Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.10 – The Knight Diligently Tackles Side Jobs Too (2)
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When they first heard the order to start jumping rope, the cadets were utterly dumbfounded, thinking, "What the heck is this?"
It felt like something only kids would do—a silly prank. Why on earth did they have to bother with this?
The aspiring knights, in particular, were full of rebellion.
But the moment they laid eyes on the red-marked jump ropes...
"Wh-what is this!?"
This was a jump rope?
...Not rebar?
A steel cable woven from metal wires.
Were they supposed to pick this up?
Harboring doubts that maybe it only looked like this on the outside, the cadets grabbed the steel cable anyway.
Crack!
It was heavy.
So heavy that if they let their guard down, their wrists might snap right off.
It had that much weight to it.
From the handles to the cable itself.
......And they were supposed to jump rope with this?
This was utterly impossible.
Yet...
Whoosh! Whoosh!
"This is fun!"
Kunta started jumping rope like a kid who'd found a delightful new toy, and watching him, the cadets gave it a try, half-hoping it might work.
Maybe they were just psyching themselves out—perhaps they could do it if they tried.
But no.
"Ah, it won't even budge!"
"How are we supposed to swing this thing?!"
How could they swing something that was already a struggle just to hold?
"Grrraaah!"
Thank goodness they'd learned Fighting Technique; only by channeling their inner energy at full throttle could they finally get the cable moving.
They'd dismissed jump rope as a joke at first, but now they were swinging it like their lives depended on it.
One slip, and their wrists or elbows could pop out of joint.
Whoosh! Whoooosh!
Still, they gradually gained confidence.
If they used Fighting Technique—no, if they relied on themselves—they could swing it. They felt certain of that.
The thought that they might actually hit the required reps...
Splat!
Thud...
"......"
...seemed like it might lead to disaster before they could finish.
One cadet jumping the "steel cable rope" got hit by it and passed out cold.
Thud, thud...
Once one went down, it triggered a chain reaction—cadets started dropping one after another, knocked out by the cable.
The cadets shuddered and couldn't help but stop swinging their own cables.
If it hit their heads wrong, it could be serious.
"You weaklings, passing out from a little tap like that? Tsk tsk, so frail."
-......
This wasn't about frailty—it was a matter of life and death, the cadets thought, but they couldn't bring themselves to argue with him.
And for good reason.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh!
"Why make something this easy so hard and flop over, huh?"
...The instructor spun the steel cable jump rope they found dizzying with effortless ease.
Then, in the midst of it...
Splat!
The cable struck him square in the head.
...It definitely hit hard.
"Oops, my bad."
But his head was unscratched and perfectly fine.
He was just embarrassed at slipping up despite his confidence.
Was that even human?
"D-doesn't that hurt, sir?"
"It hurts. But I'm enduring it with my perseverance. A knight has to handle at least this much."
"That doesn't seem right..."
Isn't it just you who can do that?
-The cadets all swallowed such mutterings.
* * *
Lee Han hadn't simply handed out ridiculously heavy steel cables assuming everyone was like him.
He had common sense, and he was well aware his own body was exceptional.
But precisely because of that, he knew.
They could "plenty" handle this much.
"Some of you have probably figured it out already, but the cables vary in weight by color. Yellow is a standard light jump rope, green is 3kg. Red is all 10kg."
-T-ten kilos!?
A murmur rippled through the group.
Those with yellow or green ropes looked on in shock at the ones holding (bloodstained) red steel cables.
They'd been swinging those this whole time?
But ignoring the commotion, Lee Han continued.
"This instructor remembers the sparring from day one. Aside from a few exceptions, most of you got taken down in seconds. Oh, if you don't remember, speak up—I'll jog your memory."
...It stung their pride, but no one objected.
It was the truth.
However, Lee Han wasn't reminding them of yesterday to mock or humiliate them.
"From what I saw yesterday, the swordsmanship cadets have shockingly poor basics. Especially you aspiring knights. You claim to want to be knights, yet you lack any foundation. So let me ask: are you really serious about becoming knights with that level of skill?"
-!!!?
It was plenty insulting.
They may have lost pathetically, but they were scions of knightly houses.
Questioning their seriousness was a grave insult!
But Lee Han just scoffed at their insolent glares.
"Anyone who takes that as an insult, listen up with your ears wide open. You're idiots. You don't even know what's lacking in you, living off sweet words from flatterers. That's why your basics are trash. If you went to war like that, you'd die first—or live longest. Why live longest? Because the military isn't stupid enough to deploy pathetic weaklings who can't even care for themselves; you'd be lounging in some fancy resort with good water and air before you even saw battle, you pitiful morons."
"......"
An uncomfortable silence fell.
Was struggling with jump rope—or getting hurt by that monstrous thing—such a crime?
And lacking basics?
Some refused to accept it, and Lee Han snorted as if he'd expected as much.
Of course—trash wouldn't get it no matter what you said.
That's why lecturing them a hundred times was pointless.
"Even with the instructor saying this, some idiots won't accept it—fitting for morons. I don't expect much from you anyway. So here's a textbook example. Kunta, Arno, Garand cadets—front and center."
Thud.
"Kunta, reporting!"
"I have a rough idea what to do."
"Hm, this is exactly like what my old man does. Hidden son, maybe?"
The three stepped forward eagerly, and Lee Han was satisfied.
Yes, that's the right attitude for learning.
"You should feel ashamed. The top performers among you do it without complaint, while the below-average whiners complain endlessly."
Lee Han gave a nod.
No explanation needed—they got it and performed silently.
Whoosh, whooooosh!
The heavy cables whistled through the air.
Kunta handled his like a fun toy, swinging freely.
Arno jumped with textbook-perfect, stable form.
Garand looked casual but was just as steady as Arno.
Not a single wobble as the cables flew.
Different speeds, drenched in sweat like rain, yet no sign of fatigue—they kept swinging, over and over.
Ten reps to twenty, twenty to thirty.
Slow but steady progress.
The others stared in disbelief—was this even possible so smoothly?
Worlds apart from those who couldn't even hit three without injury.
As some whiners flushed red and lost their words, Lee Han...
Tap!
Suddenly nudged Kunta's cable, breaking the rhythm and slamming it into his back.
Smack!
Followed by a burst like pow!—strong enough to sound like a whip and hammer combined.
That wasn't just painful; it was bone-cracking, three months recovery territory.
Yet...
"Mm, instructor bad. Kunta hurts..."
"Don't play victim. That's totally bearable."
"Pain is pain."
"Quit grumbling. ...Tch, I'll buy you something tasty later."
"Instructor is good person!"
He looked fine.
Not entirely unscathed—his skin was red from the impact.
But enduring that? Unbelievable.
What if—
"If any cadet is thinking something lame like 'Is it barbarian powers?', gouge your eyes out right now. Especially you Fighting Technique users—eyes that see but don't comprehend are useless."
...A different shame welled up at the ensuing tirade.
Meaning plenty had suspected barbarian abilities.
Scoffing at them, Lee Han explained.
"I'm no expert in Fighting Technique, but I know the basics. It's a method to momentarily unleash the body's potential, and that potential grows with effort and training. Right?"
"Correct."
"Thanks for the honest answer. You've got real potential, unlike the others. Want to be my assistant?"
"...I'll pass."
"Shame."
Arno's reply—he still swung without tiring.
Already over 100 reps.
"Cadet Arno is using Fighting Technique on his knees, ankles, wrists, elbows, shoulders—spots at risk in intense exercise. Protecting just those, without wasting energy elsewhere. Jumping lightly. Not using it anywhere else. Get what that means?"
"Ah..."
Dawning realizations emerged.
Like teaching kindergarteners, their comprehension was painfully slow, and Lee Han eyed them pitifully before spelling it out.
"Cadet Arno isn't using Fighting Technique except where essential—he's swinging solely on his natural strength and stamina."
"...Instructor, you said you don't know Fighting Technique—how do you see all that?"
"You can tell by looking."
"R-really?"
"Point is, Arno, Garand, Kunta—all have solid foundational strength and stamina. Not like you slackers relying on Fighting Technique for everything."
Fighting Technique wasn't some omnipotent crutch; the user mattered more.
Even a legendary sword is useless in a third-rate swordsman's hands—can't even chop wood properly.
In that sense, they were wrong.
'In martial arts terms, it's like training only internal energy and skipping all external body training.'
Not even fit to hold water—not a glass bowl, no.
This was generous.
'More like paper cups.'
When would these become human, jeez.
"What you need isn't sword training or Fighting Technique drills. First build stamina, strength, endurance, durability—you flimsy lot."
"...You're just saying we need to retrain everything from scratch, at length."
Garand's blunt, village-philosopher wisdom.
Perfectly timed as he hit 200 reps—cadets' faces darkened.
Basics now...? After all this time...
"For reference, most fail the knight order entrance exam at the stamina test—the 'easiest' part. Oh right, you all plan to parachute into your family orders anyway, so stamina doesn't matter? Automatic entry, no test needed. Ha, bloodlines sure are great, huh? Haha!"
"......"
"Joining family orders" was code for "nepo baby"—to nobles who prized honor like life, it was "bite your tongue and die."
Thus their rebellion faded, and Lee Han smiled at the silenced group.
Nice faces now that they get it.
"Don't worry. I don't plan to drag this boring stuff out forever."
Wonder if one full semester would do it?
"This instructor guarantees: follow well this semester, and every cadet here will have physiques incomparable to now. Of course..."
He trailed off, scanning every face.
His gaze practically said:
"If you actually follow."
Sneering doubt they'd keep up.
The cadets felt his mocking eyes and thought:
Whatever else, just one punch—that'd be heaven.
......A tale for far, far in the future.