The World's Greatest is Dead

FWAAAAAAA—!!!!

A tremendous surge of inner power swept across the tournament stage. Savage rain seemed to pour down from the sky, slamming hard enough to shatter the ground—and the backlash made the pressure explode outward.

It was absurd power. The kind of violent momentum you couldn’t get from “just throwing a few daggers.”

Right as everyone was still staring in disbelief at that overwhelming firepower—

“M-Myriad-Flowers Rain! It’s Myriad-Flowers Rain!”

Someone in the stands screamed.

“Myriad-Flowers Rain....”

“Myriad-Flowers Rain means... the Tang Clan’s....”

“Didn’t they say it was already gone?”

Myriad-Flowers Rain.

A Tang Clan secret art you could honestly say built the Tang Clan into what it is today.

A simple, brutal martial art: fling a massive barrage of hidden weapons like rain and bombard the entire area.

A trump card that could maximize the Tang Clan’s power in war—something that burned the Tang Clan’s terror into the memories of both the Orthodox faction and the Unorthodox faction.

And yet—

“...You’re telling me he restored it?”

After the Orthodox-Demonic War, the Poison Sovereign forbade the use of Myriad-Flowers Rain.

Then the Poison Sovereign died, and it was said no one in the Tang Clan used it anymore—so it was lost to real combat.

But now—

“The Poison Dragon used Myriad-Flowers Rain...!”

That great martial art had appeared again in the hands of Tang blood.

“That power is insane.”

“...So it really is Myriad-Flowers Rain.”

The stage was so wrecked it was almost buried in stone dust.

And no one could forget the daggers that had filled the sky.

If you counted them, it probably wasn’t that many.

But the force packed into each dagger made every one of them feel huge.

From the victim’s side, it would’ve looked like the sky was filled with daggers.

WAAAAAA—!

The crowd erupted for Tang Cheon-il’s finishing move. He’d been getting pushed around, and right when everyone thought it was over, he pulled out a hidden trump card—of course they’d react like that.

‘...What?’

In the middle of that, I stared at the stage like I couldn’t believe it.

‘How did he use it?’

That bastard—how did he use Myriad-Flowers Rain?

‘He couldn’t even do it yesterday.’

Up until yesterday, he was groaning and struggling because he couldn’t even attempt it properly. So seeing him suddenly pull it off like that made me react without meaning to.

‘Did he always know how?’

Was he pretending he couldn’t do it in front of me, while he could actually use it like that?

No. There’d have been no point.

Then what was that?

I was staring blankly, unable to make sense of it, when—

[It’s a stroke of fate.]

Yoo Cheongil explained it to me in a voice that sounded amused.

[He gained a stroke of fate.]

‘A stroke of fate?’

[He forced out something he couldn’t achieve—through sheer will. Not bad.]

I didn’t get what he meant. I looked at Yoo Cheongil with that on my face.

[Do you know what Selfless Trance is?]

Luckily, Yoo Cheongil kept explaining.

[It happens sometimes. When you reach an extreme situation, there’s a point where your mind and body synchronize in a split second.]

‘...Selfless Trance....’

I know what the phrase means, but... so what?

If he was saying that made him able to use Myriad-Flowers Rain, it still felt weird.

[Right. You wouldn’t really get it. That’s why we call it a stroke of fate. Things like that happen sometimes.]

Something you couldn’t use becomes usable.

A realm you couldn’t reach—suddenly you step one foot into it.

At the edge of your limit, your body responds and turns the impossible into possible.

That was Selfless Trance.

‘So Tang Cheon-il reached it and “awakened,” or something.’

‘Hm.’

If it’s “not a bad haul,” sure, that could be true.

If he used Myriad-Flowers Rain like that—something he couldn’t properly pull off—then yeah, that’s genuinely good.

[Hmmm.]

Even in that moment, Yoo Cheongil’s eyes weren’t on Tang Cheon-il.

[...What a shame.]

He was looking at Peng Dojun—the one who’d just eaten Myriad-Flowers Rain.

Checking that direction, Yoo Cheongil spoke flatly.

[His opponent was wrong.]

The instant that quiet voice reached me—

FWOOOOOOOM—!!!

The dust that had been hanging in the air got swept away in a single beat.

FWAAAA—!!!

Black pressure dragged the dust up and blasted it into the sky.

The haze cleared completely, and what I saw was a tournament stage turned into a disaster.

Where the daggers hit, it wasn’t just “stuck in the ground.”

The earth was cratered—little pits gouged out everywhere.

It showed how insane the power in each dagger had been.

Just looking at it, you could tell he took it badly—

“HAHA,”

—and in the middle of it, a young man burst into laughter.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—!!!!”

Peng Dojun laughed with his mouth split wide.

He was as battered as the shattered stage.

Daggers were embedded all over his body, and the blood running down him was on a completely different level than before.

And when he laughed that roughly, more blood erupted out of him.

Anyone could see he should be dying from pain—

but he was too busy laughing.

“HAHA—!! HAHAHAHA!!!”

He looked drenched in madness. The crowd, caught in a grotesque situation, shut their mouths.

“HA... HAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA!!! Fun. This is fun.”

FWOOSH—!!

Still laughing, Peng Dojun grabbed a dagger stuck in his body and yanked it out.

TING! TING-TING!

There were a lot of daggers.

He pulled them and tossed them onto the ground one after another.

“To think you were hiding something like this. AHAHAHA—! I’ll admit it. I’ll apologize.”

After pulling every last dagger out of himself—

SHIIIING—!

Peng Dojun finally drew the saber at his waist.

“You’re not a dumbass, Tang Cheon-il. I like you.”

Then—

FWAAAAAAA—!!!!

Energy surged up from beneath his feet and began clinging to his saber in thick handfuls.

A sharp sting crawled over my skin.

I rubbed the back of my hand as I watched.

‘...That’s nasty.’

How could momentum be that violent?

All he did was pull it out, and yet Peng Dojun’s saber force was intense enough to make you swallow dry.

‘Heaven-Martial Body.’

The Peng Clan’s miracle, and second among the Seven Prodigies.

A talent no one could deny would become an absolute master one day.

Like he was proving he deserved those labels, Peng Dojun drew out his presence in a harsh, blazing surge.

And even then—

‘He only drew his saber after eating Myriad-Flowers Rain.’

Peng Dojun had been fighting with his fists for a long time.

And only now did he finally draw his saber.

‘He’s strong.’

Now I knew for sure.

The fact he was still standing after taking that.

The fact he was only now letting this momentum explode out.

And even while watching that momentum—

‘Strong.’

Peng Dojun is strong.

Not just “strong,” either.

‘So that’s what you meant by “his opponent was wrong.”’

Even if Tang Cheon-il reached Selfless Trance and awakened Myriad-Flowers Rain—

Peng Dojun was simply too strong to be his opponent.

RUMBLE—!!

Like storm clouds.

It looked like dense black storm clouds were gathering around Peng Dojun alone.

At a glance, it was strange.

And on top of that, it was chilling.

‘I’ve never seen battle aura this thick.’

I’ve felt killing intent in Sichuan, but battle aura like that? First time.

A force that only stared at the opponent, carrying nothing but the will to smash them.

Peng Dojun’s battle aura was thick and heavy beyond belief.

‘What the hell is he trying to do with that?’

As I wondered what he was about to do—

[Hah. That bastard. Don’t tell me he’s going to use that?]

Yoo Cheongil reacted like he knew exactly what that energy was.

RUMBLE—!!

As the storm clouds kept thickening—

“Be happy.”

Peng Dojun spoke to Tang Cheon-il, who was standing there blankly.

“I saved this for Sword Phoenix—that monster—or someone else.”

WIIIIING—!!

The instant he spat the words, the storm clouds moved.

“I didn’t think I’d use it on you.”

RUMBLE—!!

The black energy gathered into the saber force, darkening it further and further.

It was black as it writhed. A perfect black with not a shred of light.

It looked like it would suck you in, and before I knew it, my eyes were glued to it.

“Since I saved it, I hope you like it.”

Peng Dojun laughed and put power into it.

FWOOOOOOOM—!!!

He took one step, and the ground shattered.

Then Peng Dojun slowly moved his saber—

[HAHAHAHA! That brat is going to use Black Cloud? HAHAHAHA! If the Blade God saw it, he’d gag in shock.]

Yoo Cheongil cackled as he watched Peng Dojun.

‘Black Cloud?’

A black cloud, just like the name.

What kind of martial art was that?

What kind of martial art could carry momentum this insane?

My entire focus locked in—

“Hmm?”

HALT.

Peng Dojun, who had been about to charge, suddenly froze.

“......”

Then he stared straight at Tang Cheon-il.

Right as I wondered what he was doing—

FWAH—!

Every last strand of energy wrapped around Peng Dojun’s hand vanished.

What?

The crowd started murmuring.

—Why did he stop?

—What is it? Did he give up?

While no one understood what Peng Dojun was doing—

[It’s over.]

Yoo Cheongil, arms crossed, said it to me.

Over?

[Look at the Tang Clan bastard.]

I followed his words and sent my gaze to Tang Cheon-il.

And then—

‘Ah.’

I saw it.

The moment I noticed, the referee sprinted toward Tang Cheon-il.

He checked Tang Cheon-il up and down, then raised his hand high.

“Peng Dojun of the Hebei Peng Clan versus Tang Cheon-il of the Tang Clan of Sichuan.”

Yeah.

“...Peng Dojun wins.”

Tang Cheon-il had already lost consciousness.

He was standing there, blank, with his mind already gone.

Like he refused to let the spar end—still gripping his dagger.

*****

The spar ended. Leaving the trashed stage behind, Tang Cheon-il was carried down.

I stared at the bastard on the stretcher.

“...Look at this mess.”

His ruined state was almost funny.

His face was a lump of blood, and blood streamed from his nose—already dried down to his throat.

In a minute, his face was obviously going to swell up like crazy.

Why did he fight until he got that wrecked?

‘Should’ve just quit halfway, idiot.’

Once Peng Dojun figured out his weakness, there was no answer.

The spar was basically over the moment that happened.

‘So why did you try that hard?’

What was Tang Cheon-il fighting so hard for?

I couldn’t understand it, so I scratched my cheek.

“Hmm....”

I was just staring at Tang Cheon-il—

“Hey.”

—and someone spoke to me. I turned.

A huge young man—Peng Dojun—was walking over.

‘...This bastard isn’t exactly pretty either.’

Peng Dojun didn’t look great.

He’d stopped the bleeding where the daggers had been, but he clearly lost a lot—his face looked gaunt.

He looked obviously exhausted, and I kept staring.

Peng Dojun grinned—not at me, but at Tang Cheon-il—and spoke.

“When that guy wakes up, tell him I said it was fun.”

“......”

“Not bad. And I’m looking forward to sparring with you, too.”

After leaving that behind, he waved a big hand and disappeared.

Does that bastard not even feel pain?

Seriously. Martial artists were a species I couldn’t understand.

Back then, too.

And now, too.

“......”

I turned my head and looked at Tang Cheon-il again.

“Fwooooo....”

Then I pressed a hand to my chest.

Was it my imagination? It felt a little hot.

I scratched my cheek again.

[Why is your ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) face like that?]

Yoo Cheongil asked.

[What are you thinking that makes you look like that?]

What does my face look like right now?

What am I thinking?

“...It’s nothing.”

Yeah. It really was nothing.

“Just...”

Just—

“I thought... I might actually put in some real effort.”

[......!]

Seeing Tang Cheon-il made me think trying a little harder wouldn’t be bad.

That was all.

But hearing me say it, Yoo Cheongil smiled brightly at me for some reason.

Like he knew this was coming.

That smile pissed me off—way more than it should’ve.