Blade King’s words—that I had no openings—were a comfort. I didn’t show it in front of the Four Great Villains, but it was more valuable than any praise. It meant that the frustration, the sense of suffocation, the solidity I felt from Blade King’s sword... he had felt the same from mine. People really are sly creatures. I found myself thinking: if only I had fought more masters in my past life—won and lost more—wouldn’t I shine brighter in this moment? This must be what Alliance Leader Im Sobaek meant by a meaningful defeat. Come to think of it, Im Sobaek likely hopes that the high-level fighters of the White Path can gain something from each other through these spars. That’s a very alliance-leader-like way of thinking. Rather than seeing challengers as people trying to boost their fame by defeating him, he sees them in a different light. Apparently, even he used to lose often to the Sovereigns in his younger years—so what was I, a former jomsoi of Ilyang County, getting so intimidated about? I turned to the Four Great Villains waiting silently beside the arena and asked, "So this counts as a draw?" "Yeah. Let’s head back." We strolled slowly around the Martial Alliance grounds together. Today, of all people, the Drunk was the one talking the most. "I watched the spar from beginning to end and got a little emotional. Blade King’s at the top among all those who use blades, after all." "Wait, no—at the top is Blade Emperor, isn’t it?" "‘King’ and ‘Emperor’ are honorifics without strict rank. If a senior takes ‘Emperor’ first, the junior might use ‘King.’ If the senior uses ‘King,’ the junior might go with ‘Emperor.’ Above all that are titles like Sword Saint, Sword God, or Martial God—but you only know your place once you fight." Sword Demon spoke up. "I plan to spar at least once too. Don’t know with whom yet. Since it’s with danmok swords, I’m not too concerned about win or loss." Sword Demon was straightforward by nature—if it wasn’t a fight to the death, he didn’t place much meaning in the outcome. As soon as he calmly declared he’d participate, the Lecher joined in. "Master, I’d like to try fighting as well. Is that alright?" "Since all the Sovereigns are gathering, might as well spar once." I looked at the Lecher. "Doesn’t matter. I don’t feel like I’d lose to anyone." What kind of absurd confidence is that? "You’re saying even if you fight a Sovereign, you don’t think you’ll lose?" "Why should I? I haven’t really lost in a proper fight yet, aside from you, Master." And only now do I hear this incredible revelation. It didn’t seem the right time to bring up the crap story, so I held it in. Win or lose—unless the Lecher believes he lost, he doesn’t seem to register it as defeat. Weird as that sounds, that’s just how he is. So even when he soiled himself and ran away, he didn’t consider it a loss. And when I beat him in front of Maehwaru, he chalked it up to going easy. Though to be fair, we didn’t use internal energy back then due to Sword Demon’s suggestion. At this point, I made up my mind. ‘What a peculiar guy.’ If the Four Great Villains get a chance to grow, I’ll make sure he gets there too. I muttered to myself, "Out of all of us around the same age... the youngest is probably the strongest." The Lecher blinked, confused. "Huh? What? Where’s this coming from?" "You’re the strongest." "Well yeah, but why’re you excluding yourself?" I shook my head seriously. "How can I meddle in kids’ fights? I’m sitting this out." "Ah, right. Lately you’re going mad with more composure. Your nonsense is getting real serious. Totally slipped my mind." As we reached the entrance of Wolhagwan, I responded to the Lecher’s comment. "Anyway, among the newer generation and those our age, Mongrang—you’re the strongest." People tend to be weak to compliments, even insincere ones. "Yeah, that’s right." "Even if heirs of noble clans or Sovereigns’ sons step up, I don’t think anyone could handle Mongrang of Baek Eung-ji." "Mongrang is the strongest." The Lecher replied with a baffled tone. "Okay, okay, I get it! What the hell’s up with you? This is making me uncomfortable." I showered the Lecher with a barrage of compliments like a storm. As the Drunk struggled to contain his laughter, as expected, the window at Wolhagwan creaked open—and there appeared the Fist King from my past life, Yi Gun-ak. He looked around at us and asked, "Who's the strongest among the new generation?" I’d long known someone who obsessed irrationally over that phrase—“the strongest”—and there he was, staring right at us. I introduced the Lecher. "...That would be him." The Lecher, who hadn’t noticed the Fist King’s appearance due to his stroll, reacted with natural hostility when a stranger talked down to him from a window. "Who the hell are you? You look like a guy who lives to eat. Move that face and go eat something." "Good job, you pig. Look at those chubby cheeks." The Lecher smirked and nodded. "Ah, I see now. I got suckered by Haomun Lord’s mind games again. Doesn’t matter though. I’m still the strongest. Hey, chubby, come down here. I’ll teach you something." Yi Gun-ak disappeared from the window, and we heard his voice. "Master, I’ll be back shortly." His master replied brightly, "Just don’t beat him to death. Chubby? That’s ridiculous." The Lecher told Sword Demon, "Master, please rest. I’ll go educate a junior." "Alright. You’re at that age." Apparently convinced the Lecher would win, Sword Demon simply went inside Wolhagwan. When the Drunk tried to follow, I stopped him. "Where you going? You’ve gotta watch." I nodded toward the front. Yi Gun-ak was walking out—and the sheer force of his presence was overwhelming. Then we got to witness the stunned expression on the Lecher’s face. Upon seeing the massive man, the Lecher smiled awkwardly. "Whoa, you’re big. But fighting’s not about size." As Yi Gun-ak approached, the Lecher had to look up. He wasn’t just a big guy—under his clothes, his entire body was practically a weapon. Yi Gun-ak looked down at him. "Up close, you look even more puny. Let’s head to the arena." "Must’ve eaten well as a kid. You look sturdy. Let’s go." I was probably the only one who knew how this would go. Well, maybe not who would win—but I knew both of them would be shocked. They both clearly underestimated each other. But once they fought, they’d be floored by what they discovered. Neither of them was an easy opponent. We headed to the arena. It’s fair to call it ice arts versus physical technique. In fact, I’d learned some of Yi Gun-ak’s body techniques myself—and used them at Maehwaru when I beat the Lecher without internal energy. So in a way, the Lecher got lucky. With my arms folded, I watched silently as the Lecher and Yi Gun-ak clashed. The sky was starting to dim. When sounds of combat echoed from the arena, Alliance members approached quietly and lit lanterns around the area. They must’ve been notified beforehand—those lighting the torches also sat down in silence to watch. The Lecher had blocked a punch but was sent flying in a straight line across the arena. He twisted midair and landed lightly. He now wore an expression that couldn’t crack a joke. The Drunk turned to me, puzzled. "He’s insanely strong. That’s not the same level as Baekri Hyeok earlier." Barring unusual events, this guy is set to officially inherit the title of Fist King within a few years. Though still technically a disciple, his level is high enough to be compared to Sovereigns. His internal energy might trail behind the current Fist King, but in skill and fighting sense, he’s already about equal. "Are you conserving internal energy while facing me? You’ve lost your mind." Only after the first clash did the Lecher ask who he was. The Lecher turned to me. "Yi Gun-ak? Never heard of him." "Fist King’s disciple." The Lecher tilted his head. "Fist King? That some kind of alley boss? Hahaha." Yi Gun-ak was already charging and swinging at the Lecher’s head. The Lecher narrowly dodged, and a chase broke out across the arena. Yi Gun-ak wasn’t slow, but the Lecher fled with all the desperation of a man betting his life on light footwork. He was mixing in steps I’d seen before, like Bingshinbo and other movement techniques that rebounded off attacks. I had expected a knockdown drag-out fight with both men throwing haymakers—but the Lecher avoided direct combat entirely. At one point, Yi Gun-ak slipped mid-charge, and the Lecher seized the chance to lunge forward swinging both palms. Sorry to say it, but it looked like an angry cat wailing on a tiger. Sound exploded as Yi Gun-ak blocked with crossed arms, absorbing the Lecher’s palm force head-on. Though it looked crude, it wasn’t unreasonable—he’d trained in defensive arts. His upper robe shredded completely, revealing that he looked even bigger ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) without clothes. "Damn, what the hell did you eat as a kid? Looks like you can’t even sleep lying on your back." At that moment, the Drunk subtly lowered his head. Im Sobaek and Blade King approached the arena side by side. Im Sobaek said to the fighters, "Continue. We won’t interrupt." Despite being mid-fight, both answered respectfully. I wondered what kind of conversation Im Sobaek and Blade King had shared. They glanced briefly at me, then turned their attention to the arena. We all returned to watching the bout with keen eyes. The match went on for quite a while. Fist King’s disciple tried to catch the Lecher, who moved as if he could never be caught. It felt like, if he ever was caught, the fight would end in an instant. When I fought the Fist King in my past life, it was a brutal brawl where we both planted fists in each other until someone died. But the Lecher—true to his sly nature—refused that kind of fight. Usually, if someone like Yi Gun-ak charges at you, you get swept up in his rhythm and trade blow for blow. But the Lecher remained cool-headed. If you could call something infuriating, this was it. He ran around the arena for nearly half a shichen. Anyone would’ve been exhausted, but neither showed signs of fatigue. Even our legs hurt just from watching, but Im Sobaek didn’t interfere, observing seriously. No one accused the Lecher of being cowardly for dodging. No one complained that Yi Gun-ak couldn’t catch him. Both now wore more serious expressions, though their fighting styles hadn’t changed. The Lecher clearly believed getting caught meant a broken bone or worse. Yi Gun-ak barreled forward like a soldier breaking through a snowstorm. The chase was bizarre, but it was serious. Suddenly, Yi Gun-ak stomped the ground hard and lunged. As the Lecher backed away, he grabbed both of Yi Gun-ak’s wrists. Crackkk—! A sound rang out as frost instantly coated his arms, spreading to his elbows. Yi Gun-ak crouched urgently, flung the Lecher away, then swung both arms wide—simple in appearance, but designed to disrupt balance. The Lecher was launched into the air. Then Yi Gun-ak inhaled deeply and punched skyward. The air rippled, and a massive fist-shaped wave of force surged toward the airborne Lecher. Seeing such a vicious technique unleashed so suddenly... even I felt strange. ‘How’s he supposed to block that?’ There was nowhere to run midair. It was too large to disperse. The Lecher would need to counter it with a technique of his own. He simply infused both palms with ice energy and blocked. With the sky darkened, I focused on the sound. From outside the arena, I heard a light tap—and saw the Lecher return, looking completely unscathed. "Tougher than you look." "Sneaky bastard. Playing dumb the whole time." Maybe thinking about how to win, the two stared at each other for a long time without moving. It was like they both realized—charging in wouldn’t solve anything. At that moment, I looked at Im Sobaek. He slowly crossed his arms, then smiled faintly as he watched the two. The expression of someone watching beloved juniors with deep interest. Strangely, I understood exactly why the Alliance Leader was smiling. Past-life Left Guardian Mongrang and past-life Fist King Yi Gun-ak— The two of them, standing face-to-face, were trying to break through their own limits. And this—this is the true purpose of a spar.