Chapter 142
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: Martial Arts (No Heroes)
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There are no heroes in this other world.
So, you could call it martial arts without heroes.
In other words, otherworldly fantasy is martial arts.
"I told you, didn't I? You've got the makings of a fine serial killer."
Behold, the woman standing before me.
Her name was Karin, and she spouted this insane nonsense with a gleeful look on her face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Doesn't just looking at that foul mouth of hers make you feel like any notion of heroism has been tossed into some back-alley sewer?
This killer was a master who'd trained in the way of the sword—true martial arts—for over twenty years (estimated).
That's why it's martial arts.
All those who know their way around a blade have nothing in their heads but obsessive thoughts on how to kill people more effectively. Sure, if you refine that a bit, it becomes killing monsters instead, but it's still all about killing something.
In the end, martial arts is the art of killing your opponent.
Where's the heroism in that? Where's the righteousness?
It's truly horrifying.
But I'm a guy who doesn't give a damn about heroism.
I'm Kim Katt, the martial artist without heroes.
Today, I'd come to the Swordsman Guild to learn that art of killing.
"Y-Yeah... Now that I think about it, I have killed a lot, but it was never on purpose—it was unavoidable, you know? Force majeure. Really, there were circumstances beyond my control."
"That's what all killers say."
"Damn it."
Clang!
My sword flew through the air. I'd confidently wrapped around Karin's wooden sword, but a counterattack came from an unexpected angle. In a real fight, that strike would've taken my wrist clean off. I ended up allowing it and collapsed from the shock.
"Smooth. Your skills have improved more than I expected. That last attack was pretty sharp. Judging by the killing intent you've built up, you've gotta have killed at least ten people in the meantime, right? Good. Excellent! You're a role model for our guild!"
Karin extended her hand to me. I grabbed it and stood up.
Come to think of it, after the last training session, I had killed a few people.
Probably not ten, though. If I decided not to count cultists or bandits as people and did the math that way, then I hadn't killed a single one.
A miraculous way of counting.
More innocent than innocent, Kim Katt.
"So, who'd you kill? I love hearing those stories the most. It's been a while—why don't you tell your master all about it?"
"Most people would think it's the kind of story not even worth mentioning."
Karin tossed her wooden sword aside and dragged over an oak barrel to sit on.
"That's what makes it great. What could be more entertaining in this world than stories of people killing people? Literature's at its best when it's murder literature."
What the hell is murder literature?
"Dunno. Love stories?"
"Stories of murder born from romantic entanglements have their own charm, sure."
"Fuck, you don't make any goddamn sense."
The day after graduating from the arena, I'd staggered into the familiar Swordsman Guild, drained of my vital energy by Claudy. All to get my hands on even greater "strength." After some back-and-forth, I'd paid 5 silvers and started retraining right away.
With other trainees around, Karin's personal sword lessons lasted about an hour. But right now, she was wasting that precious time.
Look at that face of hers.
"Spill it already. If you don't, no more training today."
"Ah, this is abuse of power. Total power harassment."
"Power harassment? You little shit. Don't you know I give you extra special attention?"
According to Karin, I had more enthusiasm and talent than the other brats, so she put extra effort into me. I appreciated the words, but her idea of "effort" was beatings disguised as concern, so honestly, it was way over the top.
"If you get it, hurry up."
She drew her gleaming purple sword and swung it around threateningly to urge me on.
This wasn't a silent protest—it was a threat of violence.
"Damn."
Well, it wasn't like I couldn't talk about it.
I sorted my thoughts and decided to speak. What to start with? The last time I'd seen Karin was definitely before the festival... Festival? Did I kill anyone during the festival?
"Oh, right. That happened."
Come to think of it, I might've killed quite a few bandits during the festival. The ones I met on the mountain, and that damn bluebird Lina who pickpocketed me, leading to that chase.
I definitely killed a few back then.
"D-During the festival, I ran into some bandits on the mountain."
"Oh? During the festival? Well, criminals don't care about time or place."
It was when I was moving with Claudy, Kobson, and the rest.
"Six of them, I think? Anyway, they were acting tough as a group, so I ambushed and killed one. Turns out they were a ragtag bunch—two hesitated. Then, with my comrades, we took out a few more, and the rest fled in terror."
Ambushes and first strikes were the ultimate techniques.
Once you land the first blow and drop one, the rest get gripped by fear. Professional warriors might hold steady, but bandits? No way they overcome the fear of death.
"So, one panicked after his buddy bolted, and I killed him. Took out another with a pincer attack. Problem solved. And get this—we looted them, and those fuckers had talents on them. Yeah, talents. You remember talents, right?"
"The ones they were handing out at the festival? Didn't pay much attention. Not sure."
Karin tilted her head.
"Anyway, those talents were event currency the church handed out after purifying the undead—as a reward for good deeds, to enjoy the festival. And these bandits had them. The gall of killers trying to enjoy the festival? As an upstanding law-abiding citizen, it made my blood boil."
Back then, I really felt like my head was gonna explode. The thought of criminals strutting around the city, enjoying the festival—it was unbearable.
"You talking about yourself?"
Karin pointed it out sharply.
Yeah.
No matter the outcome, I had killed people too. Sure, calling it murder might be a stretch, but Karin believed killing anyone was the same as murder.
Not me.
I knew better.
Not all killings are murder. If a conscripted soldier in a war shoots an invading enemy, that's not murder, right?
Similarly, killing murderous bandits who rob and kill for gold isn't murder. It's more like extermination. Only true killers like Karin or bandits themselves would call it murder.
In my view, killing innocent people is the only real murder.
To be more precise, killing good people who don't fuck with me—that's murder by my standards. I can't say for sure, but that's how I've decided to think since way back.
People keep calling me a killer, but I've killed, sure—yet per the above, I'm no murderer. Every single one had a justified reason, didn't they?
The goblin that stole my bread, the backstabber, the thief who took my money, then the mountain bandits, bandits, and those evil cultists.
None of that counts as murder.
"Ah, you interrupted me. I'm done talking. Let's just get to sword practice."
My mood soured completely. I pouted, puffed my cheeks, crossed my arms, and turned my head away. I had nothing to say to Karin, who was cutting into my heart.
"Ah, fuck. Sorry."
And just like that, Karin apologized.
"I'm super pissed off, fuck."
"Why are you sulking?"
Anyway, with that vibe, we bantered a bit and got back to sword practice.
Come to think of it, what happened to those cultists nesting in the underground sewers? I reported them to the church and forgot all about it—I have no idea what went down.
Oh yeah, I still haven't sold that wand. It's gathering dust in a corner.
Guess I need to sell it. Didn't she say to come alone?
For now, focus on training.
Slash!
I spotted the trajectory of Karin's incoming wooden sword as she struck first, responded accordingly, and unleashed a downward slash. The wooden sword lodged into my cross guard. I twisted my wrist to aim for her throat.
As I pushed in with force, her twisted wooden sword slipped free and thrust at my chest. I immediately swung down to parry, but a follow-up counter came right away.
No way to respond further.
The wooden sword touched my neck.
"Good. Your reactions are solid. Don't let your mind wander—keep thinking about your next move right up until the fight ends. The one who stops thinking first is the one who dies."
"Got it."
"Then hit the stamina training hard. Grab one of those guys rolling around over there and train together. They'll love it."
The about-one-hour personal lesson ended. Karin had to check on other guild members' swordsmanship and left. Once personal time was up, it was time to squeeze out gains with stamina training.
Maybe a light hour of running, then into muscle training.
I stripped off my top and prepared to run laps around the training grounds.
Flop!
My wild, masculine upper body muscles were revealed. Exposing myself to the world like this gave me an odd urge to strike a pose, but I held back.
This wasn't the arena, after all.
Alright. Time to run.
Cardio time starts now.
"Oh, you've got a nice body, huh?"
"Hm?"
As I ran, someone came up alongside and struck up a friendly chat. Makes sense—everyone here was a guildmate. Even if I hadn't met them before, they were comrades.
"You look pretty built yourself. You've trained, haven't you?"
So I responded in kind.
He was a pretty boy with distinctive silver hair and a youthful face. Calling him a pretty boy specifically because he was shirtless too. Shorter than Kobson, so probably a minor?
Was there someone like this...?
Or a new recruit lately?
Well, I'd only come to the guild for training and hadn't paid much attention to others, so I didn't know anyone. Guildmates, yet I didn't even recognize faces. My only way to tell was earrings.
"What? Haha. You call this little body nice?"
"Nah, just saying."
Nice body was just a reflexive compliment.
This pretty boy was so short, it was hard to call his build impressive.
"What the hell."
"Yeah. I'm Katt. You?"
"I'm Sheit. If it's not a bother, could you teach me your training method? Your body's incredible."
His name was Sheit. Glancing over, his flowing silver hair looked well-maintained. Didn't seem like a poor kid—maybe from a well-off family? Learning swordsmanship as a hobby? Anyway, he didn't strike me as a bad guy.
Asking about training after commenting on my body? Probably just curious about my pumped muscles.
"Training method...? You wanna build muscle?"
"Exactly."
I chatted with him as we ran. I wanted to focus on running, but he kept being so friendly, it felt wrong to brush him off, so I kept talking.
"Just run your ass off, work out like crazy, and fight a ton."
That was the secret to my strength. My superior build came from eating and living well back home. On Earth, I was just a runt. 21st-century Korea was full of giants over 180cm.
At 178cm, I couldn't compete with them.
So I trained.
To survive in this other world. From F-rank days, whenever I had time or stamina, I worked out. Same after hitting E-rank, and only when I had some financial leeway did I go all-in.
Strength doesn't come easy.
"Hmm, not the answer I wanted. No special method?"
"That is the special method."