Childhood Friend of the Zenith-Chapter 716: The Divine Dragon Martial Arts Tournament (27)

The Blade King, Peng Zhou.

The head of the Hebei Peng Clan, one of the former Four Great Clans—now referred to as the Three Great Clans—serving as the pillars of the orthodox sects.

When he was still known as one of the Late-Stage Grandmasters, people called him the Ink Dragon.

Later, after surpassing that stage and becoming active within the Alliance, he operated under the title Iron Dragon Lord.

A martial artist of the Hwagyeong level, ranked among the upper echelons of the Hundred Great Masters.

His record includes highly regarded achievements in past wars against the unorthodox sects. Even now, he is still considered a master whose skills have not diminished with age.

However—

Although he has run for the position of Alliance Leader several times, he failed each time.

This implies one thing:

“His martial prowess isn’t bad. His standing is decent, and he has political ambitions.”

Yet his nature leans toward being domineering and aggressive.

“He’s... simple.”

Easy to read.

While this might not be a major flaw for a martial artist, it highlights his inadequacies as a clan head.

“If we’re talking about leadership qualities, the Sword King is the better choice.”

Despite having a weaker presence within his clan compared to the Blade King, the Sword King possesses a slyness that’s more fitting for a clan head.

It might sound insulting, but it’s an essential quality for someone in such a position.

“That’s precisely what the Blade King lacks.”

It’s likely this deficiency, rather than his abilities or influence, that cost him the position of Alliance Leader.

All of this is fine.

If that’s all there is to him, then it ends there.

And yet—

“What reason does he have to participate in the Martial Tournament?”

The question lingers.

There’s nothing for the Blade King to gain here.

Status? He already has plenty of it.

Reputation? Even if he performs well in this tournament, it won’t add much to his fame.

There’s simply no benefit for him in this Martial Tournament.

Everyone knows this but doesn’t think too deeply about it.

Why?

“Because it’s entertaining.”

The mere fact that the Blade King is participating and showcasing his martial arts is enough to draw people’s attention.

And among those spectators—

“Plenty of them are connected to the Alliance.”

It’s clear.

This event is a win for the Alliance.

Even if the Blade King were a fool, he’d understand that much.

So there’s only one explanation.

“The Blade King entered the tournament to cooperate with the Alliance.”

Whether it’s by commission, cooperation, or coercion—it doesn’t matter.

What’s important is that the Blade King went along with it.

Which means—

The Blade King should be regarded as an ally of the Martial Alliance.

Whether by his own will or not.

[Hebei Peng Clan’s Peng Zhou versus Xi’an Bi Clan’s Bi Eejin.]

“...”

I stroked my chin as I looked at the names listed on the board.

“Hmm.”

How did it come to this?

I tilted my head, examining the board.

“What’s the purpose of this matchup?”

When they paired Divine Dragon with Wi Seol-ah, the intent was clear.

But this time, it’s not as obvious. Was it just a random pairing?

“Doubtful.”

It’s hard to believe that.

By now, the rumor that Twin Dragon is Paejon’s disciple has already spread.

Would they really waste such a valuable promotional ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) opportunity like this?

“...No.”

A thought hit me, and I quickly snapped out of it.

“This actually makes it even better for promotion.”

They’re expecting Paejon’s successor to get crushed by the Blade King.

That’s the spectacle they’re hoping for.

I doubt anyone expects Twin Dragon to win.

“Not that it’s impossible.”

Given the records of Divine Dragon and Wi Seol-ah, they might be considering the possibility.

But realistically—

“At best, a Late-Stage Grandmaster defeating a King level master?”

It’s unprecedented in history.

No one would expect it.

“Especially since they don’t know the truth about that old man.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking at the black-haired youth.

His gentle features didn’t match his sharp temperament.

He was Bi Eejin, also called Toryong (Twin Dragon), a Late-Stage Grandmaster.

Yet beneath that kind exterior lay an aged, cunning beast—Paejon, the Dishonored Venerable.

“...Two disciples of the Masters have gathered here.”

“They say the Crescent Moon Sword has reached Hwagyeong. What about Twin Dragon?”

With so many attention-grabbing figures gathered, all eyes were naturally drawn to this match.

Should I set up a screen? I briefly considered it.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Paejon’s voice broke my train of thought.

“What do you mean?”

His lips curled into a faint smile at my response.

His expression was unsettling—his mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t.

“That fool from the Peng Clan.”

“...You’re talking about the Blade King?”

“Bah, calling him a king is far too generous.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his sharp critique.

To Paejon, the head of the Peng Clan was nothing more than a fool.

“His father was decent, though. The son? Not so much.”

“You mean the former Blade King?”

Peng Tae-woo—the previous Blade King—had passed away over a decade ago.

“Yes. That man’s sword was heavy, and you could sense the grandeur typical of his lineage.”

It felt like listening to an old legend.

Paejon’s stories always did.

After all, the era he lived in was far from peaceful—wars with the unorthodox sects were still ongoing back then.

“But his son? Completely botched it. What a shame.”

Despite his words, Paejon didn’t look the least bit regretful.

He continued, speaking in his usual detached tone.

“That said, that one’s not bad.”

He gestured, drawing my gaze.

The Blade King sat there, and beside him was a young man.

Paejon’s finger pointed directly at Peng Woo-jin.

“He’s far better than his father.”

If Paejon thought highly of him, then he must be an extraordinary talent.

Peng Woo-jin, without a doubt, was exactly that.

“Hmm.”

Peng Woo-jin lifted his head and met my gaze.

It seemed he’d noticed my eyes on him.

He flashed a wide grin and waved in my direction.

“Gu Gongja!”

“...”

Damn it. Couldn’t he have kept his voice down?

I gave him a reluctant nod in return.

Meanwhile, the Blade King glanced at Peng Woo-jin, and the latter awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Judging by the way he looked flustered, the Blade King had likely sent him a message through transmission.

“Keul-keul.”

Paejon let out a soft chuckle. Was he finding this amusing?

“What a mess of a kid.”

“...”

“Well, for a martial artist to soar, they need to shed at least one weight. If they try to hold on to everything, they’ll be too heavy to fly.”

“What bullshit. You’re just trying to make ‘crazy bastard’ sound poetic—”

Smack!

“Urgh!”

Shit. Of all places, he had to hit my shin.

“The more you run your mouth, the more I think I need to straighten you out one of these days.”

“...Do you honestly think you don’t already?”

He acted like he wasn’t constantly beating me already.

“Clearly, it’s not enough, or you wouldn’t still be like this.”

“This is just how I was born. If a few hits could fix it, it would’ve worked ages ago.”

“...You sure think highly of yourself.”

What could I do? My bloodline made me this way.

If a good beating could’ve fixed me, I wouldn’t be living like this in either this life or the last one.

“Anyway, what are you expecting me to do?”

“What, you don’t get it?”

What the hell was he talking about now?

I was about to let out a sigh when—

“That fool. Should I send him up there?”

“...!”

I froze for a moment at Paejon’s words.

His expression remained unchanged.

The same black eyes as mine stared back.

Looking at him, I swallowed hard.

‘...That sly old snake.’

He acted like the only thing he cared about was pushing his martial arts to the limit.

But Paejon noticed far more than he let on.

And now was no different.

“...Do whatever you want.”

“Hmm. Alright, then.”

He let out a yawn as if that settled it.

It was the Blade King he was talking about. And yet, Paejon looked completely relaxed.

That attitude meant one thing—he believed he could decide the outcome of the match as he pleased.

Could Paejon really beat the Blade King even now?

Of course, I didn’t doubt it for a second.

He was Paejon, the Dishonored Venerabl. That was all that needed to be said.

‘...Enough about that.’

I turned my gaze away from Paejon and toward Seong Yul.

He’d been fidgeting nonstop for a while now, making it impossible to ignore him.

I swung my hand and smacked him on the back of the head.

Smack!

“Urgh?!”

Seong Yul’s eyes widened as he looked at me.

“Calm down, You’re making me nervous.”

“...”

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble acting like that.”

“...Ah.”

It wasn’t even a real warning, yet he flinched.

‘Hmm.’

He looked terrible.

Was it because he’d been matched against a disciple from the Kunlun Sect?

Or was it because of something else entirely? I couldn’t tell.

‘At least the other side doesn’t seem to care.’

The Kunlun disciples didn’t seem interested in Seong Yul at all.

That was strange. Shouldn’t they recognize each other?

‘Not that there was any mention of it.’

I’d gotten bits of information about Kunlun from time to time, but there hadn’t been anything about Seong Yul.

No, to be precise, there wasn’t any mention of him at all.

‘I thought the Azure Sword had taken him in.’

So why wasn’t there anything about him?

It was odd.

‘Even considering Kunlun’s current situation, it doesn’t add up.’

After the Azure Sword’s death, a new sect leader had taken over.

Since then, several incidents had occurred, and the sect was still focused on stabilizing itself.

‘That’s probably why they didn’t send many people.’

Even though the Alliance was hosting the Martial Tournament, Kunlun likely sent fewer than ten representatives due to their internal struggles.

It was proof that things weren’t going well for them.

‘Something’s definitely going on.’

It was one thing after another.

First the Emei Sect, and now if Kunlun had problems too, the situation really was a mess.

‘The Nine Great Sects are all falling apart.’

Whether publicly or behind the scenes, none of them seemed to be doing well.

‘And this is just the result of a little instability.’

Even sects that had stood firm for centuries were crumbling.

The only ones holding up somewhat were Mount Hua and a few others.

‘And yet, in this situation, the Martial Alliance is throwing a festival.’

What an absolute shitshow.

They covered up the rot with a flashy facade.

It only took a quick look to see through it.

‘Ugh.’

I didn’t have anything comforting to say, so I just gave Seong Yul’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Oh, and by the way.”

“...Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Seong Yul’s eyes dimmed slightly at the warning.

“...I’ll make sure my identity isn’t exposed.”

“What are you even talking about?”

I cut him off before he started spouting nonsense.

“I mean watch your strength, idiot.”

“...Huh?”

“Think before you swing. Don’t go all out like you did against me, alright?”

“...?”

“Did you get that?”

“Y-yes... I understand.”

He clearly didn’t understand at all.

Was this going to be okay?

“...”

I debated explaining in more detail but decided to leave it alone.

Whatever. He’d figure it out.

I left it at that—for now.

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

I left the waiting room and headed somewhere else—toward the spectator seats prepared to view the martial matches.

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

The Alliance had set up a separate area for those who made it to the main tournament rounds.

I looked up.

A canopy provided shade overhead.

It was a far cry from the general seating area—much better facilities.

‘They’re not even trying to hide the special treatment.’

Was it meant as a reward for making it this far?

That’s how it might seem at a glance, but the reality was quite different.

‘Making it to the main rounds means one thing—it marks you as promising.’

It could mean being a descendant of a prestigious clan.

Or a martial artist backed by wealthy merchants.

Or perhaps even a lone genius with exceptional talent.

The Martial Alliance had prepared for this, anticipating such individuals in advance.

‘People have always loved special treatment.’

It was no different this time.

Wealthy merchants who funded the Alliance.

Patriarchs of noble clans.

Sect leaders.

All of them were likely watching the main tournament from their reserved seats in the pavilions.

They were probably watching this display of favoritism too.

In a way, it was a flawless move on the Alliance’s part.

‘But it’s disgusting.’

The blatant display of hierarchy was enough to make my stomach churn.

I casually picked a seat and sat down.

Unlike before, the space here was more generous.

A scroll listing the matchups was handed out again, but I didn’t take one.

Anyone who cared enough to know already had it memorized.

Time passed after I settled into my seat.

“...And now, we will begin the third round of the main tournament....”

At some point, the judge stepped onto the martial stage and began the opening announcement.

The moment the speech ended, the martial artists began to appear.

The difference this time was that only one stage was being used.

‘From the third round onward, the fights must be on a different level. They want us to focus.’

There could be multiple reasons, but I was too tired to bother thinking about them all.

I simply propped my chin on my hand and focused my gaze.

I could feel the martial artists around me watching me.

But I ignored them.

‘Let’s see.’

Would today’s matches end without incident?

That was the only thing I cared about.

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

A young man slowly wrapped bandages around his hands.

—Haaah—!

Thud!

The sounds of fierce cries and pounding impacts echoed from outside, shaking the walls.

Yet the young man didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

He checked his hands once he’d finished wrapping them.

“Hmm.”

Nodding in satisfaction, the young man stretched his shoulders, loosening up.

His name was Bi Eejin—the second son of the Xi’an Bi Clan and the martial artist known as the Twin Dragon.

“Not bad. Even after so long, the wrap is nice and clean.”

After lightly shaking out his hands, he rolled his shoulders to warm up.

It was essential to prepare his body beforehand. Otherwise—

‘I might lose control of my strength.’

He needed to maintain just the right level of performance. But this damned body couldn’t even handle strength properly.

If he wasn’t careful, his skin might tear under the force.

‘Tsk. Tsk.’

All he could do was sigh. And there wasn’t a soul he could talk to about it.

This situation was entirely his own doing.

As Bi Eejin continued stretching and waiting for his match—

“You seem nervous.”

Someone spoke to him.

When he turned his head, he saw a towering man—easily a head taller than him.

Bi Eejin recognized him immediately.

It was Peng Zhou, the Blade King—patriarch of the Hebei Peng Clan and his opponent in the match.

Smiling as if to put him at ease, the Blade King addressed him.

“Don’t worry. It won’t be anything serious.”

“...”

Bi Eejin looked at the Blade King with a strange expression before silently clasping his fists and bowing in greeting.

“A descendant of the Bi Clan greets the Lord of the Peng Clan.”

“Ah, yes. Is the Bi Clan’s leader doing well?”

“Yes.”

“The last time I saw him was years ago. I imagine he’s grown even stronger by now.”

There was a subtle undertone of condescension in his voice.

It wasn’t direct, but it was clear that the Blade King considered the Bi Clan’s leader a step below him.

‘Hmm.’

Bi Eejin’s eyebrow twitched slightly at that.

“I hear you’re the elder’s disciple.”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite surprising. The elder once said he wouldn’t take a disciple.”

He had indeed said that once, long ago.

‘Back then, I thought it wouldn’t be necessary.’

It was during a time when arrogance had clouded his judgment.

He had believed that the martial arts he created couldn’t be passed down to anyone but himself.

It was embarrassing to think about now.

“The times have changed. Even the elder can change, I suppose.”

“...That’s true.”

Feeling strangely embarrassed, Bi Eejin cleared his throat.

“It’s been a long time since I last saw the elder. Is he in good health?”

“He’s very healthy.”

Far too healthy, in fact.

So healthy he practically reversed his aging—damn it.

“Haha, that’s good to hear. The elder seemed to think highly of me. I have fond memories of him.”

“...”

Bi Eejin froze mid-motion.

When had that ever happened? He couldn’t recall such an event.

‘Was it when Tae-woo brought him along?’

It must’ve been back when the former patriarch, Peng Tae-woo, introduced his son.

He remembered a five-year-old bawling his eyes out—so hard he even wet himself.

“He said I was talented and should focus on my training....”

That never happened.

In fact, he had advised the former patriarch to make the kid work harder because he seemed less talented than others.

Children could at least be cute if they were dumb, but this one had none of that charm.

“Anyway, I just came by to help you relax. I heard you’re the elder’s disciple.”

“...Thank you for your consideration.”

Somehow, the Blade King had made them sound like close acquaintances.

Bi Eejin forced a smile as the Blade King patted his back with his large hands.

“Well then, see you out there.”

With that, the Blade King left.

“...”

Left alone, Bi Eejin had to think.

‘What should I do?’

He had planned to keep things under control and show only enough skill to get by.

‘Hmm.’

But now he wasn’t so sure.

He felt sorry for his pathetic disciple, but—

It didn’t seem like “taking it easy” was going to be an option.