TSBIRBV Ch 253

Chapter 253. The Audacious Impostor (2)

Oh.

Yegyeol was slightly taken aback. Peng Munhyeong was not a man who usually seemed particularly perceptive. He wasn’t stupid, but he gave the impression of someone who preferred using his fists over his head — a man whose strength had long made cunning unnecessary.

“We’re clearly martial artists. Anyone can tell at a glance.”

As Peng removed his shirt, the layers of scars covering his body came into view — each one a mark left by a blade. Some ran perilously close to his heart. He must have walked the edge of death more times than he could count.

And yet, for all the wounds carved into his flesh, his body gave off the impression of an impregnable fortress — solid, immovable, and complete.

That was the life Peng Munhyeong had lived — a life written into his very skin.

“Whoever’s pulling the strings in this inn is surely watching us carefully,” he said gravely. “Even if we’re after information, pushing that waiter too hard would only make them feel cornered. They’d panic — and when cornered, such people don’t hesitate to kill.”

His voice was heavy, not with speculation, but with experience.

“What if that boy’s working with a demonic sect member?” Yegyeol asked, testing him.

Peng buttoned up a fresh tunic before answering, “That doesn’t change anything. The boy’s a commoner with no martial skill. If we can save him, we should. Punishment and justice come afterward.”

Yegyeol blinked, surprised.

Everyone had unexpected sides to them, but to hear such careful words from the “Reclusive Tiger” — a man rumored to split a demon’s skull in half the moment he saw one tormenting an innocent — was striking.

No… that’s not it, Yegyeol thought.

It was probably because he was so single-mindedly devoted to righteousness that he could say such a thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yegyeol said softly.

Peng scratched the back of his neck. “Heh. Haven’t had the chance to say things like that in a long time. These days, the young ones avoid me like the plague. Don’t know how my father or the elders always managed to sound so self-righteous.”

The tips of his ears were slightly red. For someone known to remember the original Je Haryang with such respect, he was almost endearingly simple.

“Anyway,” Peng continued, flopping down onto the bed, “rest while you can. From experience — the ones hiding dirty secrets only ever move after sundown.”

Moments later, his steady breathing filled the room.

Yegyeol couldn’t help but smile faintly. That unbothered calm reminded him of Haryang — the kind of man who never lost his composure, no matter where he was.

The sickness runs deep, Yegyeol thought wryly.

At this rate, even the moon would remind him of his Senior Brother.

Groaning softly, he pressed his fingers to his brow and clicked his tongue inwardly. He hadn’t been away from the Ten-Thousand Mountains for long, yet already he wanted to return — to throw himself back into Haryang’s arms.

So fickle. So easily swayed. His resolve melted like boiling soup, his heart weak and wavering like a reed in the wind.

“What a pitiful excuse for a man,” he muttered to himself.

“Pardon?”

Hongyeo, standing by the door like a silent guard, looked over in confusion.

“Nothing,” Yegyeol replied with a smile.

He glanced down at Baembaem, whose golden tail was flicking lazily across the floor, and reached out a hand.

“You did so well,” he said warmly.

As he passed a small charge of energy through his fingertips, the snake wriggled up to meet him, brushing against his hand affectionately before giving him a light nip — not enough to hurt, just enough to leave a tiny mark.

Proud and unrestrained, Baembaem could hardly hide his delight at bringing home such an impressive “trophy.” Yegyeol couldn’t help but chuckle.

And then, the waiting began.

He spent the next while quietly stroking Baembaem so as not to wake Peng. Leaning against the wall, he soon drifted into a light doze himself.

He awoke to the faint sound of movement.

His senses, sharpened ever since parting from his guide, reacted instantly.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask, Hongyeo raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

Expression taut, he pointed toward the opposite wall.

Yegyeol focused his eyes — and saw them: two faint life signals beyond the partition.

Right then, laughter floated over from the next room.

“Heh heh… so you’ve put ’em all to sleep, eh?”

Put to sleep?

Yegyeol blinked. He had napped earlier, but not because of any sedative. Peng had only been resting his eyes, and Hongyeo had stayed awake the entire time.

Is it the effect of the Poison-Warding Pearl? Or maybe I’m just too used to drugs for that sleeping powder to work at all.

He decided then and there that once he returned, he’d beg his Senior Brother for a Poison Pearl of his own.

He focused again on the voices beyond the wall.

“Y-yes, sir,” the waiter stammered.

“Judging by their horses, they’ve got money. Once we take it all, I’ll cut you in — so keep your face straight.”

The older man’s tone dripped with greed.

Then came the waiter’s trembling voice: “M-Master Jang… where is he?”

“Oh, he’s alive,” the man replied lazily. “Just taking a little convincing, that’s all.”

“Let me talk to him, please!”

A loud thud shook the wall.

“Augh!”

“I treat you kindly, and this is how you repay me? Know your place.”

“Ah… ahh…”

The boy’s pained whimpers followed.

“You told me you were injured by righteous sect bastards, didn’t you?” the old man sneered. “Once I’ve recovered, I’ll leave this dump behind. Just borrowing a little travel money from passing guests — what’s the harm?”

Borrowing, Yegyeol thought, how uniquely generous a definition.

“If you keep disobeying, my patience ends here.”

The waiter’s sobs faltered, fear closing his throat. After several ragged breaths, he finally whispered, “I… understand.”

[The waiter’s being threatened,] Hongyeo’s voice murmured in Yegyeol’s mind.

Yegyeol nodded slightly.

Of course. The old demon — calling himself Nobu — was holding the cook, this “Master Jang,” hostage, forcing the boy to serve customers and lace their food with drugs.

“Always the troublesome kind,” the old man muttered, clicking his tongue.

Then he paused.

Yegyeol realized why — Peng had just begun to snore.

Perhaps embarrassed at his own tension, the old man chuckled. “Hah! Snoring loud enough to shake the heavens. Definitely a martial artist. Good thing I used a sleeping draught instead of poison.”

Yegyeol tilted his head, and Hongyeo’s voice brushed through his mind again:

[Some martial artists build resistance to poison, but very few bother with sleeping agents made from herbs. They’re more likely to fall to those than to venom.]

Ah, Yegyeol thought, nodding slightly.

The voices grew louder. Yegyeol gestured to the side and made a walking motion with two fingers, then pointed to himself and nodded toward the window.

When the old man entered this room, he would go out the window and rescue the boy.

It wasn’t the most elegant signal, but he’d already moved toward the window, and that was enough.

He slipped silently outside, perching by the eaves.

Hongyeo looked up as Yegyeol waved with an impish grin before disappearing.

The roof was old, but sturdy enough to run across without collapse. He moved quickly and without a sound.

One wrong step, and the noise would be enough to wake half the village. Then there would be no rescuing anyone.

Fighting while protecting someone… never been my strong suit.

Yegyeol crept along the roof until he reached the next window.

Inside, he heard a door slam, followed by the boy’s muffled sobs. A quick glance confirmed that only one person remained in the room.

Good. He’s gone.

He gripped the windowsill — pale fingers slipping through the opening.

The boy inside nearly screamed but caught himself, eyes wide with terror.

Yegyeol pressed a finger to his lips.

The boy clamped both hands over his mouth and nodded frantically.

I’m not the bad guy, Yegyeol thought — though he’d prove that through action, not words.

A crash shook the floor.

Perfect timing.

Yegyeol peeked out the door just as the sound echoed from the hallway. He shoved the boy behind him, toward the corner.

Heavy footsteps thundered closer.

With a resounding bang, the door burst inward — and the old man came tumbling through, knocked clean off his feet.

Good hit, Yegyeol thought. Hongyeo must’ve struck first.

The old man — the “demon” — scrambled up, glaring with venomous eyes. His hand darted toward his belt.

Hidden weapon, Yegyeol realized.

He sprang forward, cutting the movement off.

“Where do you think you’re—”

“Ugh!”

His kick landed squarely, sending the man flying. A handful of short blades clattered to the floor as the demon rolled back into the room — stopping only when he caught himself against the far wall, right before Hongyeo.

Panting, the old man’s shoulders heaved.

Yegyeol smirked. “The noodles here were terrible.”

It was only a taunt, but the demon growled, “You… damn it…”

He spat blood, crimson against the floor. Rage lit his eyes like fire.

“Let’s see you laugh when I take you with me!”

He spread his arms, blackened veins crawling up beneath his sleeves. His clothes whipped violently in the sudden surge of energy.

Poison arts — no doubt about it. But why did he look poisoned himself?

Then it clicked.

The clothes Baembaem brought back… they weren’t from a missing traveler. They were his.

“You think I’ll die alone?!”

Blood streamed down his arms as he charged.

But before he could reach them—

CRASH!

A deafening blow echoed through the room.

“Did you really think a cheap sleeping powder would knock me out?”

Standing over him, calm and unbothered, was Peng Munhyeong — the “Reclusive Tiger” — holding the shattered remains of a table in one hand.

“Next time, try something stronger,” he said dryly.

“Kh…! I was so close to mastering the Azure Golden Body! To be humiliated like this by the likes of you!”

Azure Golden Body? Yegyeol frowned. Another nonsense demonic art, I’m sure.

It was always the same — villains wailing about being on the verge of perfection. As if it mattered.

Still, the blackened veins up his arms suggested something real — a blood-based poison technique, perhaps.

“An old tiger? More like a dying mutt,” Peng muttered.

The man roared in fury, trying to stand — but before he could, a small golden snake slithered over and sank its fangs into his ankle.

For a moment, his eyes flashed with recognition. “That snake— it’s not even venomous—!”

Baembaem, insulted, unleashed the full force of his gathered charge.

A blinding flash of gold filled the room.

When it faded, the old demon’s leg had turned to ash, collapsing like a burnt log.

Baembaem, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, hissed softly and slithered back toward Yegyeol.

“You shouldn’t eat things like that,” Yegyeol chided, sighing.