The World's Greatest is Dead

“First. If it has to do with revenge, I won’t hear it.”

That was the first warning I spat out at the old man.

Asking me to take revenge on someone—

That was the request I hated most.

Because of that sort of shit, I’d nearly died more times than I could count.

“Second. If it’s about telling something to your family or acquaintances, I’ll allow a letter, but never a direct message.”

I hated face-to-face entanglements.

Too many times I’d gotten roped into nonsense that way.

“Third. I won’t touch treasure or property either.”

Plenty of the dead still clung to the wealth they left behind.

From experience, anyone who meddled with a ghost’s possessions ended up in a bad way.

“Finally, fourth. Don’t tell me to take responsibility for some person you left behind.”

The usual—family, grandchildren, the like.

Just imagining it was annoying enough.

It was already hard enough keeping myself alive. I had no intention of carrying anyone else.

“Anything outside those four, I’ll at least hear you out.”

[...Heh.]

The old man let out a dry chuckle.

Then he just looked at me.

[Young man. I can imagine what your life has been like.]

His eyes actually looked a little sympathetic.

“Yeah. It hasn’t been smooth. So I hope you understand.”

One way or another, the moment you got tangled with a ghost, the result was always shit.

Didn’t matter if it was me or them.

[Hmm.]

The ghost seemed to hesitate, almost as if he’d been planning to ask for one of the things I’d banned.

‘Not unusual.’

Most regrets fell into those four categories.

Anything else was rare.

So silence hung between us.

“If you’ve got nothing to say, I’ll just—”

[It’s not really a request. But, young man.]

“Yes?”

Then he suddenly pointed.

[Would you look over there for a moment?]

“...What?”

I followed his finger.

Just a few trees. Nothing else.

And he wanted me to stare at them?

“...What is this?”

I asked, baffled. There was nothing there.

Suddenly—

Flap!

A bird burst out of the brush and into the air.

“......”

What the hell?

I looked at the old man in disbelief. He only scratched his head with a sheepish grin.

[When something’s watching, it bothers me.]

“...That bird?”

[Rats, birds—it doesn’t matter. They all have eyes.]

I almost laughed.

‘For a second, I thought a master was hiding out, spying on me.’

As if.

Why would some master waste time watching me? I’d spooked myself for nothing.

[Now then.]

But his tone turned serious again.

So he did have a request after all.

[As long as it isn’t one of the things you banned, you’ll hear me out?]

“...As long as you don’t go dragging me into trouble with other ghosts.”

I knew how this worked. If I ignored him, he’d just keep clinging, or worse, keep pulling stupid pranks like earlier.

The one bit of luck was this—

‘The vivid ones always kept their word.’

If they swore to something, they’d do it.

At the very least, they never went back on what they’d said.

The problem was just that until you agreed, they never left you alone.

[Good.]

The old man grinned.

[So be it.]

As expected, he nodded in acceptance.

Then he spoke his wish.

And—

“...What?”

It was the first time I’d ever heard a ghost ask for something like that.

****

[Name: Yeon So Cheon.

Male.

Age: nineteen.

Disciple of Myeongyeong Gate in Anhui.

Realm: second-rate, nearing first-rate.]

So said the Martial Alliance Anhui Branch records about the young man.

But not a single line was true.

Name, age, realm, affiliation—

All lies.

The only truth was his gender.

Everything else had to be hidden.

Who he truly was could never be revealed.

Ssshing—!

The sword cut through the air at midnight.

Only a single lamp and the moonlight spilling through the window lit the training hall.

There, Yeon So Cheon swung with calm eyes.

Whish! Whoosh! Swift, precise arcs.

Though sweat rolled down his chin, his blade never wavered.

“Haa... huk!”

Breath steady, his eyes stayed locked on the path of the blade.

Fwoosh—!

Air stirred as steel sliced past. The force was brimming.

Shaaak!

Wrapped in energy, the sword split the air so fast it was nearly invisible.

A hundred times, a thousand times—endless repetition. He swung with grim determination.

Finally, after a last downward slash, Yeon So Cheon reset his stance.

“...Hoo...”

Heat filled the training hall. He wiped sweat from his chin, panting.

But his face—unsatisfied.

He couldn’t help it.

‘...This isn’t it.’

Day after day, year after year—

Three full years of this.

Hands torn, calluses piled, relentless training.

And still, his realm barely budged. His martial progress stalled.

He felt trapped in a heart-devil’s snare.

‘How can I... create the form our Sect pursues?’

A hunger gnawed at him.

He remembered what he’d seen as a boy.

That figure.

The shape of moonlight carved by a blade.

The sword that had seemed to slice through the moon itself.

He dreamed of that sword every night.

And yet, no matter how he swung, he could not touch it. Couldn’t even glimpse it.

What was wrong?

Why couldn’t his sword draw the form he desired?

‘...I don’t know.’

If you don’t know, you swing until you do.

That was the way.

But all he saw [N O V E L I G H T] ahead was a boundless sea with no shore.

Suffocating.

‘Focus. Calm yourself. You’ve already found his trace.’

He clenched the hilt.

Yes. Even if he didn’t understand yet, someday he would.

For now, he had to focus on finding what that man had left behind.

Only if he obtained it—

‘...I’ll have a chance, too.’

His eyes sharpened.

At that moment—

“Ahem.”

A sound from behind.

Yeon So Cheon turned.

At the doorway stood a young man with a boyish face.

What was his name again?

‘...Bang Sungyeon, wasn’t it.’

A low-rank agent of the Martial Alliance, ignored by everyone.

Even the Daeju had said he was beneath notice.

And yet, despite the ridicule, he never seemed cowed.

Different from others.

‘...’

And in fact, Yeon So Cheon had something to say to him.

That was why he’d lingered here under the pretense of training.

He wiped his sweat with cloth and approached.

First, he’d apologize.

Even if he hadn’t known, the junior had been right. It had taken him far too long to realize.

The way everyone in his unit eyed him.

The private quarters granted only to him.

The supposed night watches he was “assigned” that were really courtesy.

The Daeju’s and everyone’s constant courtesy toward him.

All of it—special treatment.

If not for that junior pointing it out, he might never have realized.

He’d thought it natural.

So—

“Young Master Ba—”

Yeon So Cheon began.

“Your waist.”

Bang Sungyeon cut him off.

“...What?”

Waist?

What nonsense?

But Sungyeon kept going.

“There’s too much tension in your waist.”

“What are you—”

He gestured toward Yeon’s waist.

“I understand you want to put power into your strikes, but you’re doing it wrong.”

“Young Master Bang?”

What was this?

Yeon So Cheon’s eyes shook as he looked at him.

“Power isn’t something you ‘put’ in. It’s something that ‘settles’ in. Add excess tension, and instead of flowing, the power gets locked up.”

“...!”

Only then did Yeon grasp what he meant.

His face twisted.

“You...”

The title slipped. No more “Young Master Bang.”

He’d crossed a line no mere joke could explain.

A man not even third-rate.

And he dared... what? Teach him?

Yeon So Cheon couldn’t stop himself from glaring.

He didn’t belittle others by realm alone, but this was different.

“...What do you think you’re doing, barging in here?”

Watching another’s training was already a grave discourtesy.

And for an inferior to lecture a superior—

Especially—

‘One who knows nothing of our Sect’s sword.’

What the hell did he think he saw?

Rage boiled.

Yet Sungyeon still ignored his reaction, continuing—

“Even if you force power in, it’s artificial. What matters isn’t swinging harder, but—”

Shiiing—!

“!”

He froze.

Yeon So Cheon’s cold blade was at his throat.

“Enough. I can’t listen further.”

“......”

The edge kissed his skin. A hair closer and it would cut.

Sungyeon spoke, wry.

“...If you press more, I’ll really die here.”

Was he mocking?

Yeon’s voice shook with anger.

“I endured only because I felt a trace of gratitude. But if you overstep again—”

“Ah, so I can stop now?”

“...Tch.”

Did he truly want to die?

Yeon So Cheon had to wonder.

Already frustrated with his stalled swordwork, this was the last straw.

His blade trembled with suppressed fury.

At last, he forced the words out.

“...Leave. And never speak to me again. Whatever your reason—next time, there won’t be mercy.”

Cold anger poured from him.

Sungyeon only looked back, calm.

Would he laugh it off?

If he did, Yeon might actually kill him.

But Sungyeon only shrugged.

Then turned his back and walked away without hesitation.

Yeon So Cheon let out a hollow breath.

“...Hah?”

What the hell?

He stared at the retreating back.

For a moment, he’d actually thought well of that man. How ridiculous.

Pathetic.

He clenched his teeth, forcing the anger down.

And turned back to the hall.

He couldn’t rest now.

He’d cut away this foul feeling with his sword.

He drew it again, resumed his forms.

But—

In his mind, those useless words echoed.

“Too much tension in your waist.”

“I understand you want to put power in, but you’re doing it wrong.”

“....”

He should ignore it. The words of a third-rate weakling. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

And yet they stuck.

“Power isn’t something you ‘put’ in. It’s something that ‘settles’ in.”

“Add excess tension, and the flow locks up.”

“Too much tension in the waist...”

Which meant—because of that tension, his strikes bound instead of flowing.

Absurd.

Release the waist?

The waist’s tension was what kept the sword path from flying wild.

Without it, stance and rebound would collapse.

Even raw novices knew that.

So why had that fool said it?

The question gnawed at him.

And before he knew it, Yeon So Cheon loosened his waist. Just slightly.

Then—

Sshhhk! Slaaash!

The blade screamed through the air.

“...What?”

Yeon So Cheon’s body went rigid.