The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 146: Daseogak in Crisis - 6

The son of South Korea, the scoundrel of Joseon, and now the illegitimate heir of the Sichuan Tang Clan.

I’d never even been called a “keyboard Lu Bu,” yet here I was—accidentally becoming the Lu Bu of a martial arts dating sim with three dads. And the third one? I picked him myself. That made me the perfect Daddy’s-Choice Lu Bu.

If anyone who used to know Kang Yun-ho, the delinquent from Joseon, saw this, they’d probably sneer and say, “Must be nice having two moms.”

But honestly, who’s going to call me out? No one here knows the truth.

We’re in Hubei Province, far removed from Joseon. And anyone who ever knew Kang Yun-ho—or Hyang-ah’s kin—is already six feet under.

The attic had gone dead silent after I dropped the “only son of the Sichuan Tang Clan” bomb.

I casually reached out and took the Remembrance Ring from the Pavilion Head, slipping it onto my wrist. Like it had always belonged there, it reflected a soft gleam, resting naturally where it was meant to be.

“Hwa-rin. Manage your face, will you?”

Her jaw was hanging so low it might fall off. Girl, you knew whose ring it was earlier—you even nodded like you understood. Don’t start looking shocked now.

As I gazed briefly at the bracelet, the Pavilion Head finally shook off his stunned daze and addressed me.

“...Did you plan all this from the start?”

Not a chance. I was just winging it.

“Sigh. You brought this on yourself. If you hadn’t threatened to chop off my wrist, I never would’ve revealed the truth.”

I gave him a sardonic smile, like I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Then why write Storm of the Tang Clan in the first place?”

“I already told you. For my dear friend, Tang Hwa-rin. A fellow illegitimate child born into the clan who’s suffered far more than I have. I wanted to help her.”

“You exposed the clan’s greatest secret for that?”

Fine, fine. I’ll toss in a few extra motives now that I’ve rewritten my backstory.

“Well, I did think if I included my father in the story, he might come running. I wanted to see the face of that so-called ‘righteous hero’ my mother couldn’t stop praising.”

“You insolent wretch! How dare you speak of the Clan Head like that!”

“Unfortunately, instead of that noble hero, I got the bastard who tossed my pregnant mother into the streets twenty years ago.”

“...Tch. Her belly wasn’t that swollen. She wore wide robes—you couldn’t tell.”

Ah, a guilty conscience. Looks like the Pavilion Head was there that night.

“So you’re admitting it now? That I am the Clan Head’s son?”

So you’re finally confirming she was pregnant back then?

“If your hair were purple, I would’ve believed you. But you’re just a black-haired barbarian.”

In the Sichuan Tang Clan, purple hair is the clearest sign of strong bloodline inheritance.

Even Hwa-rin—who’s not just from a distant branch, but the illegitimate child of an illegitimate branch—is accepted into the clan because of her hair color.

But me?

“So what am I supposed to do, being born of a Joseon mother? Hwa-rin’s a hundred relatives removed from the main line, yet she gets clan treatment because of her purple hair. Meanwhile, I’m tossed aside as a barbarian even though I carry the Clan Head’s blood?”

Why couldn’t they have gifted black-haired folks with better social perception instead of... you know, other excessive traits?

Well, thanks to the NTR-style setup, this line of logic is going down surprisingly well.

“If you were in my shoes, would you believe any of this?”

Of course not. Who would? But I’ve got all the facts. All the evidence. All the narrative.

I flashed a smile—the kind of smile a tiger cub wears after patiently waiting for its prey to tire.

“All the evidence points to me. So what now? It pains me to hear that my little half-brother is gravely ill. But doesn’t that mean... you have to take me in?”

Hyang-ah’s diary said they shared their first night. That would make her son the Clan Head’s firstborn.

“So it wasn’t my wrist you should’ve cut off, Pavilion Head—it was my sly, silver tongue. And how dare a mere illegitimate brat call the noble young heir of the Tang Clan his brother?”

Right. Just like Hong Gil-dong, who couldn’t call his legitimate older brother “hyung” or his father “father,” and ended up becoming a “BRO-MAXIMUM” level rebel. An illegitimate son has even less standing.

But still.

“You’re right. But isn’t this all so interesting? If I go to the Tang Clan now... will the Clan Head treat me like a bastard, or acknowledge me as his rightful firstborn and only son?”

I let the words linger, like a tiger cub finally clamping its jaws around the back of its prey’s neck.

“...”

The Pavilion Head’s face darkened. Oh? You’re not so sure yourself, are you?

“Clan secrets? Storm of the Tang Clan? Go ahead and pin it all on me, just like you said. Report that I wrote it. I’ve always been curious to see the man you call my father. So go ahead—take me to him.”

Still smiling, I answered with complete confidence.

But the Pavilion Head said nothing. His face remained clouded and silent.

--------

“Hand over the Remembrance Ring.”

After a long pause, that was all he said.

“And why should I do that?”

“If you give it to me, I’ll do everything I can to smooth this over.”

Really? That’d be great. Saves me the cleanup.

“But if you can’t... someone’s bound to show up to harvest my wrist, aren’t they?”

It won’t do.

“...I’ll do my utmost.”

So I was right. His response came with a noticeable hesitation.

“Nothing’s more meaningless than a promise without results.”

“If worst comes to worst, I’ll vouch for you with my name. I’ll make sure you never have to worry about making a living.”

“Ha! Is that so? Because I’ve racked up a bit of debt running this bookstore, you know.”

I chuckled, like I was listening to a scam artist trying to sell me magic beans.

“I can cover enough to buy a couple buildings like this.”

Damn. So someone of the Pavilion Head’s rank really can flex like that.

“Haha. If that’s true, I really could live out the rest of my life worry-free.”

“Then will you hand it over?”

“But the math doesn’t quite add up.”

“You mean a wrist alone isn’t worth it?”

The wrist isn’t for sale. That’s not the issue. Something else here is way more expensive.

I raised my wrist and spoke.

“Of course it isn’t. This Remembrance Ring is the Sichuan Tang Clan. How could I possibly give up the Tang Clan itself?”

This thing’s basically a blank check to seize the entire clan. You think I’m giving it up for a couple buildings?

“You insolent wretch!”

“What, am I the one coveting someone else’s property now? Who’s the real thief here?”

“Vice Pavilion Head! Take that Remembrance Ring! Cut off his wrist if he resists!”

If you want it so bad, draw your own damn sword. But no—like any proper bureaucrat, the Pavilion Head delegates all the muscle work.

“...Huh?”

Vice Pavilion Head let out a bewildered little “Huh? Me?”, and the Pavilion Head shot him a glare.

Come to think of it, the Vice Pavilion Head called me “Young Master” earlier when stopping me. That means he does think I’m the Clan Head’s son.

In that case... I might just be able to negotiate a free-agent deal here.

“Shall I revive my inner Joseon scoundrel, Kang Yun-ho?”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

When it comes to a transfer deal—it's all about the guts.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

I strode up to the Vice Pavilion Head, who was still blinking in confusion as he looked between me and the Pavilion Head, and shot the question at him with the cockiness of a prince descending upon a vassal.

“...What did you say?”

“Are your ears clogged, or are you pretending you didn’t hear me? Hey! Can’t you tell what’s going on? I, the firstborn son of the Sichuan Tang Clan, just asked you what your name is!”

I thumped my chest with a loud thud on the word I, and jabbed a finger toward him with you.

“D-... Dang-Pae, sir.”

The poor guy stammered his name like he was about to be executed.

“Alright, Dang-Pae. How old are you?”

“I’m... thirty.”

Huh. Looks like life hit him a bit hard. He looked older than that. At thirty, you’re supposed to be steady, hard to shake. Guess I’ll just shake him harder.

“Okay. Dang-Pae, thirty years old. Listen carefully. If I go to the Tang Clan and get thrown out as some bastard, fine—I’ll take the hit. But judging from how things are going... it doesn’t look like that’ll happen, does it?”

I leaned in, my tone cold.

“If I really end up as the heir to the Tang Clan... who do you think is going to last longer? The guy who obeyed that man...”—I pointed at the Pavilion Head—“...or the guy who followed me, the next head of the clan?”

“Vice Pavilion Head! Don’t be seduced by his snake tongue! Draw your sword!”

Dang-Pae looked between us, torn.

“Dang-Pae. I see your eyes darting. So listen carefully.”

I stepped into his personal space, looming in close.

“Y-Yes!”

“If I lose my wrist here, I’m marching straight to the Tang Clan with it in hand. And what’ll that make you? The guy who chopped off the wrist of the Clan Head’s only son. That’s who you’ll be.”

Gulp. He actually swallowed hard. Good. That means he’s picturing it.

I gave him a lazy clap and a sly grin.

“People will be lining up to clap for you. Know where? At your grave. I’ll even carve your epitaph myself. ‘Here lies the man who cut off the Clan Head’s son’s wrist.’ Sounds grand, right?”

Dang-Pae’s pupils contracted, and he frantically shook his head. That’s right. He’s cracked.

“You insolent brat—!”

“Wow. Look, everyone! The Pavilion Head finally pulled his sword himself!”

“Yun-ho!”

Hwa-rin jumped between us in alarm. But she couldn’t stop this. Not now. I had to finish this transfer negotiation.

I kept my eyes locked on Dang-Pae.

“Hey, Dang-Pae. What’s the Tang Clan’s motto?”

“‘The Sichuan Tang Clan does not forget.’”

“Exactly. And I? I carry the purest blood of the Tang Clan in the world. I never forget my grudges... or my debts. So, tell me.”

I lifted the wrist bearing the Remembrance Ring and flicked it once, before pointing at the Pavilion Head with that same hand.

“My wrist... or him? What are you going to make sure I never forget with that sword on your hip?”

Dang-Pae chose fast.

--------

“Pavilion Head! The Young Lord is already lost!”

“You dare defy me?!”

“This isn’t insubordination! I’m stopping you from aiding the enemy! Pavilion Head, the Young Lord’s treatment window has passed. The poison has spread too far. Even if he survives, he’ll be a shell!”

“That’s not your place to decide!”

“This isn’t your place to decide anymore either!”

Beautiful. This transfer market just ended in a big win for me.

The attic was now locked in a tense standoff—a three-way deadlock between the Pavilion Head, Dang-Pae, and Hwa-rin. It was like a Three Kingdoms strategy unfolding in a creaky attic.

Even if the Pavilion Head was stronger, it was hard to justify killing the Vice Pavilion Head here. He wasn’t even sure if he should raise his sword anymore.

“The clan’s already in disarray. If we bring this bastard in, the clan could split in two!”

“Even that isn’t for you to decide! That decision belongs to none other than the Clan Head himself!”

The two continued arguing, teetering on the edge of violence. But if I let this drag on, someone was going to bleed.

Can’t have that.

No. To end the Three-Way Stand-off of the Attic, it wasn’t strength from the Central Plains that was needed.

It was barbarian invasion.

Clap, clap.

“What a beautiful standoff. The current power versus the future power. Inspiring, really.”

I clapped mockingly, eyes locked on the Pavilion Head.

“You insolent—!”

“Let’s end this and head downstairs, shall we?”

Without waiting for /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ permission, I walked past him toward the attic door like I owned the place. Please don’t swing that sword, please don’t swing that sword.

Luckily, the Pavilion Head only stared in stunned silence as I passed.

“What are you planning?”

To not die, mostly.

“If you’re not going to kill all three of us right now, the outcome’s already set. Walk out of this room, and I’ll forget what happened here. Oh, I know the Tang Clan doesn’t forget—but lucky for you, I do.”

With Dang-Pae now on my side, even if someone did swing a sword, it wouldn’t be just the Pavilion Head walking out of here alive.

And if I survived, my version of events would spread—and that meant the Pavilion Head would be the one in hot water.

Once Dang-Pae switched sides, this whole confrontation was over.

“Grrr...”

Good. You may be a detective, but at least you’re not slow. I opened the attic door, then turned back.

“Dang-Pae!”

“Y-Yes!”

“I’m remembering you. You’re getting +10 bonus points.”

I pointed at him with two fingers over my eye, then flicked them toward him.

“Ahaha! Thank you!”

He grinned and ignored the Pavilion Head, joining me at the door with Hwa-rin.

The Pavilion Head glared after us, fuming.

“Looks like things are wrapped up. Let’s go.”

I led the way down the attic stairs like their commanding officer.

One crisis down. But there’s no going back now.

Kang Yun-ho—the bastard son of the Tang Clan. Whatever happens from here on, I have to keep playing the role.

“Yun-ho?”

I paused and glanced back. Hwa-rin had called out to me, confused.

But I didn’t answer. I looked past her—at the Pavilion Head, who was following behind with a sour look etched on his face.

He won’t be the only one who doubts me.

The Pavilion forces surrounding Daseogak? They’ll all be suspicious too.

Even if my attitude and evidence convince half of them, the other half will still doubt me.

So what should I do?

I’ll use the one thing only I can use.

A way to silence all doubt.

It’s time to use that method.