Jeok Wigun let out a long sigh.
Easy for you to say when it isn’t your body on the line.
Lately even Father seemed to have big hopes; he’d already started teaching him the sect lord’s duties.
He wanted to run over right now and say it:
There’s a real genius—a monster—right here.
In the meantime my fist had only grown stronger.
Three years ago, when I said my punch was still weak, he’d been dumbfounded; now he felt like he finally understood what I’d meant.
But how did he know it was weak back then? he wondered.
Anyway, he’d become unbelievably strong.
But I had become far, far more unbelievably strong.
Before, he’d thought he was at least the grime under my fingernail.
Now he was just dust on my sleeve.
Naturally, the Five-Phases Incantation Art had grown stronger too.
But I still called it weak and said it should only be used as a showpiece.
What kind of “showpiece” splits the ground with a single strike and grinds house-sized ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) boulders to powder?
What would count as an absolute master’s feat for anyone else was, to me, just something to look at.
Right now his realm was Peak.
They said the world-shaking geniuses reached Peak at his age.
Even he had to admit: it was incredible.
How many people reach Peak at thirteen?
They said one in ten thousand.
He was that one in ten thousand.
And the one who snuffed out that one-in-ten-thousand like nothing—was me.
Could I beat my brother?
He thought and thought every night, and found no answer.
There was no way to beat me.
In this world, there was exactly one person who could beat me.
Mother.
Not even Father.
How did he know?
He’d overheard me muttering not long ago that Father seemed to be flagging lately and that maybe I should put him through some training.
Mother?
She would never allow that kind of training.
If Mother cried, it was game over.
Even someone as strong as I was became just a kid before Mother’s tears.
“What are you thinking so hard about? If you’re ready, let’s start.”
“Haa...”
It was time to get hit again.
Today too, he’d thrash to shave off even one punch.
****
Five years later.
On the day I turned twenty—the age of majority—my younger brother Jeok Wigun, at eighteen, became the official successor of the True Martial Sect.
No one objected to the second son, and not the first, becoming successor.
Everyone knew I couldn’t cultivate martial arts.
So the leadership felt grateful that I had no designs on the successor’s seat.
On the day Jeok Wigun ascended as official successor, people kept stealing glances at me.
Would he resent it?—that look.
But seeing me sincerely delighted for my brother, they realized their worries were baseless.
People tried to console me, saying it wouldn’t be so bad to “make a name for myself outside the sect” instead.
Watching them, Jeok Wigun couldn’t help a hollow laugh.
From where he stood, I was number one under heaven.
I simply had no match.
Not long ago, a canal had appeared in this region out of nowhere.
People gaped at the canal that had just materialized and rejoiced as if heaven had gifted it to them.
Transport boomed overnight, and the city took off.
Jeok Wigun had watched exactly how that canal had been born.
I’d said it felt like my strength had finally come back, then threw a single punch—and that became a canal.
Tell people that and they’d call you insane.
Even having seen it with his own eyes, he wondered if he was the insane one.
Jeok Wigun understood:
Before my fist, “realm” meant nothing.
No one could stop it.
On top of that, my Five-Phases Incantation Art had grown stronger and more uncanny.
At this point there was almost nothing it couldn’t do.
Lately I’d gotten hooked on blacksmithing.
I went to the village forge almost every day and spent the whole day there.
Of course, the only ones who knew were him and Taecheon.
Jeok Wigun looked at the sword in his hand.
It was a gift from me to congratulate him on becoming official successor.
I said I’d named it the True-Martial Sky Sword.
Since it was a gift from me, he’d figured it wasn’t a normal sword—and when he drew it:
Insane.
It was a blade like nothing he’d seen in his life.
What I said next was even more outrageous.
It recognized its owner.
If anyone but him gripped it, the thunder inside it would shock them to death.
So he had to be careful, I told him, again and again.
“What if Father or Mother happens to touch it?”
“They can. I keyed it to their energies.”
He studied the blade.
Right now, Jeok Wigun was cultivating two arts:
True-Martial Divine Art and True-Martial Thunder Sword.
True-Martial Divine Art was the True Martial Sect’s secret internal art, and True-Martial Thunder Sword was a sword art I’d made.
The sword I’d given him—the True-Martial Sky Sword—was optimized for that True-Martial Thunder Sword.
With the True-Martial Sky Sword, unleashing True-Martial Thunder Sword cut internal consumption and massively boosted its force.
His current realm was Super-Peak, Three Stars.
Across all late-blooming geniuses of the martial world, no one his age sat at that realm.
So the elders of the True Martial Sect were overjoyed that he’d become the official successor.
The most outstanding martial talent in Sect history would be the next lord.
But they were all badly mistaken.
I’m not the most outstanding martial talent in history. I was simply forged by the most outstanding existence in history.
All of it was just the result of flailing to stay alive.
Not that he disliked it.
Being strong was good.
The problem was that my standards kept climbing.
Not even of age yet, and I was disappointed his realm hadn’t reached Flower Realm.
At eighteen, an early age, having reached Super-Peak and been named successor—one thing hadn’t changed:
He still got beaten by me.
He’d been hit so often his toughness had grown; his body was now nearly Vajra-unbreakable.
That didn’t mean my punches didn’t hurt.
Even true Vajra-unbreakable would shatter under my fist.
Anyway, he had exactly one complaint about me:
Acting weak when I was this strong.
No—that wasn’t it.
I’d never acted weak.
I simply did nothing.
He wanted to tell people:
How strong his brother really was.
They call it a needle in a sack.
Even if you don’t speak, one day the world will know.
Who the greatest monster of all ages is.
****
I went out to the village with Taecheon.
“Taecheon, you aren’t dissatisfied?”
“With what, sir?”
“That you guard me even though I’m not the successor. Someone like you should be guarding my brother, not me. Otherwise it feels like a waste.”
“I serve only you.”
I smiled at that.
Aside from family, the one person who was truly mine—
—that was Taecheon.
Truthfully, even if he’d never said it, Taecheon already served me as his lord.
I knew that too.
“Today I’m thinking I’ll finally tell you what I’ve been hiding.”
“Have you been hiding something from me?”
“Mm.”
“That can’t be. I know your every move.”
I snorted at his confidence.
“Want to stake that claim?”
“Of course. Please—say it. Let’s see if there’s a secret I don’t know.”
“Taecheon, could you believe I’m stronger than people who have martial arts?”
He laughed.
“Oh? You’re laughing? I’m serious.”
“I’m sorry. But that’s a nonsensical claim.”
“You don’t believe me? I could shake you off any time I feel like it.”
He only smiled.
And then—
The moment warmth brushed his neck, Taecheon turned his head.
There I stood a step behind him, grinning.
He turned back— and the me who’d been in front of him blurred and vanished.
“H-how...?”
“Well? Starting to believe me?”
“Is that a Clone Art?”
“No. I just moved fast.”
“What? Sir, how did you—martial arts—?”
“Not martial arts. I just moved fast.”
“Is that possible?”
“For me, it is.”
From directly behind him, my voice again:
“I’m telling the truth.”
He turned, and I was there already.
“Believe me now?”
“So this movement you’re showing me... you’re saying it’s without internal qi?”
“Right. That’s what I meant to tell you today: I’m stronger than you think.”
Taecheon’s expression shifted from moment to moment.
“So you can cultivate?”
I shook my head.
“No. I was born fast and strong. No need to cultivate separately.”
“It isn’t just speed, is it?”
“Right. It’s power too.”
“I’m curious about your strength. Will you show me?”
I grinned.
“As much as you like. Shall we change venues?”
“Good.”
We moved to a deserted spot nearby.
“Are you really going to attack me?”
He asked with a worried look; I crooked a finger.
“Come in.”
Still unsure if this was right, he hesitated—so I said:
“If you won’t come, I will.”
Better that, he thought—
—and nearly leapt out of his skin when he realized I was already right in his face, and he twisted aside on instinct.
WHUUM—.
A wind strong enough to snap a lapel cracked past his cheek.
He was shocked.
This kind of force?
A punch without internal power?
Unbelievable.
It didn’t end there.
Feeling a chill, he jerked his head aside and my fist skimmed past the tip of his nose.
His nose tingled, sharp and electric.
DRIP—.
Not just a tingle, apparently.
A red line crept from his nostril.
“Hah.”
A hollow laugh escaped him.
Was I careless?
No.
He’d felt real danger and dodged with everything he had.
It had barely grazed him, and yet his nose throbbed and bled.
Even dodged, he’d still been struck by the pressure of the fist.
“Astonishing, sir. I... didn’t think you were this strong.”
“Right? I told you—I’m strong.”
“Yes. I concede.”
“Then let’s keep going.”
“Pardon? I think we could stop here...”
“No. You haven’t gone all-out.”
“What? You mean to draw out my full power now?”
“Yup.”
Absurd.
No matter how strong a body without internal qi, there had to be a limit.
A moment ago, the only reason my attack had landed was because he hadn’t used internal power—he’d met me purely with the body.
The instant he used internal qi, the gap would yawn open.
Taecheon weighed it and made a decision.
He needed to show me now—
—how dangerous fighting someone who uses internal qi really is.
Only then would I refrain from reckless challenges.
When his face turned solemn, I finally looked satisfied.
“Should’ve done that from the start.”
“I’ll show you how dangerous it is to rush someone with martial arts.”
“Good. Show me.”
I came in.
Taecheon carefully raised his internal power to the minimum he’d need to catch my fist.
Too much, and my hand might break on impact—so he sheathed only enough qi around his arm to make me feel pain when I hit.
THUMP—.
“Kkhk!”