TSBIRBV Ch 338

Chapter 338. The False Dragon King (8)

The False Dragon King’s head drooped helplessly, unable to answer.

Whether it was guilt or the influence of the drug, no one could tell.

Yegyeol had long wondered how someone as soft-hearted as Tang Segi could possibly have held onto the position of young master of the Tang Clan for so long.

But now, watching him, Yegyeol could hardly believe this resolute man was the same trembling squirrel he had once known.

When did he even learn the name of the man in the cabin across from his? And to have known that his brother had died… he must have grown close to him in a very short time.

Perhaps that very harmlessness was Tang Segi’s greatest talent.

Among all the young men of the Central Plains, none could handle poison with such mastery—and yet still exude the impression of someone who would never use it carelessly. That, in itself, was remarkable.

For that same reason, the Tang Clan of Sichuan had long been both feared and shunned among the Five Great Houses. Yet, seeing Tang Segi now, Yegyeol thought that if this man ever became clan head, perhaps people’s attitudes toward the Tang Clan might change.

Yegyeol recalled the first Tang Clan member he had met after returning to the Central Plains.

Tang Seoak had spoken bitterly, claiming that the Tang Clan’s patriarch favored Tang Segi only because of family bias—implying that he, given the same chance, could perform better.

It had been jealousy, plain and simple.

It seems the Tang Clan’s patriarch isn’t the fool Tang Seoak made him out to be.

“The verification is complete. You may begin questioning him now,” Tang Segi said quietly as he rose to his feet.

Though there was nothing shameful about it, the tips of his ears flushed faintly red.

“Name.”

“Chayeop…”

At Peng Munhyeong’s command, Chayeop’s lips twitched and mumbled the answer.

The whites of his eyes had swallowed the pupils, making him look more corpse than man.

“Who ordered the attack?”

“No one… no one…”

Peng Munhyeong frowned at the answer. Was he just a pretender after all?

Yegyeol interjected lightly, correcting his senior brother’s question.

“Not the attack itself—tell us who ordered the assault on the Hebei Peng Clan’s merchant ship.”

The merchant fleet disguised as a trade convoy on the Yangtze hadn’t been acting on the trading guild’s own orders.

“Ah… that was… Jinju… Eon Clan…”

The name spilled out of Chayeop’s trembling lips in agony. His eyes reddened, showing the strain of trying to resist the truth serum and failing.

Grinding his teeth hard enough to creak, his chest heaved violently up and down.

“The Jinju Eon Clan?”

Peng Munhyeong muttered the words in disbelief.

“They attacked a Peng Clan merchant ship even after the Jinju Eon Clan’s patriarch had already been captured?”

“They’re like beasts who’ve tasted blood,” Yegyeol said with a small shrug.

Or perhaps the Jinju Eon Clan wasn’t their only backer—and that’s why they still roam free.

“But it’s strange, isn’t it? Even with the Jinju Eon Clan’s support, where did they find so many martial artists? And all of them skilled in water-based combat, no less…”

While many in the martial world trained in martial arts, it was rare for an entire group of warriors to share such proficiency in aquatic techniques. That was why the Peng Clan had so readily assumed these attackers were river bandits.

“To secretly construct ships of that size would’ve taken enormous money and labor,” Yegyeol remarked with a soft chuckle, wiggling his fingers slightly.

“So—why don’t you tell us? Not just your name. Who are you, where did you come from, what group do you belong to, and what martial arts did you learn?”

“I’m… a wandering swordsman… from the Geumeobang… Ah… aah…”

Chayeop strained to resist, but the Tang Clan’s poison left him utterly defenseless.

Under normal circumstances, he might have endured through sheer willpower, but the aftereffects of the Blood Soul Pill had ravaged both his body and spirit.

“Geumeobang? The Geumeobang…”

Before Yegyeol could continue, Peng Munhyeong reacted, recognizing the name.

Months ago, on his journey with Yeon Soso to the Yeo Valley village, they had discovered a corpse washed ashore—a man who had died from poison, found among dead fish in the river. That man had been a member of the Geumeobang.

And the Geumeobang, as they knew, was an organization belonging to the orthodox faction.

“Aren’t they the sect that lives alongside the fishermen of the Yangtze? They’re supposed to help fishermen when they suffer from river bandits, not become them…” Peng Munhyeong murmured bitterly.

Yegyeol shrugged lightly.

“So my brother was right—those supposed ‘bandits’ had too much loyalty for outlaws. Looks like they were never part of the unorthodox sects to begin with.”

His face, pale as a ghost, was filled with anger, and yet Yegyeol felt no satisfaction—only pity.

“What on earth could drive the Geumeobang to stoop to banditry?”

“Of course… money. Money!”

At Peng Munhyeong’s shout, Chayeop let out a shrill, manic laugh.

“Money overflowing in both hands. Money I never had, even after joining a sect to escape the miserable life of a vagrant. Money that weaklings, born to better parents, spent like water. That money… I wanted it.”

Perhaps the drug was taking full effect now—his words came out disjointed and feverish. His laughter wasn’t mocking; it was the uncontrollable release of his greed and delirium.

“What good comes from doing what’s right? Honor? It doesn’t fill your purse. With money, you can buy a fine sword, women—hell, even a noble title! I just wanted to escape the stench of iron and filth. I could have left this place and lived proudly, called a great man…”

His voice cracked, the bitterness of his final words laced with a sob.

His twisted smile—half laughter, half weeping—was unbearable to behold.

“What does it matter if I killed someone’s son, husband, or father? Once you step into the martial world, your life already hangs by the sword! If they die by my harpoon instead of living miserably, they should be grateful—yes, yes… grateful indeed…”

Yegyeol, who had braced himself to restrain Peng Munhyeong if he lost his temper, was surprised to find his senior brother calm instead.

“…So, in the end, it was money.”

The words came out in a weary murmur, his expression heavy with fatigue.

Reading his cue, Yegyeol proceeded with the next question.

“Where did you obtain the Blood Soul Pill?”

Chayeop bit his lip, and a faint crunch sounded as the flesh tore. His glare sharpened, seething with hatred toward the impertinent young man who kept asking sharp questions.

Even knowing resistance was futile, he couldn’t suppress the violent urge to lash out—a side effect of the Tang Clan’s truth serum, perhaps.

“Ahh… the Blood Soul Pill… you want it too, don’t you? But not just anyone can have it… only the chosen ones… like me…”

He mumbled incoherently, his voice slipping between consciousness and delirium.

“If only I had completed the Black Stone Divine Art (Heukseok Jishin), I wouldn’t be suffering such humiliation… Ahh…”

His eyes rolled back, and his head tilted limply backward. Tang Segi immediately moved to steady his body.

Black Stone Divine Art?

Yegyeol recalled the old inn he had stayed at while journeying to the Central Plains. There, a demonic cultivator named Chilsan Noho had lamented his failure to complete the Blue Gold Divine Art (Cheonggeum Jishin).

He had dismissed it then as just another demonic cultivation method—but now, hearing a name of similar pattern, something about it unsettled him.

First the Blue Gold Divine Art, now the Black Stone Divine Art…

Lost in thought, Yegyeol snapped back to attention when Tang Segi clicked his tongue.

“The drug’s circulating too quickly.”

“It could be due to the aftereffects of the Blood Soul Pill. Look at his veins,” Yegyeol said, pointing at Chayeop’s neck. Thick, dark veins stood out against the skin—dozens of them, spreading like blackened roots.

“I checked—it’s not poison,” Tang Segi replied.

“If it’s not poison, then it’s even more concerning. What if someone slips this into the food of a major Wulin Alliance figure? How would we even detect it?”

For a brief moment, the three of them fell silent, realizing the implications.

Even if the pill granted temporary bursts of power, it left its users broken, just like Chayeop.

“Hmm. We’ll have to research a way to identify it,” Tang Segi said gravely.

From what Chayeop had mumbled earlier—about being “chosen”—it seemed the Blood Soul Pill wasn’t something distributed freely. That was at least a small comfort.

Perhaps, like herbal medicine, it only works on certain constitutions, Yegyeol mused.

“Still… how did the Jinju Eon Clan even contact members of the Geumeobang? Recruiting martial artists skilled in water techniques makes sense for river raids, but how did they connect with an orthodox sect?”

Yegyeol’s tone was light, almost teasing, as he subtly watched Peng Munhyeong and Tang Segi’s reactions.

“It’s not as if you can just grab someone and say, ‘Hey, join my gang,’ right?”

“That’s true,” Tang Segi murmured in agreement. “If you tried to recruit someone from the orthodox sects for banditry, you’d be reported to the Wulin Alliance in a heartbeat.”

“Then who,” Peng Munhyeong asked grimly, “was it that linked these madmen with the Jinju Eon Clan?”

“There must be a contact point. Whether there’s a middleman or not… we’ll find out soon enough.”

Yegyeol’s face was almost cherubic as he added, “A bit more questioning should do it.”

Just then, the half-conscious Chayeop suddenly convulsed and sat upright.

The shriveled man’s bloodshot eyes bulged as he screamed,

“The Black Spot! The Black Spot will hunt you down!”

His tongue was heavy, his speech slurred, yet his desperate need to curse them outweighed the struggle to speak.

“We’ve always traded through the Black Spot… if the next delivery isn’t made in time, the Black Spot will come… to hold you accountable!”

Chayeop knew well—sometimes, the Black Spot was more terrifying than the Hao Clan.

The Black Spot, which controlled the black markets of the Central Plains, dealt in everything—arms, poisons, even human lives.

With vast wealth at its disposal, it silently erased its enemies, killing without warning or trace.

Its reach transcended orthodoxy and heresy alike.

People feared the Black Spot—and that fear made its shadowy throne all the more unshakable.

To hear such a name uttered would make any ordinary youth tremble in dread.

Chayeop lifted his heavy head with effort, watching Yegyeol with twisted anticipation—waiting for the young man’s mask to crack, for fear to show.

But the arrogant “young genius” didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, really?” Yegyeol’s lips curved faintly in a smile of pure nonchalance.

“Then that’s… quite interesting.”

He muttered to himself with a tone so casual it left Chayeop confused—until he added softly,

“That’s a familiar name, actually.”

By some curious coincidence, the “arrogant young man” standing before Chayeop happened to share a bed with the master of the Black Spot himself.

1. Geumeobang (금어방) – The “Golden Fish Sect,” a martial sect aligned with the orthodox factions, traditionally composed of fishermen and river guardians.