The World's Greatest is Dead Chapter 70

"......"

"......"

We held each other’s gaze in silence for a mont.

Tang Yeran was looking at with gemstone-bright eyes.

I matched her gaze, then, in the end, glanced away.

Silence held.

A few wordless seconds slipped by.

For , they were deeply uncomfortable.

After that brief stretch passed—

A smile ford on Tang Yeran’s face as she watched .

"How did you know?"

"......"

There it was.

I’d half hoped she might just let it slide, but that was aningless.

"...What do you an?"

So I played dumb first.

"Co on. You know."

As expected, it didn’t work.

What now? Do I just bolt?

I tried to move my legs with that thought in mind, but—

Clench—!

"...!"

Tang Yeran seized my forearm.

Oh, hell. That grip had force.

This wasn’t sothing I could peel off by strength alone.

"How did you know?"

As she spoke, she tightened her fingers around my arm.

It was getting to the point of pain.

I held on with effort and told her,

"...Is that so important?"

At my question—was it really that important that I’d noticed—her smile deepened.

"It is. It’s sothing no one outside the clan knows."

"Oh... Is it the kind of secret that shouldn’t get out?"

"If possible, yes?"

"Haha. I see."

Damn it. So it was exactly the kind of thing I shouldn’t have pretended to know.

I forced a smile and wiped cold sweat.

“Tch.”

Could I still skate through this? I weighed it for a beat, but looking at Tang Yeran’s eyes on and her hand on my arm, I knew.

“She’s not letting go for free.”

She clearly had no intention of releasing .

And what was with that strength?

I flicked my eyes down at her hand.

"Ha..."

I let out a low sigh, then continued, slow and even.

"You’ve got calluses on your palm."

"I do. I’m a martial artist too."

Born of the Tang Clan, of course she was.

So of course she’d have calluses on her hands.

"But you guessed from that? Then you just took a wild shot."

A flicker of disappointnt crossed her eyes.

If it was a guess, why be disappointed? Ridiculous—but I ignored it and went on.

"Right. A martial artist would have calluses."

I pictured the pattern on her skin.

"But the Tang Clan isn’t known for gripping swords, and the callus pattern on your hand is the kind you get from clamping down hard on a stick."

Tang Yeran twitched at my words.

"And another thing."

I moved a finger, indicating the back of her hand and her forearm.

"Calluses are one thing, but you don’t usually see burn marks."

"...!"

Her eyes widened and she looked down at her arm.

The long sleeve hid most of it, but it couldn’t hide the ones on the back of her hand.

"And—"

"I can sll it."

"...Excuse ?"

At that, she sniffed at her own scent, flustered.

Her little snuffling was oddly loud to my ears.

"Do I sll? I wash well..."

"No, not a foul sll. It’s the sll of iron."

That distinctive tallic tang.

Or maybe you’d call it the fishy breath of heat.

The scent I’d caught as soon as we arrived at the Tang grounds was peculiarly strong on her.

"And there’s your strangely tanned skin."

Most of the Tang Clan’s martial artists had pale skin.

Tang Gyeongak and Tang Jun were like that, and the ones I’d passed on the way looked similar.

Whether it’s a side-effect of hidden-weapons training or sothing else, I couldn’t say, but unlike Tang Yeran, they tended toward white.

But a few—those who weren’t martial artists, the ones watching us from a distance—

n who looked, at a glance, like smiths—were noticeably sun-darkened.

And the feeling those people gave off was markedly similar to Tang Yeran’s.

"Odd calluses, shallow burns, the sll of iron, and tanned skin."

And lastly—

"Most people don’t lunge at a blade that belongs to soone else, but judging from your visible reaction, you would."

"..."

"Am I wrong?"

"Well..."

Once I’d laid it all out, the pressure on my arm finally eased.

Rustle.

She stepped back and a twig cracked underfoot.

"Ha-ha."

Tang Yeran laughed out loud.

"...You’re remarkable. When they said you were the Sword Saint’s heir, I didn’t expect this flavor."

"That old— No, do you know our master?"

"What martial artist in the world doesn’t know the Sword Saint?"

"No, I ant your tone sounds like you’ve actually seen him."

"Hmm..."

She thought a mont, then said,

"When I was very young, briefly."

A gaze dipped in reminiscence.

I nodded as I watched it.

"I see."

Given her age, it would’ve been when she was really little.

"I saw Elder Yoo when he ca to see my grandfather, and the feeling I got then is quite different from what I feel from you, Young Master."

"In what way?"

"...The elder was hot and intense. Extrely."

"Ah..."

That hit with absolute clarity.

It needed no further explanation.

"What about , then?"

If Yoo Cheongil burned hot, what did I give off?

Curious, I asked, and Tang Yeran said,

"Cold."

Her eyes fixed on .

"And sharp."

It sounded like a perfect reversal. I gave a thin smile and asked,

"Is that praise?"

"Who knows. It’s just words—neither praise nor insult. It’s simply unexpected."

"Hmm."

She ant exactly what she said.

Then—

"Which brings to this."

Tang Yeran suddenly put on a subtle look and spoke, and seeing it reminded of what I’d forgotten.

Ah, right.

She’d co because she wanted sothing from .

She’d asked to see Full Moon, hadn’t she?

Just once—her life’s wish—she’d do anything, just let her see it.

She’d begged that hard.

"...Mm."

Full Moon, huh.

Was that sothing I could just show because I wanted to?

"It’s with the Poison King right now."

It’s not like I could just go and take it back.

More than that—

"The fact that she ca to ask —"

—ant the Poison King wouldn’t permit it.

Or it ant she’d already failed to get his consent.

So she’d co to the owner.

"In that case, there’s nothing I can do either."

If I went along, I’d be going against the Poison King’s will. That wasn’t an option.

"How do I refuse?"

What was the best way to turn her down?

I thought a mont, then decided.

"What’s to choose. Just refuse."

Just say no. Nothing else to it.

With that thought, I readied my answer.

And Tang Yeran said to .

This was the mont.

"Will you marry ?"

"No."

"...Pardon?"

"...Huh?"

"Why not?"

"No— What?"

...What did she just say?

My face tightened at the words that weren’t what I’d expected.

****

Clunk—

Rrrrrrk—!

Unidentifiable noises echoed through a dim space.

The air was thick with damp, and sothing about it felt unpleasant and oppressive.

Burrow deep enough into the passage and a room appeared.

Beyond the darkness, a single lantern filled the inner space with light.

On the rough wall, a long centipede crawled.

Wriggling along the stone and continuing to move, the centipede soon dropped to the floor and climbed the chair in front.

It inched upward and, when it reached its spot—

Crunch—!

A rough hand mashed it dead.

Bits sprayed and scattered across the floor, but the owner of the hand seed unconcerned with the insect that had dirtied his palm.

"So."

Forcing down his seething temper, the man spoke.

"You ran from the Righteous Path, just like that?"

At his words, the one kneeling in front of him shook violently.

"T-that... the only ones left were search teams, so... Ngh!"

He tried to force out an excuse, then shut his mouth.

The pressure pouring off the man clamped his lips shut.

"That’s the end of your excuse?"

"...C-Commander..."

"You handled nothing properly, brought back no information, and on top of it you turned your back and fled from the Righteous Path?"

Crack—!!

He crushed the chair’s armrest in his grip and rose to his feet.

Thud—!

When he straightened, an enormous body ca into view.

A near-eight-chi colossus.

He curled his lip in the dark.

Yellowed teeth flashed in the gloom.

"Grhhh..."

Terrified, the kneeling one spoke through a tremble.

"S-still, Commander...!"

He added, shaking.

"With the ban in place... he can’t speak till he dies. There’s no way the information reaches their ears..."

"Asong..."

Calling the kneeler by na, Asong, the man fisted a hand in his hair.

"You think I’m angry because I don’t know that?"

"C-Commander...!"

"At this rate I’ve no face to see the Palace Lord."

At a ti when they hadn’t even secured proper information.

It looked like the Tang Clan was in the sa boat, but that was all.

They needed to find out before the others, sohow, and still everything was a fog. That was no good.

"And the one the Alliance coaxed isn’t answering anymore, they say."

The Commander of the Guards, was it?

A considerable piece—one the Palace Lord had harbored his own hopes for.

Word was, contact had been cut lately. That must be it.

"They must’ve stepped on his tail."

The Martial Alliance—of all places.

And in Henan, no less—that monster.

The current guardian of Henan, the Moonlit Sword, was there.

I’d expected we couldn’t use him long.

"But for him to be caught already."

That one truly was a monster.

And in that situation—

"Of all people, the ones who found it were from the Blue Moon Sect?"

"..."

"Answer."

"...Y-yes..."

"What a coincidence. Don’t you think?"

"Y-yes..."

Crack—!

Before Asong could finish, the man crushed his head.

Blood splattered and soaked the floor. He stepped through it as he moved on.

The ruined body toppled.

"The Blue Moon Sect, is it."

Even so, the man still didn’t spare it a glance.

"They said they made contact with the Tang Clan."

A disturbance in the great work.

Those who’d clashed then had moved and t the Tang Clan.

Rustle.

Stepping through blood, he took up a letter from the table.

It detailed, in full, the recent goings-on at the Tang Clan.

"Hmm."

He humd low as his eyes swept the page.

"What are you plotting?"

For what reason had the Blue Moon Sect and the Tang Clan t?

He focused there.

Especially on—

"They say the Sword Saint’s heir is there."

The heir and successor °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of Yoo Cheongil, the Sword Saint.

They said that one was there.

In Anhui, he’d killed the Mountain Ghost; he’d beaten the Little Azure Sword and suddenly co to prominence.

The Mountain Ghost—losing him stung.

Handled right, he would’ve been usable.

"And a whelp not even past his coming-of-age killed him?"

He’d been a worm.

On top of that, upon hearing it, his Palace Lord had entertained a question.

How could an heir exist?

"That shouldn’t be possible."

For good reason.

"The Sword Saint was dealt with, for certain, by the Palace Lord."

So that nothing remained.

The Palace Lord would have wiped the Sword Saint’s existence clean.

How, then, had the man left behind an heir?

He couldn’t grasp it.

"Hmph."

He snorted and moved again.

And he was still smiling.

"Better this way."

If the Sword Saint’s heir was here, all the better.

Whether he was truly an heir or not—if he posed a chance of hindrance—

"I’ll cut the sprout now."

Saying so, he whispered softly,

"All for the Heaven-Breaking Palace."

With that, he slipped out into the passage.

And—

[Well now.]

The blue-eyed ghost watching from the ceiling—

[Things are taking an amusing turn. Tsk tsk tsk.]