Chapter 6. I Am Actually the Greatest Under Heaven
Hugong ground his teeth repeatedly.
Lord Beomcheon, feeling pity, held his hand and comforted him.
“It’s okay. Child, it’s okay. It’s just a dream. Nothing will happen.”
Grind.
Hugong ground his teeth even harder.
This was not "nothing."
It was now clear.
He and Beomhang had swapped souls.
Was the soul swap Beomhang’s doing?
Whether it was or not, Hugong, filled with rage, finally exploded.
“I’ll kill this crazy bastard! How dare you die on your own? Even if you’re dead, I’ll kill you again!”
He thrashed and shouted, causing the bed to shake.
Lord Beomcheon and the physician staggered back in alarm.
Hugong was completely unhinged. His eyes rolled back as he flailed wildly.
“How could someone do this! You should’ve at least consulted me once… Ugh!”
Hugong, who had been raging, finally lost consciousness and collapsed.
His weak body, still burdened by lingering toxins, couldn’t withstand the mental shock.
Lord Beomcheon gulped.
The physician gulped too.
“Well… did you hear that?”
“Y-yes, I heard.”
“He didn’t say he wanted to die, did he?”
“No. He clearly said… he’d kill him.”
“Isn’t that remarkable?”
“I… I was actually moved.”
The grandson who couldn’t die,
The grand duke who chased death,
Now vowed to kill someone.
To Lord Beomcheon and the physician, no words could have been sweeter.
Five days had passed since the suicide attempt.
In that time, Lord Beomcheon fell ill, groaning in his bed.
His pre-existing ailments, compounded by mental exhaustion from the ordeal, had pushed him to his limit. After recovering slightly, he received reports on recent events—
—and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
“What do you mean the eldest is doing push-ups?!”
“I wouldn’t dare lie. At first, he could barely manage. His arms trembled, and he collapsed repeatedly.”
“As expected.”
“But now he can do seven. His progress is daily.”
“What?”
Lord Beomcheon couldn’t comprehend the words. Was his illness causing hallucinations?
The report continued.
“Not just push-ups. He does squats, horse stances, and trains relentlessly. Today, he even attempted splits.”
“Splits?! Why?!”
What could he possibly achieve by tearing his legs apart?!
Lord Beomcheon’s scalp prickled. No one knew the grandson’s frail condition better than him.
For that boy, even breathing was strenuous.
A body that could barely walk was now squatting and jumping? The image of both feet leaving the ground was unimaginable.
Yet the report couldn’t be false.
The grandson had five guards in total: Songhwa as his personal attendant and four hidden watchers to prevent suicide. Every movement was monitored.
“He eats heartily, drinks over a bucket of water daily, and trains without rest. It’s… unsettling.”
“Surely not…”
Lord Beomcheon clenched his fist. The guard nodded grimly.
“This mirrors the incident from a year ago. No—it’s worse. He’s clearly training to end his life faster. If his stamina improves further, it’ll be dangerous. We must stop him. Seal his acupoints and confine him to bed.”
“Hmm…”
Lord Beomcheon’s pupils flickered as he recalled the past. A year ago, Beomhang had suddenly changed—smiling, dining with family, taking strolls. Everyone rejoiced.
Five days later, he’d hanged himself.
They’d found him just in time. The memory of his bloodshot eyes and manic laughter remained vivid.
But recently… he begged me to save him.
Lord Beomcheon still wanted to believe. The boy had trained for over seven days during his illness. Perhaps this time was different. Last time, he’d raved about killing someone in his sleep—
—but cutting off all hope out of fear would be reckless.
“Bring him here. I’ll see for myself.”
“Yes.”
Summoned, Hugong arrived drenched in sweat. Twenty squats had left his calves trembling and clothes soaked. He hadn’t even washed, knowing he’d resume training after this.
“Any memories returned?”
“Not… yet.”
Hugong stumbled slightly over formal speech.
“None at all?”
“…No progress.”
His stammer wasn’t just from etiquette. His breathing hitched irregularly, sweat dripping as he strained to hold a split.
Lord Beomcheon frowned.
He’s not even splitting properly.
The boy’s legs were barely wider than shoulder-width, his face red from effort.
“What are your plans?”
“One step at a time. Training comes first… but there’s much I don’t know… and much to do.”
“Much to do?”
Lord Beomcheon tilted his head. Your only task should be dying.
“I know how they see me.” Huff. Huff.
Hugong abruptly switched to push-ups mid-conversation. Lord Beomcheon bit his lip, then unwittingly began counting aloud as the count passed five:
“…Six… seven… eight. Nine! Yes! Eleven—remarkable!”
He caught himself cheering, then scolded, “Rest! Your body can’t handle squats next! Three… five!”
He counted again despite himself, torn between awe and worry. Hugong’s feet actually left the ground during jumps—a shocking sight. Why display this here? Couldn’t he train privately after?
Huff…
“I have… something to say.”
“Speak.”
“Beomhang… is dead.”
Lord Beomcheon’s eyes widened like lanterns.
“What… do you mean?”
Hugong panted, sweat raining onto the floor, but met his gaze squarely.
“The Grand Duke of Cheonhwaseogo, Beomhang, is dead. Since he’s already dead, there’s no need to fear him dying again.”
“Then who are you?”
“I am—”
Lord Beomcheon’s hands trembled as he studied the unfamiliar glint in his grandson’s eyes.
Hugong smiled.
“—the Greatest Under Heaven.”
With a shout, he dropped into another squat.
Huap!
Truth had been delivered, but not all truths brought peace. Lord Beomcheon’s heart raced.
Greatest Under Heaven? Yet the boy’s legs shook comically. Declaring his own death might signal resolve, but this new title—
Has he gone mad?
Late at night, wine cups filled and emptied.
By the tower window sat two youths: Beomhang’s cousins, Second Prince Beomyun and Third Prince Beombumung.
Yun drained his cup again. Bumung refilled it silently. By the fifth bottle, Yun swayed drunkenly but demanded more.
“Brother, it’s late. Stop now.”
“Here to nag? Pour.”
“Just this last cup.”
“This whole bottle.”
Bumung obliged, then stiffened as Yun smirked.
“You’ve been visiting that beast every morning.”
“What? No—”
“Drop the act. You think he’s truly lost his memory? That his training is for health? Have you forgotten his smile that day? This is pointless!”
“Brother, forgive my boldness… but Grandfather says he’s different now. For Father’s sake—”
“So you grovel at a madman’s feet?”
“I just want things to improve!”
Yun sighed.
“Bumung, listen. That demon won’t change. Only his death will bring peace. Have you forgotten how he nearly killed Grandfather?”
When Bumung remained sullen, Yun forced a laugh.
“Enough gloom! Let’s find women. Drinking without courtesans is dull.”
“Brother—”
“Get up. You need to learn about women.”
He tugged Bumung’s arm, but the younger resisted.
“Speak to him yourself. He’s not the same. Being near him lately… I’ve felt… happy.”
“Happy?!” Yun’s eyes turned vicious. “Call him ‘brother’ again, and I’ll kill you too.”
Clang!
He smashed the wine bottle against the table.
