TSBIRBV Ch 254

Chapter 254. The Audacious Impostor (3)

Baembaem coiled its tail around Yegyeol’s wrist, rubbing its body against his arm as if to say it regretted its actions. Yegyeol, half amused, absently stroked the snake’s small golden head.

“You’re bold, little brother,” Peng Munhyeong said, his tone tinged with disbelief. “After seeing that snake roast a man alive, you can still pet it like that?”

“Ah…”

Yegyeol suddenly realized that perhaps he’d revealed too much of his true nature too early in their journey together. He lowered his gaze shyly, pretending to be embarrassed.

“I couldn’t regard a demonic scoundrel who tormented innocent civilians as human, Brother Peng. Besides, didn’t you call him an old dog yourself?”

“Well… that’s true, but still…”

The Reclusive Tiger scratched the back of his head, muttering under his breath, “Can’t even drink cold water around kids these days…” Yegyeol pretended not to hear him and changed the subject.

“Now we can finally talk to the boy.”

He pushed aside the shattered door that lay on the floor, gesturing for the trembling waiter, who had been hovering in the hallway, to come closer.

This time, Peng didn’t stop him.

The boy was shaking like a leaf. The moment he saw the blackened corpse of the demon, he collapsed to his knees and burst into tears.

Tears streamed down his soot-streaked face as he clutched at the burnt hem of the dead man’s robe. His hands were smeared with ash. For a moment, it almost seemed as though he was grieving for the demon.

“Oh, oh no… Uncle Jang, my uncle… I have to find him—what am I going to do…”

He flailed helplessly, as though he wanted to seize the dead man by the collar and demand his uncle’s return. The sight of the charred body didn’t even seem to register.

“Uncle Jang… what do I do…”

Yegyeol recalled that the “Uncle Jang” the boy spoke of was the man who made dumplings.

“Uncle Jang?” he asked.

“The demon took our innkeeper away,” the boy choked out between sobs. “He said he’d kill him if I didn’t cooperate. He must be trapped somewhere… what do I do…”

He couldn’t bring himself to blame the men who had saved his life, but the anguish in his voice was palpable. His eyes brimmed with despair so deep that it made even Yegyeol’s chest tighten.

“How long has it been since Uncle Jang was taken?”

“Seven… seven days,” the boy whispered.

“Seven days…”

Peng’s expression darkened. After a week, the chances of survival were slim. But they couldn’t give up without at least searching.

“Let’s gather the townsfolk first,” Peng said solemnly.

While people gathered, Yegyeol learned the full story from the boy.

Uncle Jang was both cook and innkeeper. The boy had lost his parents young, and Uncle Jang had taken him in and raised him as his own. They lived modestly, running a small inn and serving travelers and escorts who passed through.

The trouble began when the boy, returning from a trip outside the village, found an injured old man collapsed by the road. Pitying him, he brought the stranger to a physician without knowing who—or what—he was.

When the demon regained consciousness, he quickly realized his savior was a soft-hearted youth. He wept pitifully, claiming he’d been abandoned by his family and had nowhere to go. The boy, moved by compassion, persuaded Uncle Jang to let the old man stay at the inn.

At first, the old man behaved himself. Quiet. Polite. Harmless.

But after his wounds healed, everything changed.

As soon as the demon regained his internal strength, he repaid kindness with betrayal. Workers at the inn began falling ill and quitting one after another. Even Uncle Jang’s face grew pale. Guests who had planned to stay several nights began leaving after only one.

It wasn’t long before the boy discovered the truth: the demon had been stealing their life force.

When the boy begged him to leave peacefully, the demon demanded travel money instead—and when Uncle Jang grew suspicious and pieced together what was happening, he was taken hostage.

The old demon had planned to lie low in the inn for a while, feeding on travelers to restore his power. The inn’s steady stream of strangers made it a perfect hunting ground, and no one would notice if a few went missing.

“That blood-stained clothing we found earlier…” Yegyeol began.

“The man who wore it was a merchant who passed through often,” the boy said, his face crumpling. “The demon poisoned him.”

“So it wasn’t the old man’s own garment,” Yegyeol murmured with a sigh.

He felt a pang of frustration. He’d wanted to compare the poison in the merchant’s wounds to the black blood that had oozed from the demon’s arm—but Baembaem’s lightning strike had burned the body so thoroughly there was nothing left to examine.

“There’s no more information to glean here,” Yegyeol said, clicking his tongue.

“Then we have no choice but to start searching,” Peng replied firmly.

He descended the stairs with heavy steps.

The murmuring villagers wore a mix of emotions—fear at the hidden threat that had lurked among them, concern for the missing innkeeper, and relief that the heroes before them had ended it all.

Peng strode to the front.

“There were reports of the demon lurking on the outskirts,” he said in a commanding tone. “He’ll have hidden his hostage somewhere far from prying eyes. Search those areas first.”

With practiced efficiency, he divided the people into groups. Yegyeol naturally joined in. He knew he was the most likely to find Uncle Jang alive.

All he had to do was trace the demon’s usual paths, sense for faint life signals where none should exist, and follow the trail.

Yegyeol didn’t think of himself as particularly virtuous.

But he liked being a hero. That was something he’d inherited from his Senior Brother, Je Haryang. Whenever tales of his brother’s exploits reached Mount Kunlun, Yegyeol had been the first to listen, eyes shining with admiration.

Now reborn as an Esper, he’d learned that people often regarded his kind as monsters. But when he used his abilities to help others, they looked at him differently.

Doing good deeds—doing what was right—was a kind of camouflage.

And besides, traveling alongside someone like Peng Munhyeong—the Reclusive Tiger himself—he needed to maintain a good impression for the sake of his plans in the orthodox martial world.

Torches flared to life as the search parties dispersed.

Yegyeol walked beside Hongyeo.

“Should we start by the forest path? Or the riverside?” he asked, narrowing the search to two areas based on the boy’s testimony and the villagers’ reports.

“The riverside seems unlikely,” Hongyeo said after a moment’s thought. “There are too many animal tracks there. With poison in his body, even beasts would have avoided the places he frequented. Besides, the villagers draw drinking water from that river. If he’d been nearby, people would’ve fallen ill.”

Yegyeol nodded. “Then the forest it is. Somewhere less traveled.”

Following his lead, Hongyeo scouted ahead. His instincts were razor-sharp—he could tell at a glance how recently an animal had passed and what kind it was. Guided by him, they eventually came upon an abandoned temple.

Of course it’s always places like this, Yegyeol thought wryly.

The dilapidated structure exuded a sinister air. Red handprints were smeared across the walls.

“Over here?” he murmured, extending his senses.

He followed the trail of marks to the back courtyard and felt it immediately—a faint, sluggish life pulse beneath the ground.

Buried under scraps of refuse, a man lay curled up, barely moving.

“Uncle Jang?” Yegyeol called softly.

The middle-aged man lifted his head at the unfamiliar voice. When his bleary eyes met the young stranger peering down from above, disbelief gave way to tears. He nodded weakly, his face contorting with emotion.

Before Yegyeol could move, Hongyeo had already leapt into the pit, cradling the frail man and lifting him carefully to the surface.

They sprinted back toward the village. Uncle Jang’s body was ice-cold to the touch.

“We found him at the old temple!” Yegyeol shouted. “Where’s the physician?”

The village doctor, who had been standing by, immediately began treatment as soon as they arrived.

The boy stumbled into the scene, covered in dirt as if he’d fallen while running, and threw himself toward his guardian—only for Yegyeol to stop him gently.

“Let the doctor work first. Just a moment.”

There were no visible wounds, but the man was bruised, malnourished, and suffering from hypothermia. Such patients were vulnerable to infection; cleanliness was crucial.

When at last Uncle Jang’s breathing steadied, the boy broke down completely, sobbing with relief.

“Th-thank you… thank you so much, sir… you saved him… thank you…”

Yegyeol felt awkward under the flood of gratitude.

Heroes of the martial world were probably used to this sort of thing, but he wasn’t. No matter how much he’d tried to imitate Je Haryang, the role of a righteous swordsman still felt foreign to him.

And yet, seeing that raw, overwhelming relief on their faces—something warm stirred in his chest.

Helping others brought no immediate reward. And yet, somehow, their emotions spilled into him, lighting a strange, fluttering warmth inside.

I wonder what Senior Brother felt when he first set out to do good.

If Haryang were here, Yegyeol thought, they’d stay up all night talking about it.

“The innkeeper wishes to thank his benefactor,” said the physician suddenly, waving him over.

Yegyeol, relieved to step away from the boy’s tears, followed him into the small room where Uncle Jang lay resting.

He was gaunt and pale, his face swollen and drawn—but his eyes burned with an almost transcendent clarity, like a monk who’d glimpsed enlightenment through the brush of death.

“I thought I was going to die,” the man whispered hoarsely. “But to meet such a hero before the end…”

His trembling hand reached for Yegyeol’s, clutching it tightly.

“You saved my life. How could I ever repay this grace?”

The grip wasn’t strong, yet it felt like a shackle around Yegyeol’s heart—heavy, but not unpleasant.

“It’s nothing,” Yegyeol said softly. “Just focus on your recovery.”

Despite his inner awkwardness, his words came easily. His tongue always worked best when his heart was most cornered.

He thought for a moment, then added lightly, “Ah, when I return, I’ll have to stop by this inn again and try those dumplings everyone praised so much.”

The man under the blanket smiled faintly through his tears. “May I at least know my benefactor’s name?”

Yegyeol hesitated for a heartbeat, then pressed his lips together as if reluctant to answer—before finally replying, almost sheepishly:

“My name is Je Haryang.”