The World’s Greatest is Dead - Chapter 70

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Heavenly Supreme Has Died – Episode 070
“….”
“….”
We held each other’s gaze in silence for a moment.
Dang Yeeran watched me with eyes like precious gems.
I met her stare, but ultimately averted my gaze awkwardly.
The silence persisted.
A brief moment passed without either of us speaking.
It was an incredibly uncomfortable time for me.
After that brief pause.
A smile bloomed across Dang Yeeran’s face as she watched me.
“How did you know?”
“….”
She finally asked.
I’d harbored a faint hope she might let it slide, but that proved meaningless.
“…Know what, exactly?”
So I decided to play dumb first.
“Oh, come on. You know.”
As expected, it didn’t work.
What now? Should I just bolt?
Thinking that, I tried to move my legs.
Snap—!
“…!”
Dang Yeeran seized my forearm.
Damn. Her grip was formidable.
I couldn’t break free through strength alone.
“How did you know?”
She spoke while gradually tightening her grip on my arm.
It was beginning to hurt.
I barely endured it and spoke to Dang Yeeran.
“…Is that really so important?”
At my question about whether my discovery was truly that significant, Dang Yeeran’s smile deepened.
“It is important. Because only the three clans know about this.”
“Ah…. Is this perhaps a secret that shouldn’t be revealed?”
“If possible?”
“Ha ha. I see.”
Damn. This was something I absolutely shouldn’t pretend to know about.
I forced a laugh while wiping away cold sweat.
‘Gulp.’
Could I possibly get through this smoothly? I considered it briefly, but looking at Dang Yeeran’s eyes fixed on me and the arm gripping mine, I understood.
‘I won’t let go so easily.’
She clearly had no intention of releasing me.
Where did she get such strength?
I glanced down at Dang Yeeran’s hand.
“Haa….”
I exhaled softly, then continued speaking slowly.
“There are calluses on your palm.”
“Yes, there are. I’m a martial artist after all.”
Being born into the Dang Clan, she was naturally a martial artist.
If that were the case, it was only natural that her hands bore calluses.
“But you deduced that from just that? This is basically just a guess.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Dang Yeeran’s eyes.
What? If it was a guess, then it was a guess—why the disappointment?
Though I found it absurd, I ignored it and spoke.
“That’s right. Since you’re a martial artist, calluses would naturally be there.”
I spoke while recalling her calluses.
“The Dang Clan doesn’t wield swords, as far as I know, but the calluses on your hands look like those formed from gripping a staff or rod with great force.”
Dang Yeeran flinched upon hearing my words.
“Moreover.”
I moved my fingers to indicate her hands and arms.
“Setting aside the calluses, burn marks don’t usually appear on people.”
“…!”
Dang Yeeran widened her eyes and looked down at her own arm.
Most of it was hidden beneath long sleeves, but the marks on the back of her hand couldn’t be concealed.
And.
“There’s also a smell.”
“…What?”
At my words, Dang Yeeran seemed flustered as she sniffed her own scent.
The sniffing sound was oddly distinct.
“Do I smell? I wash myself thoroughly…?”
“No, not a foul odor. It’s the scent of metal.”
The distinctive aroma of metal.
Or perhaps the acrid smell of heat.
The scent I had detected upon arriving at the Dang Clan was particularly pronounced coming from her.
“And abnormally darkened skin as well.”
Most martial artists of the Dang Clan had fair skin.
Dang Gyeong-ak and Dang Jun were like that, and the other martial artists I saw on the way were similar.
Whether it was a side effect of training in dark techniques or something else, I couldn’t say, but unlike Dang Yeeran, they had pale complexions.
Yet among them, a few.
Those who weren’t martial artists but watched us from a distance.
These individuals, who were clearly blacksmiths by appearance, bore skin darkened by the forge’s relentless heat.
And Dang Yeeran’s presence carried a strikingly similar quality.
‘Peculiar calluses, shallow burn marks, the scent of iron, and scorched skin.’
And finally.
“Normally, one wouldn’t rush at another’s sword so readily, but judging by the reaction I witnessed, I suspected as much.”
“….”
“Am I wrong?”
“Ah….”
Once I laid bare my observations, the grip on my arm weakened.
Crackle.
A twig snapped beneath my retreating footsteps.
“Ha ha.”
Dang Yeeran laughed aloud.
“…You’re quite remarkable. I never imagined the successor of Elder Geomseong would possess such a presence.”
“That old man… Or rather, our master—you know of him?”
“Is there a martial artist in this world who doesn’t know of the Sword Saint?”
“No, it’s just the way you spoke suggested you’d actually seen him before.”
“Hmm….”
Dang Yeeran paused thoughtfully before speaking.
“Only briefly, when I was very young.”
Her gaze carried the weight of distant memory.
I nodded in acknowledgment.
“I see.”
Considering her age, it must have been a fleeting moment indeed.
“I once saw Elder Yoo when he came to visit my grandfather, and the feeling he emanated was quite different from what I sense from you.”
“How so?”
“…The Elder was burning and intense. Tremendously so.”
“Ah….”
It struck home with unmistakable clarity.
No further explanation was needed.
“And what of me?”
If Yoo Cheon-gil burned with intensity, what was I?
Seized by curiosity, I asked, and Dang Yeeran answered.
“You’re cold.”
Her eyes turned toward me.
“And sharp.”
It seemed like a completely opposite assessment. Hearing this, I let out a soft laugh and asked.
“Is that a compliment?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just an observation—neither praise nor criticism. Simply unexpected.”
“Hmm.”
It was meant in the most literal sense possible.
Then.
“So here’s the thing.”
Dang Yeeran suddenly spoke with a subtle expression, and seeing that, I realized what I had forgotten.
‘Ah, that’s right.’
This woman had come because she wanted something from me.
‘Did she ask to see Manwol?’
Pleading just once, saying it was her lifelong wish and she’d do anything if I would only show her.
She had been yearning for it so desperately.
‘…Hmm.’
Manwol.
Was this something I could show her if I wanted to?
‘Right now she’s entrusted to Dokuou.’
It didn’t seem like I could simply go retrieve her and bring her back.
More than that.
‘The very fact that she came asking me.’
Dokuou would not permit it.
Or rather, it likely meant she had already failed to obtain his permission.
So she came to me, the master.
‘In this situation, I have no choice.’
If I agreed, it would go against Dokuou’s will. That was something I couldn’t do.
‘How do I refuse?’
What manner of refusal should I offer?
After a brief moment of deliberation, I decided.
‘Why overthink it? I’ll just refuse.’
I’ll simply say no. There’s nothing else to be done about it.
As I was preparing my response with that thought.
Dang Yeeran spoke to me.
This was it.
“Will you marry me?”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“…Pardon?”
“Why not?”
“I…. Pardon?”
What did she just…?
My brow furrowed at words so unexpected.

* * *
Clang—
Screeeech—!
An indecipherable sound echoed through the dim space.
The air hung thick with moisture, saturated with an oppressive and deeply unsettling atmosphere.
After burrowing deeper through the passage, a chamber emerged into view.
Beyond the darkness, a single lantern flooded the interior with its amber glow.
A long centipede crawled across the rough stone wall.
Writhing as it climbed, the centipede eventually descended to the floor and scaled the chair positioned before it.
As it wriggled upward toward the seat—
Crunch—!
A calloused hand crushed the centipede to death.
Fragments scattered across the floor, yet the hand’s owner seemed utterly indifferent to the filth now coating his palm.
“So.”
The man spoke, barely containing his seething rage.
“You fled from those orthodox sect bastards?”
At his words, the figure kneeling before him trembled violently.
“Th-that is… only a search party remained… Ugh!”
He attempted to offer an excuse, but his words died in his throat.
The pressure radiating from the man sealed his lips shut.
“Is that where your excuses end?”
“…M-Daeju…”
“You bungled the entire operation, gathered no intelligence whatsoever, and on top of it all, you turned tail and ran from those orthodox sect dogs?”
Crack—!!
The man seized the armrest of his chair and shattered it, then rose to his feet.
Boom—!
As the man straightened his legs, a colossal frame emerged from the shadows.
He stood nearly eight feet tall, an absolutely massive figure.
In the darkness, the man’s lips curled upward.
His yellowed teeth gleamed in the dim light.
“Krrgh…”
The terrified man trembled as he spoke.
“B-but… Daeju…!”
He continued, his voice quavering.
“As long as the seal is in place… they cannot speak until death. There is no way the information will reach their ears…”
“Asong…”
The man gripped the kneeling figure—Asong—by the head.
“Do you think I’m angry because I didn’t know that?”
“D-Daeju…!”
“How can I face the Lord after this?”
At this point, I still hadn’t gathered proper intelligence.
Fortunately, the Dang Clan seemed to be in the same boat, but that was merely a small consolation.
I needed to uncover the truth faster than those bastards, yet remaining shrouded in mystery was far from ideal.
“And apparently, the man the Alliance had been manipulating hasn’t been sending any word.”
The one called Daeju, the escort commander.
He was quite the talent—someone the Palace Master herself had held considerable expectations for.
His communications had ceased recently, or so I’d heard. It was likely true.
“His tail was probably caught.”
Not just anywhere, but within the Martial Arts Alliance.
And if it was Hannam, then that monster.
The Cheonwol Munchu, who was called the guardian of present-day Hannam, was stationed there.
I had anticipated he wouldn’t be useful for long.
‘To think he’d be captured so quickly.’
That man truly was a monster.
And in such circumstances.
“Of all things, the ones who discovered him were from the Cheonwol Gate?”
“….”
“Answer me.”
“…Y-yes….”
“Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“Y-yes….”
Crack—!
Before Asong could finish his response, the man crushed his head.
Blood sprayed, drenching the floor. The man trampled through it as he advanced.
The corpse with its shattered skull collapsed to the ground.
“The Cheonwol Gate.”
Yet the man still didn’t spare a glance.
‘They say it made contact with the Dang Clan.’
An unexpected development in the great enterprise.
Those who had clashed during that incident had apparently moved and met with the Dang Clan.
Squelch.
Treading through the blood, the man seized a letter from the desk.
It contained detailed accounts of recent events unfolding within the Dang Clan.
“Hmm.”
He perused the letter with a low hum.
‘What are they plotting?’
Why had the Cheonwol Gate and the Dang Clan met?
The man focused on that point.
Particularly on one detail.
‘There’s supposedly a successor to the Sword Saint.’
A successor and predecessor of the Sword Saint Yoo Cheon-gil.
He said that man was there.
Not only did he kill Sanchen Gwiin in Anhui, but he also defeated Socheongeom and suddenly rose to prominence.
The matter of Sanchen Gwiin was quite regrettable.
I thought he was someone worth using if handled properly.
‘Killed by a brat not even past his twenties?’
He was a worthless wretch.
Moreover, upon hearing this, his lord harbored doubts.
How could a successor possibly exist?
‘It shouldn’t be possible.’
And for good reason.
‘The lord surely disposed of the Sword Saint thoroughly.’
Leaving nothing behind.
The lord must have certainly erased the Sword Saint’s very existence.
How could he have left behind a successor?
The man could not comprehend it.
“Hmph.”
He exhaled through his nose and resumed walking.
A smile still played across his face.
“Perhaps it worked out well.”
If the Sword Saint’s successor was here, it was actually fortunate.
Whether that man was truly a successor or not, if there was any possibility he could interfere with the mission.
“Then I should simply nip it in the bud now.”
Speaking thus, the man whispered quietly to himself.
“Everything is for Pacheongung.”
The man who spoke those words disappeared into the corridor.
And.
[Well, well.]
The blue-eyed specter watching from the ceiling.
[How delightfully it unfolds. Tsk tsk tsk.]
He let out a low chuckle at whatever amused him so.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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