TSBIRBV Ch 57

Chapter 57 A Cornered Rat (2)

“Urrrgh, Boss, why are we doing this…!”

“I wanna go home to my mother and farm!”

“My great-grandpa who died thirty years ago is waving at me…”

“If you’ve got strength to talk, row faster—urgh—row! Bleh…”

Half the oarsmen moved with hollow eyes, hands working on reflex.

Bandits, forced aboard by Yegyeol’s order, were only half in their right minds.

They were land jackals by trade, hopeless on water—and this boat was running at full speed.

Because their vicious new master had promised that if they failed to arrive on time, he’d roast them “crispy outside, juicy inside.”

No one knew how that was possible—but not one of them wanted to be cooked alive.

They might just make it on time. In exchange, every last bandit was tasting hell while still breathing.

“Ahem.”

A man with an unusually gentle face for a river pirate glanced over the limp Green Forest crew.

They all averted their eyes and rowed harder.

If this was hell, that man was the jailer.

“Waste breath, lose speed!”

After striking Sichuan Tang, they had holed up in a manor—when this very man had arrived, claiming to be from the Jiaolong Stockade and dragging them down to the Yangtze.

On boarding, he told them that to move at top speed, they needed rowing technique. Nodding along had been their first mistake.

“You can move faster! Draw out the true spirit of an oarsman sleeping in your souls!”

How much more “oarsman spirit” is there to draw out?

Didn’t he say that the moment we got on?

Mother save me…

“A true oarsman conquers seasickness!”

We’re bandits, not oarsmen! they howled inwardly.

Complain aloud and end up like the first fool who resisted—strung upside-down from the mast.

Why are we even doing this?

“Feel the wind! Be reborn true oarsmen!”

“Aaagh! Put me down!”

“Pity you don’t understand the grandeur of oarsmanship!”

Figures river pirates—water-thieves—were mad as loons.

Thanks to the first comrade’s “example,” all realized you don’t defy a madman. The one who had been hung from the mast now rowed in the very front.

Watching him row, shivering, seasickness forgotten, made their spines crawl.

“Hey—when do we arrive?”

“We already have,” the pirate replied.

The Green Forest man’s eyelid twitched.

“Then… can we stop rowing?”

“…What did you say?”

His eyes emptied of light, going dark as pitch; the bandit flinched.

“N-no… this fool misspoke.”

They had heard the Jiaolong Stockade was a dragon’s den—but they had not expected a madman like this.

“You are bait. Bait must wriggle—fast—to draw the fish’s eyes. Understood?”

“Yes!”

“You’re far from mastering proper stroke—but your answer is robust. Heh… very good.”

The madman tossed them a few more pointers and left.

A bandit rotated sore wrists, peeking out a window.

“It’s getting dark outside, but this boat’s bright as day.”

On the water, flames traced a shimmering path.

“Tch. Oil to burn, huh.”

“It’s Jiaolong Stockade. Like Great Tiger Stockade if it were on land.”

“How’d we get mixed up with such a big fish…”

They had been delighted to meet a “big name” when a Jiaolong man came to fetch them—but now they could not shake the feeling something had gone very wrong.

“Green Forest brothers, leave the oars and come to deck!”

The returning pirate’s words brought tears of relief.

“Shift change?”

“Something like that.” He smiled vaguely.

At last—no more damned oars. The Green Forest men sprang up. Hulking pirates with shoulders three times the size of their heads thundered down and took their places.

Slumping, the stockade chief slung the dazed man from the prow across his shoulder and headed up.

As his foot hit the last step, the one who had bawled about becoming a farmer screamed:

“Argh! Arrows from that boat!”

The chief froze. Opposite, a vessel surged at deadly speed—green banners whipping.

On deck, Tang Eonbo’s eyes cut like blades.

His gaze met hers, and the stockade chief screamed without sound.

We’re finished!

— — —

“Glorious,” Yegyeol chirped, whistling.

Hidden in a reedbed in a small boat, he watched Sichuan Tang’s ship tear after the bait.

Clutching each other, trembling bandits ducked below deck to dodge arrows.

“No Green Forest casualties visible,” Samrang reported.

“Of course. We told them to keep the range tight.”

The bait boat blazed as it moved. Sichuan Tang tailed it like squids drawn to light.

“I didn’t expect Eonbo to recognize those bandits.” Samrang clicked her tongue.

“It’s the incident that started everything—and her own blunder. She wouldn’t forget.”

By now, seasoned Jiaolong oarsmen had likely swapped in for the bandits, widening the gap by a hair whenever Tang closed. Their skill was no joke.

Tang’s ship, drunk on the hunt, never guessed it was being led into a trap.

“They’re bold because they believe they’ve cover,” Yegyeol said.

They had joined hands with a stockade that had risen against the Jiaolong King; boldness made sense.

“How many pirates aboard Tang’s ship? Ten percent? Thirty?”

“Given how fast they’re moving, unfamiliar as they are with the Yangtze, I’d wager thirty percent are Golden Dragon men,” Samrang said.

Their little skiff slid noiselessly through reeds, no lantern lit. The pirates, born to the river, moved unerringly even in darkness—knowing every current and rock.

“At this speed, we’ll arrive soon.”

At his words, other pirates in the covert boats nodded and plopped into the water.

As the bright bait ship passed, Yegyeol waved cheerily at the Green Forest chief.

The man stared, disbelieving.

Why is he there?

He was thunderstruck. Mun the guild master had summoned them here and not shown his shadow—and now sat hidden in reeds?

He wanted to dive overboard and flee.

But Tang’s warriors had recognized them. From the look of it, they wouldn’t stop until every last bandit was caught or dead.

Sichuan Tang repaid favor double, vendetta tenfold. To escape their vengeance left only one choice.

So be it. If it’s come to this, I can only trust this damned—no, this Mun gongja again…

It was surrender more than consent. He could only hope the man would work some earth-shattering trick no commoner could imagine and tidy the mess away.

[Behave and obey the pirates, and Young Master Mun will feed you meat and wine till you burst,] a woman’s sound-transmission murmured.

The chief glanced toward Yegyeol—there he was, waggling his fingers, Samrang shadowing him as ever.

He nodded, resolute.

Once in a lifetime—eat and drink my fill and die.

When Yegyeol raised a finger to his lips—shh—the chief nodded again, grim as a condemned man.

“They’re coming,” Yegyeol whispered—the last actors up upon the stage.

Tang’s ship streaked past—the crew too focused to even glance at the reeds.

Clinging beneath the hull like leeches were Jiaolong divers, who had slipped into the water minutes ago. Iron grapnels were already wedged into the planking…

A great lurch—then a slap as the hull smacked the water.

Screams rose—chaotic, layered. To others, incomprehensible; to an esper’s ears, clear as day.

“W-water! Water’s coming in!”

“There’s a hole in the hull!”

“Plug it!”

Still, so many were martial artists that the expected pandemonium didn’t fully bloom. Each trusted they could at least save their own skin.

“Hold on! Namgung Clan is coming!”

Eonbo’s voice tried to steady them. Yegyeol giggled, waving Samrang on.

“Almost at Golden Dragon’s doorstep?”

“Yes.”

“Hope they like this fireworks show.”

Samrang bared her teeth.

“I’ll send the signal.”

A red flare blossomed in the sky. It was originally Golden Dragon’s—meant for Sichuan Tang.

When it was time to strike Jiaolong, launch fireworks; then attack together.

But based on Je Haryang’s tip, Yegyeol had contacted the Black Spot mercenaries Golden Dragon hired. A little extra coin, and they’d happily betray their employer and hand over the signal flares.

Tang had received fakes.

Right now, they probably thought their own were soaked and useless.

He could have pulled this off without Je Haryang—but with his help, Tang Seoak would be finished for sure.

— — —

“Water? Suddenly? How is water getting in?”

A Golden Dragon pirate clicked his tongue.

“Someone’s ripped the hull. Our boys dove to check the bottom.”

“It’s not even an old boat—how…”

Tang Seoak was aghast. Since the moment his cousin had spotted the very bandits who struck the caravan, things had felt off.

Bait showing itself on cue—and then, in the frenzy of pursuit, the bottom ripped out…

“Stop this chase. Pull back,” Seoak snapped, jaw tight.

Eonbo’s eyes widened.

“But Cousin! That boat carries the Green Forest scum who robbed our caravan of Qinghai’s goods. They must know who toyed with you—how can we withdraw now?”

She had fought hard to persuade the clan head to let them take this field. This was the perfect chance to oust the Jiaolong King, then ally with a new river lord and push Tang’s power into the wider Central Plains.

And yet Seoak felt it in his bones: this board must be flipped.

Something is wrong.

“I have a bad feeling.”

Eonbo bit her lower lip. She trusted his insight—but to turn back when the prey was practically in hand… consigned all their blunders to stain.

“…Understood.”

She had sworn loyalty to her cousin—she could endure the shame.

As orders to turn about were hurriedly given, the black night flashed red.

“A signal flare?” Seoak frowned.

The brief spear of red into the sky stabbed his chest with dread.

“What of our flares?”

“I was told they were water-damaged—unusable,” Eonbo answered, face tense as things grew stranger by the heartbeat.

Seoak’s face went stone blank.

A trap.

As if waiting for this exact moment, a ship showed itself across the river—largest of any afloat. The metal figurehead at its prow had rusted, leaving ghostly gold traces; the form itself was crude, more southern-jungle beast than noble dragon.

“Golden Dragon…”

An actor who shouldn’t have entered yet stepped onstage.

They seemed ignorant of Tang’s situation—like a hunter whose hounds had driven a rabbit right to him; of course he’d pounce.

But Tang hadn’t summoned Golden Dragon. Tang wasn’t driving a rabbit—Tang had been lured.

Damn it…

Seoak knew this wasn’t the end.

His head snapped up; at once, a warrior cried,

“There—Namgung Clan!”

From the other side, another ship; blue-and-white banners of the Azure Sky unfurled.

Eonbo’s heart dropped. Unfamiliar with the river’s geography, she hadn’t realized they had reached Namgung’s patrol zone.

“No… surely not.”

Seizing his chance, the Green Forest chief cupped his hands and bellowed toward the Golden Dragon ship, inner power ringing:

“Ahoy, brothers! It’s those ones! Stop them!”