The Wastrel Prince Becomes Ruthless-Chapter 17

Chapter 17
‘Father…!’
He had never once met him in person, yet that name — Tang Seogyeom — was one he had heard so often it had worn calluses in his ears.
The man once called a liar and storyteller, for spinning tales so absurd even street jesters wouldn’t tell them, had vanished one day without a trace — only for his remnants to be found in a distant world.
And it was discovered by none other than his own son’s hand.
The shock Tang Yuwon felt upon confirming that name was beyond description. He stood there blankly for nearly ten seconds, waiting for the storm that had erupted in his mind to subside.
‘Why… why is Father’s name here…?’
Tang Seogyeom — the man who was Yuwon’s father.
The truth was, Yuwon had hated his father.
No, for nearly half his life, he had hated him to the point of madness.
When Yuwon was around five, his mother — whose face he could no longer even recall — had silently left his side.
The boy, thrown onto the streets overnight, lived among the beggars of the Beggar’s Sect, fighting with stray dogs over food unfit for human mouths.
At the time, he had been too busy surviving to spare a moment to hate anyone.
But as the years passed, and Yuwon grew into a boy accustomed to the streets, resentment began to fester in his heart.
Why had his father abandoned him? Why had he never come back? What was he doing, and where?
He had even comforted himself with the thought that perhaps his unknown father had died long ago somewhere far away. Then, it wouldn’t have been that he was abandoned — it would simply have been inevitable. And that thought, in its own way, brought him a sliver of peace.
‘That’s how it was….’
The resentment had seemed to fade with time, until one day Elder Tang Gye-ung came to find Yuwon and brought him into the Sichuan Tang Clan.
That was when it flared back to life.
Everyone around him, before and behind, mocked him — the boy barely ten years old — and spat out his father’s name.
‘No wonder — he doesn’t even know who his mother is.’
‘The son of that liar? I can’t believe that brat belongs to the Tang Clan. Are you sure he’s really Tang Seogyeom’s son?’
‘Pfft, his father’s Tang Seogyeom? Well, who cares — he doesn’t even know who his mother is.’
It was too cruel for a child to endure.
The more he was persecuted, the more Yuwon threw himself into his training like a madman. But even such relentless effort could not extinguish the flames inside him.
With those around him fanning the fire, there was no hope of putting it out. Once quenched and rekindled, his rage burned even fiercer than before.
At first, there had been resentment. Then hatred. And then, a twisted kind of love-hate.
‘And in the end, I forgot.’
When Yuwon came of age and was finally recognized as one of the Shadows of the Tang Clan—
He was no longer Tang Yuwon, son of Tang Seogyeom.
The moment he became a Shadow, he severed all ties to his past and his blood.
Not long after, he reached the Pinnacle Realm.
Burying the leg that had been chained to his past, Yuwon took one step further ahead.
‘I thought that was the end… I really did….’
And yet, before him once more appeared a name he had spent nearly a decade completely forgetting.
After steadying his trembling heart, Yuwon bent down and picked up the fallen book from the floor.
‘…Let’s hear it then. Your reason, Father.’
At long last, father and son met — though separated by time and space twisted by fate, as if destiny itself mocked them for it.
Clutching the book, Yuwon stepped out from the dusty pit and settled comfortably in the central hall to read.
― I write this book, though I doubt it will ever be read. Still, I write, for my own selfish desire.
― I, Tang Seogyeom, once stood by the Emperor’s side as his closest friend, earning renown throughout this world. Yet there is a secret I could never tell anyone. In this book, I wish to speak of that secret.
A startling revelation — on the very first page, Tang Seogyeom wrote that he had served by the Emperor’s side.
Reading that, Yuwon raised his brow in surprise.
― A story I could not tell even to my dearest friend, one I intended to carry silently to the grave. Only now, at the twilight of my life, do I commit it to writing, hoping to ease my stifled heart.
Tang Seogyeom did not speak much of himself.
He only vaguely mentioned that he had once been a martial artist of the Murim and, for some unknown reason, came to live in this world.
‘So he took that secret to his grave….’
It could have been the chance to learn how his father had crossed into this world, yet no matter how Yuwon searched, there was no mention of it.
Setting aside his disappointment, Yuwon continued reading — and soon came upon a passage that caught his eye.
― The severance from the world I once lived in… The shock was not as great as I expected. Only one regret remains: that I shall never again see the woman I truly loved. Decades have passed now; by this time, she must have forgotten me and found someone better….
The writing, which had flowed with clear and steady strokes, wavered for the first time.
Even from the shape of the letters, Yuwon could sense what his father must have felt while writing them.
His nose stung as he read on. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he knew whom the old man meant. Or rather — he wanted to believe he did.
― Whether this writing will ever be read, I do not know. But should there be one who follows after me and experiences what I have, may this old man’s preparations aid them, even a little.
― Whoever reads these words and learns my secret is worthy of inheriting my arrangements. Crafting this place in my final years was a joyful pastime; I hope the one who comes after will make good use of it.
― Written by Dant Ser Geiorn.
‘What exactly did he leave behind…?’
Curiosity kindled, Yuwon flipped rapidly through the pages to scan the contents.
Every page was filled edge to edge with tightly written text — not a single space wasted.
Typical of a Tang Clan man, there were detailed notes organizing the poisons of this world.
‘Just what I needed… This will be of great help.’
For Yuwon, that knowledge was more precious than gold.
After finishing the section on poisons, he turned the pages — and there appeared Tang Seogyeom’s martial arts.
‘A secret manual…!’
It was the martial art of the Sichuan Tang Clan, one Yuwon already knew. But he didn’t skim; he read slowly and carefully.
Before long, he found formulas that differed from those he had learned.
Just as he had suspected.
“As I thought….”
‘This is the real one. This — this is the true teaching of the Tang Clan.’
The more he read, the stronger that conviction grew.
What he had learned in his past life had been nothing but a hollow shell — this was the authentic martial legacy of the Sichuan Tang Clan.
Goosebumps rose across Yuwon’s skin.
He had never believed that what he’d been taught in life represented the entirety of the Tang Clan’s art.
‘I knew there’d be flaws… but I never imagined the gap would be this vast.’
It was as if someone had shown him a stream and called it the sea.
Everything he had learned — all the knowledge that had shaped his former life — crumbled before this one book like a mirage.
And along with it, every plan he’d built for this life was upended.
‘With this… I can overturn everything.’
A single book — yet it was not just any book.
It was the distilled essence of the Sichuan Tang Clan’s supreme martial arts, the very power that had ruled the Sichuan region of the Central Plains for generations.
Though Yuwon had been a concubine’s son, his father Tang Seogyeom had once been such a formidable figure that his name was mentioned among those eligible to succeed as clan head, before being branded a liar.
And this was the secret manual left behind by that same Tang Seogyeom, who had perfected his art over a lifetime.
‘How amusing… That I should finally obtain what I desired most — only after my death.’
Even Yuwon himself could hardly believe this unbelievable twist of fate.
Turning the book over, he looked once more at the word “Sichuan” engraved on the cover and let out a wry laugh.
Even with half-finished teachings — mere fragments — he had once left behind the promising successors of renowned sects.
And now, the true teaching had been placed in his hands.
‘So this life favors me too, it seems. Who would’ve thought I’d find a fateful opportunity of my own….’
It hadn’t come from falling off a cliff into some miraculous encounter, as the tales always said — but a fateful opportunity it was all the same.
‘I’m glad I came to the library.’
A chuckle was still a form of laughter. With that faint, lingering smile still at the corners of his lips, Yuwon began reading again. If before he had merely skimmed through it, this time he read it carefully, word by word.
The laughter that had started as a dry chuckle soon vanished.
Yuwon read Tang Seogyeom’s secret manual with a face more serious than ever before.
He didn’t know how much time had passed.
Immersed completely, forgetting all else, Yuwon eventually reached the final page of the book.
There, he found a line similar to the one from the very first page — only the words and the name were different.
The will of Dant Ser Geiorn, founding hero of the Empire, is hereby passed to his rightful successor. It was destiny.
“…So, he stayed in the library all night?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. That is what the Imperial Library’s secretary, Baron Bartlett, ed.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“What fool would dare lie to Your Majesty? I assure you, that is what I was told.”
At the servant’s , the Emperor’s thick black brows twitched. Something in it displeased him.
‘That’s impossible. The Owls searched every inch of the library, yet they said they found no trace of my youngest.’
It wasn’t that his servant wished to lie — far from it.
This man had served faithfully at the Emperor’s side for nearly his entire life.
It was only that the information he possessed was gravely mistaken.
Yesterday morning, the Fifth Prince had left for the library without a word.
From that point on — whether he’d vanished into the heavens or sunk beneath the earth — by evening, he had completely disappeared from the Emperor’s tight web of surveillance.
‘And now he just strolls out of the library as if nothing happened…?’
Indeed, this morning, he had calmly walked out of the library and returned to the Prince’s Palace as though nothing were amiss.
That much had been confirmed by the Emperor’s spies — his “eyes and ears” spread throughout the Imperial Palace.
From evening to morning — roughly twelve hours.
The Fifth Prince had dared to evade the Emperor’s gaze for a full twelve hours within the palace itself.
‘Not one or two hours, but twelve… Not even the First or Second have ever done that.’
Lost in thought, the Emperor tapped the armrest of his throne with his fingers.
Until just days ago, this same son had been the disgrace of the Aphahiel Empire, staining the honorable name of the “White Dog.” And yet now, the Emperor wondered if this was even the same man.
Cautiously watching his expression, the loyal servant ventured a question.
“Shall we strengthen the surveillance, Your Majesty?”
“…No. Leave it. No special treatment.”
After all, unless it was the Emperor’s own “Owls,” in whom he had absolute trust, any increase in surveillance would only stir up trouble.
And the very reason this matter had reached the Emperor’s ears in the first place was because even those trusted Owls had lost track of the Fifth Prince.
‘This isn’t coincidence. None of this is. My youngest… he’s changed.’
When that son had come before him — right after regaining consciousness — and declared that he would become a serpent, the Emperor had been stunned beyond words.
He could still clearly recall that firm voice asking, “If a dog can become a serpent, then why can’t a serpent become a lion?”
And after that, what happened? During the coming-of-age ceremony, the boy was chosen by the White Dragon Sword, a divine relic spoken of only in the founding myths. Then, he slew assassins with his own hands — two of them — when before he could barely even manage himself.
Whether he had found capable help or not, it was undeniable that he had done what seemed impossible.
‘And he showed no sign of fear, even with corpses beside him… unbelievable. No matter how I think about it….’
At first, the Emperor had suspected that perhaps his son had found a powerful ally.
But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely that the boy had truly done the killing himself.
How he had done it, the Emperor did not know. But his sharp intuition told him the answer.
It was only that the facts as he knew them didn’t quite add up — and so he hesitated to accept it.
‘Wait… could it be that my youngest…?’
“Your Majesty, is something troubling you?”
The servant’s voice pulled the Emperor from his thoughts. He brushed away the dark premonition that had risen in his mind.
“It’s nothing. That’s enough about this.”
The Emperor waved a hand dismissively, signaling that he wished to hear no more. Yet in his mind, the thoughts continued, growing deeper.
‘If the First or Second were to ascend the throne, there would be blood, but not much.’
Between those two, a delicate balance of power existed.
The moment one made a single wrong move, the equilibrium would collapse — and the other would prevail.
Most of the nobles backing the First and Second Princes were moderate by nature; they sought stability rather than ambition, which was why they had chosen their sides.
‘The First and Second have greater influence, yes — but their factions are far less cohesive than those of the Third and Fourth. The contest between the First and Second would spill the least blood.’
But if the Third, Fourth… or even the Fifth Prince were to become Emperor, things would be very different.
Their beginnings were unfavorable. To climb from the bottom, one needed immense effort — effort paid for with blood and sweat.
Such cases often built power around a few trusted individuals, resulting in unmatched unity and loyalty.
‘I pray that won’t come to pass….’
The Emperor’s expression darkened, as if haunted by a grim thought.
The heretic of the White Lion House — the Black Lion, Yulaios Aphahiel.
Born the second son of the Fifth Empress, he had slaughtered them all to seize the throne — not just his brothers, but his sisters as well.
Never in the history of the Aphahiel Empire had so much blood been spilled for a crown.
Because of that, the Emperor’s one earnest wish was that his sons would not repeat such a tragedy.
He himself had walked that path — but he wished his children would not. It was a contradiction, yes, but one born of bitter understanding.
No one knew better than he how much blood that road demanded.
‘I thought the Second was the one who most resembled me….’
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
In the once-sickly, ill-tempered wastrel of a son, he now glimpsed reflections of his own younger self.
‘This isn’t something I should be thinking about.’
The Emperor ran a hand through his hair from front to back, a habitual gesture — sweeping away not only his hair but his wayward thoughts.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, Your Majesty. That concludes the s.”
“I see. Good.”
Thus began another day for the Emperor, as he received his morning s on the happenings within and beyond the palace. He rose from the throne.
“Let’s start with breakfast. Ah — and have the princes clear their schedules for dinner within the week. I should share a meal with my sons soon.”
He had something he needed to confirm for himself.