Chapter 54
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Selection Hell Returns
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After several days of grueling forced marches crossing Huguang and Shaanxi, we finally climbed the sheer Mount Hua stone steps, and the Grand Hall came into view.
Was it my imagination, or did the sect gates suddenly look like the gates of hell?
Two weeks after the Dragon-Tiger Assembly ended, I swallowed hard, recalling the past four years ago when the second-generation disciples, stiff with discipline, had been spinning laps around the training ground.
"Why do you look like you're being dragged to the Reflection Cave, Eldest Senior Brother?"
"You're lucky. You don't know a thing..."
We'd lost 13 to 17, and even got mocked by the other side for it. All that lay ahead was demotion and hellish training.
We trudged into the Grand Hall like cattle headed to the slaughterhouse.
But contrary to my tension, nothing happened for several days.
In the early days back at Mount Hua, the guys who had thrown themselves into self-training out of frustration over the loss soon loosened up.
'Could it be the second-generation disciples are trying to end the vicious tradition of demotions?'
I even had thoughts like that. How nice it would have been if those peaceful days had lasted.
On the way to pick up my nearly depleted rice pills, that's when I saw something I shouldn't have.
The second-generation disciples assembled.
Reflexively, I plastered myself against the wall and held my breath. A thunderous roar echoed.
"Did you enjoy watching your disciples get humiliated too? How long are we supposed to live with people saying the world's greatest sword sect is Wudang, not Mount Hua! If you can't do it, then at least make sure your disciples beat those Wudang bastards! How long are we—huh?"
It had begun. The horror of demotion.
Seeing Do-un seething with rage, it seemed the first-generation disciples had gotten an earful from the elders too.
As Do-un's tirade continued and the second-generation disciples' faces grew heavier, cold sweat beaded on my back.
My dear senior brothers, I think we're screwed.
* * *
A few days after witnessing the demotion scene firsthand.
"Everyone, rise!"
The door to the disciple quarters burst open, and instead of the usual reveille drum, Uijin's bellow rang out. Glancing out the wide-open door, I saw it was still before dawn, the sun not yet fully risen.
The only time we'd woken at this hour was during Selection Hell.
Rubbing sleepy eyes, we sluggishly propped ourselves up.
"It's not reveille time yet."
A grumbling mutter was met with a firm reply.
"For the time being, reveille is at this hour."
What kind of bolt from the blue was this?
I usually woke up earlier than reveille anyway, but this was way too early.
Blinking wide-eyed rabbit eyes up at Uijin, who had his arms firmly crossed, he raised an eyebrow.
"Are you all still sleepy?"
Of course. The kids of this new world were at the peak of their sleeping hours.
We nodded without hesitation, and the smile on Uijin's face grew even gentler. I say again, gentler—not more menacing.
"You all seem unaware of how serious the situation is."
"Yawn, what's so serious? Did the Demonic Cult make a move or something?"
Yawning as I asked, Uijin shook his head firmly.
"No. Your pathetic sparring results are a more serious problem than the Demonic Cult stirring. This uncle finds the folks in the Grand Hall scarier than those stuck in Seclusion Peak."
No, that didn't seem right. Really didn't. That was complacency.
To speak my mind, we'd started martial arts training a year later than Wudang, so losing 13 to 17 wasn't pathetic. That'd be pathetic around 10 to 20.
And the most important thing. I didn't lose in the sparring.
To emphasize again, I'd faced someone four years my senior and won using only Six Harmonies Sword, raising the curtain on the sparring with a victory for Mount Hua. I was the top contributor.
Even seeing my utterly unconvinced expression, Uijin issued orders in his Selection Hell instructor tone from back then.
"Assemble at the training ground within one daekyeong. Execute! Anyone arriving after one daekyeong goes over the cliff!"
The moment Uijin closed the door, I flung off my sleepwear, changed into training robes with frantic hands, shoved a rice pill into my mouth, and grabbed my sword.
Not the cliff! It's freezing, and the cliff's iced over!
Everyone must have thought the same—not the cliff—as we desperately ran, and all thirty of us assembled at the training ground before one daekyeong had passed.
And then, the Selection Hell I'd only experienced in nightmares descended upon the real world.
"Keep running! Who told you to slow down!"
Whoosh, Selection Hell PTSD incoming. Boundless Buddha, Boundless Buddha!
Uijin's explosive shout was no joke.
The listless, monotonous voice was gone, perfectly recreating the pitch, volume, and inflection from his Selection Hell instructor days.
We'd already been running like mad around the training ground, but we flinched reflexively and picked up speed.
Even if we wanted to maintain pace, our feet moved faster on their own. The extreme terror from back then was etched into our bodies.
"Eldest Senior Brother, this is a dream, right...? I'm having a nightmare of Selection Hell right now...? But Eldest Senior Brother, why are you so big...? In my dreams, you're always six years old...."
Biyeon, running for dear life beside me, turned to look and mumbled blankly.
'You can't even think this isn't a dream...?'
His recent memories must have mixed with Selection Hell ones. His denial of reality was eerie. Who'd have thought I'd ever be spooked by Biyeon.
"Huh, shouldn't I be waking from the nightmare by now...? Why does it feel so real?"
Bihwan on the other side, denying reality, even started slapping his own cheeks to wake up.
After witnessing Biyeong collapse on the training ground, unable to run anymore, and get handed over to his master, no one dared lie down claiming defeat. We gritted our teeth and kept going.
Getting handed to your master meant one-on-one beatings and rollings.
"Rest!"
At Uijin's shout, we finally stopped our abused feet.
Wiping my sweat-drenched face roughly with my sleeve, I spotted Biryung dry-heaving like in Selection Hell training and patted her back.
The emotions were fresh. Back in Selection Hell, Biryung—called Juyeoryeong or number 202—had been like a wild animal rejecting human touch.
Now, she didn't care if I patted her back or not, meekly accepting the help.
Biryung wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let out a hollow laugh.
"I thought I'd been working hard... but I still have a long way to go."
Instead of comforting her lament, I silently pointed to our other fellow disciples.
"Ughhh!"
"Euuuk!"
Quite a few were vomiting up their guts. It'd be faster to find who wasn't.
Uijin had ramped up the training intensity beyond three years ago, matching our growth.
"You've grown. Have some confidence."
I gave earnest praise to Biryung, who stared blankly at the puking disciples. She swept back her sweat-soaked hair and sighed.
"You aren't even dry-heaving, Junior Brother."
"Of course not. There's a stamina gap. You think I topped the entrance exam for nothing?"
Bragging, Biryung turned to me and chuckled.
"My goal is your level, Junior Brother. I'm not satisfied with this."
"Hah, it'll take you a hundred years."
Plopping down on the training ground with a smirk, Uijin signaled the end of rest.
"Rest over! Everyone up!"
No way—ending rest right as we sat to catch our breath? But not wanting to dawdle and get handed to a master, I stood obediently.
If my master had been laid-back like Uiseong, I might've slacked, but mine was stickler Uihyeon. Getting handed over meant solitary training hell. Misery loved company here.
Next up after training ground laps was horse stance. My legs, freshly tortured, trembled just from bending into the stance.
"Damn... I won my match..."
Bidam's teary whine made Bihun next to him whip his head around with a growl.
"You saying that for me to hear?"
Sigh, that violent fighting cock. Unlike me, where skill and personality matched, Bihun's personality inversely scaled with skill. His pride matched his skill.
He'd raged from wounded pride after losing to Baek Geon in the sparring, so Bidam's reminder of his defeat must've irked him.
At his surly senior's sudden nitpicking, Bidam flinched with a pout, and Biryung warned in an irritated tone.
"Don't pick useless fights and keep your voice down. Don't draw Instructor Uijin's attention."
"This punk's picking on me for losing."
Even I thought it was unreasonable, but called out Bihun fumed like it was the greatest injustice.
Biryung the sharp-tongued lashed out at Bihun, who dared glare straight at his junior brother.
"Then did you lose or win? You're not the only loser, and the other defeated ones are keeping quiet—why are you making a fuss alone?"
"Ha, you little—"
"Hey."
Bihun, scowling fiercely, tried to commit insubordination but was cut off by my short call.
"Got energy left for chit-chat? Uijin Uncle ups the intensity, you'll be first for some tender conversation."
During that year in Selection Hall, how many times had we shared my fists and peaceful talks when they talked back? The memories flooding back, Bihun jutted his jaw out a few times and stared forward again.
Biyeon, who'd often shared such peaceful talks with Bihun, asked from behind.
"Wasn't it peaceful talk?"
"Changed to tender this time."
That was ages ago. Answering nonchalantly, Uijin—who'd been personally correcting sloppily held stances—whipped around to me.
"Oh-ho, got energy for talk? Bow stance, execute!"
How does he predict so perfectly?