Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.2 - Knight Lee Han Here
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Still before the sun had risen in the early dawn.
The tavern that stayed open late hadn't closed yet, and it was about time for the farmers to start stirring and heading to their fields.
Hooook, hooook!
Thud, thump.
But along with ragged breathing that didn't match the hour came a dull whoosh cutting through the air, echoing down the street. It might even have given someone the illusion of a horse galloping by.
The momentum emanating from this runner was anything but ordinary.
However...
"Knight, sir, out for your run again today?"
"You're so diligent."
"Keep it up!"
The farmers, for whom rising early was routine, sent cheers toward the intense figure of a certain man that chased away their lingering sleepiness.
No matter how diligent one might be, repeating the same day every day could easily wear down the spirit. So the sight of this man banishing that mental fatigue and boredom brought the farmers great amusement and motivation.
Especially...
"Oh my, how embarrassing."
"Maybe cover your eyes?"
"I wish my husband did that too, hehe."
"...Is that a man or a beast?"
The women pretended to cover their eyes but sneaked peeks at the half-naked man, properly invigorating their lives in the process.
On the flip side, the men sometimes envied his physique and drew big inspiration from it. In a way, it was a win-win for everyone.
Hooook, hooook...!
The man merely nodded to the farmers greeting him, without any warm chit-chat.
This wasn't because he was unfriendly—it was because he was so focused on his workout that he had no spare moment to respond.
The farmers knew this and didn't take it to heart. Instead...
"Have some of this later!"
Whoosh! An apple came flying.
The man caught it without looking back and waved in thanks.
A sign of gratitude.
The farmer who'd thrown it beamed with pride.
"He's such a fun guy."
"It's rare to see a knight living outside the castle walls."
"True that, heh."
For three years—rain or snow, without missing a single day—the farmers cheered for the running man, and no one could resist the urge.
They didn't know his goal, but...
"He's definitely going to make it big."
The farmers firmly believed it.
"-I'm serious. This year, I'm definitely quitting for good!"
Crunch!
The man—no, Lee Han—took a big bite of the apple, psyching himself up as always.
His goal: retirement.
He was itching to retire.
Lee Han ran today as well.
Not just any run.
His target was a full 20km, completed in under an hour.
That didn't mean he sprinted blindly.
The key was a steady pace, maintaining stability over the full hour. Sandbags were strapped to his wrists and ankles—exactly 10kg each.
Increasing the load on his body. Sometimes he even ran in full armor.
Thump, thump.
This made the ground rumble with every step, doubling the strain, but he ignored the weight's burden and kept moving.
Running was done, but plenty remained.
"Hoo."
An iron bar stood in one corner of the clearing.
Lee Han gripped it and...
"Hngh!"
Pull-up.
Chin-up, in common parlance. Perfect form, up and down without pause, repeating relentlessly.
Biceps, lats, erector spinae.
Countless other muscles twitched under the strain as he heightened his focus to sense every minute movement.
This was his body, his muscles within.
He had to ponder how they moved, when they took the strongest stimulus, and how to best utilize them. Blindly building strength wouldn't cut it.
'I can't move with the same comma-level precision as that monster, but if I build a body tough enough to withstand that guy's strikes, that'll do!'
With a goal in sight, he couldn't stop pondering.
At some point, he wedged a 20kg sandbag between his legs and strapped 30kg to his back, then went again. The stimulus intensified, the muscle tremors more extreme.
Groooan.
The iron bar, which had no reason to scream, seemed to waver under the relentless hour of high-intensity pull-ups.
...Or was it bending from his excessive force?
"...Gotta use just the right amount of power, huh."
Even he thought he'd gone a bit overboard with the brute strength. Lee Han eased off and dropped to the ground.
After 90 straight minutes of pull-ups, steam rose from his body like sweat vapor, heat radiating fiercely.
Sweat pooled around him, every muscle squeezed to the limit, trembling uncontrollably.
Nonstop running followed by nonstop contraction had finally triggered overload.
Even for a sturdy knight, pushing that far would naturally wreck the body—it was the obvious course.
"Grraaah!"
Lee Han just did some stretches to loosen up, with no intention of resting.
On the contrary, he shouldered a log from the yard like a barbell.
100kg alone was a huge burden, but he squatted down even further.
Thoom!
Squats.
Nothing beat it for lower-body strength, but few exercises were this torturous.
Hold the squat, rise, repeat.
Soon, agony like his thighs burning away surged in, but he didn't stop.
Like with pull-ups, he treated strength training like cardio, and cardio like strength work.
Utterly reckless—any expert would say he was dead set on destroying himself.
Thump!
After 70 minutes of this brutal torture-disguised-as-squats, Lee Han carefully set the log down.
He wanted to just drop it, but breaking it meant scrounging for a replacement, so reason won over the urge for relief.
"Kahk!"
A cough brought the taste of iron.
Internal injury.
It was beyond excessive—pure madness of a workout. Not getting hurt would've been weirder.
No prestigious knight family trained this barbarically.
They kept healers or priests on standby, or used family secret potions for stable recovery of wounds and stamina.
What Lee Han did was less training, more reckless self-torture.
Self-harm that damaged the body.
Brutish? No, straight-up insane.
But Lee Han wasn't truly mad or thoughtless to push this far.
On the contrary...
"My recovery's troll-level for real."
He had something to rely on, so he dared the madness.
Lee Han suddenly started devouring food from his backpack.
No priest visit—just shoving in sustenance.
Chew, chew.
He masticated furiously.
Not gulping it down, but breaking it down fine, intent on absorbing every nutrient.
His meal: 1kg boiled chicken (skinless, of course), broccoli and nuts, boiled or steamed potatoes and cabbage, etc.
Health food of health foods.
Tasteless, naturally.
Minimal salt or seasonings. It was for health, not flavor.
Yet it healed his body like sprinkling rare recovery potions instead of spices.
Squelch, crunch.
Recovery kicked in.
Muscle tremors faded, color returned to his pale face.
Invisible aches in knees and bursting internals healed in a flash.
That regenerative power evoked a fearsome monster's.
The forest terror known as the Man-Eater Ghost.
Troll.
Exactly like that monster's ability.
And spot on.
One of the monster genes he'd gained from endless experiments under a spellcaster long ago was troll.
Not the kind that reattached severed heads or limbs.
Just rapid healing via nutrition intake and tough resilience—that was his limit.
Still, if any gym rats were here, they'd envy him to death.
Nutrients absorbed instantly into blood and flesh.
External or internal wounds mended right away—perfect for bodybuilding.
"Hooowoo...!"
Confirming stamina and pain fully restored, Lee Han rose.
Three hours till shift.
In that time...
Shing.
Whoosh! Whiiiing!
He swung his sword.
Kingdom Basic Swordsmanship.
A foundational style slicing through eight directions in sequence—even a child could learn it.
Lee Han could do it blindfolded, or even by thought alone.
But his eyes stayed fixed, unblinking, tracking blade path and tip without fail.
How he swung, how his body channeled power, how to amp strength, destructive force, agility...
Pondering endlessly, he executed the forms sequentially, seeking further growth.
As motions flowed...
Slash!
His sword—a mere longsword—grew swift and sharp enough to rend air from some point.
Later, silent even to wind-cutting, only silvery trails from the blade hinting at motion.
Pik, piik!
Dust billowed with each swing, gashes scarring the earth.
And finally...
Boooom!
Slamming the ground, channeling full-body power into the swing—the dirt exploded into a small crater pit.
Plip, plop.
Shockwave-flung soil and pebbles pelted back down, dirtying him.
Yet still...
"...Can't swing any harder than this?"
Dissatisfied, he just frowned.
The path to retirement was long and arduous.