The World's Greatest is Dead Chapter 210

THUD.

Tang Cheon-il collapsed, bleeding. I couldn’t even tell how many tis he’d rolled across the floor.

He’d been blown back almost to the edge of the stage—one step from flying out of bounds—then he went down as-is, panting hard.

[Ah, damn.]

“Ah, damn.”

Yoo Cheongil and I reacted at the exact sa ti.

Tang Cheon-il lay there without the slightest twitch. The blood seeping out in small streaks said his condition wasn’t good at all.

“Damn. The Poison Dragon went down.”

“...He kept dodging, and this ti he couldn’t?”

“Tsk tsk.......”

The crowd started spitting out reactions right away. Watching them, I frowned.

‘Yeah. Should’ve ended it fast.’

We missed the timing. And even beyond that—

‘Is that bastard insane?’

I was this close to letting out a gasp at the potential Peng Dojun had.

‘He figured that out imdiately?’

That guy’s expression had been subtle the whole ti. Now it looked like he’d been thinking about how the Poison Dragon was dodging.

And then—

‘He let himself get hit on purpose to confirm it.’

A few exchanges. Inside that, he kept letting the daggers tear into his body while he checked and checked.

How it was possible. He kept repeating it, trying to pin it down, and—

‘He got it.’

He pinpointed his own problem.

The wrist. He realized what was coming from there—and then he didn’t stop at realizing it. He applied it.

‘He mixed in a feint.’

He used the wrist reaction in reverse. He threw his fist to where Tang Cheon-il was about to move.

And this was the result.

Tang Cheon-il dropped after taking it flush to the face.

‘...It’s over.’

I knew it the mont I saw it. That bastard isn’t getting up.

The fact he hadn’t twitched at all ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) was proof.

A cold silence flowed through the arena, and in that gap, Peng Dojun slowly loosened his body.

“Whew.”

Tap, tap. Like he was brushing off dust, he swept his martial uniform a few tis with his hands, then—

SHRAAAK—!

He suddenly grabbed his martial uniform and wrung it hard.

And then—

TRICKLE—.

Amazingly, the blood in the fabric ran down in streams.

How much blood did he even lose? And on top of that—how the hell was his face not changing at all after bleeding that much?

It was enough to make questions bubble up.

He wrung it hard a few more tis.

“Not bad.”

Peng Dojun said it with the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Thanks to you, I realized sothing I didn’t know. For that, I’ll give you my thanks.”

“.......”

With Tang Cheon-il unable to answer, Peng Dojun kept talking.

“You still look like a worthless idiot? I’ll take that part back. Ah, of course.”

SNICK.

“Still doesn’t seem like you’re worth rembering the na of.”

That was it.

Like that was the full value of words he had to spend, Peng Dojun dusted himself off.

As he spoke, the referee walked slowly toward Tang Cheon-il.

“.......”

He placed a hand on Tang Cheon-il’s back to check his condition.

And then—

“...Hebei Peng Clan Peng Dojun versus Tang Clan Tang Cheon-il. Peng Dojun vic—”

Right as he was about to properly announce Peng Dojun’s victory—

GRAB—!

“Hm?”

Tang Cheon-il—lying there like a corpse—snatched the referee’s hand.

“Not yet.......”

He slowly pushed himself up.

“Not yet.”

When he lifted his head, it was a complete ss. His face was sared with blood, and it was still running from his nose, but—

“Not yet. It’s not over.”

Tang Cheon-il’s eyes weren’t dead.

“Huh?”

Peng Dojun frowned when he saw it.

How is he getting up?

‘No way.’

By Peng Dojun’s senses, it should’ve already been over.

It was beyond strange that he was lifting his body like that.

Maybe because of that—

“Interesting?”

Interest sparked again in Peng Dojun’s eyes.

*****

No matter how hazy the mind gets, there are mories that never disappear even if you die.

Anyone has mories like that.

Tang Cheon-il was no different.

—I-I don’t want to.

When he was very, very young.

And his little sister—who’d been even younger than him—said it with tears in her voice.

—I... I don’t want to do this... I don’t want to learn it.......

The way she held back the tears that wanted to spill—forcing them down in streams—was ugly.

And the way he watched helplessly was uglier than that.

Powerless.

They called him the Tang Clan’s hope, and it still ant nothing—on the day he was utterly defeated by a sister younger than himself.

Worse—after that day, his little sister declared she wouldn’t learn martial arts, and the pride he’d been clinging to was smashed to pieces.

That day was hell for Tang Cheon-il.

How could that happen?

What was he missing?

He’d grabbed a dagger years earlier.

He’d swung a short saber years more than anyone.

How many poisonous herbs had he swallowed? How many venomous insects had he killed with his own hands?

Even adding all of it together, he couldn’t beat even that little sister.

That burning, broken pride turned into an inferiority complex aid at his opponent.

—Why are you saying you won’t do it? Get out there and pick up a dagger, now!

His sister beca the target.

—What? Refining? tallurgy is more fun? There’s a limit to how stupid you can be. What’s even important about that kind of thing?

He got angry at the kid who said this was more fun than martial arts.

Like this was the ti to learn that. Like she should go out right now and learn martial arts so she could be useful to the family.

He cursed her and trampled her pride.

And even while he did it, he knew.

In the end, the only thing being trampled was his own pride.

And that her choice carried fault that belonged to him too.

‘Because I’m incompetent.’

Because he was incompetent.

His sister knew he’d ford an inferiority complex toward her.

Like she still blad herself for breaking her older brother with her own hands—

He also knew she ran away and headed sowhere else.

That’s why. That’s why Tang Cheon-il couldn’t accept it even more.

—Incompetent bitch.

His mouth couldn’t carry his emotions.

Even knowing who was truly incompetent, he spat the words out like an idiot.

But even while listening to those insults, his little sister just quietly did what she needed to do.

He was curious.

Why she kept going through that, even while being insulted like that.

‘Is it really fun?’

Had she found so kind of refuge where she ran to?

And also—

‘If that place is a refuge...’

Then there was no reason for her to co out at all.

So even while Tang Cheon-il spoke, he acted differently.

One day, he went to his father—the Poison King—and spoke.

—You want her to be allowed into Iron River?

—Yes.

So his sister could stay in Iron River.

Hearing that, the Poison King stared at Tang Cheon-il with his usual sharp eyes.

—Why?

—I don’t even want to see her. I just want her to stay there forever.

Pathetic words. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he got punished for saying that.

—Fine.

But the Poison King, surprisingly, didn’t say much.

He simply—

—But there’s a condition.

He set one condition for his son.

—Fully et the family’s expectations. If you can’t do that, then this doesn’t happen.

—.......

Fully et the family’s expectations.

Tang Cheon-il didn’t hesitate.

That was how his life as the Poison Dragon began.

The Poison Sovereign reborn.

All the elders’ expectations poured onto him.

He hadn’t cared about being the heir apparent or any other seat in the first place. He had an older brother, and he didn’t mind that.

To Tang Cheon-il, only one thing mattered.

To hold his place firmly as the Poison Sovereign reborn.

That was his only wish.

He wanted to live that life—

But a problem happened.

—The Poison Dragon lost to the Black-Grand Saber in a single blow.

The day he went to the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering.

Tang Cheon-il had to kneel before another sky.

One blow.

Not only did he lose in a single blow—

—Worthless idiot.

He even had to hear those miserable words from the one who put him down.

His pride was crushed. And his standing shook.

Even after reaching the Seven Prodigies, he’d been beaten so contemptuously by soone of another Five Great Clans bloodline.

That scraped every nerve Tang Cheon-il had raw.

‘This can’t happen.’

He had to get more desperate.

If it shook, he had to straighten it back out.

So he spent his days throwing himself into training like a madman.

A single obsession: revenge.

And as ti passed—

—The Sword Saint’s successor is coming to Sichuan.

He t him.

An announcent newly made by the Blue Moon Sect.

They said the successor of Sword Saint Yoo Cheongil had appeared.

‘The Sword Saint?’

Tang Cheon-il’s eyes widened. Not only had the strongest under heaven’s successor appeared—

He was coming to Sichuan?

‘Could this be a chance?’

Maybe it was a chance.

Tang Cheon-il nodded.

Yoo Cheongil—the greatest under heaven—was his grandfather’s close friend.

If Tang Cheon-il beat his successor, couldn’t he steady his standing a little more?

With that in mind, on the day the successor arrived, Tang Cheon-il went to see him.

His first impression was bad.

‘Handso.’

Just a handso, frail-looking guy.

That was the full extent of it.

He didn’t look particularly strong, and his eyes looked dull, like there was no will in him at all.

Was a guy like this really the Sword Saint’s successor?

He couldn’t understand.

But it didn’t matter.

Sothing else mattered more.

If anything, it was easier if he was weak. Tang Cheon-il could use him to shore up his own standing.

So he picked a fight.

He didn’t care about his father’s mood. He kept needling him.

But—

—That’s enough.

The anger didn’t co from the guy.

It ca from soone else.

—KRGH!

His little sister.

Tang Yeran rushed him.

And he took it helplessly—getting beaten up for the first ti in a long while.

It hurt. His little sister was still strong.

And while he was getting hit, Tang Cheon-il looked into Tang Yeran’s eyes.

She was angry. The one who never showed emotion—she was angry at him.

Maybe because he saw those eyes—

Even though he could’ve fought back, Tang Cheon-il just took the beating quietly.

It was—

welco.

His sister getting angry at him.

The problem was—

‘Because of that guy.’

It grated on him that the reason she got angry was because of that dull-eyed bastard.

‘A guy I can’t stand.’

GRIND.

Just thinking about it made his teeth grind.

What the hell was that guy?

What the hell could he be, to make her react like that?

It drove him insane—

And yet.

‘Damn it.’

The guy was strong, completely unlike Tang Cheon-il expected.

The day they finally clashed, Tang Cheon-il was crushed by the Sword Saint’s successor.

By Bang Sungyeon.

That bastard had been hiding his strength.

And on top of that—

‘What? He saved the Tang Clan?’

Did he say he saved the Tang Clan from the Unorthodox faction?

That was bullshit of the highest order.

By the ti Tang Cheon-il noticed, the guy had beco the Tang Clan’s hero.

And even—

‘And what the hell is Myriad-Flowers Rain, you lunatic—’

The secret art the Sword Saint left behind?

He even restored the Tang Clan’s Myriad-Flowers Rain.

It was over.

This guy couldn’t be touched.

When Tang Cheon-il sank down like a man in despair—

—Learn Myriad-Flowers Rain from Young Lord Bang.

—What?

The Poison King handed him an absurd mission.

‘God damn it.’

Could things get tangled any worse than this?

He had to learn martial arts from the very guy he’d looked down on.

Tang Cheon-il’s temperant couldn’t accept that.

Not ever.

But—

—If you don’t want to, I’ll push the youngest’s engagent.

—.......

The Poison King knew Tang Cheon-il’s weakness perfectly.

‘Damn it.’

That was why this had happened.

Why he had to crawl like this, unable to say a word, even as rumors spread that he was waiting on the Little Sword Saint like so attendant.

That was why—

But—

‘What kind of person is he?’

As ti went by, the more questions Tang Cheon-il had about Bang Sungyeon.

What was he?

Maybe because he’d seen him so many tis—looking into Bang Sungyeon’s eyes, Tang Cheon-il felt sothing different.

Those weren’t dull eyes.

‘They’re wide.’

It wasn’t that he saw nothing.

It was that he was seeing far too much.

Tang Cheon-il watched Bang Sungyeon.

Even while eating, even while moving.

His gaze was on their group—or it was on sothing else.

When he stared into empty air, it was eerie, sure, but—

‘He’s not not looking.’

He’s looking at sothing.

And doing sothing.

An atmosphere completely unlike other martial artists.

And he could tell Bang Sungyeon held piles of secrets no one else knew.

He didn’t know what those secrets were—

But Tang Cheon-il was sure.

Bang Sungyeon wasn’t ordinary.

As if to erase any doubt—

—Listen carefully.

Bang Sungyeon told him how to deal with the Black-Grand Saber.

And unbelievably, it was true.

‘What the hell...’

What was that guy?

As nothing but questions piled up—

KWAANG—!!

“KHRGH!”

Tang Cheon-il’s body rolled across the floor again.

CRACK.

“KGH—!”

He felt his arm fracture. He barely blocked it with inner power, but—

“Where are you looking.”

“......!”

This ti it ca from the front.

SWISH—!

He dodged—barely.

No, he didn’t.

KWAANG—!

“KUHK!”

The mont he evaded, a fist dropped from above and drilled into the crown of his head.

THUNK.

His forehead slamd into the ground and bounced him back up.

GRAB—! This ti a foot punched into his abdon.

His vision twisted. When he ca to his senses, he was rolling at the very edge of the tournant stage.

“GUUUK!”

The impact to his abdon forced vomit up on its own.

His vision pulled away.

His body was at its limit.

“Hmph.”

A snort reached him.

“You looked like you might be okay for a second. Guess not. Looks like the only thing that got better is how much you can take.”

“Kuhek.”

“Quit. It’s aningless.”

He staggered and forced himself up again.

Nausea spilled over into blood.

“...Not yet.”

Did a smashed-up body still have pride packed inside it?

Tang Cheon-il spat out words he didn’t want to say.

Just stop.

Like the Black-Grand Saber said—what aning did this have?

It was pointless stubbornness.

You—

I—

We can’t reach that bastard.

“.......”

The things that surfaced in his head on their own pressed down on Tang Cheon-il’s body like lead.

But—

“Not yet.”

Even while thinking all of it clearly, the words he spat were the sa.

His head and his mouth always moved separately.

“.......”

Tang Cheon-il’s gaze drifted sowhere.

He searched the crowd for blue eyes.

He found them.

Bang Sungyeon was staring at him with a face twisted up.

Why did he look at him of all people? Even Tang Cheon-il didn’t know.

If there was a problem—

—You can do it.

It was that human’s careless words.

What were those words, really?

Why did sothing that trivial keep making him stand up again?

“Not y—”

“Tsk.”

SMACK—!!

His head snapped back.

The Black-Grand Saber’s fist drilled into Tang Cheon-il’s face, and—

ZIP—!

“......!”

The Black-Grand Saber lifted his head. A dagger had grazed his face.

“Hah? You dodged?”

A strange light seeped into his eyes. He dodged. Not perfectly, but he barely bled off the impact.

And in that gap, he even threw a dagger.

‘Look at this bastard?’

What? His stamina should already be at its limit. How is he moving?

‘Did my instincts get it wrong?’

This should’ve ended a long ti ago. But sohow, his consciousness just wouldn’t cut out.

Of course—

‘Doesn’t matter.’

KWAANG—!!

The Black-Grand Saber kicked Tang Cheon-il in the chest, and Tang Cheon-il flew back again.

And then he staggered and stood up again.

It was getting annoying.

His stubbornness was impressive, but the interest was already gone.

“...I really should end this.”

FWOOOOO—.

The Black-Grand Saber gathered inner power at the tip of his fist—thick, dense.

aningless pounding.

Just a montary interest.

Now he was going to finish it.

Right as he slowly clenched his fist—

“...One by one, separately.”

“Hm?”

Tang Cheon-il’s voice reached him.

“What?”

He asked again, but Tang Cheon-il only stared straight at the Black-Grand Saber with a wobbling body.

“...Delicately... the inner power....”

“...What are you even saying.”

He got it.

‘He lost it.’

Did the mind he’d been clinging to finally slip? His eyes were already gone.

‘Tsk.’

Peng Dojun put strength into his lower body.

He ends it with this strike.

That was his call as he launched himself—

“...It has to be a downpour.”

Tang Cheon-il moved.

“......!”

And in that instant, Peng Dojun froze without aning to.

“What is it?”

What? Why did he freeze?

He couldn’t understand it.

He stared at Tang Cheon-il with startled eyes.

“Downpour.......”

Tang Cheon-il muttered.

And looking at him, Peng Dojun’s instincts spoke.

‘Danger.’

Sothing’s dangerous. His instinct whispered it.

“Hah!”

The corner of Peng Dojun’s mouth rose.

Danger ant—

fun.

“There’s sothing there!”

There’s sothing.

Expectation he’d thought dead surged back up.

“Then I have to see it.”

Sothing strong enough to make his instincts react.

It was strange that he was only showing it now, but Peng Dojun got curious.

“Co on. Show m—!”

Right as he was about to shout—

Tap.

A small sound popped.

Tang Cheon-il reached a hand toward sothing.

The sky.

“Hm?”

Why the sky?

Peng Dojun lifted his head like he couldn’t believe it—

“...Huh?”

He couldn’t see the sky.

What he saw above the open heavens wasn’t the sun.

Daggers.

Enough to blot out that blue sky.

And—

‘This is...’

Sothing was wrapped around every single dagger.

A chill ran through him.

The instant he saw it, goosebumps rose along Peng Dojun’s back.

“Pour down.”

Tang Cheon-il forced strength into his hazy voice.

And then—

FWAAAA—!!!

From the sky, the cruelest rain the Tang Clan had ever created poured down.