TSBIRBV Ch 335

Chapter 335. The False Dragon King (5)

“Barely scraping into the Transformation Realm, is he…”

Peng Munhyeong muttered under his breath, absently scratching his chin as he watched the scene unfold.

“Transformation Realm?!”

Tang Segi shrieked, voice cracking with panic.

“You mean—on a ship, with nowhere to run, there’s a half-mad Transformation Realm expert going berserk? We’re all going to die, aren’t we?!”

The people around her—Namgung Un and Hwangbo Yulhui—were far too composed for the hysteria in her tone, but even some of the Peng Clan warriors accompanying them were visibly tense, gripping their weapons tightly.

“He didn’t reach enlightenment and ascend naturally into the realm,” Peng said calmly. “His power’s just temporarily spiked. His internal energy’s surged, his senses are heightened—but it’s fleeting.”

Tang Segi, who had leaned in for a hopeful explanation, slumped visibly.

“Usually we call that a disaster, not a silver lining,” she muttered weakly.

From somewhere nearby, the ever-quiet Moyong Hwi murmured, “Should I… write my will?”

Peng chuckled at that, rolling his shoulders before stepping forward.

Yegyeol didn’t stop him.

Though Yegyeol could easily strike the fake Dragon King down himself—just one surge of lightning at full output and the man, doped or not, would be nothing but ash—he had no intention of revealing power that went beyond the limits of martial cultivation to anyone other than Haryang.

“Let’s see,” Peng said, grinning faintly, “time to loosen up a little.”

Most had forgotten amidst the chaos, but there was already a true Transformation Realm master standing on this deck.

And that was none other than Peng Munhyeong—Gwaiho himself.

The issue lay with the counterfeit Dragon King, who now resembled a beast more than a man.

His eyes were bloodshot, rolled halfway back in his head, veins bulging across his face as he let out a guttural snarl. He had lost all control, swinging his harpoon wildly, carving the air with terrifying howls of wind.

Peng faced him with a predator’s calm. His body tensed, muscles coiling as he clenched his fist and launched himself forward.

Chayeop—the false Dragon King—reacted purely on instinct, swinging his harpoon at the approaching challenger.

“Oh-ho.”

Peng leaned back, the tip of the weapon slicing past his nose. From the harpoon’s edge, scarlet energy erupted—raw, unrefined, yet powerful enough to make the air vibrate.

It spread like fog—no, like blood-colored flame.

No one had seen such an aura when he’d been wielding a sword moments earlier.

“Could that be… demonic energy?” someone whispered.

The air went still, the mood dropping instantly.

Yegyeol, however, could only look on in disbelief.

Really? You all just watched him swallow a bright red pill called the Blood Soul Pellet, and now you’re calling it demonic energy?

Middle Realm folks will call anything they can’t understand “demonic.” They need to work on that.

Meanwhile, Peng dodged and advanced, studying his opponent’s movements closely.

Despite his massive frame, Peng’s movements were fluid, almost supple—his body bending and weaving like a willow branch in the wind.

Several times, the harpoon barely missed him, its deadly edge slicing stray strands of his half-black, half-white hair.

One of the younger martial artists watching muttered nervously, “Is Master Peng… losing?”

From their perspective, it looked that way.

The fake hasn’t managed a meaningful hit, Yegyeol thought, but Peng hasn’t gotten close enough to land a finishing blow either.

Though Peng was a master of the Peng Clan’s famed saber techniques, his own path was that of the fist. A fist, unlike a weapon, offered freedom of movement—but far shorter range.

And Chayeop’s harpoon kept that distance perfectly, long and lethal, warding off any approach.

To close in, Peng would have to use footwork—yet the enemy, aware of that weakness, kept him at bay with violent sweeps.

He could try drawing the weapon in with Golden Hand Technique, disarming his foe by force. Many martial artists in the Central Plains were conditioned to never release their weapon, and such a tactic often threw them off balance.

But that harpoon…

The metal shaft was twisted, its design grotesque and jagged. Grabbing it barehanded would shred flesh and bone alike. Once embedded in flesh, it was meant to stay there, unyielding.

Normally, Peng could catch even a live blade with his bare hand without so much as a scratch—his Qi Armor protecting him. But this time, the weapon itself was sheathed in energy, a warped imitation of the true Qi of a Transformation Realm master.

It was difficult to predict how the clash would end.

Still, Yegyeol mused, Peng’s the real thing. If they collide head-on, that harpoon’s not surviving.

But… if a martial artist loses his hand, that’s the end of his fists. Too risky.

And Peng Munhyeong—despite his wild reputation—was always precise in battle.

Each time Chayeop wrenched his weapon free from the deck, planks splintered and flew apart. The raw strength he had gained from the Blood Soul Pill was monstrous—his physical power had soared as much as his inner energy.

Had Peng not been there, the task force would’ve been slaughtered already.

“That all you’ve got?” Peng’s voice cut through the noise, calm and steady.

No matter how ferocious his opponent’s aura, Peng faced it with composure.

The attacks were brutal, yes—but simple. Direct. Predictable.

Chayeop grinned, lips peeling back from his teeth.

“Die!”

His harpoon crashed down, splintering the deck beneath Peng’s feet.

He had feigned loss of control just long enough to dig shallow holes around his opponent.

The wooden floor gave way with a crunch, throwing Peng slightly off balance.

The harpoon lunged forward, aimed straight for his heart.

From where they watched, the others froze in alarm.

“Master Peng!”

“No!”

But Peng did not retreat.

He caught the weapon mid-thrust, gripping the shaft and yanking it forward—using its own force to propel himself toward the false Dragon King.

There was no trace of hesitation, no fear of injury or death—only the fierce glint of battle in his eyes.

Half-black, half-white hair flying wildly, Peng’s eyes gleamed with predatory light. Even before an overwhelmingly strong opponent, he looked… alive.

Truly, a mad tiger.

His fist connected with Chayeop’s jaw—crack!—and the man’s body was sent reeling backward.

Before he could fall, Peng kicked upward, sending his opponent flying into the air.

“Ha-ha!”

Chayeop’s body, massive from the Blood Soul Pill’s distortion, was lifted effortlessly from the deck.

Peng’s fists flashed, each strike following the next with blinding speed.

“Gkkkh—!”

Chayeop’s scream was choked and broken.

He flailed desperately, trying to find footing—but the air offered none.

Each time he tried to move, Peng’s fists found him again.

It was like watching a character from a fighting game unleashed in real life.

When at last Chayeop’s body went limp, frozen midair, Peng drew back.

Then—he leapt.

No way… Yegyeol thought.

Peng’s final punch crashed down as Chayeop fell, meeting him halfway.

The combined force of gravity and raw power drove the blow through him—through the deck itself—splintering the floorboards into a gaping crater.

Boom!

White dust rose in plumes.

Peng landed lightly moments later, stepping out of the hole as if from a morning stroll.

“He’s durable, I’ll give him that,” he remarked casually. “Good for relieving stress.”

That seemed to be the entirety of his reflection.

Considering that the same shattered deck had been destroyed by Chayeop earlier, it was, in its own way, poetic justice.

“But can we even take him alive now?” Yegyeol murmured to himself.

Peng blinked and glanced down at the gaping hole.

The man’s limbs hung limp, his body sprawled awkwardly. It was hard to tell if he was breathing.

Honestly, it would’ve been more miraculous if he hadn’t died.

“Hmm. Is he… alive?”

His expression was almost vacant—hardly that of someone who had just delivered a devastating beating.

“Keeps happening,” Peng muttered. “Guess I’m just too used to killing.”

“Save Lord Chayeop!”

The surviving bandits, who had been waiting in terrified silence, suddenly erupted into motion. Seeing their leader fall, they screamed with desperate fury and hurled themselves into a suicidal charge.

“You won’t take him!”

The cry was raw with grief and hatred.

Yegyeol turned toward the voice.

It was Cheongyong of the Wudang Sect, his sword gleaming with an eerie, ghostlike aura as he struck down one attacker after another.

He was fighting like a man who intended to burn away his own life in the process — slashing recklessly, furiously.

And it was working. By Yegyeol’s estimate, the only one who had slain more enemies than him was Namgung Un himself.

He’s not a Taoist anymore, Yegyeol thought grimly. He’s a sword demon.

It was hard to reconcile this bloodstained warrior with the man who had once panicked upon seeing Yegyeol cough blood during training.

Yegyeol briefly thought of the Wudang’s greatest swordsman—the mad wanderer who now roamed the Central Plains. Would he have chosen differently, had he known what his disciple would become?

It was far too late for that now.

Once the false Dragon King was utterly subdued, the remaining raiders were swiftly dealt with.

Some dove into the river, but Yegyeol, with a sigh, dipped his fingers into the water—sending a current of lightning rippling outward.

A moment later, the unconscious bodies floated to the surface—bandits and fish alike.

Half fish, half men… he mused.

At least the charge hadn’t been lethal; everyone was still alive.

Still, it was a grim sight.

Tang Segi, the poison expert, stared wide-eyed.

“They’re not poisoned,” she muttered. “So why are they all… twitching?”