Childhood Friend of the Zenith-Chapter 701: The Divine Dragon Martial Arts Tournament (12)

A crowd had gathered in great numbers.

Though tightly packed, there was still space for movement among them.

"Did you hear? They say the Blade King participated in the preliminaries yesterday."

"Of course, I’ve already heard plenty. We’re lucky we didn’t end up in the same group as him...."

"I wonder what happened during that match."

The head of the Peng family, who had reached the realm of Hwagyeong.

The Blade King, Peng Zhou, was participating in the martial tournament.

That fact alone was enough to heat up the atmosphere everywhere.

Many were curious about what had transpired on the first day of the preliminaries where the Blade King had appeared, but—

"No matter how curious you are, there’s no way to find out."

"True enough."

There was no way to learn the details.

Before entering the preliminaries, all martial artists were placed under a binding restriction by the Alliance.

Specifically, a ban on revealing anything about the events they experienced during the preliminaries.

Thanks to this, no one knew what had happened the day before.

"Even if we knew, what difference would it make?"

"At least we could mentally prepare ourselves."

"It’s obvious that if the Blade King is competing, he’s going to win anyway. So what’s the point?"

A renowned figurehead, the patriarch of one of the Four Great Families, was participating.

As a result, skepticism was abundant.

"Do you think someone like a patriarch can even manage the Divine Dragon Formation?"

"It’s odd that a patriarch is even participating in the first place."

While the tournament was typically for unaffiliated martial artists or those just starting to make a name for themselves,

the participation of someone as famous as a family patriarch raised questions about its purpose.

Some viewed it from that perspective.

However—

"Still, there’s no rule saying patriarchs can’t participate. That’s just a bias."

"Exactly. Even if they’re heads of families, they’re still martial artists."

Such differing opinions inevitably led to debates.

"Hah, so are you saying even the Three Lords could participate without issue?"

"Why are you bringing up the Three Lords now!"

The Three Lords, revered as Zhongyuan’s supreme beings.

Would those who gazed down from the heavens even bother with such a minor festival?

"It’s obvious that this would just be a playground for them. Do you think they’d stoop to mingling with the lower ranks?"

"Exactly. Why would those exalted and magnificent figures even consider it? That comparison is utterly absurd."

"What did you say!?"

What began as light banter gradually escalated into a heated exchange.

Given that they were martial artists, their rising tempers often led to fights.

However, since fighting was prohibited before the martial tournament, they managed to hold themselves back, barely avoiding an outright clash.

And—

Watching this from a distance, a young man stifled an urge to sigh.

"...Tsk."

The black-haired man face with his hands as if trying to get rid of his thoughts.

His name was Bi Eujin.

Known as one of the Twin Dragons of the Bi family.

More importantly, he had once been called Paejon.

"A playground, huh."

The sharp words struck a nerve, and Paejon swallowed a bitter chuckle.

They weren’t wrong.

A dirt arena filled with children who had yet to mature.

That was how Paejon viewed the martial tournament.

"Hmph."

No matter how much he thought about it, he disliked being here.

The very fact that he was present in such a place was an annoyance in itself.

A martial tournament... He never imagined such a thing would become part of his life.

"All because I took in the wrong disciple. Look at the mess I’m in now."

In his younger days, when he was still a late-stage master of his generation, martial tournaments like this had occasionally been held.

But he had never participated in them.

Fighting in front of a crowd of spectators.

How was that any different from performing like a clown?

His life had been solely about perfecting his martial arts.

For Paejon, a match was nothing more than a reflection of life itself.

If you won, you lived.

If you lost, you died.

That was the kind of battle that had defined his life.

For Paejon, a fist carried sincerity.

But such events carried none.

That was Paejon’s view of the matter, but...

"Tch."

Despite his disdain, here he was.

What choice did he have?

"This is what happens when you take in a peculiar disciple."

Having taken on a troublesome disciple, he had no choice but to step in personally.

And yet—

"It’s not entirely bad, though."

Disregarding his reluctance, there was a certain thrill to it.

A sea of martial artists. The accumulated heat of their presence.

For the first time in a long while, Paejon found himself enjoying the air of ambition that surrounded him.

"There are some promising ones."

Scanning the crowd of martial artists, Paejon nodded to himself.

By "promising," he didn’t mean their current level of skill.

Potential.

What people often referred to as talent or aptitude.

The martial tournament, filled with talented individuals from across Zhongyuan, did indeed contain a few who caught his eye.

But the more he observed, the more certain he became of one thing.

"None of them measure up to my disciple."

Not one of them.

Whether it was physical development or the look in their eyes, his disciple remained unmatched.

"Tch."

Having such an exceptional disciple wasn’t bad in itself.

But the fact that no one else came close was a bit of a disappointment.

Of all the possibilities, why had only such an eccentric remained?

It was ironic, considering his disciple was merely a means to an end.

"Too many secrets in that one."

Possessing much meant hiding much.

That was the kind of person his disciple was.

And while they never lied outright, their face often gave them away.

What were they hiding to always look so fatigued?

There were times when Paejon felt curious,

but he chose not to dwell on it.

"The only thing that matters is whether they can fulfill my regrets."

The culmination of Tua Pacheonmu.

Would his disciple be able to break through its ultimate barrier and shatter its limits?

That was all Paejon cared about. Whatever secrets his disciple kept were irrelevant.

Even if they were using him for their own purposes, Paejon didn’t mind.

They could exploit him all they wanted. His reputation held no value to him.

His reluctance aside, it wasn’t as if he could change disciples now.

For Tua Pacheonmu, the practitioner’s body needed to be resilient,

their mind strong enough to endure the pain it demanded.

Additionally, physical youth was essential for the technique’s growth.

Someone young, with a remarkable body and mental fortitude.

Where could such a person be found?

Finding his current disciple had been a miracle in itself.

Of course—

"There are some who come close."

While mental fortitude was questionable,

there were others with the physical qualifications.

Difficult to find, but not impossible.

After all, wasn’t there one here?

Paejon glanced across the arena.

"The Divine Dragon, they call him."

A young man standing at a distance, drawing all eyes to himself.

Shaolin’s hope and miracle.

The Divine Dragon.

Looking at him, Paejon’s lips curled into a faint smile.

"They’ve raised him well."

He found himself quietly impressed.

Though not as shocking as his own disciple, the young man was undeniably exceptional.

"Reminds me of my younger days."

Paejon’s youth.

Back when people called him a mad dog or accused him of being obsessed with martial contests.

Even then, people called him a monster.

The young man reminded him of that time.

The Divine Dragon’s well-trained body gleamed like refined metal,

and his aura carried the unique brilliance of Shaolin.

But—

"His eyes are dead."

Despite his physique and aura, something about his gaze was hollow.

Why would such a young martial artist have such lifeless eyes?

Was it some internal struggle?

Watching the Divine Dragon, Paejon couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity.

"Not fit to be a disciple."

That was Paejon’s conclusion.

Calling him a raw gem was fair, but those eyes betrayed a limit.

No matter how weary, one’s ambition should burn fiercely.

Without that, the Divine Dragon’s potential meant little to Paejon.

He lost interest.

Judging him unworthy, Paejon’s gaze moved on.

"The one in front of him might be more promising."

Paejon’s eyes shifted to the young man facing the Divine Dragon.

Though his body and cultivation seemed lesser than the Divine Dragon’s,

his eyes were alive. freёweɓnovel.com

Dressed in white robes embroidered with plum blossoms,

he stood out clearly.

A protector from Shaanxi, where Paejon’s old friend served as a sect leader.

"Mount Hua."

The Plum Blossom Sword Dragon, Yeong Pung.

He was currently facing off against the Divine Dragon, Yu Yeon.

******************

The attention of countless onlookers was palpable.

Yet amidst the crowd, Shaolin's miracle, the Divine Dragon Yu Yeon, focused on regulating his breathing as he faced the figure before him.

A faint floral fragrance brushed against his nose.

Noticing the unfamiliar scent, Yu Yeon looked up to see someone standing in front of him.

"It’s been a while."

A refined and handsome man greeted him with a bright smile.

"Do you remember me?"

His cheerful words brought a nod from Yu Yeon.

"Of course, I remember you. The Sword Dragon of Mount Hua..."

The Sword Dragon.

A martial prodigy of Mount Hua, widely considered one of the five destined to reach the title of Sword King.

He was also one of the representatives of the current Six Dragons Three Peaks generation.

Hearing Yu Yeon’s words, the Sword Dragon let out a pleased chuckle.

"I’m flattered you’d remember me... I don’t know what to say."

As Yeong Pung awkwardly expressed his gratitude, Yu Yeon was about to reply when—

"Of course, he remembers you. How could he forget? After all, you were beaten to a pulp."

"It wasn’t just a loss; he rolled around in the dirt like a ragdoll."

"Thinking about it now makes me want to crawl under a rock in shame."

Other disciples from Mount Hua, standing behind Yeong Pung, eagerly chimed in, their words growing more boisterous.

Hearing them, Yeong Pung’s expression twisted into one of embarrassment.

"Senior brothers..."

When Yeong Pung turned to look at them, the men feigned surprise.

"Hey, does it seem like he’s glaring at us? Senior brother, isn’t this a problem?"

"Mount Hua’s discipline has hit rock bottom. It must have fallen along with him when he rolled in the dirt."

"In my day, losing like that would’ve made it impossible to show your face. But look at him now, shameless as ever. Tsk."

"..."

Bombarded with relentless teasing, Yeong Pung rubbed his face in frustration.

The senior disciples of Mount Hua, the second-generation, seemed to be having too much fun mocking him.

The reason was simple.

Roughly a year ago, during a friendly match with Shaolin,

Yeong Pung had faced Yu Yeon—and lost.

And it wasn’t just any loss.

"These days, people would call it an utter thrashing."

"Completely thrashed. He was flattened, tossed around, and ground into the dirt like dough."

"It was embarrassing to even admit he was from Mount Hua after that."

"I didn’t lose that badly!"

Unable to bear it anymore, Yeong Pung snapped, prompting peals of laughter from the Mount Hua disciples.

What kind of atmosphere was this?

Yu Yeon couldn’t help but feel a mix of surprise and discomfort as he observed them.

He had greeted Yeong Pung politely when the latter came over to say hello, but the air of the Mount Hua group seemed overwhelming.

Moreover, why had Yeong Pung approached him in the first place?

Why would someone greet the opponent who had defeated them so thoroughly?

Could it be to assert dominance?

That thought crossed his mind, but before he could dwell on it further, snippets of conversation reached his ears.

"It was a fair match. It wasn’t that devastating of a loss..."

"Right, but you still lost, didn’t you?"

"..."

"In the end, you lost, right? Even after using all the techniques you’d learned? The Plum Blossom Leaves shattered against the Hundred-Step Divine Fist, didn’t they?"

"And then you got summoned by the master and scolded like crazy? I saw it happen."

"Really? Senior Brother Shinseok called him out and scolded him?"

"Yes. I saw Yeong Pung kneeling in front of Senior Brother Shinseok on the back mountain."

"Oh dear. How embarrassing... Yeong Pung, why don’t you just retire? I’ll step aside and let you go first."

"Ha ha ha!"

"...Senior brothers. Please."

With a pained expression, Yeong Pung stared at the second-generation disciples, whose average age was well into their thirties.

Yet, their faces remained bright with amusement.

Why were they so delighted about their junior representative losing to Shaolin?

Yu Yeon found it incomprehensible.

As Yeong Pung endured the teasing, one of the second-generation disciples finally turned to address him.

"And to think you’re supposed to follow in our master’s footsteps—"

"You idiot."

Smack!

"Ugh!"

Before the disciple could finish, someone delivered a sharp blow to his head.

It was Shin Hyeon, the Plum Blossom Hero Sword.

The strongest of Mount Hua’s second-generation disciples and one of the current sect’s most prominent masters.

"Compose yourself. Do you have any idea how far you’re taking this?"

Clicking his tongue, Shin Hyeon shook his head in disapproval.

While it was fine to enjoy themselves, careless words could lead to disaster.

Especially since the teasing had nearly touched upon sensitive secrets.

"...My apologies, Senior Brother."

The chastised disciple quickly bowed his head, realizing his mistake.

"Should you really be apologizing to me? The sect leader is watching, after all."

At Shin Hyeon’s words, the disciple’s face turned pale, and he hurriedly turned.

There, standing quietly among the muscular second-generation disciples,

was an old man.

He commanded far more attention than either Yu Yeon or Yeong Pung.

The 16th sect leader of Mount Hua, the Plum Blossom Sage, Do Hwa.

"...Sect leader?"

Approaching cautiously, the disciple lowered his head and spoke.

"Sect leader, I apologize. I acted out of line... Sect leader?"

As he continued to apologize, he noticed that Do Hwa was staring elsewhere.

"Sect leader...?"

When he called out again, Do Hwa finally responded, as if snapping out of a daze.

"Ah."

Realizing he was being addressed, Do Hwa offered a warm smile.

"Forgive me. I was distracted by the sight of an old acquaintance."

"An old acquaintance?"

The disciple blinked in confusion.

Someone the sect leader knew was here?

Following Do Hwa’s gaze, the Mount Hua disciples turned their attention toward the crowd.

It wasn’t clear who Do Hwa was looking at, as many eyes were directed their way.

At that moment—

"...A disciple of Shaolin greets the sect leader of Mount Hua."

Yu Yeon stepped forward to pay his respects.

The other Shaolin disciples followed suit.

Despite maintaining decorum, Yu Yeon couldn’t hide his confusion.

Why is the sect leader here?

It made sense for the disciples to participate in the tournament.

But why would the sect leader come all this way?

He couldn’t understand, but as this was the sect leader of Mount Hua, he prioritized showing respect.

"It’s been a while."

Do Hwa’s smile deepened as he replied.

"You must be Yu Yeon, the disciple of Shaolin?"

"...Yes, Sect Leader. My name is Yu Yeon."

As he answered, Yu Yeon felt a hand on his head.

Do Hwa had gently placed his hand on Yu Yeon’s head.

"...!"

Yu Yeon’s eyes widened in shock.

"You seem to have ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) endured many hardships for your age. Are you struggling?"

"N-No, I am fine."

"No, no. It’s natural to struggle at your age. I hope you’ll forge a good relationship with our disciples."

"..."

Biting his lip for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, Yu Yeon forced out a response.

"Th-thank you for your kind words..."

Just as he was about to finish speaking—

"Sister! That old man is amazing!"

A loud voice rang out, silencing the area.

"Miss Bong! Please, you can’t do this! You’ll get scolded by the Young Master...!"

Despite the protests, a young woman’s voice pierced the air.

"I want to do it too!"

"No—wait, stop!"

"I want to touch that shiny bald head!"

At those words, everyone fell silent.

Especially the martial artists of Shaolin, whose expressions froze solid.

Did I hear that wrong? Did she just say ‘bald head’?

They looked incredulous, but then—

"I want to! That shiny, round head looks like an egg!"

"...Oh my heavens. We’re doomed."

A green-haired woman desperately tried to restrain the offender, her face twisted in horror.

Meanwhile, the black-haired culprit dashed forward and stood before Do Hwa and Yu Yeon.

"Hi there!"

"..."

Greeting them cheerfully, she left Yu Yeon completely speechless.

He couldn’t even process what was happening.

"Nice to meet you."

"...What?"

"My name’s Bong Soon."

Unbothered, the woman introduced herself and then asked Yu Yeon,

"So, can I touch your head too?"

"...Miss, what are you saying right now...?"

Yu Yeon glanced nervously at Do Hwa as he spoke, but—

"I want to touch your head, big brother. I’ve never seen a bald head before!"

"...!"

Her words sent shockwaves through Yu Yeon’s heart.

Big brother?

Did she just call me that?

As he struggled to process the unexpected blow, several martial artists stepped in to restrain Bong Soon.

"Miss, what are you doing?"

"Whoever you are, this behavior is disgraceful! Even the heavens would be enraged!"

Even the Mount Hua disciples, who had been teasing Yeong Pung mercilessly, were horrified and tried to intervene.

However, Bong Soon ignored them all and continued.

"Please, just once. I won’t ask again!"

Her tone was earnest, even pleading.

The others shut their eyes tightly, bracing themselves for Yu Yeon’s wrath.

Surely, even Yu Yeon wouldn’t let such an insult slide.

If a fight broke out, everyone prepared to intervene.

Finally, Yu Yeon, his expression hardening, opened his mouth to address Bong Soon.

"...Feel."

Everyone held their breath, waiting to hear what the Divine Dragon would say.

"...Feel free to touch it."

A surprisingly lackluster reply came out instead.