TSBIRBV Ch 258

Chapter 258. The Audacious Impostor (7)

“You truly are…”

At Yegyeol’s words, Peng Munhyeong gave him a complex look, then turned his gaze aside. Even among the ranks of chivalrous warriors, he was an odd one, yet seeing this “Mad Tiger” display such depth of emotion left Yegyeol unsure whether to laugh or sigh.

“He’s from the Golden Fish Guild,” Yeon Sosho suddenly said. She was crouched beside the corpse, pointing to the man’s arm. Though the body was bloated from the river, a tattoo shaped like a fish was still visible on his forearm. However, it had been slashed cleanly in half, as if by a sharp blade.

“The Golden Fish Guild…?”

“There are many fishermen on the Yangtze,” Yeon Sosho explained. “Some among them developed martial techniques from spear-fishing, and the Golden Fish Guild descends from those traditions. It’s less of a martial sect and more like a merchant alliance. They value profit from fishing far more than reputation in the martial world. Still, they do protect their fellow fishermen’s livelihoods.”

Yegyeol thought that the Flood Dragon Gang and the Golden Fish Guild must either get along very well—or hate each other intensely. There would be no in-between.

“Not every fisherman belongs to them,” Yeon Sosho continued, “but anyone working the Yangtze receives their protection. Minor sects and outlaws wouldn’t dare touch them. Those who do… tend to end up as fish food without anyone ever hearing their screams.”

“Then why was his tattoo cut through like that?” Yegyeol asked quietly.

“Malice,” Peng Munhyeong said before Yeon Sosho could answer. His voice was heavy.

“Someone must have held a grudge against the Golden Fish Guild,” he went on. “They made a point of defacing the emblem—an insult carved in flesh.”

Judging from the corpse’s poisoned state, Peng muttered, it seemed the work of someone skilled in toxic arts.

“And the Golden Fish Guild would never deliberately poison the river that sustains them,” Yeon Sosho added. “They must have been caught up in something much larger.”

The two of them speaking like that—agreeing, even—seemed to startle Peng. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke again.

“Still, isn’t it strange that there are no other boats around? With so many dead fish, the current should have carried them downstream, and there must be villages nearby…”

Yeon Sosho glanced around and shook her head.

“No villages in the immediate area. This stretch of the river is isolated. But you’re right—somewhere downstream, people must have been affected. Many riverside villages draw drinking water from these tributaries. Entire settlements may have fallen ill.”

She muttered that they would need to contact the Golden Fish Guild as soon as they cleared this area.

After passing through the stretch of silver-stained death, they decided to dock at the first ferry point ahead.

“Ferry docks are usually bustling…”

“Yet this one’s deserted,” Peng said, clicking his tongue.

The sailors expertly threw ropes and secured the ship to the dock.

“Some of you stay to guard the ship. The rest, scout the ferry grounds and report anything unusual,” Yeon Sosho ordered crisply.

“Yes, Captain!”

Her subordinates moved with near-military precision—proof that the Flood Dragon King’s crew were no mere river bandits.

“What will you do, Young Master?”

As Yegyeol disembarked, he mentally calculated the time it would take to reach Wuhan and the schedule of the Martial Arts Tournament. Even if he skipped the preliminaries and went straight to the main competition, as his invitation allowed, time was growing tight—but still manageable.

“Of course I’m coming along,” he said.

After all, one of his main reasons for coming to the Central Plains was to investigate these strange occurrences. Perhaps, in doing so, he might uncover traces of the demonic cultivators who fled beyond the Ten Thousand Mountains after Haryang’s transformation into the Heavenly Demon.

If they tried to set off explosives in the Demon Cult’s sacred Biheoyeon ritual… then their next move must be imminent.

It was a clever strategy—shake the cult from within, strike from without, and take advantage of the ensuing chaos.

“No traders, no ferrymen, no travelers crossing the river,” Yeon Sosho murmured, scanning the area.

“This ferry is temporary, so there’s usually less traffic—but this level of emptiness is abnormal,” she said, her brows furrowing.

“There’s a smell of smoke,” Hongyeo said suddenly, guiding the horses down the ramp.

Only then did Yegyeol catch it—the faint, acrid scent of burning, hidden beneath the thick odor of river water and forest. His senses, once razor-sharp, had grown complacent lately, dulled by comfort.

I need to sharpen up again before we reach Wuhan.

“It’d be best if some of us scouted ahead,” Hongyeo suggested.

Yeon Sosho didn’t hesitate. She mounted her horse and took the reins, issuing crisp orders to her men.

There were only two horses left. Peng Munhyeong hesitated, clearly unsure what to do.

Yegyeol quickly decided. He couldn’t possibly make the upright Peng share a mount with the Flood Dragon King.

“Brother Peng, I’ll ride with Hongyeo. You can take the remaining horse.”

It wasn’t just propriety—Hongyeo was far more skilled at handling horses, and space would have been an issue.

“Hold on tight—around my waist or back,” Hongyeo said as Yegyeol climbed up behind him, his voice betraying a faint nervousness that was very unlike him.

Anyone else might not have noticed the awkwardness—but Yegyeol, amused, certainly did.

If I were him, I’d ‘accidentally’ let the passenger fall off.

“Don’t worry,” Yegyeol replied with a grin.

He could balance himself easily even without holding on—after all, Hongyeo could stand on Jeokroe’s back and swing a spear mid-gallop. Still, for Hongyeo’s peace of mind, Yegyeol wrapped his arms snugly around his waist, like a safety bar on a roller coaster.

With a deep breath, Hongyeo shouted, “Hyah!”

All three horses surged forward.

The nearest village to the ferry was called Yeogok. Long ago, it had nearly been abandoned due to corrupt officials, but after the nearby ferry was built, people had trickled back in—traders, boatmen, porters eking out a living.

“It’s small, but sustained by travelers,” Yeon Sosho explained as they rode.

“You seem to know this region well,” Yegyeol remarked.

“I heard from one of my men familiar with the area,” she replied shortly.

But Yegyeol remembered—she hadn’t received any such report. She must have known already.

The village was eerily quiet. Some houses on the outskirts bore blackened scorch marks.

“There are people here…” Yegyeol murmured.

Yeon Sosho pressed a finger to her lips. The place looked abandoned, yet movement stirred at its heart—people huddled together, tense and watchful.

“Don’t come any closer! Take another step and I’ll set fire to the second house too!”

A voice rang out from behind a wall. A hand holding a torch waved threateningly above it. The words were fierce, but the tremor in the tone betrayed fear.

“They’re afraid of something,” Yegyeol whispered.

“Seems there’s been a misunderstanding,” Peng said calmly, stepping forward. His size and voice alone could have been intimidating, yet his tone was measured.

“I am a martial artist of Hebei’s Peng Clan,” he announced. “We were traveling down the Yangtze when we docked to seek provisions—but found the place deserted. We came to see if something had happened.”

He wisely omitted any mention of the dead fish or the poison.

“H-Hebei Peng Clan?”

Even those living deep in the mountains had heard of the Five Great Families. The speaker’s voice quavered, uncertain. Then a face peeked over the wall—a middle-aged woman with full cheeks, clutching the torch in one hand. On her back hung a harpoon, and a sickle was tied to her waist. It was a makeshift armament, but an armament nonetheless.

She was broad-shouldered, though the dark circles under her eyes told of exhaustion. Her gaze flicked past Peng—to Yegyeol, to Hongyeo, and finally to Yeon Sosho.

Her torch wavered, then lowered slightly. Relief softened her features, though she remained wary.

“…You should go,” she said at last, her voice heavy. “Our village is in no condition to receive guests.”

She couldn’t have recognized Peng just by sight, Yegyeol thought. We’re deep in the south—far from Hebei. For her to know the faces of northern clans is unlikely.

No—her fear and vigilance weren’t directed at them personally. They were directed at someone else entirely.

“We didn’t come seeking hospitality,” Peng said.

He pushed back his bamboo hat, revealing streaks of white and black in his hair, and drew the sword from his back. With a single motion, he drove it into the ground.

The blade sank in effortlessly, cleaving the earth as though through tofu. The woman’s eyes widened.

“My name is Peng Munhyeong,” he declared. “Some in the martial world know me as the Reclusive Tiger.”

He hadn’t infused the words with any inner energy, yet his booming voice and natural aura filled the space like thunder.

Watching him, Yegyeol felt that familiar thrill—he had always loved tales of heroes, ever since a certain man once made him believe in them.

“If you require aid, speak without hesitation,” Peng said solemnly. “I will lend you my hand.”

The woman bit her lip, torn between hope and fear. Then, as if reaching a hard-won decision, she bowed deeply.

“We… we do need help, Master Peng.”