TSBIRBV Ch 330

Chapter 330. My Name is Mun Yegyeol (5)

“Good. As expected, this batch is absolutely hopeless.”

Peng Munhyeong let out a booming laugh as he spoke.

The training field before him was littered with the bodies of young martial prodigies sprawled haphazardly across the dirt.

Only a handful still remained standing — Yegyeol among them.

Let’s see… me, Namgung Un, Tang Segi, Hwangbo Yulhui, that Wudang kid Cheongyong… and who else?

Ah, yes — the last one was a young man from the Murong Clan, Murong Hwi. Yegyeol hadn’t met him during the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly since he’d been locked up at the time.

“You, my dear brother, look all frail and delicate, yet you’re still standing at the end!”

Peng Munhyeong laughed heartily, pride swelling in his chest. His blatant favoritism was obvious, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest about how it might look.

And to be fair — Yegyeol hadn’t been exempt from the brutal training that had just taken place.

He’d been about to start enjoying the privileges of his new position as Head of the Subjugation Unit when Peng Munhyeong had appeared.

Knowing that the real authority behind this operation was none other than Gwaiho, Yegyeol had respectfully greeted the man as his sworn brother.

The other young elites, however, had been terrified. Few could stay composed before a man as eccentric and unpredictable as Gwaiho — the famed “Mad Tiger.”

And true to his reputation, he wasted no time declaring,

“True chivalry is born from muscle!”

And with that single line, he unleashed hell.

The young prodigies rolled and groaned on the ground, forced through endless drills — horse stances that burned like fire, slashes and thrusts with heavy weapons, and every other form of physical torture Gwaiho could think of.

Most of them were used to enhancing their bodies with internal energy. Without it, they were reduced to wheezing wrecks, forced to endure until every last drop of qi was spent.

“C-Can’t we rest a little? Just enough to meditate and restore our qi?” one of them gasped between ragged breaths.

“That, too, is part of training!” Gwaiho barked. “I understand the romance of wanting to meditate in the middle of the battlefield while your comrades guard your back — but in true chivalry, such luxury is a rarity!”

He was utterly serious.

Peng Munhyeong, however, was a different breed of instructor — strict in his own bullheaded way. He lacked any sense of subtlety or timing, much like Yegyeol’s own conscience: faint, but still somehow lingering.

The trainees, wilted and limp as dried seaweed, didn’t even dare to resist. Even those backed by powerful sects knew that none of them could rival Peng Munhyeong’s standing.

After all, he was once the heir to the prestigious North Hebei Peng Clan. Though his younger brother now held that position, Peng Munhyeong hadn’t been disgraced out of it — he’d given it up of his own accord.

The only ones who could even attempt to speak up to him were Hwangbo Yulhui and Namgung Un — and both of them looked pleased with the training.

They even exchanged a few brief words.

“I’ve never tried this sort of training before,” said Yulhui, catching her breath but smiling. “It’s… refreshing.”

“I deliberately let my qi deplete,” Namgung Un replied, rolling his shoulders. “The tension in my limbs feels entirely different now.”

The others, watching the two — the most graceful, refined man and woman among them — couldn’t help but sigh in disappointment.

If at least a scandal bloomed between them, this torture might be worth it, someone thought miserably.

And so the training went on the entire day — until everyone but a few had collapsed.

Yegyeol chuckled softly and turned to Peng Munhyeong.

“Well, Brother Peng, since it’s our first day, perhaps we should stop here?”

“Mmm. You’re right,” Peng Munhyeong said seriously. “A light day of training to start with.”

“Light?”

Murong Hwi muttered in disbelief from behind them, his voice weak and dazed.

“If this is light training, I’ll have shattered bones before I’m forty. Then everyone will say Murong Hwi of the Murong Clan mastered demonic arts just to walk around with broken bones!”

Yegyeol had never spoken much with him before, but it was obvious that the man was dramatic — and more than a little prone to exaggeration.

“Those who are still standing, remain. The rest of you may leave,” Peng Munhyeong announced.

Yegyeol wasn’t sure any of them could stand at this point.

But then, as if their bodies had turned to jelly and re-solidified, the fallen trainees scrambled to their feet and fled the field in a blur of motion.

“We’re alive! We survived!”

“Shh, the Mad Tiger might hear you!”

“Don’t call him that! What if Hero Peng overhears!?”

“Ah— right, I didn’t mean—”

Their voices faded on the wind as they ran, clearly fearing some “extra” training for the survivors.

Yegyeol glanced at Peng Munhyeong’s face — but his expression remained calm, unbothered.

“You’re not angry?” Yegyeol asked.

“I never expected them all to make it,” Peng Munhyeong replied with a shrug.

“I see.”

So the harshness had been intentional. Yegyeol himself had thought it a bit much. Peng Munhyeong wasn’t the type to enjoy tedious things or drag along those unwilling to follow.

That must be why he gave up the Peng Clan’s headship to wander freely.

Still, Yegyeol decided to test him.

“So? Are you satisfied with the ones you’ve weeded out?”

“Well…” Peng Munhyeong scratched his chin, his rough features softening in thought. “Fewer than I expected. Who’d have thought the Nine Great Sects had so few decent people left?”

Yegyeol smiled faintly, saying nothing — best not to admit that he’d already knocked out half the promising ones himself.

Those Mount Hua and Gongdong disciples had fine skills — pity about their personalities.

But what’s done is done.

“Nothing to be done,” Peng Munhyeong muttered. “You can’t hunt tigers with house cats.”

He clicked his tongue and lifted his gaze, his eyes suddenly sharp.

“I’ll form a separate strike team.”

“A strike team?” Yegyeol asked. “And the others?”

“They can peck at the breadcrumbs I leave behind.”

Peng Munhyeong waved a dismissive hand. The man’s casual disdain for the other prodigies was less cruel than it was simply indifferent.

“We’ll go after the real one.”

“The real one?” Namgung Un asked. “You mean there’s someone dangerous within Hoakchae?”

Peng Munhyeong grinned. “Who knows?”

“Then what do you mean by ‘the real one’?” Hwangbo Yulhui asked.

“My instinct,” Peng Munhyeong said proudly. “There’s a big one out there.”

“A big one… at Hoakchae?”

“No, not there. Somewhere else. You know why I joined this expedition, don’t you, little brother?”

“Ah.”

Yegyeol nodded, smiling knowingly.

“You mean Gyoryongchae.”

The lair of the false Dragon King — not Yeonso So’s group, but the impostor’s.

Just the thought of tracking them made his pulse quicken.

“Gyoryongchae?”

Murong Hwi echoed the name weakly — then squeaked like a dying rat. His eyes rolled back, as though he might faint on the spot.

Beside him, Tang Segi stood frozen, face pale as chalk.

Huh. Next to Murong Hwi, Tang Segi actually looks calm.

“If we go there…”

The low, hoarse voice belonged to Cheongyong, the Wudang disciple. His face was sunken, his eyes hollow, as though haunted.

“If we go there, will we earn merit?”

That was all he wanted. His hand rested on his sword hilt, knuckles white with strain.

Peng Munhyeong nodded.

“You’ll either earn merit, run away, or die. One of the three.”

“…I have no intention of running,” Cheongyong murmured, stepping back and closing his eyes.

He looked as though he’d already accepted death, so long as it came with honor.

Yegyeol’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“A separate team, huh? Sounds good. What about Hoakchae, then?”

Pleased to have his brother’s support, Peng Munhyeong grinned broadly.

“On the day we strike Hoakchae, we’ll head for the river.”

Another strangled noise came from somewhere behind them. This time, Yegyeol didn’t bother to check if it was Murong Hwi again.

“And the others?” Yulhui asked, her tone full of concern.

“They’ll attack Hoakchae,” Peng Munhyeong replied simply.

“Hoakchae?” Namgung Un frowned. “But you’re responsible for this expedition. If you abandon the others, the Alliance will take action.”

Ever earnest, he sounded genuinely worried about the trouble Gwaiho might bring upon himself.

“Who said anything about abandoning them?” Peng Munhyeong said cheerfully. “They’ll just have a… new guardian for a while.”

He flashed a wolfish grin.

“My little brother told me to say it like that. Anyway — the fact that Hoakchae has been dodging pursuit so smoothly means they’ve got ears inside the Martial Alliance. So, while they’re relaxing, thinking we’ll strike there, we’ll hit where they least expect it.”

“You mean… the Peng Clan’s involved?” Hwangbo Yulhui gasped. “How can the North Hebei Peng Clan take responsibility if this goes wrong?”

To anyone else, it would look like the Peng Clan was using the Alliance’s power to wipe out their own enemies — a political scandal waiting to happen.

But Yegyeol knew better.

If his elder brother really planned to exploit the Alliance, he’d never have told Gwaiho everything outright.

Peng Gunak, the clan head, was no fool.

“The Alliance Leader already gave his permission!” Peng Munhyeong declared proudly, his voice echoing through the open field.

“The Alliance’s forces will attack Hoakchae, while the Peng Clan handles Gyoryongchae by river. It’s a covert mission!”

Yulhui shut her eyes tightly, dizzy at the sheer recklessness of it all.

Even if no one can sense us eavesdropping, how can he shout about a secret mission in public like that?!

Her understanding of reality wavered dangerously.

“Will we really be able to defeat the Dragon King?” Cheongyong asked softly.

“We’ll find out when we fight,” Peng Munhyeong said, scratching his chin. “But hey, I’m Gwaiho.”

[My lord, please, stop him,] Tang Segi’s desperate voice whispered telepathically to Yegyeol.

Meeting his junior’s pleading gaze, Yegyeol nodded solemnly — then turned to Peng Munhyeong.

“When do we leave?”