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Chapter 8: The Martial Competition

“What’s this nonsense?”

Dao Wang (Sword King) Peng Zhou.

The pillar of the Righteous Faction known as the Four Great Clans, now dubbed the Three Great Clans, and the leader of the Hebei Peng Clan.

In his heyday as a late-stage talent, he was called the Ink Dragon, and when he transitioned from late-stage talent to being active in the alliance, he took on the moniker Iron Dragon Lord.

A martial artist of transformation realm standards, he ranks above a white-grade master.

In the past, he was highly regarded for his strength during the war with the Demonic Faction.

Even now, he isn’t just an old relic—the legend still stands strong.

But.

He has a track record of running for the leader of the alliance a few times only to fail each time.

This basically means:

“His fighting capability isn’t bad, his position is decent, and he has some political ambition.”

His temperament leans towards being domineering and aggressive.

“Easy to read…”

Not that he lacks martial artist prowess, but as a clan leader, his stats seem a bit lacking.

“In that case, the Sword King would be better.”

Despite not having a high status among the families, the Sword King feels sneakier compared to Dao Wang.

This might sound like an insult, but it’s something a clan leader should possess to some extent.

“Which is something Dao Wang lacked.”

That’s likely why he lost the position of alliance leader, aside from his capacity.

All this is fine.

If he were just an ordinary person, this would be the end of the story.

However.

“What on earth is he doing in this martial arts tournament?”

Questions arise.

Dao Wang has nothing to gain from participating here.

Status? He already has more than enough.

Fame? Even if he performed well in the tournament, it wouldn’t significantly elevate his reputation.

He stands to gain nothing from this martial arts tournament.

Everyone is certain of this but doesn’t think too deeply about it.

Why?

“Because it’s fun!”

Dao Wang shows off his martial arts skills in the tournament.

That’s already enough to draw people’s attention.

And among those people…

“There are certainly plenty of associates tied to the alliance.”

I muse.

This works in favor of the alliance.

No matter how foolish Dao Wang might be, would he be oblivious to this?

I doubt it.

Thus the answer is one:

“Dao Wang came to participate in the martial arts tournament to cooperate with the alliance.”

Whether it’s a request.

Or collaboration.

Or even intimidation.

It doesn’t really matter.

What’s important is that Dao Wang complied with it.

He should be viewed as a person associated with the Martial Alliance.

No matter whether it was voluntary or forced.

[Peng Zhou of the Hebei Peng Clan versus Seo Anbi and Bi Yi-jin.]

“…”

I stroked my chin while looking at the names on the bracket.

“Hmm.”

How did it come to this?

I tilted my head at the board.

“What’s the intention behind this?”

When Shin Ryong and Wi Seol-Ah were paired, the intention was quite clear.

But this time, it isn’t visible. Did they just throw names together?

“Not quite.”

I suddenly realized.

“That’s likely making it even more captivating.”

The successor of the Pejon takes a beating from Dao Wang.

That’s the kind of scene they must be expecting.

They certainly don’t think Shin Ryong will win.

“Anything could happen though.”

Considering Shin Ryong’s previous matchups, they might have some expectations.

But it’s an absurd notion.

“At most, a late-stage talent could defeat a King-level.”

That situation has never happened historically.

No one would be expecting it.

“Perhaps because they don’t know this old man’s true identity.”

I narrowed my eyes, staring at the black-haired Gu Prince.

His features, unlike his temperament, appeared benign.

In the world, he was known as the Two Dragons, a late-stage talent.

Yet hidden beneath that innocent facade lurked an ancient watchdog, known by the moniker Pejon.

“…Goodness, two successors of the Pejon gathered.”

“The Sword Moonblade, rumored to have reached transformation realm. What about Two Dragons?”

Fascination drones around those unique individuals, drawing eyes solely to this spot.

Should I cast an energy barrier? I thought for a moment.

“So, what should I do?”

Pejon suddenly asked me.

“What do you mean?”

Upon hearing my response, Pejon gives a slight grin.

His expression is intimidating. Though his mouth smiles, his eyes do not.

“The fool from the Peng family.”

“…Are you referring to Dao Wang?”

“Ugh, King? That’s a bit too much for that moron.”

His sharp evaluation drew a scoff from me.

To Pejon, the leader of the Peng family was merely an imbecile.

“His father was somewhat competent, but the son is utterly useless.”

“Are you talking about the former Dao Wang?”

The former Dao Wang, Peng Taiwoo.

He was the previous leader of the Peng family who died over a decade ago.

“Yes, his sword was heavy, and he displayed that unique charisma of his bloodline.”

It felt like listening to a tale.

Stories of Pejon’s past spoke of a time that wasn’t peaceful, when the war with the Demonic Faction was still rife.

“But he really dropped the ball with his child.”

His expression bore little regret as Pejon continued.

“However, this one’s not too bad.”

I shifted my gaze toward Pejon’s hand gesture.

It pointed at the seated Dao Wang, and more specifically, at the young man beside him.

Peng Woojin.

“Unlike his father, he seems decent.”

If Pejon deemed someone good, they’d surely be a remarkable genius, and naturally, Peng Woojin was no exception.

“Mm.”

Peng Woojin lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine.

He seemed to notice my gaze.

We locked eyes, and he flashed a smile while waving his hand in my direction.

“Gu Prince!”

“…”

Good grief. No need to shout.

I barely inclined my head to acknowledge him.

Amidst this, Dao Wang looked at Peng Woojin, and the latter awkwardly grinned under that gaze.

It seemed a signal to shut it down.

“Heh.”

Was that amusing? Pejon chuckled lightly.

“Seems like he’s a bit broken.”

“…”

“Well, a martial artist must drop some weight to fly high. You can’t carry everything and expect to soar.”

“What nonsense. Do you fancy yourself smart for calling him insane?”

Thud.

“Ugh!”

Of all places, right in the shin!

“You’re getting cockier, aren’t you? I must temper you into submission someday…”

“…I didn’t think you would ever show mercy.”

You hit me daily and then act as if you spare me sometimes.

“Isn’t that why you are in this condition?”

“If this is my innate trait, then hitting me won’t change much.”

“…You think you’re clever.”

What could possibly change with the bloodline from your family? If I could be a decent human being just by getting hit, I wouldn’t have lived like this across my past lives.

“Anyway. What’s your intention?”

“So… what is it?”

What is he going on about?

I was tempted to sigh, but then—

“That fool. Should I let him go?”

“…!”

Pejon’s words caught me off guard.

His expression unchanged.

Those black eyes that mirror mine.

I swallowed nervously.

‘…That sly old man.’

This man seeks to witness the limits of his martial arts.

It seemed he was oblivious to everything else, but Pejon had a keen eye for many things.

The same is true now.

“…It’s fine. Do as you wish.”

“Hmm, understood.”

Upon my response, he promptly yawned.

This confidence before a duel with Dao Wang is astonishing.

Those words imply that he can manipulate the outcome of the duel at will.

Could Pejon truly win against Dao Wang in his current state?

Of course, I harbor no such doubts.

This man is Pejon.

That alone is enough.

‘…That’s settled.’

I shifted my gaze from him to Seongyul, who had been restless all this time.

His inability to relax caught my attention.

I swiftly tapped the back of his head.

Thud!

“Ow!?”

Startled, Seongyul looked up at me with wide eyes.

“Hey, what’s with the panic? Why are you acting all frantic?”

“…”

“It’s not like it’s a life-or-death situation?”

“…Ah.”

A cloaked warning. Even after that, Seongyul’s state remained unchanged.

‘Hmm.’

He looks a bit off.

Is he anxious about facing the Kunlun Sect’s disciple? Or is it simply because of our meeting?

I couldn’t tell.

‘At the very least, he doesn’t seem too worried on their end.’

The Kunlun disciples weren’t paying much attention to Seongyul.

Odd indeed.

They knew each other, didn’t they?

‘Upon checking, it doesn’t seem like there were any significant updates.’

I did gather information about Kunlun from time to time, but none concerning Seongyul.

In fact, there were no mentions about the Heaven Kill Spirit at all.

‘Didn’t the Shooting Star Sword have him tagged along once?’

Why are there no records about Seongyul?

It’s a strange occurrence.

‘Even if Kunlun is in a tight spot, it’s unusual.’

After the death of the Shooting Star Sword, the new sect leader took the mantle.

Following that, several issues emerged while they were still focused on stabilizing the sect.

‘That’s likely why not many could attend.’

Since the alliance announced the martial arts tournament, they did express willingness to participate. But given the situation, it likely meant the Kunlun Sect only sent a handful of representatives.

In other words, it’s a clear indicator that things haven’t been going well for Kunlun.

‘What’s the matter on their end?’

All sorts of issues seem to be arising.

Including Emei, if Kunlun is having trouble, it could spell real disaster.

‘The Gu Sect is riddled with trouble too.’

Unbeknownst to me, everyone seems to be in poor condition. Properties aside from the Gu Sect seem to be in disarray.

‘If this is how it is for seasoned clans that have stood for centuries…’

Still, some remain stable—like Hwasan and a few others.

‘Yet, amid this chaos, the Martial Alliance is throwing a festival.’

Now that’s a level of absurdity.

They mask their rotting core with a facade of grandeur.

Just a little poking reveals everything.

The state of management is chaotic beyond belief.

‘Ugh.’

No words could properly express this.

I simply patted Seongyul’s shoulder absentmindedly.

“Ah, just in case, I’ll mention this.”

“…Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Hearing that, Seongyul’s eyes drooped slightly.

“…Yes. I’ll do my best to stay hidden.”

“What are you talking about?”

As Seongyul was about to ramble nonsense, I corrected him.

“Watch your strength, idiot.”

“Yes?”

“Think clearly and wield properly. You can’t act like when you sparred with me.”

“…?”

“You understand?”

“Yes, yes… I got it.”

His expression showed he had no idea.

Is this going to be okay?

“…”

Should I elaborate further or just keep quiet?

Well… I suppose he’ll figure it out.

With that thought, I decided to move on.

Emerging from the waiting room, I headed to another location.

It was the spectators’ seats designed for watching the sparring stage.

I had been here before, but the spot was slightly different this time.

Since they hosted those who made it to the main rounds, the alliance had arranged special seating differently from the general audience.

I looked up.

The shade was intense.

This facility vastly differed from the standard seats.

‘This is outright special treatment.’

Since they made it to the main rounds, was this a reward for their effort?

It seems simple that way, but in reality, it’s far more intricate.

‘Making it to the main rounds means you have potential.’

They could be descendants of prestigious houses.

Or a martial artist sponsored by powerful factions.

Or, they could be superb talents unsponsored.

The Martial Alliance evidently assessed this and made preparations in advance.

‘People love feeling special.’

As has always been the case, this isn’t any different.

Towering factions supporting the alliance.

Clan leaders and sect heads from prestigious families.

All are likely observing the tournament from the pavilion.

This kind of special treatment is undoubtedly appealing.

In a sense, it’s sheer genius.

Yet…

‘It’s mind-numbing.’

The glaring reality puts a heavy weight on my chest.

I took a random seat.

Unlike last time, there was ample space available.

They even provided a letter with the match bracket, but I declined it.

Everyone who should remember has already memorized it.

After sitting down, time passed.

“…Then, let’s commence the third main round…”

Before I knew it, the judge stepped up to the sparring stage, signaling the opening of the event.

As he finished speaking, martial artists began to appear one after another.

Unlike before, there was a notable change this time—only the sparring stage was being utilized.

‘From the third round onward, the caliber will surely rise. I guess this is to indicate the need for focus.’

While many meanings could exist, I was too tired to ponder them all.

I simply supported my chin with my hand to concentrate my gaze.

I could sense martial artists watching me from around, but I ignored it.

‘Let’s see.’

Will today’s sparring pass without incident?

My sole interest lay there.

 

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