The World's Greatest is Dead

DRIP. DRIP-DRIP.

The blood that spilled down slowly dampened the hard tournament stage.

And seeping through his drenched martial robes, Peng Dojun held a smile.

“What was that?”

Right as the corners of his mouth curled up in a grin that didn’t match the situation—

“What the hell did you do?”

Peng Dojun, eyes alight with interest, stared at the young man.

Tang Cheon-il.

Tang Cheon-il panted, his breath low and ragged as he clutched his dagger.

And on that dagger—

Not a single drop stained the steel.

Even though it had just cut open Peng Dojun’s chest.

“I don’t get it.”

Peng Dojun couldn’t understand it at all.

“How’d you do it?”

How did the bastard slice his chest like that?

That instant of wrongness—Peng Dojun couldn’t make sense of it.

And questions born from the unknown always made him interested.

“The qi sense definitely moved.”

A qi sense that was outstanding by nature.

The overwhelming perception born from the Heaven-Martial Body sharpened all five senses,

and those sharpened five senses either made you feel things you weren’t supposed to feel,

or let you find what was being hidden.

That was why Tang Cheon-il’s concealment—said to be one of the Tang Clan’s ultimate arts—didn’t work on Peng Dojun.

‘And he broke through that and cut me?’

And I even missed it? It was strange. He couldn’t tell what had happened.

Then.

“Fwooooo....”

As if he’d finally caught his breath, Tang Cheon-il prepared to move again.

Heat was swelling in his eyes.

‘It worked.’

His attack worked on Peng Dojun.

That single fact woke every one of Tang Cheon-il’s senses.

‘It worked.’

A wall that seemed like it would never give,

a wall he’d judged he could never climb—

A crack had formed in it.

“Haa.”

He let out a quiet breath.

At the same time, he steadied himself.

Maybe...

‘Can I do it?’

Maybe he could.

With that thought, Tang Cheon-il tilted his head slightly.

His eyes went to where the standby fighters were gathered.

Among them, he saw a young man who stood out for being ridiculously good-looking.

Even ignoring the looks, those blue eyes were perfect for drawing everyone’s gaze.

They were radiant. Those blue eyes were a trait of that sect—

but even among them, that young man’s eyes were the deepest azure.

Like the sky.

Or the depths of the sea.

No.

‘The moon.’

A blue moon that made even a dark night sky shine.

The young man held the moon inside his eyes.

Looking at the owner of those eyes—Bang Sungyeon—Tang Cheon-il suddenly had that thought.

“...”

How did he not get caught?

How did he—

‘How did he know and tell me?’

How did he know Peng Dojun’s openings and flaws and blurt it out like that?

Tang Cheon-il couldn’t understand it at all.

To him, Peng Dojun had been a massive wall.

And the reason he could carve a wound into that body—

was entirely because of him.

*****

‘Listen up.’

Those words from back then surfaced at Tang Cheon-il’s ear.

‘Watch his wrist.’

At first, it was something he couldn’t understand.

‘Before he attacks, there’s a tiny tell in his wrist.’

‘Relative to up and down, there’s a slight twist—left or right. Even if it’s shallow, it’s there.’

Up and down.

Left and right?

Even hearing it, it still didn’t ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) mean anything to him.

Maybe my reaction was too frustrating—because Bang Sungyeon spoke with a sigh mixed in.

‘You’ll get it if you actually try to see it. And if you’re gonna call yourself someone who uses concealment, how the hell do you expect to win by slamming into him from the front? Don’t even use it, dumbass.’

“...”

‘You keep hiding right in front of him. You think that makes sense? You do that when you fight me too. If you use concealment right under someone’s nose, is that an ambush? Why do you use your martial arts like that?’

It was unfair.

The Tang Clan’s martial arts were literally specialized for assassination.

Which meant they inherently clashed with the Orthodox faction’s tendencies.

So when you sparred, there was always an unspoken agreement: don’t use poison, and limit concealment.

‘Bullshit.’

Hearing that, Bang Sungyeon spoke like it was absurd.

‘Poison, sure. But concealment? What—limit it? If you’re limiting it, then you’re already limiting it. Who told you to use it like that in the first place?’

If you’re going to use it, use it properly.

If you can’t, then cut it out.

Bang Sungyeon said it like Tang Cheon-il was driving him crazy.

‘And.’

Then—

‘If you can’t see the wrist well...’

Like there was something even more important, he chewed the words and spat them out.

‘Dig in. Don’t hesitate.’

‘...What?’

Dig in?

It was ridiculous. What kind of insane nonsense was that?

He was telling him to run at Peng Dojun?

Up until now, that was exactly how Tang Cheon-il had kept losing—did he not know that?

It didn’t feel like advice.

It felt like he was just trying to mess with him.

But—

‘I’m saying it straight. Focus.’

Bang Sungyeon kept talking with a serious face, like he wasn’t joking.

‘This is the only way you can crack him.’

“...You mean charging first?”

‘No.’

Bang Sungyeon corrected him.

‘Not charging first. Charge well.’

“...What the—?”

What difference was there? Tang Cheon-il fell deeper into confusion,

and Bang Sungyeon’s face twisted like Tang Cheon-il was unbearable.

‘It means don’t hesitate when you go in. You always flinch.’

“...!”

He was right.

Even while charging in on rage, Tang Cheon-il could feel himself hesitate for a split second.

It was only a moment—so tiny it barely existed—yet Bang Sungyeon had seen even that?

Tang Cheon-il’s eyes widened in shock—

‘Don’t get it twisted.’

Bang Sungyeon cut in.

‘If I saw it, that means he definitely knows.’

It felt like he was slicing off the tiniest spark of joy.

‘His sense is better than mine. Recognize that.’

Would Peng Dojun not know?

If Bang Sungyeon saw it, then Peng Dojun absolutely knew.

Tang Cheon-il bit down on his lip.

“...Then how am I supposed to go in?”

The matchup was brutal.

Peng Dojun had an exceptional qi sense and was far better in close combat.

For someone like Tang Cheon-il, built on assassination, fighting in a wide-open space like this was already insane.

And now he was telling him to run in and fight up close?

It was nonsense.

But—

“Because there’s no other answer.”

Bang Sungyeon’s expression was firm.

“Hey. You know what the Black-Grand Saber’s biggest problem is?”

Bang Sungyeon asked. Tang Cheon-il answered without hesitation.

“...His ego?”

“...”

Even Bang Sungyeon couldn’t deny that, so he had to clamp his mouth shut for a second.

“...Yeah, that too. But not that. In a spar.”

“...”

His problem in a spar?

Nothing came to mind.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Peng Dojun looked like a monster.

Unless you were something outside the rules—like Sword Phoenix—

Among the junior generation, Peng Dojun was already standing at the end of the line.

If you wanted to fight him, you really needed someone like Sword Phoenix, and—

Tang Cheon-il’s gaze drilled into Bang Sungyeon.

“What are you looking at? Answer me.”

“...I don’t know.”

“Yeah. Of course you don’t. He’s so strong it feels like he doesn’t even have one.”

“Then... what’s the point...?”

“That’s why it matters.”

More repeats of words he couldn’t understand.

If he was so strong he had no problems, why run in?

Right when Tang Cheon-il started thinking, ‘Is this really advice?’

Bang Sungyeon narrowed his eyes.

“That bastard... hasn’t fought many strong people.”

“...?”

“Because he knows his strengths too well and shows them off, he hasn’t had to deal with many people who come at him like total lunatics.”

“...!”

Tang Cheon-il’s eyes widened.

“So dig into that gap. Don’t hesitate—get in close. If you feel like you’re gonna die, watch the wrist and move. Got it?”

Bang Sungyeon grabbed Tang Cheon-il’s shoulder.

GRIP—!

“You can do it.”

You can do it.

Hearing him say it—

Tang Cheon-il nodded without realizing it.

And the funny thing was... hearing it made him feel like he really could.

SHRAAAK—!!!

The dagger cut the air.

Blood sprayed again.

It was Peng Dojun’s blood.

‘Again.’

Peng Dojun frowned at the fresh line carved into his chest.

At the same time, he moved his eyes to find the opponent.

Tang Cheon-il was staring right back at him from a direction three or four steps away.

‘I missed him.’

Same as before.

He missed Tang Cheon-il charging in, and in that gap the bastard landed a hit.

‘How is that possible?’

Peng Dojun couldn’t understand.

Did Tang Cheon-il get faster? No. The speed wasn’t much different.

He read him properly. And yet—

‘I miss him.’

Even if he reached out, he couldn’t touch him.

Like the bastard knew where he’d extend his hand and where he’d attack.

‘What is it?’

How does that bastard know and do this?

Interesting.

Peng Dojun’s mouth split into a bizarre grin.

‘Is it luck?’

It was two times.

Calling it luck twice was a stretch.

When luck repeats, it stops being luck.

‘Then...’

Something changed.

What was it?

He wanted to know.

‘Fine.’

‘Then I’ll find out from here.’

Peng Dojun moved.

*****

WAAAAAA!!

Cheers flooded the area around the stands.

The spar between the two martial artists kept getting hotter.

The aftershock of the crowd’s reaction was no joke.

“No way. The Black-Grand Saber is getting pushed back.”

“Was the Poison Dragon always that strong?”

“Looks like he had an enlightenment in the last few years.”

Even the people who’d already lost interest started to heat up again.

Because they thought the Poison Dragon had zero chance—

and yet he was unexpectedly holding his own.

SWISH—! KWAANG—!!!

The Black-Grand Saber’s fist kept moving, slicing the air and blasting out violent momentum—

KWAANG—!!!

But once again, his fist only smashed the ground.

“Hm.”

Still didn’t catch him.

Looking at the shattered floor, Peng Dojun touched his shoulder.

Did it graze? It felt like he’d picked up another wound.

How interesting.

Thinking that, he straightened his upper body—

“Black-Grand Saber.”

A voice came from the front.

“Do I still look like some dumbass to you?”

Tang Cheon-il was glaring at Peng Dojun, his face twisted.

“Draw your weapon.”

“...”

At that, Peng Dojun snickered.

By now the blood running down his body had soaked to his pants.

Even so, he didn’t care.

“Make me.”

He provoked him with a confident tone.

“...”

Tang Cheon-il silently charged again.

And.

[Hmmm.]

Watching, Yoo Cheongil let out a strange hum.

[Kid.]

Then he called me. I looked at him.

[You’ve got sharp eyes, but how the hell did you know that?]

Peng Dojun’s habits and flaws.

To his question—how did I know—

‘How did I know?’

Instead of answering, I recalled it.

‘It’s all in the intel.’

The answer was, once again, in the information the Beggar Clan handed me.

Obviously, it didn’t spell out little details like ‘habits.’

What I looked at was—

‘Peng Dojun’s past spars.’

Records of official spars. I went through them.

And as I did, I started seeing things.

‘The fights where he struggled.’

Peng Dojun is strong, but he’s not undefeated.

His fight with Sword Phoenix was like that, but even aside from that, there were a few recorded losses.

And when I checked them, there was a pattern.

‘He’s weak against people who rush him.’

The records showed it—he was, strangely, weak against people who charged him like lunatics.

It didn’t fit someone as strong as Peng Dojun in close combat, but it was real.

Which meant—

‘He’s unexpectedly vulnerable in close range.’

And the reason—

‘He’s so strong, he hasn’t fought many strong people.’

Anyone who rushes Peng Dojun is usually someone strong enough to have no issue fighting him up close.

But Peng Dojun hasn’t fought many people like that.

So he’s a bit vulnerable to that kind of fight.

On top of that—

‘That wrist habit.’

I haven’t watched many of his fights myself, but in that brief instant, I saw it.

A habit he showed while fighting.

So when I put it all together—

‘It was something I was saving for later, when I had to fight him.’

And I just handed it to the Poison Dragon.

‘Tsk.’

Maybe it was pointless busybodying...

but watching him fight, it didn’t feel like a bad choice.

KWAANG—!! KWAANG—!

Peng Dojun throws punches as he fights Tang Cheon-il, and Tang Cheon-il dodges and strikes back.

Blood keeps spraying, but—

‘Still shallow.’

The attacks are landing, but none of it is fatal.

‘And he’s dodging while he’s taking hits.’

He’s getting clipped and still slipping away.

Even like this, he can dodge.

While I was watching in disbelief—

[Hmmm.]

Yoo Cheongil let out a breath like something bothered him.

Tang Cheon-il was ahead—so why that reaction?

But I wasn’t that different.

‘...This is a problem.’

Time was dragging.

There was no decisive finishing blow.

‘If this keeps going...’

Something felt wrong.

Tang Cheon-il looks like he’s handling it without forcing it...

but—

‘Peng Dojun still hasn’t drawn his saber.’

And the thing that bothered me most—

‘What if he’s even more of a genius than I thought?’

I didn’t know how deep Peng Dojun’s talent ran.

KWAANG, KWAANG—KWAANG.

Dodging punches, Tang Cheon-il’s eyes spun.

His eyes were glued to Peng Dojun’s wrist.

‘Left.’

KWAANG—!

He dodged again.

‘Left again.’

He dodged again.

Then he stabbed with the dagger. It grazed—barely.

He pulled back.

Landing hits while dodging everything.

To everyone watching, it looked like Tang Cheon-il was winning.

But—

‘...It’s not going in deep.’

Tang Cheon-il frowned.

No matter how hard he jammed attacks in, there was no fatal wound.

‘Tsk.’

Tang Cheon-il glared at Peng Dojun.

That man was rotating his fist with a face like he was thinking about something.

And he still wasn’t drawing his saber.

‘You bastard.’

Why are you still not drawing it?

Tang Cheon-il clenched his teeth.

Is he still trying to protect his pride?

‘Even now?’

Even if it means losing to someone he looked down on, is he really going to cling to his pride?

Unacceptable.

Even after it came to this, Tang Cheon-il couldn’t accept that attitude.

‘No matter what.’

He’ll make that arrogant bastard kneel.

With that thought, he launched himself again.

In an instant, he closed the distance.

He rolled his eyes and checked the wrist.

Even then, Peng Dojun’s face was filled with thought.

‘This time.’

He’ll land something fatal.

With that determination, Tang Cheon-il moved his dagger.

And at the same time, the wrist moved.

‘Right.’

Right this time?

As Tang Cheon-il tried to match the movement and strike—

“Yeah.”

Peng Dojun’s voice cut in. The sound made chills crawl up Tang Cheon-il’s back.

A cold shiver.

He had to get out.

He realized it—

“I see it now.”

SMACK—!!!

Peng Dojun’s fist buried itself in Tang Cheon-il’s face.

“KHUH—!!”

Tang Cheon-il flew.

Blood sprayed through the air as his body rolled across the tournament stage.

When his rolling body finally stopped—

“That’s what it was.”

Peng Dojun grinned as he spoke.

The miracle of the Peng Clan.

The Black-Grand Saber, Peng Dojun.

The moment he identified what his weakness was—

“I overcame it.”

He overcame it like it was nothing.