Chapter 240
Chapter 240
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 240
Chapter Title: Martial Foot (3)
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One week into heading toward the center.
Our curriculum was like this.
- Clear two villages a day.
- Rest for 4 hours.
- Otherwise, train foot arts and fist arts against each other.
This world was definitely vast.
No matter how much we walked, the distance to the light pillar didn't shrink.
In a week, we'd encountered about 1,000 fighters, but there were no real standouts.
'A year, huh?'
The timeline Martial Foot had mentioned to reach the center.
Honestly, it was frustrating.
I got that the proxy dungeons were getting tougher by the day, but to suddenly drop in here and walk this path for a whole year?
"You brat, it's actually for the best."
The old man said.
"There are no prerequisite arts to learn before the myriad arts, but foot arts and fist arts are spells that wield your own body directly. And only after you've completely mastered your own body can you handle tools properly, don't you think?"
'......'
"Use this chance to take stock of your level. If I can pull your level up to match that kid Martial Foot... your myriad arts will grow at least ten stages further. Got it?"
'Matching Martial Foot's level...?'
Martial Foot, who fights with his feet, was an absolute ruler of his world.
Not some ordinary world, either, but one packed with fight-crazed maniacs—their supreme ruler.
Reach the same level as him?
In just one year?
I clenched my fist tight.
"Your goal is to get stronger, isn't it? Look at yourself right now. Kinda half-baked, no?"
'Half-baked...'
It was one of those words that could sting oddly, but I calmly examined myself.
'Yeah, you're right.'
Am I strong?
Objectively speaking, yes.
But.
Am I strong on my own?
That question made it truly ambiguous.
God-slaying-grade weapons.
Subordinates who were absolutes themselves.
The old man's help.
Without all that, I'd be smack at world ranking 69 in skill.
'Indeed.'
Could I beat Martial Foot, who fights with his feet?
Could I beat Arin, who wields the golden tome?
Sunyi of the desert zone?
Eldrin, firing arrows from the forest?
'Honestly, no confidence.'
Even Earth's top rankers.
Just imagining fighting my prime subordinates bare-handed made my breath catch.
"Didn't I tell you before? To control your subordinates properly, you need the power, skill, and qualifications to rule them."
'You did.'
Ah.
So that's it?
The old man was focusing this journey entirely on *me*, rather than Martial Foot's awakening?
[Stage: Fist-Foot Confrontation.]
[Martial Foot wants recognition from the War God (SSS Grade) using only his fists.]
[Help him advance to the center of the 'War God World.']
War God (SSS Grade).
A constellation on par with Ancient Magic (SSS Grade).
'Right.'
I swallowed hard.
That recognition from the War God.
It didn't have to go just to Martial Foot, did it?
I could claim it too, right?
Whoosh!
I swung my fist through the empty air.
At the same time, I made a resolute vow.
Just like the original goal.
Focus solely on getting stronger.
* * *
One month into heading toward the center.
Small villages were gone now; decent-sized ones were appearing.
The fighters' skills were respectable, unlike before.
Still just fodder for me and Martial Foot, though.
Over that month, I'd worked to understand Martial Foot.
[Skill: Memory Recreation]
[Grade: S]
[Effect 1: Reads the memories of the deceased.]
During rest times, I read his past through the skill.
'Feels kinda nostalgic.'
This skill I couldn't control before.
Now that I'd grown a bit, I could use it whenever I wanted...
Anyway.
By this world's reckoning, Martial Foot had lived 100 years ago.
He was a first-generation figure in the War God World.
Whoosh!
I swung fists and feet together, lost in thought.
The theme: 「Why doesn't Martial Foot use his feet?」
'It's a pretty dumb reason, though.'
I recalled the scene I'd seen through the skill and honed my foot arts.
* * *
The past.
First generation.
Central region.
Two men stood facing each other.
"Senior Brother Martial Foot."
One man grinned as he adjusted his stance.
"Haha, we end up meeting here after all?"
Wooong!
Energy surged into his fist. His name was Advancing Fist.
"Guess we're pretty damn strong, huh? In this world full of fight-crazed souls, only the two of us made it here."
Behind Advancing Fist, millions of maniacs were going wild.
"Win, Boss Advancing Fist!"
"The winner here is the true apostle of the War God!"
"Groooar! Transcend your worlds and become the universe's top fighter! You *have* to win!"
It was quite the spectacle, each one shouting their piece.
"Junior Brother Advancing Fist."
Martial Foot neatly folded his left foot.
Immobile stance.
Even supporting his entire body on one leg.
His form was utterly refined, without a hint of wobble.
"You still think the fist is the supreme art?"
"Of course, Senior Brother."
Advancing Fist grinned.
Martial Foot and Advancing Fist had shared the same master in their original world.
The disciple with innate foot talent was dubbed Martial Foot.
The one with innate fist talent: Advancing Fist.
Names bestowed by their one and only master.
But they never acknowledged each other.
They'd sparred endlessly in their previous world.
- A total of 2,000 matches, 2,000 draws.
"Martial Foooot! Crush him!"
"What kinda bone is Advancing Fist?! Our boss's feet are the strongest in the world!"
"Right! Our boss is the closest to the War God!"
Cheers from their respective subordinates as the two brothers-in-arms took their stances.
"Advancing Fist."
"Yeah."
"How's it feel? Feels like time for the real showdown."
Martial Foot smirked.
In the past, upon dying and arriving in the War God World, the senior-junior pair had made a promise right away.
They'd each hone their arts here and meet at the far end.
Then settle the score from their past life.
"Kek. Senior Brother's feet against my fists. This must be what they mean by a perfect clash."
And now.
They'd met.
"No holding back then—I'm coming in."
"Bring it."
"Hraaap!"
Advancing Fist charged, fist raised.
He stepped forward like a viper poised to strike, sprinting ahead.
The prelude to the duel deciding the first generation's strongest.
Kwaaang!
An explosion rang out.
Kwaaaang!
The ground quaked with the roar.
Advancing Fist's hands were light.
Soft and flowing, like water through a mountain ravine.
The rapid barrage of fists.
Kwaaaang!
Martial Foot deflected them with his leg.
"Nice."
His foot kicked Advancing Fist's fist aside.
Puk-puk-puk-puk!
Martial Foot chained kicks while twisting his waist.
His folded foot extended once more.
"Slash."
It slammed into Advancing Fist's gut.
"Urk!"
A move that knocked away the fist with his foot *and* exploited the opening.
"Impressive."
Senior Brother was as strong as ever.
Stronger, even, after the training period.
But.
The next move was plain as day.
'He'll stomp.'
What made Martial Foot's foot arts so formidable was their strength paired with simplicity.
'Kick', 'slash', and 'stomp'.
He met Advancing Fist's fists with variations on those alone.
"Don't look down on me, Senior Brother!"
He blocked Martial Foot's foot before it fully extended.
The gap between legs and fists.
Legs pack more destructive power, but they're slower than fists.
Which meant.
Pabababak!
Before the leg combos could chain, he could unleash dozens more punches.
"Kuh."
Martial Foot had no choice but to pull back from his stomp.
"Not bad at all!"
"You're no slouch either, Senior Brother? Taking my punches like that. Props."
Kwagagang!
The fight dragged on.
Sometimes praising each other, sometimes taunting, they clashed bodies endlessly.
Whiiiing!
Was it the clash of their auras?
Typhoon-force winds whipped around them.
The ground grew hot; the air heated up.
"Waaaaah!"
"This is a true fight! My chest is swelling with pride!"
"Boss! Just a bit more! Don't just block—hit back!"
The maniacs grew even more frenzied in response.
Kwaang! Kwagang!
Blood sprayed; flesh tore.
Puk! Puk-puk!
Bruises swelled; wounds turned to scars.
They collided like mortal enemies bent on revenge.
"Keh."
But clearly, both were smiling.
A bright grin lit Martial Foot's lips.
Advancing Fist's bitten lips curved his eyes into crescents.
The fight stretched on.
No quick resolution.
"Huuk, hoo!"
"Hahk, haa!"
A week passed, a month flowed by, yet the battle continued.
Martial Foot *was* his legs incarnate; Advancing Fist *was* his fists incarnate.
Like runaway locomotives fueled endlessly, they hurled punches and kicks at each other without pause.
Under normal circumstances, they might've called it here.
Fun enough to log as a draw.
"......"
But now, they had to see it through.
One had to be chosen under the War God's aegis.
That was the final goal and dream of every soul dropped into this place.
"Hoo."
At some point.
Conversation ceased.
Even the onlookers watched their battle in silence.
How much time passed like that?
Tuk!
One staggered, then dropped to a knee.
The moment victor and vanquished were decided.
"......Senior Brother."
Advancing Fist propped himself on the ground with trembling hands, gazing up at Martial Foot.
His body had no uninjured spot left; his life hung by the thinnest thread.
"Kuhuhu, Senior Brother really is fucking strong."
Advancing Fist's defeat.
"Ptooey. Damn it. Our fist-and-foot rivalry since we were kids... ends like this?"
He pressed on stubbornly in his dying rasp.
A flicker of regret in his eyes.
"Junior Brother......"
Martial Foot gazed at him sadly.
Brothers who'd shared a master but walked different paths.
Their views differed, but they'd respected each other.
He knew it instinctively.
Advancing Fist was dying now.
No—maybe he already had.
Maybe sheer willpower was the only thing holding his life together.
"Cough!"
Advancing Fist finally vomited blood he'd been holding back.
Black, dead blood.
"Kuh, kekeke. Don't be too sad, Senior Brother. We're dead souls anyway, right? Just... before I go, I'd like to hear some acknowledgment from you."
"You're strong, Advancing Fist."
Advancing Fist was his brother.
They'd shared dreams and a life made for the strong.
Even a fight-crazed soul.
Couldn't help but grieve taking a life.
"......"
Whiiiing!
The wind howled once more.
"......Senior Brother."
Advancing Fist parted his lips.
His body was already powerless; his life's ember was one breath from snuffing out.
"But you know."
His lips were blue; no oxygen reached his brain.
And yet Advancing Fist wouldn't stop talking.
Like he *had* to say it.
"......If you're a true strongman, shouldn't you master *both* feet and fists to the extreme?"
He forced a grin as he said it.
Even in death's throes, he meant it sincerely—he regretted it.
If it were Senior Brother.
Senior Brother could've taken both fists *and* feet to the peak.
Then he could've transcended this world, even the War God World.
Become an even greater powerhouse.
"Kek, just... spitballing, so ignore......"
Gonna take a break now.
Facing death, smiling broadly—Advancing Fist's form.
Upright!
Suddenly went still.
Life fled; muscles stiffened.
And then.
Tuk!
He collapsed onto the icy ground.
The end of the absolute, Advancing Fist.
At the same time.
Flash!
A holy light pierced from earth to sky.
Shaaaa!
This time, it shone down from heaven to earth.
Precisely where Martial Foot stood.
"Uwaaaah!"
"Waaaaaaa!"
The watching maniacs finally erupted in cheers.
They knew instinctively what it signified.
"He finally got the War God's recognition!"
"The new apostle of the War God is Martial Foot!"
"Strongest in this place! No—strongest in the world!"
Some envied him; others looked awestruck.
They knew full well how grueling it was to claim that spot.
But.
"......"
Slurrrp!
The expressionless Martial Foot draped his tattered top over his shoulder.
Then.
Step, step.
He began walking out of the spotlight-like beam.
As if.
Rejecting heaven's decree outright, with resolute strides.
"......Hold up?"
"Boss, where you going?"
"Where ya headed, Boss!"
The maniacs stirred.
But Martial Foot didn't halt his steps.
"......"
Martial Foot.
What was he thinking?
Sorrow over losing his junior brother? Triumph at fulfilling his dream?
Surprisingly.
Martial Foot was thrilled.
Thump, thump.
His heart was racing.
—......If you're a true strongman, shouldn't you master *both* feet and fists to the extreme?
Advancing Fist's final words.
'He's right.'
His junior brother had been strong.
One slip, one miscalculation.
It would've been *me* lying there, not him.
'I'm not complete yet.'
What his junior brother had said before dying.
Before becoming the War God's apostle, he'd wanted to reach the fist's pinnacle.
Even if it seemed stubborn to outsiders.