The World's Greatest is Dead

The room was packed with heat.

Breathing was still hard, a space that had to be on the hotter end even within Iron River.

Inside it, I just stood and looked at the woman in front of me.

‘...What’s with her?’

And with no small amount of confusion in my eyes.

In front of me was Tang Yeran, stiff as if something had broken inside her.

Truly frozen like a stone.

At a glance you’d think time had stopped, except the beads of sweat rolling down her told me it hadn’t.

I could even see her pupils trembling.

Which is to say, she was simply frozen...

‘...Why all of a sudden?’

We’d been talking just fine—why did she suddenly turn like that?

It was puzzling.

And at the same time, a shame.

‘Guess she’s not going to keep going.’

That sound she’d been bringing down a moment ago.

I wanted to hear more of it.

Now it looked like I wouldn’t, and that was a shame.

‘...It’s been a while.’

A sound that rings straight against the soul.

A sound that carries spirit inside the act itself, and shakes you on the inside for that alone.

Usually it’s the sound you get from craftsmen who’ve repeated one thing for decades.

Tang Yeran’s movements held that very resonance outright.

What’s more—

‘It was stronger than anyone’s in Iron River.’

Even among all the craftsmen who had to be around, it was singularly strong.

So strong I found myself drawn to it without meaning to.

The fact that I felt that kind of intensity from that slight woman—

I found that deeply strange.

‘In my previous life, there were people with that.’

People whose every small act was suffused with conviction.

Many who looked at them called them once-in-a-generation geniuses, and so on.

My grandmother used to say that wasn’t talent.

‘That’s a soul poured in.’

She used to say.

Whether a deed has a soul poured into it or not.

If that’s the difference you call talent, then that was true as well.

‘Whatever it is, that’s not the point.’

Talent or soul, people who can do that climb to high places without fail.

At least the ones I saw did.

That’s why I did it this time too.

Why I offhandedly asked her to make me a sword.

‘...Was that rude?’

Maybe it was.

Is that why she’s frozen up like that?

If so, I should take it back even now.

“If you don’t want to, you really don’t have to—”

I tried to tack on the words, late as they were.

Clench—!

Tang Yeran suddenly rushed in and seized my wrist.

“I—I’ll do it. I’ll do it for sure.”

“...Huh?”

“Your sword, Young Master. I’ll make it for you no matter what it takes.”

“N-no, it doesn’t have to be no matter what... just, you know, reasonably... if you could...”

It was something I’d tossed out like a passing remark; why was she reacting this fiercely?

The passion in her eyes was almost scary.

“I... I’ll make it happen. I will.”

“Y-yes... then I’ll ask that of you.”

I didn’t know when it might be.

If possible, it’d be nice to receive one.

That was the sense in what I’d said...

What kind of ripple those words would cause later—

I couldn’t know at the time.

****

I left Iron River. Outside, the wind was blowing, and only then did I breathe easy.

A little longer and I really would’ve passed out.

“Whew...”

I came out and wiped my sweat. I had a cloth in my hand—Tang Yeran had pressed it on me inside.

She handed over her spare towel, telling me to wipe up outside.

I had no reason to refuse, so I meekly brought it with me.

‘Should I return it later?’

Maybe not to her directly, but I should return it, right?

Judging from the embroidery, it didn’t look like any ordinary towel.

‘...Right. A bloodline of the Tang Clan wouldn’t use just anything.’

This towel probably carried a pretty price tag too.

Then couldn’t I just not give it back and sell it? The thought slipped through, half in jest.

Even to me I was petty beyond belief.

‘...It’s because I grew up with nothing.’

Children of ruined houses are often like that.

On top of that, my so-called father and so-called older brother were both disasters.

Maybe it’s because of those two that I have thoughts this shabby?

I tried to comfort myself with a little blame-shifting.

“...Mm...”

It didn’t actually make me feel better.

So I just went on wiping sweat.

Odd thing—whatever scent was in it, the towel smelled fresh as I wiped.

Had the scent held even inside that heat?

I found that quietly curious.

‘Hrm.’

Staring idly at the towel, I thought of its owner.

Tang Yeran, who at the end had carefully handed me the towel.

‘...Is it really true?’

Is she truly stronger than Poison Dragon, one of the Seven?

The words Yoo Cheongil had let slip kept circling my head.

‘If she is, why?’

Why did she stay still while Poison Dragon looked down on her like that?

‘Just because she’s simple-hearted?’

She did look kind.

Not very like a bloodline of a great house—almost naïve.

It didn’t seem like everyone in the Tang Clan was like that.

‘It’s just Tang Yeran who’s a bit unusual.’

It felt like a quirk and distinctness only she had.

Which is probably why she can pour that kind of passion into smithing.

‘And if on top of that she has martial talent on par with Poison Dragon...’

Isn’t that truly a perfect person.

That thought made what she’d said float up by itself.

“Would you marry me?”

Words she’d asked out of nowhere in the middle of the night, asking me to marry her.

At the time it was so crazy I wanted to avoid her.

‘...Should I?’

Ridiculous as it was, I found myself considering it.

It was true I was drawn.

‘Her background’s too good.’

The Five Great Clans, the houses that receive the highest regard even among great lineages.

In wealth, they’re on par with Murong of Liaoning.

Looking just at Tang Yeran, she’s already different at the sprout, to the point she can pour a soul into smithing, and she even has martial talent within.

‘If I marry Tang Yeran, my road ahead opens wide.’

And what if I’m a son-in-law who enters her house.

Looking at the life ahead, it’d be hard to call that anything but good news.

“...Tch.”

I wiped those thoughts out quickly.

Pointless daydreams. Besides...

‘If I’d wanted that, I should’ve done it long ago.’

There were other chances.

I just didn’t choose them.

“Whew.”

Instead of thinking nonsense, I wiped more sweat.

There was too much sweat. And I was exhausted from being in that heat too long.

‘...I really need to learn that trick out of sheer pettiness.’

The way to sheath heat with inner energy.

I should learn it somehow.

I don’t know when I’ll end up in somewhere like Iron River again, but even so it’s better to know.

The problem was—

‘The one who should teach me keeps disappearing.’

The old man the world thinks is my master keeps vanishing the moment we reach Sichuan, to the point of suffocating me.

Lately I’d been doing most of my training alone.

Especially at night, when no one was around, I’d hold a sword alone.

Training swordplay in the moonlight wasn’t bad, but—

‘Looks like in this life I don’t really have any talent either.’

Every time I swung a sword, I felt it.

‘There’s no soul in my sword.’

Unlike what Tang Yeran just showed, I don’t feel that kind of soul in my movements.

Even aside from that—

‘I have no idea what to do.’

Where am I supposed to start, and how am I supposed to go about it.

I couldn’t tell.

The old man had never particularly taught me swordwork, so is it natural I don’t know what to do?

‘If you were going to teach me, teach me properly.’

He told me to train basics every day and never taught swordplay at all.

What I’ve “learned,” if you can call it that, are only the First and Second Forms of the Blue Moon Sword Dance.

And even those—I memorized Yoo Cheongil’s movements. It’s dubious to call that learning.

‘...What is it you want me to do?’

He keeps acting like he’ll teach me something and never teaches me properly.

What does he want from me? I have no idea.

“Then again.”

Since when did I ever understand that old man.

Trying to understand a wicked ghost’s intent is itself a strange thing.

Which makes it all the more puzzling.

‘...How long am I supposed to keep doing this?’

How long am I going to live like this.

I’d tried to live plain and level, but I was walking deeper into the storm.

What was scary here was—

‘...My awareness is dulling.’

The sense that I’m walking into a storm was getting thinner and thinner.

I’d come to Sichuan and had a conversation with the Poison King, to start with.

I’d even heard nonsense about the Poison Sovereign’s secret archive, and I was still moving like nothing was wrong.

‘Am I actually crazy?’

If I weren’t crazy, there’s no way I’d be like this.

Traveling with Yoo Cheongil, it feels like my mind’s gone a bit off.

‘That damned old man.’

Whatever happened, he acted like it was nothing.

He reacted like everything had its reason.

He moved like any explosion of trouble could be handled lightly.

Watching that, even when things blew up it felt like it was nothing.

‘...It’s absurd.’

I used to be the kind of guy who tapped even a stone bridge ten times before crossing.

I could feel myself getting stranger.

“...Should I just run?”

Wouldn’t it be better to bolt before something bigger happens?

I seriously found myself considering it.

“Hm.”

If I look for a way to run, it’s not like there’s none.

If I’m going to keep living like this, should I try finding one?

‘It’s better than not preparing anything.’

As long as the old man has no intention of telling me what he’s trying to do, I can’t just sit still.

If it comes to it, I have to do something.

I reminded myself of that and moved my feet.

Ssshhhhhh—...

A chill suddenly ran through my body.

“...”

I felt it, but didn’t show it.

I kept walking, left my face and body the same.

I knew better than anyone that I must never show a difference.

Haa.

A sigh rose from inside on its own.

‘...Why is it a mess again.’

I thought that as I looked at what stood at the entry to the forest road.

A rather small frame and eyes tilted like something was fully enraged.

A head of thick white hair and a thin, wrinkled face.

At a glance just a mean-tempered old man.

But I knew who that old man was.

‘Poison Sovereign.’

The Tang Clan’s former head, and like the Sword Saint, a hero who distinguished himself in the War of Righteous and Demonic.

There’s a saying that at a single sweep of his hand, demonic men melted—he was a being who reached the heavens in poison arts.

‘He died a few years back of old age.’

And now—

‘He’s a ghost, a bound spirit.’

For some reason he’d stuck to the Tang Clan and refused to pass on.

‘...He really does look ill-tempered.’

They called Poison Dragon the Poison Sovereign reborn.

I don’t know about talent, but he did resemble him.

It was something even Yoo Cheongil acknowledged.

If Poison Dragon grows old, he’ll look exactly like that.

‘Yikes. Scary.’

I had no intention of looking at him, but if he were alive I probably couldn’t even meet his eyes.

The one bit of luck—

‘He’s still better than Yoo Cheongil.’

Unlike Yoo Cheongil, you could tell the Poison Sovereign was a ghost.

At least his legs were hazy.

‘That old man is so vivid it’s absurd. Right—no matter what, this level at least is what you expect.’

The Poison Sovereign was vivid in his own way, but below the ankles he looked somewhat transparent.

By comparison, Yoo Cheongil was the same as living people except for lacking a shadow.

‘In my previous life, even that level was colossal.’

In my last life, I’d hardly ever seen ghosts on the Poison Sovereign’s level.

To begin with—

‘People like that usually leave no regrets.’

They’d done everything they had to in life, so most of them had no regrets to leave.

‘Which makes it scarier.’

What kind of regret would a being like that need to remain a ghost?

I really didn’t even want to imagine it.

‘Just walk past...’

One entanglement is enough.

So I’d ignore with everything I had.

Step.

I walked slowly down the forest path.

The chill grew stronger and stronger. That too I had to ignore.

‘Just °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° quietly.’

I’ll pass quietly like this. As long as I don’t show any sign, he’ll never—

“Child of the Blue Moon Sect.”

—notice...?

“I know you can see me. Stop a moment.”

“....”

Hearing that, I thought my heart would drop.