TSBIRBV Ch 299

Chapter 299. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (3)

“Disciple Myung Yu of Mount Emei in Sichuan and the unaffiliated warrior Je Haryang, step onto the arena!”

“Je Haryang, victory!”

“Yang Gocheong, Young Master of Guihyun Gate in Yunnan, and the unaffiliated Je Haryang, step onto the arena!”

“Je Haryang, victory!”

“Mai Hongrok, disciple of Huashan Sect in Shaanxi, and the unaffiliated Je Haryang, step onto the arena!”

“Je Haryang, victory!”

Victory after victory, again and again.

It was as if Yegyeol were venting all the pent-up fury and resentment from the time he had been confined—sweeping through the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly with one overwhelming triumph after another.

And the more this “Je Haryang” won, the louder the crowd roared.

His martial arts, so fast that the naked eye could barely follow, were exhilarating and destructive.

Every strike he unleashed blazed with arcs of golden lightning, leaving dazzling afterimages even to those ignorant of martial arts.

Even the dignified elders of the martial world, who seldom rose from their seats, leaned forward to watch. They began heatedly debating the origin of his techniques.

“That must surely be the boxing style of some renowned martial clan.”

“No, no, this kind of springing motion—where the whole body bounces to focus all power on one point—is too unorthodox. I’d wager it’s an ordinary art mastered to perfection through sheer talent.”

“They say he wasn’t even a martial artist before some miraculous encounter, hoho.”

“To me, it looks like the Heaven-Sundering Fist of a century past.”

“Nonsense! The Heaven-Sundering Fist belonged to the Grand Emperor of his time—one of the greatest masters ever recorded—and there was no mention of golden light accompanying it.”

“You’re wrong! The old records say that when he fought the Heavenly Demon in his final battle, their clash lit up the skies with golden sparks!”

“Ha! You’re all mistaken. A hundred years ago, heavy-handed styles were in vogue. If you ask me, this is from five centuries past—a long-lost art from the Gonghyeon Sect, the Infinite One Fist!”

They stroked their beards, puffed up with self-importance, each trying to sound wiser than the last as they analyzed Yegyeol’s technique.

Standing poised on the arena, listening with half an ear, Yegyeol nearly laughed aloud.

It reminded him of the exam prep days even espers couldn’t escape back in the modern world.

Teachers made him memorize nonsense like “the purple sweater symbolizes tragic fate.”

Then the author’s interview came out years later—she’d simply liked the color purple.

And now here were these venerable martial masters doing the exact same thing, desperately assigning profound meaning to every flick of his wrist, trying to divine his sect and master from the smallest movement.

So Yegyeol came to his own conclusion.

My senior brother is incredible.

Not one of these countless martial experts suspected that what Yegyeol used was demonic arts.

Not one even considered that he might not be a true martial artist at all.

The latter, of course, was more a failure of imagination than insight—but still, no one could deny Je Haryang’s strength.

Even the oldest monsters of the martial world, who had seen every art imaginable, were completely fooled.

The fear that had always held Yegyeol back—the fear of being exposed—was gone.

No longer hunted as a heretic, he could now unleash his power freely, spreading his wings at last.

After each victorious day at the tournament, Yegyeol would usually visit Haryang.

His senior brother, now openly acknowledging their bond as master and disciple, stayed in the manor the Black Ghost had arranged and waited for him.

Haryang also helped him in many unseen ways.

But tonight, Yegyeol had another engagement.

The matches were over for the day, and he returned to his inn.

Though he secretly wanted to move in with Haryang, he knew he had to maintain appearances as a proper righteous cultivator until he won the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly.

After all, his senior brother—whatever name he wore now—was still considered a demonic figure.

If anyone discovered that the “unaffiliated” Je Haryang was consorting with a Black Spot leader, there would be trouble.

For now, mingling with upright allies like Gweho and Tang Segi was the perfect cover.

Speaking of which, Namgung Un still hasn’t come to see me, he thought.

Since he had spoken with Jeokroe, Yegyeol half-expected Un to visit.

But after the incident in which Namgung Un had protected his honor, the man had quietly withdrawn.

Yegyeol wasn’t too concerned. If anything had happened to the Namgung Clan’s direct line, he would have heard by now.

Before he could even knock, the door to his room burst open.

There stood Tang Segi, pale-faced, eyes red and glistening—like a squirrel that had just lost its entire acorn stash.

The moment he saw Yegyeol, he rushed forward with teary enthusiasm.

“Oh, y-you’re back! You won again today, didn’t you? Congratulations! Truly, congratulations—hic!”

Yegyeol blinked. “Thank you, Tang Gongja. Are you unwell?”

Tang Segi shook his head violently. “No, nothing. Sniff. It’s… something I must bear. Don’t worry about me.”

Then he trudged over to the window, sat heavily at the table beneath it, and began muttering to himself in anguish.

Fragments of his lament drifted to Yegyeol’s ears—something about cruel fate and impossible choices.

Yegyeol took a cautious step back.

Nearby, leaning against a pillar, stood Gweho, watching Tang Segi with obvious amusement.

“What’s gotten into him?” Yegyeol asked, tilting his head.

“Want me to tell you?” Gweho snickered.

“What?”

“You’re facing the young mistress of the Hwangbo Clan in the finals.”

“So my last opponent is Hwangbo Yulhui.”

“You didn’t check?”

Of course he hadn’t. Whoever his opponent was, he would win anyway.

Still, saying that outright would ruin the illusion of humility Je Haryang was supposed to maintain.

“Well,” Yegyeol said mildly, “since I only became a martial artist recently, I thought it best not to intimidate myself by learning how strong my opponent is.”

It was fortunate Tang Segi, who’d once heard Je Haryang boldly declare victory, was too busy sulking in the corner to overhear that.

Feigning modesty, Yegyeol lowered his eyes. Gweho clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’ve been doing well, little brother. Don’t let nerves get to you. Anyway, that Tang heir over there—he’s currently facing the greatest dilemma of his life: friendship or love.”

“Oh…”

Yegyeol’s tone held genuine fascination.

Gweho raised a brow. “Strange reaction.”

“I just thought he’d obviously support Lady Hwangbo. I’m surprised he’s actually torn between us.”

“A man of loyalty, that one,” Gweho chuckled.

Feeling mischievous, Yegyeol asked, “Then, if your beloved and your best friend were to face each other in the finals, who would you cheer for, Brother Gweho?”

The man’s expression darkened as though the world had collapsed.

He hadn’t even considered such a possibility before.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and wistful.

“…Naturally, I’d choose love.”

His gaze drifted into the distance. “The one man I ever called brother no longer lives under this sky.”

Yegyeol nearly quipped at him not to kill off his senior brother so casually—but instead, he just smiled faintly.

“I’ll head upstairs.”

“Yes, yes. Get some rest.”

Once in his room, Yegyeol closed the door and glanced toward the basin where Beambeam usually stayed.

No sign of the little golden snake.

Already here, then.

He took one step forward, two steps to the right, then turned and stepped back three times.

And just like that, the illusion peeled away, revealing what had been hidden before—

By the window sat a figure clad in black, a golden snake coiled lazily around his arm.

“Was Beambeam bothering you again?” Yegyeol asked.

Samrang shrugged. “It’s training.”

The moment Yegyeol approached, the snake darted to his arm, flicking its tongue as though complaining.

Yegyeol pretended to listen seriously before saying, “Beambeam disagrees.”

“Figures. The path of a master is never easy,” Samrang replied, feigning lament with a dramatic sigh.

“How’s the progress?” Yegyeol asked.

“As you instructed, everything is in place across the Central Plains,” she answered with a rare, serious expression.

“Good. The plan must be ready to execute the moment I win the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly.”

“Naturally.”

Her tone was crisp—obedient, but not without gravity.

This wasn’t a favor anymore; it was a command.

It was the very task Yegyeol had entrusted her with when he confided his full plan to Haryang.

Originally, he had intended to use Jeokroe’s influence through Namgung Un’s introduction—but that avenue was… awkward now.

Well, that relationship’s a bit too strained for conversation.

He brushed the thought away with an easy expression and reviewed the plan one last time.

If everything went smoothly, the entire Central Plains martial world would turn upside down. The idea thrilled him.

As Samrang tucked away the encrypted message, she glanced up and said suddenly, “You must be happy, Young Master.”

“What makes you say that?”

“They’re calling you Cheonroe Shinryong.”

“Cheonroe Shinryong?” Yegyeol repeated flatly.

In the martial world, once someone’s name became known, they were usually given a title—a martial epithet, much like a stage name.

People often remembered the epithet better than the real name.

The name depended on one’s style, temperament, and alignment—righteous, demonic, or neutral.

It wasn’t something one could choose freely, and once settled, it rarely changed.

So to earn a flattering epithet was an achievement in itself.

“Some call you Cheonroe Gwonryong instead—Thunderfist Dragon. A few have already shortened it to just Lightning Dragon,” Samrang added. “Honestly, it’s about time.”

But Yegyeol wasn’t listening anymore.

“This is outrageous!” he burst out, slamming the table.

“What? Isn’t it a good name?”

Cheonroe Shinryong—Heavenly Thunder Dragon.

It was, objectively, an impressive title. Too impressive, even.

“Why isn’t it Unryong—Cloud Dragon?!”

“…Excuse me?” Samrang blinked.

“My senior brother’s epithet was Goryun Unryong—the Cloud Dragon of Kunlun! It only makes sense that mine should match!”

Now she understood his madness.

He wanted a “couple epithet.”

“You can’t just choose your martial title like ordering a custom sword sheath!” she exclaimed. “People decide that for you.”

“But think about it!” Yegyeol argued passionately. “Thunder and lightning only happen when there are clouds! My epithet should obviously include clouds!”

It was ridiculous—yet delivered with such conviction that for a second, she almost believed him.

But only for a second.

“Where in your fighting style is there any trace of a cloud’s grace?” she countered. “Your martial arts are nothing but explosive destruction!”

He wanted to end fights in one flashy, overwhelming strike and still be called a cloud? It defied all logic.

Exasperated, Samrang continued, “Have you even seen Je Yun-jong of the Wudang Sect? That man moves like he’s walking on clouds. That’s what ‘Un’ should mean!”

But Yegyeol was unmoved. His eyes gleamed with mischievous determination.

“This won’t do. Samrang.”

The tone of his voice sent a chill down her spine.

She remembered it well—it was the same tone he’d used right before running away from home.

“Go out and spread word that the most likely winner of the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly bears the epithet Cheonroe Unryong—the Heavenly Thunder Cloud Dragon.”

Yegyeol’s eyes shone with fiery conviction.

If that’s how it must be… then I’ll just start my own rumor meta.