an angle. Hyeoldu stood within that light. His left arm was gone.
Crimson blood soaked into the white silk shirt. Hyeoldu staggered backward.
“It seems I cannot end this without killing after all.”
There was no rush toward the hole in the ceiling to escape. Instead, he retreated inward—toward the Blood Well.
The moment Dein recognized the intention and lunged forward—
Clang!
One final wind blade cut across his path. While Dein severed it, Hyeoldu reached the edge of the well.
The glass cover cracked underfoot. The floor gave way, and Hyeoldu’s body lurched.
Splash!
He sank beneath the Blood Well. The liquid roiled upward in a crimson spray, gurgling and churning.
In that instant, a nauseating sensation tore through Dein’s stomach.
Dense Mana spread like toxic fog. It felt as though blades were shredding his throat from within.
Dein understood then. Why all his disciples had fallen. Why he could not have saved them.
Blood rose backward from the well. And there, within it, was Hyeoldu.
The rising blood climbed his body—up his arms, his legs, his face…….
The adhering blood hardened and lost its luster, becoming dark-red metal. Spines jutted from the surface. His fingertips elongated into blades.
Finally, his face was concealed. Now it was impossible to tell whether this was Hyeoldu or something else entirely.
Screech!
Dein’s vision darkened in an instant. Pain and light arrived a beat too late.
Blood erupted from his left arm. Only his instinctive swing with the blade prevented it from being severed clean through.
Hyeoldu’s attack became visible at last. Each time he swung his arm, the air tore in layers.
The severed left arm had already regrown. His speed and striking power were on an entirely different scale now. Dein gritted his teeth and twisted his body.
Boom!
The moment he dodged the wind, a spine-studded fist slammed into Dein’s chest. His ribs bent, and his body flew upward.
He crashed into the wall. Part of the collapsing ceiling cascaded down upon him. His hands were empty.
Hyeoldu looked down at the blade lodged in his flank. He wrenched it out roughly and hurled it aside.
Blood trickled from the fractured flank. Throughout his body, patches of red metal were cracked. But Dein’s wounds were far worse.
“Good. Now I’ll take you alive—”
Rip!
In that moment, Hyeoldu’s left arm was severed once more.
Beyond the red mask, his eyes wavered in confusion. Too late, something entered his field of vision.
A torn Summon Scroll lay beside Dein.
Dein’s fingers twitched. His eyes were vacant. To cling to consciousness as it dimmed, he kept thinking.
Since glimpsing the future, he had asked endlessly: Why had his disciples died? Why could he not have saved them?
The answer was clear.
The enemy was stronger than him.
Dein had been the villain before fate, and the loser before the future.
The weak had to struggle. They had to use everything at their disposal. Money, pride, anything at all—they could offer it freely.
Even the dignity they possessed.
“No one said anything about summoning me to this garbage pit.”
A voice dripping with irritation cut through the air. Dein could only roll his eyes weakly, following the sound to its source.
Black hair and a blade that gleamed like obsidian came into view.
The torn Summon Scroll bore a single name.
Master of the Black Obsidian Guild. A 7-Rank Swordsman. The blade that turned its back on Balanus.
Kalan stood before Dein Balanus.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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