Chapter 220

Chapter 220
—
**Chapter 220**
# The Supreme Dragon Wager

“Oh ho—you wish to propose a wager?”

It was a bold suggestion, far too forward for a junior to address to someone of such standing—especially one numbered among the Heavenly Martial Ten Venerables. Yet Peng Beom’s face lit up with unmistakable interest.

This was exactly the response Yang-hwi had hoped for, and the very reason he had spoken so freely.

“I do. Would it not be an entertaining prospect?”

“Indeed it would! Kahaha! Young friend, you know precisely what us old-timers relish!”

At first glance, Peng Beom appeared to be in his forties, but in truth, he had walked the world for nearly a hundred years.

“What stakes do you propose? Hearing the terms first might spoil the thrill of it, so let us settle what stands to be lost or gained before we speak of the wager itself.”

“It is straightforward. Should I lose, I shall become your disciple without a word of complaint, and bear full responsibility for all matters concerning Lord Yin Hu.”

“And if I am the one who loses?”

“Then grant me a single wish. Naturally, you may refuse it should it not sit well with you.”

Peng Beom’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, then he burst into hearty, thunderous laughter.

“Hahaha! Do you have any idea what a wish granted by this Peng Beom is worth across the martial world?”

Yang-hwi knew well. It was worth every ounce of its weight in gold—all the more so when it came from one of the Heavenly Martial Ten Venerables.

Still, he met the older man’s gaze steadily. “And what, may I ask, do you believe the life of a junior such as myself is worth?”

“Spoken like that! Hahaha!” Peng Beom’s laughter grew louder, more jubilant. “You speak true! There is no sect under heaven that would not count itself fortunate to claim you! You know your own value perfectly, young friend! This Peng Beom gives you his word—the scales are balanced perfectly, tipping neither way!”

Yang-hwi offered a faint, grateful smile and continued. “Now that you know what is at stake, would you not hear what we are wagering upon?”

“By all means! I trust it will prove as diverting as the terms?”

“I believe it shall.”

“Then out with it!”

“It is simple enough.”

He had chosen his words with care. Make the challenge too easy, and Peng Beom would take offense; too obviously fair or predictable, and he would lose interest. Better to rouse his spirit than bore him. There was another consideration, too—should the task seem impossibly difficult, Peng Beom might think he was merely seeking an honorable way to submit as his disciple.

Yang-hwi lifted the corner of his mouth and spoke with unflinching boldness. “If I earn the title of Supreme Dragon, I win. If I do not, Venerable Master, you are the victor.”

In that moment, standing before one of the ten mightiest beings alive—before the Great Sea Dragon King Blade, whose power rivaled the very peak of all creation—Yang-hwi declared that while he could not speak of ages past, he would stand as the Supreme Dragon of this generation, and of all that was to come.

“Kuhahaha! The Supreme Dragon! You would stake your claim to that very title! Kuhahaha!”

In truth, he had always intended to win that title for his own purposes. He would suffer neither Hyun Geom nor Namgung Cheon-yeong to lay claim to it. With Peng Beom’s wish added to the path he already trod, there was nothing to lose.

Peng Beom voiced the very thought as if it were his own. “A true wager is born of conviction and self-assurance! You carry both! Of all those yet to turn thirty-six, you hold yourself as the finest in the world!”

Yang-hwi nodded without hesitation. “I do. That is exactly what I believe. Shaolin’s Adu, Wudang’s Hyun Geom, the disciples of the Nine Great Sects and Five Great Clans—every last one of them. There is none more worthy to be Supreme Dragon than I.”

Having labored so hard to turn back the tides of time, he would settle for nothing less. Should he fail, he would wash his face in cold water, gather his resolve, and return to the place he was meant to be.

“Those who have won the Dragon-Phoenix Contest have always been well into their thirties,” Peng Beom mused. “The age limit stands at thirty-six—twelve times three. Do you truly believe one so young as you can prevail?”

“Did you not say it yourself? I carry both conviction and confidence.”

A fire kindled in the Great Sea Dragon King Blade’s eyes, as though he had discovered something rare and precious—a talent bright and entertaining, worthy of shaping into his own.

“Well spoken! You have proven yourself a worthy opponent for this Great Sea Dragon King Blade, Peng Beom. I accept your wager!”

“I thank you most humbly for indulging this ill-advised proposal, Venerable Master.”

“How could I refuse? There is no loss in it for me!”

And he was right. By all reasonable reckoning, Peng Beom stood an eight- or nine-in-ten chance of victory—at least in the eyes of the world.

“I shall take my leave now. A wager demands one’s full effort; I can no longer linger idly.”

“Go then. I too shall do all that is required.”

A gust of wind swept through the space, and Peng Beom was gone—true to his nature, dispensing with formal farewells.

He is a force that wears down all that stands before him, Yang-hwi reflected. I wonder how this will unfold.

He had cast the die. Every power plotting and scheming ahead of the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly would soon have to reckon with this new turn of events. When he had left Baek Manor bound for the gathering, he had told his companions they would shake things up—and this was certainly a beginning.

—

The Dragon-Phoenix Assembly had been devised by Wudang to forge a grand alliance and seize leadership over the martial world. In a matter of months, the leaders of thirty-six great sects would gather in Wuhuan. Already among those present was the head of the Peng Clan of Northern Hebei—and with the clan’s supreme elder, the Great Sea Dragon King Blade, lending his weight, his early arrival was only natural.

“Wang, do not push yourself too far,” Peng Gun, Clan Head of the Peng, said to his son and heir as he lifted his cup of wine.

“I shall not, Father… yet I cannot help but fear what others will say.”

Peng Gun looked upon his son with gentle pity. He would feel the same in the young man’s place.

“Father… can you not persuade Grandfather to reconsider?”

Peng Gun offered a warm, steady smile. “Wang, you know that is beyond even my power.”

“You speak true… yet still…” Peng Wang’s voice fell quiet with distress. “I was the last Supreme Dragon. I was exactly thirty-six years of age when I won. Does it not seem absurd that I should enter the Dragon-Phoenix Contest once more?”

He could already hear the murmurs rising. They would call him shameless, greedy for renown and lacking all propriety—that former Supreme Dragon, heir to the Peng Clan, wielder of the Dragon-Tiger Great Blade—sneaking into a gathering meant for the younger generation as an unwelcome, shameless intruder.

“Wang—no, Young Heir Peng—listen closely.” Peng Gun’s tone shifted, and his son straightened at the formal address. “Much hangs on this Dragon-Phoenix Assembly. It grieves me that my own decisions have placed you in a position where you may lose face, yet there is no dishonor in your claiming the title of Supreme Dragon.”

His reasoning was plain. “Wudang seeks to impose this so-called Murim Alliance upon us. The Dragon-Phoenix Contest is their first move. To place their chosen champion at the head of the alliance, they must have the finest young master of the age under their banner—and that is not all. The martial world grows restless and uncertain.”

The Peng Clan of Northern Hebei stood as the reigning Supreme Clan of the world. To submit quietly to Wudang’s proposed alliance would make a mockery of that title.

“There is more,” Peng Gun continued. “The Namgung Clan has sent forth their carefully groomed young heir. They aim to reclaim what they have lost, and the title of Supreme Dragon is their first step.”

Once, the Namgung had stood as the Supreme Clan, leading the Five Great Clans in an era of unmatched glory.

“You know the truth of it,” Peng Gun said quietly. “It is not the lowest who are most desperate—it is the second. They see the summit within reach, and believe one bold stride will carry them there. That longing drives them further than they ought to go.”

Nothing spurs a person so fiercely as a prize that glimmers just beyond their grasp. The Peng Clan could afford no missteps.

“Beyond my own wishes, it would serve our house well should you become Supreme Dragon once more.”

“Then as Young Heir of the Peng Clan, I shall do my duty.”

“Good. You are a comfort to me.”

It was a conversation fitting the leader and heir of the world’s most distinguished clan.

Then the Great Sea Dragon King Blade swept into the room, and the quiet mood shattered instantly.

“Gun! Wang!”

“…Grandfather.”

“Hmph. Head of the Supreme Clan, ought you not carry yourself with greater dignity?”

“When you have lived as long as I, you will learn such things are but empty show.”

“That is not what concerns us now. I met that young man from Baek Manor—the Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon boy! Uhaha! What a rare spirit!”

“So your walk was not merely for pleasure,” Peng Gun observed, and he and Peng Wang leaned forward—both curious about the celebrated young master of Baek Manor, known as Lord Yin Hu’s disciple and a talent of extraordinary promise.

What Peng Beom said next left them utterly stunned.

“I invited him to become my disciple!”

“Truly?!”

“What?!”

“And he refused!”

“Refused?!”

“What?!!”

To be sought as a disciple by one of the Heavenly Martial Ten Venerables was an honor beyond measure—that he should turn it down was unthinkable.

“What reason could he give? Has Wudang already laid claim to him?”

“I think not. He is not the sort of man Sword Elder would seek,” Peng Beom replied. “He refused out of loyalty to Lord Yin Hu, for one thing—and he is shrewd, calculating how best to advance himself. It was no simple rejection.”

“Then what came of it?”

“We struck a bargain. If he does not become Supreme Dragon, he loses. Is it not an entertaining prospect?” Peng Beom recounted the full terms, then added, “You know I have long sought a worthy successor. None born within our clan have ever measured up.”

Even among the brightest young talents of the Supreme Clan, none had met the exacting standards of the Great Sea Dragon King Blade. To inherit his arts was no small thing.

“That boy… he is perfect. I am certain, with proper instruction, he would carry on my legacy fully.”

“He is that remarkable?” Peng Gun was astonished, while Peng Wang felt a strange, cold foreboding settle over him—both men having strived themselves to walk the path their ancestor had blazed.

“And so, Wang…” At the sound of his name, Peng Wang straightened, a chill running through him. “I shall oversee your training personally.”

“…Grandfather? Why now, all at once?”

“I encouraged you to enter the contest because I thought it would amuse you,” Peng Beom said, “but I never truly wished for you to become Supreme Dragon. You know that—take part, enjoy the occasion, and withdraw before it is done.”

Unlike Lord Yin Hu or Rock Buddha, Peng Beom held no particular grievance against Wudang’s ambitions; it was only natural that a sect should seek to stand above others. Yet things had changed.

“I must make Baek Yang-hwi my disciple. And to ensure that happens… you must stand in his way and stop him from claiming the title.”

Peng Wang knew well what that meant—training under the Great Sea Dragon King Blade was legendary for its rigors, a trial of fire and endurance. He kept his face calm and pleasant, but inwardly he cried out in alarm: *Baek Yang-hwi!!!*

Ten days remained until the opening of the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly. Time flowed onward, swift and steady as a river.
—