TSBIRBV Ch 305

Chapter 305. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (9)

The Kunlun elder, Baekyang Zhenren, was found dead.

Beside his corpse lay a jade token—its inscription, unmistakably belonging to the Jinju Un Clan, crudely pried off.

The case fell into chaos.

The Murim Alliance summoned the head of the Un Clan, who was still under custody, and pressed him for answers, but none of his words proved satisfactory.

The news spread like wildfire—not only throughout Wuhan, but across all of the Central Plains.

And the very next day, Wudang’s foremost sword, Yonghyeon Zhenren, was reported missing—his disciple, Cheongyong, the one to make the announcement.

It didn’t take long for the Murim Alliance to realize that these two seemingly separate incidents were connected.

Even amidst this upheaval, the finals of the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament drew near.

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

“Heavenly Thunder Divine Dragon!”

Standing proudly upon the dueling stage, Yegyeol frowned slightly at the unfamiliar chant that reached his ears—Heavenly Thunder Divine Dragon?

But stepping off the platform now would mean forfeiting the match.

This was the finals. Even the Alliance Lord himself had climbed the dais to give one of his endlessly long speeches.

“Honored guests of the martial world, thank you for attending the finals of the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament. First of all—”

Yegyeol stood still, politely masking his boredom.

He could guess why the Alliance Lord was being so verbose, so insistent on praising the unity and greatness of the orthodox world.

After all, Baekyang Zhenren’s body had been found, and the Wudang’s foremost sword had gone missing.

In times like these, a grand celebration such as the tournament was the perfect distraction—an event to refocus public attention and restore morale.

“The young generation shall be the future of the martial world!”

Finally, as the Lord’s speech drew to a close, thunderous applause and cheers rose from the crowd. Yegyeol watched him take his seat, his own expression calm and composed.

The referee raised his voice.

“From the Hwangbo Clan—Young Master Hwangbo Yulhui!”

As she stepped onto the stage, cheers for her name resounded through the arena.

“Golden Tiger Peak’s Hwangbo Yulhui!”

“Golden Tiger Peak! Golden Tiger Peak!”

From the corner of his eye, Yegyeol thought he saw Tang Segi among the spectators, shouting himself hoarse.

In this sweltering heat, the man had wrapped half his body in what looked like tiger fur—and the other half… scales?

Is that supposed to be a dragon?

He couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or embarrassed by such a fashion sense.

“And from no sect affiliation—Cheonroe Shinryong, Je Haryang!”

It’s “Heavenly Thunder Dragon,” he thought irritably.

As Yegyeol raised one brow ever so slightly, he quickly smoothed his expression.

While living under the guise of “Je Haryang,” he had been meticulously polite—his speech courteous, his demeanor measured.

He’d lost his temper a few times—mostly when dealing with people like Un Chaegwol—but since that man had now “disappeared,” his reputation as “Je Haryang” remained intact.

With the roaring crowd urging him forward, Yegyeol stepped onto the platform.

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

“Heavenly Thunder Divine Dragon!”

Even in the Central Plains, his manufactured legend had spread beautifully.

He’d not only coaxed children into singing that catchy tune but even enlisted Samrang—an expert propagandist—and several spies from the Demonic Cult to spread the legend.

And it had worked. He’d earned the martial name he wanted: Heavenly Thunder Dragon.

The problem was that “Heavenly Thunder Divine Dragon” had caught on too.

Guess I’ll have to settle that branding issue later, he mused dryly.

Any normal person might’ve felt the pressure of such cheers, but Yegyeol stood relaxed, even amused—complaining inwardly about naming inconsistencies.

“Je Haryang!”

“Je Haryang!”

Still… where is Senior Brother?

Surely, he wouldn’t reveal himself at an event attended by the Alliance Lord himself.

Yegyeol scanned the stands, trying to catch sight of him.

Everywhere his gaze landed, the crowd erupted in frenzied screams.

He had once been the underdog—a young contestant framed during a match against a disciple of one of the Nine Great Sects. To see him now, standing in the finals, was a story straight from legend.

His simple glance around, merely searching for Haryang, looked to the audience like the humble awe of a man realizing how far he’d come.

A perfect, unintentional narrative.

Finally, he turned toward his opponent.

Hwangbo Yulhui stood poised and composed.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes… it has,” she replied calmly.

[When we first met, you had another name—and another surname.]

Her voice echoed in his mind through internal transmission.

Yegyeol smiled faintly—not out of mystery, but because he couldn’t return the telepathic speech himself.

With the referee standing right there, he couldn’t exactly explain how he’d “stolen someone’s soul” the last time they met.

“I’ve heard the explanation from Tang Gongja,” she said gently. “Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

Her smile was pure, genuine.

For a fleeting second, Yegyeol saw a trace of Je Haryang in it.

I thought they only shared bloodlines, but… it’s more than that.

The realization left him feeling oddly unsettled.

“The match will now begin.”

At the referee’s call, Yegyeol nodded.

“I’ll do my best,” Hwangbo Yulhui said, bowing respectfully.

Yegyeol’s lips twitched into a near-invisible smile.

He’d fought countless disciples from great clans and sects to reach this point.

If he’d learned anything, it was that the heirs of prestigious families loved to boast.

“I’ll go easy on you.”

“You probably haven’t received proper instruction, so I’ll hold back a little.”

He’d heard it all.

Though such arrogance had lessened as he became a frontrunner, there were still those who thought his victories were flukes.

So Hwangbo Yulhui’s sincerity struck him as refreshing.

“I’ll give it my all,” Yegyeol said quietly.

His energy sharpened, igniting like kindled flame. His brown eyes shimmered, shifting to brilliant gold.

The raw, untamed ferocity hidden beneath his polite facade pierced through Yulhui’s composure like a blade’s edge.

She swallowed hard. Something felt off.

As the cherished prodigy of the Hwangbo Clan, she’d faced real battle before—rogue wanderers, demonic cultivators, even assassins. She’d felt killing intent before.

But this was different.

If I had to describe it…

It’s like facing a tiger that eats humans.

Yegyeol struck first. His movement was so fast it blurred from sight.

Yulhui barely managed to raise her sword in time.

Heavy!

The Hwangbo style was built on heavy strikes, yet even her practiced arms tingled violently from the impact.

No one had yet discerned the true nature of the Heavenly Thunder Dragon’s martial art.

From past matches, however, they knew “Je Haryang” excelled in rapid hand techniques paired with swift movement.

Normally, choosing speed meant sacrificing power—and choosing power meant sacrificing speed.

No martial artist had ever perfectly balanced the two.

But Yegyeol’s blows were both impossibly fast and devastatingly strong.

Sweat ran cold down Yulhui’s neck.

As she parried, their eyes met—those golden irises glowing like lightning.

Impossible… He’s far too young. He’s only been cultivating for a year or two!

She pushed against his fist, forcing space between them, but Yegyeol landed lightly, unharmed, and charged again before she could draw a breath.

If she didn’t make a decision soon, she’d be overwhelmed.

Abandoning her cautious probing, she swung her sword in earnest.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Each clash of fist and blade rang through the arena.

The cheers of the crowd faded into silence as they watched, transfixed.

Even the air trembled between them.

Yulhui sensed it clearly now—Yegyeol hadn’t fought at full strength in any of his previous matches.

That speed and force… he’s mastered his body completely!

She could hardly believe someone who’d trained for barely a year could fight like this.

But it didn’t matter.

Her crimson aura surged, swirling with streaks of bright yellow. The oppressive energy spread wide, thick and forceful.

Sweat beaded across her brow as her sword qi condensed tighter and tighter.

It wasn’t flashy—but Yegyeol could feel its danger.

Has she reached sword mastery at her age?

No. Her stance was unstable. She was pushing beyond her limits, straining for every ounce of power.

Even so, her face remained serene.

“This is the final form of the Heavenly King Sword Technique,” she said. “It’s incomplete, but…”

Yegyeol said nothing. His energy rose—his golden lightning darkening to blue.

The spectators stirred in shock. They thought he was losing control, unable to contain his power.

But when Yulhui pushed herself beyond her normal bounds, he responded in kind.

That kind of courage stirred the hearts of every warrior watching.

Cloaked in a storm of destructive force, Yegyeol inclined his head politely.

“Thunder Spirit Fist.”

Thunder Spirit Fist?

Murmurs swept through the dignitaries’ seats. The Alliance Lord, sect elders, and grandmasters all exchanged astonished looks.

Revealing one’s martial art was considered a breach of etiquette—this was the first time the mysterious “Je Haryang” had spoken its name.

An elderly Shaolin monk muttered in disbelief,

“Surely not… the Thunder Spirit Fist of the legendary master from three centuries ago?”

The revelation sent ripples through the hall.

The man who’d supposedly gained his powers through a heavenly encounter had now revealed his art—and it was one of legend.

Yulhui smiled faintly.

Though defeat loomed, she felt strangely elated.

She, who had always listened closely to rumors of Murim’s prodigies, knew that “Je Haryang” had never once mentioned what art he practiced.

“It’s an honor,” she said softly.

And in the next instant, their powers collided at the center of the stage.

Blue and crimson light exploded outward, twisting together in a blinding storm.

The impact sent dust billowing high like a desert wind.

Before the haze even cleared, the crowd strained to see through it—

and saw both figures still standing.

Then, the sound—

Craaaack!

The marble floor beneath them split wide open.

Hwangbo Yulhui’s body wavered—and fell.

Her knees buckled, but she caught herself with her sword before she hit the ground.

A line of blood trailed down from the corner of her lips.

The referee stepped forward, voice ringing clear.

“The finals of the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament—Je Haryang, victory!”

The sound echoed like thunder.

Yegyeol blinked, dazed, rising slowly to his feet.

Then his gaze locked on a figure in the stands.

Senior Brother.

A man sat there—half Haryang, half Black Ghost.

Older, more serene. His scars were gone, his hair tied neatly with a blue silk ribbon—one Yegyeol himself had given him.

It was strange.

He had searched for that man endlessly, and yet only now—after victory—did he appear.

“Je Haryang!”

“Je Haryang!”

“Je Haryang!”

The crowd’s cheers seemed to turn back time.

Of course he’d expected to win. Of course he had to win.

And yet, now that the triumph was his, his mind felt empty.

He smiled faintly up at Haryang in the stands.

If only I could use telepathy, he thought.

I’d tell you—this victory is for you.

With that quiet wish, he turned to Hwangbo Yulhui and offered his hand.

“Congratulations.”

She grasped it, steadying herself as she stood.

Despite her pale face and the blood at her lips, she met his gaze with calm pride—

no shame, no bitterness, only peace.

Yegyeol could only think of one man when he saw that expression.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

His voice was polite, but his heart had already gone elsewhere.

He wanted—needed—to see Haryang again.