TSBIRBV Ch 336

Chapter 336. The False Dragon King (6)

The true culprit, Yegyeol, remained quiet and let the matter slide.

In the end, Tang Segi never discovered that the disaster of half fish, half human was his doing, and simply helped with arresting the surviving bandits.

The mood aboard the victorious ship was lively and bright.

Though many were injured, not a single person had died.

All thanks to the efforts of Peng Munhyeong, Yegyeol, and the others of the suppression unit.

“These young martial artists today are something else,” muttered a man who looked to be in his thirties, shaking his head with a half-smile. He was a member of the Peng Clan—likely from a branch family.

“When the Thunder Dragon’s fist fell, it really did look like lightning striking from the heavens.”

“And what about our young master?” another man chimed in. His tone sounded like praise, yet there was something wistful hidden beneath it.

His gaze drifted toward the ship’s ruined deck—one of the Peng Clan’s prideful vessels, once majestic, now broken and splintered beyond repair.

Another nodded gravely.

“As expected of our Clan’s prodigy.”

“The Nightmare of the Treasury Hall… The Budget Destroyer himself.”

Tang Segi, overhearing them, murmured in faint agreement.

“The Peng Clan head’s probably weeping inside right now…”

Yegyeol noticed even Yulhui wearing a distressed expression. Apparently, administrators everywhere shared the same pain when it came to property damage.

Just then, down from the lower deck came the fearsome yet beloved hero of Hebei’s Peng Clan—nicknamed the darling who made mountains and rivers tremble and horses shiver—Peng Munhyeong himself.

He had the unconscious fake Dragon King slung over his shoulder.

“Well.”

With one tattered prize hanging from him and his leg slightly crooked, the sight of the burly man was enough to make the others stand at stiff attention.

“N-nothing, sir!”

“Indeed, Young Master Peng once again accomplished great feats for the Clan!”

Their hasty flattery earned a brief grin from Peng, who then tossed the defeated imposter onto the floor.

The body that had once swelled into monstrous size had shrunken back down—perhaps even smaller than when it first landed on the ship.

The gazes directed at Peng Munhyeong were different now—no longer merely respectful, but filled with awe and admiration.

Yes, he was an eccentric among eccentrics, a walking disaster who could bankrupt his own household if he wasn’t watched closely… but in moments like these, wasn’t it reassuring to have such a “destroyer” on your side?

Such was the essence of Gwaiho—the Mad Tiger.

Even the young martial artists who had boarded the ship with grim determination were now visibly at ease.

Cheongyong sat nearby, expressionless as Tang Segi examined his arm. He had been the most gravely injured and might have been poisoned by the harpoon’s steel.

Namgung Un had only minor scratches; he quietly applied a salve to his hand and wrapped it in neat bandages himself. Meanwhile, Moyong Hwi—whose injuries had already healed long ago—had taken to rewrapping his hand in so many layers of gauze that it was now twice its original size.

Watching the disciples of the orthodox sects one by one, Yegyeol felt a strange emotion stirring within him—similar to what he’d felt when he first won the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly.

I’ll never quite get used to this, he thought.

It was true that this was the kind of position he’d always longed for—the seat that had once belonged to Haryang.

Yet even as he stood here bearing that name, it still didn’t feel like his own.

Perhaps because he already knew exactly where he was meant to belong.

“After this injury,” Moyong Hwi suddenly declared in a loud voice, snapping Yegyeol out of his thoughts,

“I might never hold a sword again. And if so, my father will no longer consider me fit to inherit the Clan.”

He waved his comically oversized, double-banded hand for effect.

Yegyeol almost laughed. The man’s face remained stoic even as his tone soared and crashed like a tragic play. The funniest part was that he almost seemed to want the gloomy future he was describing.

Yulhui, calm as ever, replied dryly,

“Lord Moyong. You won’t lose the ability to wield a sword over a mere scratch on your finger.”

The expression she gave him—somewhere between please stop talking and apply ointment instead—was a kind of talent in itself.

Must be a gift inherited from her uncle, the great master of diplomatic speech, Yegyeol mused with quiet amusement before turning away.

The Peng Clan head had once said that through Yulhui, they might discern the true intentions of the Hwangbo Clan.

But from what Yegyeol had seen, that prediction was hopelessly off the mark.

The Yulhui he had fought beside in this mission was simply a good-hearted, ordinary martial artist.

Still… through her, there may come a chance to approach Hwangbo Yakrin himself.

Though the Clan Head had shown no visible reaction to his daughter’s disappearance, there was no way he was truly unconcerned.

In times like this… best to consult an expert.

Yegyeol’s gaze swept across the young warriors until it landed on Tang Segi.

She looked up, startled, wiping sweat from her forehead, only to see Yegyeol beckoning her closer.

“Eh? Me?”

Yes, you, his smile seemed to say.

When he nodded kindly, Tang Segi rose hesitantly, face pale, and approached.

Without a word, Yegyeol drew a shallow scratch across his arm with one finger, then extended it toward her.

“When did you get hurt?” she asked immediately.

“The harpoon’s range was longer than expected,” he said smoothly. “Just a graze.”

“How strange… Master Peng’s wound didn’t look anything like this.”

Puzzled, she began treating him.

Namgung Un, watching from nearby, looked worried as soon as Yegyeol called Tang Segi over. He took a step forward, but Yegyeol subtly shook his head, and Un stopped, sensing the unspoken meaning.

Sharp as ever, Yegyeol thought. Too sharp for a pampered young lord.

When Tang Segi began wrapping the bandage, Yegyeol spoke casually.

“When a young heir leaves their Clan for a while, what happens in their absence?”

“If they haven’t yet begun taking on official duties, nothing major,” she replied, frowning slightly. “Why do you ask…”

Halfway through, she seemed to realize and glanced sidelong at Yulhui. Clearly, she’d forgotten the girl was technically a runaway.

“Well… as far as I know, Lady Hwangbo hasn’t started her training as successor yet.”

“Do you think her father will come to retrieve her?”

“Most likely. There’s no second child in the Hwangbo Clan.”

No second child, Yegyeol repeated silently.

That was rare.

“How many siblings do you have, Lord Tang?”

Tang Segi blinked at the sudden change of topic, but answered obediently,

“I have five younger siblings. Among direct lines, the more the better, within reason.”

Unlike the Nine Great Sects, which could take in talented orphans as disciples, the Five Great Clans sustained themselves through bloodlines.

Too many heirs could lead to conflict—but too few, and the family’s future was at risk.

After all, this was still a world with high infant mortality and limited medicine.

Even those who survived childhood often died young, cut down on the battlefield or lost to the chaos of the jianghu.

And if one bore a single child, only to find them talentless in martial arts?

Then the Clan’s future dimmed.

In the end, in the martial world, strength determined survival.

It was through power that families gained wealth, fame, and stability.

Without a capable successor, a Clan would gradually fade from prominence—like the Jinju Eon Clan had.

The Namgung Clan’s dominance among the Five Great Clans wasn’t merely due to Lord Namgung Akcheon’s status as one of the Ten Great Swordsmen of the world.

His son, Namgung Un, was also among the most outstanding of the young generation.

“Then why,” Yegyeol asked softly, “is the Hwangbo Clan left with only one heir?”

“Ah, that…” Tang Segi hesitated, looking uneasy.

“It’s already widely known in the martial world, so I suppose there’s no harm in saying it.”

Still, she glanced toward Yulhui—who was engaged in conversation with Moyong Hwi—to make sure she wouldn’t overhear. Then, in a hushed voice, she transmitted her words.

[The current Hwangbo Clan Head was gravely injured in his youth during a mission to the Secret Cave of the Moonless Emperor. A spy from the Demonic Sect was involved.]

The Secret Cave of the Moonless Emperor.

At that name, Yegyeol’s expression darkened.

Tang Segi, assuming his reaction was sympathy for the tragic story, continued quickly.

[Fortunately, his dantian was preserved, but the damage to his body was severe. Lady Hwangbo was born at the cost of her mother’s life.]

Yegyeol barely listened.

He already had a sinking suspicion who that “spy from the Demonic Sect” was.

It could only be one person.

And that meant Hwangbo Yakrin’s story was a lie.

There’s no way Senior Brother… would ever harm his own sister.

His hand clenched unconsciously, a flicker of gold surfacing in his eyes like rippling water.

At the edge of his vision, he saw Yulhui smiling faintly—completely unaware.

Something slithered along his wrist—a soft, cool touch, calming him.

It was Beambeam.

The little creature seemed to sense the turbulence in his energy and sought to soothe him.

Smart little thing.

Slowly, Yegyeol relaxed his grip. The fury subsided.

No matter how hot the rage burning in his chest, now was not the time to let it show.

He hadn’t come here to lash out under the name of his Senior Brother.

No matter how heartless Hwangbo Yakrin has become, he wouldn’t abandon his only daughter—the last heir of his clan.

Yegyeol resolved then and there to stay by Yulhui’s side, at least until Hwangbo Yakrin made his move.

He gently stroked Beambeam through his sleeve, then looked at Tang Segi, who still stood frozen like a frightened squirrel.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for speaking so candidly.”

“Y-you seemed… really startled,” she murmured.

“I just didn’t expect to hear that name again… the Demonic Sect.”

Yegyeol sighed, feigning heaviness, and Tang Segi’s lips pressed into a worried line.

“For them to be behind the Wuhuan murders too… maybe they’re rising again,” she whispered.

Her voice carried faint fear—but also a spark of purpose.

“It’s truly troubling,” Yegyeol said gently. “But in these dangerous times, meeting reliable allies like you makes me feel… more grateful than anxious.”

Tang Segi’s face brightened at once, flushing with pride.

Just then—thud!—the deck trembled beneath them.

Yegyeol turned his head and saw Peng Munhyeong returning.

After the battle, Peng had gone to inspect the ship disguised as the Dragon King’s vessel, searching for any remaining bandits.

Sure enough, a few survivors had been hiding below; now they were being dragged out, bound tightly in ropes, and tossed onto the deck behind him.

The ship’s planks groaned and cracked under the impact, and a Peng Clan warrior nearby clutched his head in despair.

“So, he’s back already,” Yegyeol murmured.

Scanning the area, Peng spotted Yegyeol and Tang Segi, and strode toward them.

“Lord Tang,” he said briskly, jerking his chin toward the prisoners, “lend me your hand, will you?”

“These bastards are far too loyal for mere river thieves. I’m going to question them.”

Ah, there it is, Yegyeol thought wryly. That classic orthodox assumption—that no disciple of the Demonic Sect could possibly understand loyalty.