TSBIRBV Ch 337

Chapter 337. The False Dragon King (7)

Yegyeol let out a soft chuckle.

Indeed, it was true that people of the unorthodox sects rarely possessed a sense of loyalty. Yet, he had no intention of pointing that out.

This time, at least, Brother’s instincts were right.

Yegyeol’s gaze drifted to the harpoon that had been tossed carelessly onto the ground. Not all river bandits favored harpoons as their primary weapon.

Given the clues Senior Brother gathered, the culprit isn’t from the unorthodox sects, much less the orthodox ones—it must be someone from the Geumeobang.

They had received support from the Jinju Eon Clan and still dared to strike a merchant group under the protection of the Hebei Peng Clan.

The false Flood Dragon King had swung his sword to conceal his true identity, but when the situation turned against him, he had grasped the harpoon to unleash his real martial arts.

Ordinarily, once their leader surrendered, river bandits would either follow suit or flee. Yet now, with the false king subdued, his subordinates were instead throwing themselves forward in a reckless attempt to save him.

Was it loyalty? Or were they afraid that once their leader was captured, their own identities would be exposed?

“How should we handle the interrogation?” Yegyeol asked mildly.

“It won’t be a pleasant sight for you, brother,” Peng Munhyeong replied.

Yegyeol answered calmly, “I’m not afraid of seeing blood.”

He wasn’t sure how skilled Dang Segi’s interrogations were, but he had faith in the poisons of Sichuan’s Tang Clan.

If this interrogation revealed the involvement of the Geumeobang, and further still, their connection to the Jinju Eon Clan, Yegyeol wanted to be present to witness it.

It would be better still if the other young talents of the later generation learned the results of the questioning as well.

“Ah, did you think there’d only be blood?” Peng Munhyeong wrinkled his nose.

“It’ll be much filthier than that. The Tang Clan’s truth serum is rather vicious—it makes a man vomit out everything inside, quite literally.”

“Ahh, that one,” Yegyeol murmured in understanding.

“Aren’t you a bit squeamish, brother?”

Despite his usually indifferent nature, the Fierce Tiger seemed to genuinely regard Yegyeol as his sworn younger brother. Otherwise, how would he have known that Yegyeol, who rarely revealed any weakness, had a delicate stomach?

“I can bear it. What I truly wish to know is what they were so desperate to obtain that they’d risk incurring the wrath of the Hebei Peng Clan.”

Yegyeol’s eyes sharpened.

“It can’t be as simple as gold and silver.”

Peng Munhyeong’s expression turned awkward as he nodded.

“Well… yes, I suppose not.”

It was the face of a man who had, until now, assumed this was merely a case of common banditry for treasure. Even Tang Segi, who was known for his naïveté, looked at him in mild disbelief.

“Heh. Well, this is embarrassing for me as an elder brother,” Peng Munhyeong muttered, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m a man who knows nothing but martial arts. Interrogations aren’t exactly my strength.”

Even with the Tang Clan’s potent truth serum, if the right questions weren’t asked, it would be difficult to extract the desired answers.

Peng Munhyeong might be slow-witted, but the more he exchanged words with the man claiming to be the Flood Dragon King, the more something had felt off.

He recalled Yegyeol’s earlier words—how the real Flood Dragon King wielded a weapon called the Flood Dragon Rope like a whip, rather than a sword or harpoon.

Even Namgung Un had testified that the true Flood Dragon King was a woman.

Until a short while ago, Peng Munhyeong had believed that the impostor’s masquerade as the River Alliance leader was simply to avoid pursuit. But now, sensing a greater conspiracy behind it, he felt at a loss.

“If you can help, brother, I’d be truly grateful.”

He readily admitted his own shortcomings and asked for Yegyeol’s assistance.

Had Peng Munhyeong been the sort of man who always thought himself the best, he would never have ceded the position of clan head to his younger brother despite being the Hebei Peng Clan’s eldest son.

Yegyeol, who had been waiting for that very request, smiled brightly.

“Your problem is my problem, Brother. We’re in this together.”

He patted his chest with an easy grin, reassuring Peng Munhyeong.

The man felt relief wash over him—after all, he was a fighter who excelled at breaking and conquering, not unraveling hidden plots.

“Just kill me already!”

The false Flood Dragon King shouted resolutely.

But the gazes of the three who looked down upon him were far from kind.

After Peng Munhyeong had woken the man with a few harsh blows in preparation for administering the truth serum, the very first thing the captive said was that.

He had attacked innocent merchants, and now he dared act as though he were guarding some noble secret?

“Go on, keep shouting. Let’s see if my eardrums burst first,” Yegyeol said dryly.

The false king glared at him with venomous eyes.

“You’re not really planning to die,” Yegyeol said lazily. “You just want to look like you would.”

“Don’t spout nonsense!” Chayeop barked. “I couldn’t end my life while my subordinates still lived—that’s all!”

He spoke with such tragic conviction that, to anyone unaware of the truth, he might have seemed like a man captured while heroically rescuing hostages rather than a bandit caught mid-raid.

His body’s withering away, Yegyeol observed silently.

Perhaps the effect of the Blood Soul Pill he’d taken earlier had worn off; the once-burly false king now looked like a punctured wineskin, his frame deflating rapidly.

Not quite a mummy, but reminiscent of a dried pollack hung to air in the sun—skin shriveled and taut, the signs of accelerated aging clear as day.

Was it loss of moisture? Or blood?

“Lord Tang, shall we begin?” Yegyeol prompted.

At his urging, Tang Segi stepped forward. Hesitation flickered briefly in his eyes, but he did not retreat.

Chayeop clamped his mouth shut. Tang Segi seemed unsurprised by this reaction.

Producing a set of large, ominous needles, Tang Segi deftly pressed several of the man’s acupoints before inserting them.

Despite his normally mild features, his face now bore a gravity that was rarely seen.

“Ah… ahh…!”

A wordless sound spilled from the captive’s lips.

“The other two here are men I trust,” Tang Segi said softly. “And since you won’t be leaving this place alive anyway, let’s have an honest conversation.”

He began to speak, almost wistfully.

“I am the young master of the Tang Clan of Sichuan. I was born into that name. My father once wept tears of joy when he was told that my body possessed the perfect constitution for learning poison arts. So they said—the elders, the clan, everyone.

Hearing that from childhood, I loved my clan deeply, and I longed to make them proud.”

Tang Segi smiled faintly, then whispered,

“But as I grew older, I began to despise being born into the Tang Clan.”

Though seated with his back to the other two, it was clear he was addressing the captive—but Yegyeol understood that his words were also meant for him and Peng Munhyeong to hear.

“To use poison is to train and experiment endlessly. You begin with animals… and eventually move on to humans.

All living things wither under the Tang Clan’s toxins, sooner or later. Watching it happen—it’s horrifying. No matter how many times you witness it, you never truly get used to it.”

He took out a small porcelain vial from his robes, bit the cork off, and spat it aside. Lifting the captive’s chin, he continued quietly,

“Even knowing that the people we use are vile criminals deserving death brings me little comfort. But over time… I grew accustomed to it.”

Tang Segi let out a deep sigh. His personality was indeed as gentle as his delicate appearance suggested—or so Yegyeol had always thought.

“To keep myself from growing too numb, I made a promise to my own heart: unless I was truly dealing with someone guilty beyond doubt, I would never use the Tang Clan’s poison.”

He smiled faintly. “But for you… I suppose it’s acceptable.”

Without further hesitation, Tang Segi poured the contents of the vial into Chayeop’s mouth.

The false Flood Dragon King wanted to resist, but he couldn’t even close his lips. Bound and helpless, he felt the slick liquid slide down his throat, spreading a numb, freezing sensation through his body.

Moments later, his mind began to drift as if his consciousness were lifting away from his body.

To check the effect, Tang Segi approached and lifted his eyelids to examine his pupils. Satisfied, he gently adjusted the captive’s posture to keep his airway clear.

But to Chayeop’s surprise, the first question he heard was not about his identity.

“Do you know a man named Peng Hoyong?”

Yegyeol glanced instinctively toward Peng Munhyeong. The man’s lips had tightened into a thin, hard line.

He’s dead, Yegyeol realized.

Likely a warrior of the Peng Clan who had accompanied the previous trading expedition. From the surname, perhaps not a direct cousin, but a distant one—sixth degree at most.

“Don’t… don’t know him…”

The drugged Chayeop blurted the truth without hesitation.

So this is the Tang Clan’s truth serum, Yegyeol mused.

The man who hadn’t dared take his own life finally began to feel real terror. His mouth refused to obey him, and his mind felt shrouded in a heavy fog. The resolve to remain silent scattered with every passing breath.

Even when he tried to bite his tongue, his jaw wouldn’t move.

A crushing sense of helplessness wrapped around him—there was nothing he could control anymore.

“He was from a branch of the Peng Clan,” Tang Segi said quietly. “The younger brother of Peng Hayong, who used the cabin across from mine. Twenty-five this year. Married his childhood sweetheart as soon as he came of age. They have a young child.”

His voice was heavy with sorrow.

“He left his wife and child behind to guard the merchant fleet… and never returned.”

Silence fell.

“The ship Peng Hoyong was aboard encountered your Flood Dragon Vessel.”

“Ah… ugh…”

“When Peng Hayong departed later from Hebei and reached the Yangtze, he fainted upon seeing the scene. The remains were so mangled that he couldn’t even recover his brother’s body.

He brought back only a handful of hair—to bury in place of bones and flesh.”

A solemn stillness filled the air. Peng Munhyeong’s fist clenched tightly at his side.

“The child had only just learned to say ‘Father’—but the man meant to answer that call will never return.

Unable to avenge his brother, Peng Hayong said he was too ashamed to face his nephew’s eyes. So he volunteered for this campaign.”

Tang Segi spoke as though recalling a quiet confession.

“His mother and sister-in-law wept and begged him not to go. Only his little nephew, knowing nothing, waved and smiled.”

He drew in a trembling breath. His eyes sank with sadness.

“How do you intend to atone for such a sin?”

This was a sin that the living could never repay.

Tang Segi shook his head slowly, then asked again in a low, steady voice,

“Now… do you remember Peng Hoyong?”

Footnotes

1. Geumeobang (금어방, “Golden Fish Sect”) – A covert faction often involved in smuggling or espionage under the guise of merchant activities.