Chapter 2. Duel….
The sudden voice that burst out across the banquet table shattered the festive atmosphere.
Bi-su-in.
That was the most derisive word used in Mokgun Fortress for those deemed “incapable of cultivation.”
Cups froze midair, and every gaze turned toward the direction from which the voice had come.
It was Wang Yun, the young heir of the royal family—handsome, lean, holding a wine cup as he approached.
Though his appearance was refined, his eyes gleamed with unmistakable provocation.
The boy called the greatest genius of Mokgun Fortress.
Every move he made drew attention. And when he acted at the very center of a feast like this, naturally, all focus shifted to him.
And now his steps were carrying him straight toward Cheonwol.
Spoons stopped mid-lift, wine cups quivered.
Finally, Wang Yun spoke.
“Surely you know how to drink?”
A short sentence.
But the contempt within was as sharp as a blade.
Cheonwol couldn’t fully conceal her expression.
She froze. The color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as ash.
A moment when she could neither deny nor endure the mockery before her.
Wang Yun continued to smile.
Tilting his wine cup toward her, his expression turned even more leisurely.
It was a courteous gesture, as if inviting a lady at a royal ball—yet hidden within was the sharpest dagger.
A strange stillness passed among those seated at the banquet.
Some glanced at Cheonwol, others at Wang Yun, gauging the situation.
That Cheonwol was incapable of cultivation was no secret within Mokgun Fortress.
Few knew her face, for she rarely stepped outside, but—
Now everyone did.
The girl in the yellow skirt—she was none other than Cheonwol of the Cheon family.
And she was a Bi-su-in.
Small sighs and sneers rose around the hall.
In this world, being unable to cultivate meant being a failure, a useless husk.
It was a fate that spared neither men nor women.
And in a martial sect like the Cheon family, those eyes were harsher still.
Even the young men and women of her own clan, seated at the same table, cast her looks of resentment and shame they could no longer hide.
“All because of her… If only she hadn’t sat here with us, we wouldn’t be suffering this humiliation.”
The whispered words reached Cheonwol’s ears clearly.
She bowed her head. Her lips pressed tight, her fists clenched.
Beneath her trembling lashes, fury and self-loathing swirled, impossible to hide.
At her side, Cheon Yi quietly set his wine cup down.
Wang Yun still stood there, cup in hand, sneering at Cheonwol.
There was no trace of jest—only pure derision.
Her face was deathly pale.
With countless eyes upon her, she neither reached for the cup nor met his gaze.
Of course she knew why he was doing this.
He meant to disgrace the clan leader’s daughter here and now, crushing the Cheon family’s pride in public.
The Cheon and Wang families had long been rivals. At such feasts, it was an unspoken rule to at least keep up appearances.
But rules were not made for everyone to follow.
And Cheonwol suddenly realized.
This humiliation was no longer just her own.
Her shame would stain the family, and ruin the birthday feast of her father, the clan head.
Her heart crumbled, her face paled further, and her body swayed as if it might collapse at any moment.
Then, someone quietly took her hand.
Startled, she looked up. It was Cheon Yi.
His hand was neither warm nor gentle.
It was simply firm, holding hers without a word.
Cheon Yi turned his gaze, not to her but to Wang Yun, and spoke.
“Wol-ah. Pay no heed to the barking of dogs.”
“Brother…”
Cheonwol swallowed hard, holding back her voice.
She did not cry.
She didn’t need to. Just the fact that her brother stood beside her gave her enough strength to hold on.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp voice cut through the air first.
“Did you just call me a dog?”
Wang Yun’s eyes narrowed, fixing on Cheon Yi.
His words dripped with venom.
Cheon Yi answered, unflinching.
“If it barks like a dog, what else could it be?”
The warmth of the banquet swiftly cooled.
His voice was low and firm, his gaze icy as steel.
Wang Yun ground his teeth.
“You’re desperate to die.”
Cheon Yi tilted his head slightly.
“Funny. Isn’t that what you should be saying of yourself?”
The words pierced straight through.
A shiver ran down Wang Yun’s spine. His face turned pale in an instant.
But he was still of the royal family.
Forcing his breath steady, he swallowed his shame as rage.
“Cheon Yi! Are you challenging me to a duel?”
Cheon Yi gave a casual shrug.
“Crossing swords with a beast brings no joy. But sometimes, noisy barking dogs must be silenced.”
“You little—!”
Wang Yun’s aura exploded.
The energy surged, making the banquet tables tremble.
Cheon Yi did not remain silent.
As his energy flared, the air itself froze.
The clash of their auras made the wine ripple, cups shaking, liquor spilling into the air.
The feast was smothered in killing intent.
Then a voice thundered down, severing it all.
“Enough.”
Cold, unyielding, impossible to defy.
All eyes turned upward to the pavilion.
There stood Cheon Sanhang, the clan head.
His crimson ceremonial robes hung still, his heavy gaze bearing down on the two youths.
“Do you think this is your battlefield?”
At that single line, the hall froze over.
Even breathing stopped.
All waited for Cheon Sanhang’s next words.
It was not Cheon Yi or Cheonwol who broke the silence.
Wang Yun stepped forward first.
“Clan Head! I formally request a duel with Cheon Yi!”
His voice was loud, resolute—but within, his composure wavered.
He shot Cheon Yi a glare, struggling to steady himself.
I meant to make him lash out first…!
The plan had gone awry. He clicked his tongue inwardly.
Cheon Yi looked at him and smirked.
His eyes carried the coldness of one who had already seen the end.
In his past life, he had fallen for this exact scheme.
The wound to Cheonwol, exposed at a banquet, was not just mockery—it was bait.
The goal was obvious.
Provoke me through Cheonwol, and force a duel here.
In his past life, Cheon Yi, hot-blooded, had not endured the insult.
And the result… had been fatal.
For Wang Yun’s aim was not simply to defeat him.
He intended, during the duel, to plant the Blood-Bane Parasite.
A forbidden insect that grew by feeding on blood.
The Wang family had secretly allied with a poison sect, and in return, obtained these parasites.
Once inside, they left no trace. At first, only a little vitality waned.
But as time passed, the veins weakened, and the body was eaten away from within.
The parasite grew as it drank, and the more it grew, the hungrier it became.
Eventually, the host’s body could no longer endure.
In his past life, Cheon Yi had suffered this fate.
The agony gnawed at his very bones.
The Cheon family was driven to ruin trying to keep him alive.
A man bitten by the Blood-Bane Parasite could not survive without constant blood replenishment.
Cheon Sanhang poured the clan’s entire fortune into saving his son, gathering every rare medicine, every tonic, even legendary blood elixirs.
But it was all like pouring water into a bottomless jar.
The parasite never knew satisfaction. Its hunger only grew.
And so, the Cheon family perished in his past life.
And now, once again, they stood at the same precipice.
But this time, Cheon Yi smiled.
He felt neither rage nor fear.
He was simply waiting for Wang Yun to play his part.
Go on. Plant your Blood-Bane Parasite.
A blood-feeding insect?
Laughable.
He was no longer the same Cheon Yi of his past life.
He was the Blood Sovereign of the Sacred Heavens.
The power he had once lost—the true dominion over blood—was his to reclaim.
At its core lay the Blood Saint Pearl.
Though sealed and silent for now, he knew the truth.
The Blood-Bane Parasite—
That dreadful insect was the very key to unsealing it.
In his past life, the parasite had awakened the Blood Saint Pearl, and in turn, the Pearl had consumed the parasite’s threat.
This provocation?
Good. It only helps me.
Wang Yun’s scheme had handed him an opportunity.
“A duel, is it?”
From the pavilion, Cheon Sanhang’s brows furrowed.
He had sensed ill omens since the moment the Wang clan arrived.
And now the proof was before him.
He was about to speak when Cheon Yi stepped forward.
“Father. Please… grant me this duel.”
Silence. The pavilion fell still.
Cheon Sanhang gazed at his son.
Cheon Yi’s face was resolute, without hesitation.
He knew Wang Yun’s ploy. A trap to stir his son’s blood and lure him into battle.
In the past, he would have forbidden it.
But now, his son seemed… different.
He knew this duel was a snare. Yet as a father, he could not forbid his son from standing for his sister.
To stop him would be to crush his spirit.
If he did not lend his son his back now, Cheon Yi might never trust anyone again.
“…Very well.”
Cheon Sanhang closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and nodded.
Whatever scheme the Wang clan had, this was still Cheon land.
No matter what threat arises, I, his father, will shield him.
If Cheon Yi lost, there would be disgrace. But disgrace could be poison—or it could be fire.
What it became depended on his son’s vessel.
And there was also the chance he could win.
Wang Yun, though called the fortress’s brightest genius, had built his name upon the weak.
His blade was forged from vanity, its edge sharper in arrogance than in killing intent.
Cheon Yi, by contrast, was quiet and deep.
He had no glittering record, but the roots of his cultivation ran differently.
Roots so deep, none could measure them.
The duel between these two—
No one yet knew how it would end.
