Chapter 1: The World's Greatest Man is Fat
I noticed it right away.
The feel of the bed I was lying on was different.
Someone had moved me somewhere else while I was asleep.
But the problem was more serious than that.
My plump body was gone.
My internal energy had vanished without a trace.
My entire body... had changed.
The face reflected in the mirror was filled with gloom.
At least it was somewhat presentable, but what kind of body was this? It felt like a bundle of straw!
Even walking was difficult now.
It seemed I’d been soul-shifted or something.
When I woke up, there had been a faint sound... Was it a voice, a melody, or just noise?
I couldn’t tell if it was real or an auditory hallucination.
In my joyless, tedious old age, I’d received the gift of a young body—but why did it have to be this frail, dying one?
The packaging and contents were both a mess.
Was that day to blame?
The day the Sword Saint challenged me to a duel.
The words he’d raved in his madness that day...
Or perhaps...
Episode 1: The World's Greatest Man is Fat
Hugong was in a good mood.
The table was piled with delicious dishes.
In his monotonous days, mealtime was his only joy.
Creak. Squeak.
The chair screamed as if dying when he sat on it.
“Quiet, quiet,” Hugong soothed the chair like a fussy infant.
It wasn’t the chair’s fault—it wasn’t old.
He was simply so fat that his waistline could’ve fit three ordinary men combined. Even seated at a four-person table, he occupied it like a single person.
“Now, what to eat first?”
The chair settled. He picked up his chopsticks.
But trouble soon arose.
A cold woman’s voice outside the door forced Hugong to freeze mid-reach.
“Lord Hugong, it’s Jegalhye.”
“What is it?”
“I have urgent news to report.”
“I’m busy. Return in two hours.”
A composed reply came through the door:
“Understood.”
Reality disagreed.
Jegalhye entered without permission—a cold-faced beauty with snow-pale skin and long black hair cascading like ink.
Hugong snorted a laugh.
He hadn’t expected her to obey anyway. This wasn’t her first offense.
“Come here. Let’s eat together.”
“You’ll gain weight.”
Her tone and expression now differed entirely from her earlier formality.
The aloof act melted into playful familiarity, her lips curling as she brewed tea and sat across from him.
“Kid, plumpness is charming.”
“You are charming, Uncle.”
“Ah, what a relief.”
“Hahaha!”
She was the alliance’s strategist, a genius mind who spoke sparingly and acted with ruthless precision.
Her icy demeanor earned her the nickname “Frozen Blossom” (氷花), but to Hugong—who’d known her since her infancy—she remained a cheeky, spoiled granddaughter.
An occasionally irritating one.
“If you keep smiling like that...”
“I’ll look foolish?”
“You’ve grown clever.”
She grinned. “I came to deliver major news, but perhaps I should leave.”
“You never do when you say that.”
“Hehe...”
“Honestly, why people call you an ice flower...”
Hugong clicked his tongue, but Jegalhye kept beaming.
“Two reports: good news and bad news.”
“Good first.”
“Noklimwang succeeded in cattle ranching. The beef quality from Uwang Mountain is top-tier.”
“Oh?”
Hugong’s belly-laugh made his chins jiggle, cheeks squeezing his eyes shut.
Jegalhye watched his delighted wobbling with amusement.
“Haha! So that rascal Noklimwang finally found his calling!”
“Don’t celebrate yet.”
“Ah, the bad news. Ahem.”
“Hyunam Branch received a missive. Based on the Sword Saint’s route and speed, he’ll reach the alliance by noon tomorrow.”
“Already? Hmm. He’s in quite the hurry.”
Half a month prior, a letter had arrived—an unexpected duel challenge from the Sword Saint himself.
Once hailed as the World’s Greatest Blade, the man had vanished a decade ago, severing all ties to the martial world.
His sudden reappearance with a duel demand was... peculiar.
But Hugong had no intention of accepting.
Let him have the alliance leadership. With his noble character and refined skills, he’ll manage better than this old man.
“What will you do?”
“Run away.”
“Nonsense.”
Jegalhye burst into laughter. Hugong’s face soured.
“I’m serious. Facing his blade? I’d sooner abandon everything and flee. Let him be the World’s Greatest. Thirty years is enough.”
“Why not duel him? I’ve always wanted to see your martial arts in action.”
“To attend my funeral?”
“Then who slaughtered the Demonic Blood Lord of Ma Cult? The Ghost Emperor of Yureong Valley? The Curse King of Xizang?”
“Tsk. Just luck.”
“So you lucked them all to their graves?”
Jegalhye’s deadpan stare met his shrug.
“Exactly. Besides, look at me. These days, walking leaves me breathless. No—tonight, I’ll vanish. Clean up the aftermath.”
She pouted.
“Since childhood, I’ve only ever seen you eat.”
Five years ago, her father—Hugong’s sworn brother—had died.
Hugong’s gluttony had spiraled since.
“Where will you go?”
“Hmm. Noklimwang’s ranch at Uwang Mountain... or the North Sea. The Frost Goddess there keeps pestering me to taste their icefish.”
“Wherever you go, I’ll find you within half a year.”
“Ugh. Why must you torment me?”
“Who knows? The succession might wrap up faster.”
She knew—better than anyone—that following Hugong’s travels outweighed any worldly ambition.
At least, for her.
Hugong’s expression suddenly hardened.
Jegalhye blinked innocently.
“Piiii... Do you hate me that much?”
“......”
“Un... Uncle?”
The air shifted.
This wasn’t the man who deflected seriousness with jokes.
She’d never seen this side of him—not once in her life.
“Silence.”
Jegalhye’s eyes widened as she stumbled back.
Hugong was listening to distant voices—shouts from the alliance’s entrance gates, miles away yet clear as whispers:
—Elder Muyeon, what’s wrong?
—Disaster! Hyunam Branch fell! The Sword Saint slaughtered them all—even civilians!
—What?!
—No time! Shaolin and Wudang are mobilizing, but who knows... We must inform the Lord—
Madness.
The Sword Saint—paragon of righteousness—now a bloodthirsty demon?
Only one explanation: Demonic Possession.
Hugong’s eyes narrowed.
He focused his energy, unleashing a wave of consciousness that rippled five hundred zhang outward—sensing breaths, conversations, energies.
Nothing.
He amplified his aura.
Brilliant light erupted from his pupils as his presence exploded—
CRACK!
Jegalhye staggered, clutching her chest as the table overturned.
A voice echoed in Hugong’s mind, distant yet clear:
—KHAHAHA! Shaolin’s 108 Arhat Formation? I’ll paint their temple red!
“Uncle!”
Jegalhye screamed as Hugong’s hair and robes whipped wildly.
His radiance dwarfed the sun.
“The Sword Saint has demonized.”
“What?!”
“No time. You—”
Hugong shot upward—a streak of light blasting through the ceiling.
Three violet swords tore through the opposite wall, trailing his wake.
The violet streak tore across the sky, leaving onlookers gasping in its wake.
Hugong hovered above Hyunam Branch’s ruins, eyes blazing.
Corpses littered shattered halls.
Blood soaked collapsed walls. Survivors crawled through debris.
Further on, an entire village lay in carnage—men, women, children torn limb from limb.
No survivors.
Why...?
