CHAPTER~29
Well, that was certainly a declaration one could trust—if only because disaster was the one thing Woo-hee truly excelled at.
If anyone could ruin that White Tiger kid’s life, it’d be her.
The image of it came so easily to mind, it was almost exhausting.
“And besides,” Woo-hee continued confidently, “you know how Binggung never throws away someone once they’ve been named? It’d be a waste to kill him now. Letting him go would only hurt us, so there’s only one real option.”
“There’s only one option, you say?” Yeongho asked dryly.
“Only one,” she repeated firmly—meaning that even if there were others, she had no intention of picking them.
“We’ll corrupt him completely. So thoroughly that those righteous sect bastards will tremble and ask, ‘How could anyone become that wicked?’ I’ll stain him blacker than black itself.”
It was the first time Yeongho had ever seen Woo-hee look so resolute, so serious. She must’ve really hated that the boy came from the Moyong clan.
“Well, all right then,” he said.
He agreed without hesitation—somewhat surprisingly.
After all, his suggestion to get rid of the White Tiger had been to avoid complications on their journey to the Central Plains, not out of any personal grudge.
Turning a righteous brat into a slave and watching him sink into corruption? There was no reason to object.
They were part of the unorthodox sects anyway.
Sure, it might make things messier, but when was life with Woo-hee not messy? He could handle it.
“If you really insist on taking on a subordinate,” he added, “that one might not be a bad choice.”
There was another reason Yeongho was willing to give the boy a chance.
“He doesn’t quite have a Heavenly Martial Body, but he’s gifted. If he weren’t from the Moyong clan, any decent sect would’ve already been grooming him as their next head. He’s still young, but he’s born with natural martial bones. Raise him right, and he’ll be worth something.”
Woo-hee’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Yeongho, of all people, praising someone else was shocking enough—but what he said next was even worse.
“Young?! Just how young are we talking?!”
She’d never paid much attention before—his face was too cut up to tell, and she’d guessed from his build that he was at least five or six years older than her.
“Roughly your age, give or take a year or two.”
Her expression froze in horror.
If that was true, then that meant the righteous brat was around fourteen to sixteen.
“That giant’s supposed to be my age?! No way! You saw that size—how could someone that big be the same age as me?!”
“Just from the shape of his bones, you can tell. He’s still growing. Some people just… develop faster.”
“No, no—he’s closer to your age, not mine!”
“Do you prefer older subordinates, then?”
“What? No! The younger, the better!”
“Then it all worked out nicely. Why are you complaining?”
Woo-hee stared at him, utterly speechless.
“You know, now that you mention it,” she muttered after a pause, “he did seem kind of bratty when he whined at me earlier… Guess that’s because he was an actual brat.”
“I agree,” Yeongho said evenly, “but coming from you, that sounds rather strange. It’s odd hearing one kid call another a brat.”
“Excuse me? I’m special. I can add eighty years and still be fifteen.”
Ah. So now she was stealing her late master Baek Dan-hyeok’s age too.
First his inner energy, then his sword, and now his years of life—what a dutiful granddaughter.
Declaring herself a sprightly ninety-five-year-old with not a hint of shame, Woo-hee pouted.
“Whatever. I’m going to drag that White Tiger brat over here. He still doesn’t know we’re from the unorthodox side, right? If he finds out and runs—he dies, and he dies!”
Somehow, “going to fetch him” had turned into “dragging him back by force.”
Yeongho sighed quietly.
“Sister, that boy’s dying twice in one sentence. Are you sure that’s what you meant?”
“I’m not the one dying here, am I? The sneaky white-haired brat deserves it.”
“Fair enough.”
Anyone who saw them bickering like that would instantly assume they were siblings.
They’d both deny it, of course—but the way they argued in perfect sync made it hard to tell them apart.
Two people equally dark at heart, cut from the same blackened cloth.
“Um… seniors?”
They were in a quiet inn room with no one around to overhear.
Dragged there practically by the collar from the clinic, the White Tiger—still bandaged head to toe—finally spoke up hesitantly.
He’d been holding his tongue the whole time, but silence couldn’t last forever.
“Hey, hey—what’s with that?” Woo-hee snapped. “Who’s your senior? Since when am I your senior?”
“I-I’m sorry! I meant… um… what should I call my two benefactors?”
Surprisingly, the boy didn’t look offended at all. Instead, he dropped to his knees and watched her face anxiously, afraid to make her angry. His sincerity was so plain it was almost disarming.
“Forget that. White Tiger—what’s your real name?”
“My… name?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me you’re hiding it. What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Guilty about something?”
He had been planning to tell them everything—but she never gave him the chance. Before he knew it, he was stuck being White Tiger.
Even so, he didn’t try to explain.
He was already convinced that Woo-hee was some powerful hermit master.
And if there was one thing he knew about elders, it was that they hated backtalk from younger people.
“I am Moyong Heun,” he said quietly. “Heun, as in ‘joy.’ As you may have guessed, I’m a member of the Moyong clan… but if you’ll take me in, I’d gladly throw that name away.”
A direct descendant of the Moyong clan—one of the Five Great Houses of the righteous world—saying such a thing was almost absurd.
But to Woo-hee, it made perfect sense.
If he’d boasted about being Moyong, she would’ve hated him instantly.
But a Moyong who wanted to toss that name into the gutter? Now that she could appreciate.
“Of course, I know I’m far too unworthy to serve someone as great as you,” he continued earnestly. “But even if it’s just as a servant or attendant—please, allow me to serve.”
“What are you talking about?” Woo-hee snorted. “You’re not my subordinate because you’re good at something. You ate the Summoning Elixir, so you’re mine now. No choice in the matter.”
“…Right. That’s true.”
If his face weren’t so scarred, he would’ve shown just how mortified he felt at that moment.
“Anyway, drop the ‘benefactor’ stuff,” she said brusquely. “I saved you, you became mine. That’s all. No debts, no gratitude. Clean slate.”
Her voice came out sharper than she intended.
She’d set out to become a villain, and now here she was—saving a righteous sect brat and taking him on as a subordinate. It all felt so awkward.
“I’m Woo-hee. And you already know him—Yeongho.”
She deliberately left out her surname. No need to reveal her Binggung ties yet.
“But since you’re my subordinate, calling me by name feels wrong. Just call me Master. Yeongho does, too.”
If the boy hadn’t been so overwhelmed, he might’ve noticed how odd that was—since Yeongho had never once called her that.
“Um, Master…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I must do someday. Not now, but eventually. It’s… dangerous. Because of that, I may not be able to stay by your side forever.”
He bowed deeply, shame coloring his voice.
“Hold on—are you telling me to settle for a temporary subordinate? Like a rental?!”
Woo-hee’s eyes went wide in disbelief.
“What kind of righteous disciple starts with that kind of excuse? Is that what they teach you people—how to back out before you even start?!”
“I… it’s because I must avenge my father,” he said, voice trembling. “I don’t think I could stay with you for life when I still owe that debt of blood.”
“Your father? What kind of grudge are we talking about that you’d ditch your master for it?”
The boy’s eyes burned red—not from anger at her words, but from the memory he carried.
His voice dropped, cold and bitter.
“My uncle. The man I trusted as family… stabbed my father in the back.”
Woo-hee tilted her head.
“Oh, so you’re saying you just need to go stab him real quick? I thought you were planning to run off forever.”
She waved a hand dismissively.
“That’s fine. Go ahead. When are you leaving?”
Moyong Heun just stared at her—speechless.
