Chapter 12
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Yang Cho-gun
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wanting to get a closer look at the people here, I found what appeared to be the cheapest restaurant around.
It had a sign that read "Unlimited for 50 pun."
There wasn't a scrap of meat in the side dishes—just fried rice, noodle dishes, and some lightly stir-fried or blanched vegetables—but the place was packed, with not a single empty seat.
The chopsticks were the ones someone else had just used.
Used chopsticks were simply dumped into a bucket of water on the table, and the next person would just grab them and eat.
It was a total culture shock.
Hygiene seemed to be a completely foreign concept here.
I finally snagged a seat.
As I rummaged through the chopstick bucket for the cleanest pair I could find, I overheard a man at the next table grumbling.
"Haah, starting this month, even the family stipend's been cut off. They say if I fail this time, I should just head home and take over Dad's dojo."
"Man, that's rich coming from you. I don't even have a family dojo to inherit."
"What kinda dojo is it anyway? Some rural fitness center! Just you watch—I'm acing this exam and heading straight to the Murim Alliance!"
"I've been hearing that line for five years straight."
"And aren't you the one who's been hearing it right here with me for five years?"
"Ha, honestly, I'd love a break from that ugly mug of yours."
"We're brothers of the same sect!"
While they bickered, I found a decent pair of chopsticks, wiped off the gunk with my handkerchief, and started eating.
The food was surprisingly good for the price.
No wonder it's so crowded, I thought, digging in heartily.
Then someone sat down at the table in front of me.
"Pardon me. Mind if I join... Huh?"
"Oh?"
His appearance looked familiar—he was the guy I'd seen at the bookstore yesterday.
He recognized me too, flinching just a bit.
"Have a seat."
"Thanks."
He took off his bamboo hat in the cramped room as he sat.
Revealed was a handsome face about my age, with a strong, manly jawline and piercing eyes.
He looked just like the old me, before coming here.
I still wasn't used to my current delicate features.
I greeted him first.
"You're the guy I saw at the bookstore yesterday, right? Must be fate—let's introduce ourselves properly. I'm Hwang Tae-seong."
"Yang Cho-gun."
The name Yang Cho-gun sent a ripple through the room.
"Hey, Yang Cho-gun? Did he just say Yang Cho-gun?"
"Yang Cho-gun? For real?"
"No way, that Yang Cho-gun?"
"Nah, probably not... right?"
"That sword-crazy Yang Cho-gun?"
The whole restaurant buzzed with murmurs.
What's going on? This reaction... Is he famous or something?
The unexpected situation left me a bit flustered.
But Yang Cho-gun himself seemed unfazed, casually eating as if he were used to it.
"Looks like you're here for the entrance exam too."
"Well, yeah—obviously, since we met here."
"Good luck, then."
"You too."
With that, we ate the rest of our meal in silence and parted ways.
Afterward, I wandered around the entrance village area, exploring the surroundings.
I figured since I'd come this far, I might as well pick up something useful.
As I strolled about, glancing around, someone slapped my shoulder and kept walking.
"Huh?"
The group of men were all dressed in the same sect uniforms.
They reeked of booze, even in broad daylight.
"What? Can't keep your eyes open?"
"You bumped into my shoulder."
"What'd you say? You got some nerve. Don't you know who I am?"
"Should I?"
"Ha~ This guy."
He acted all indignant that I didn't know him.
"Looking at you, you must be some country bumpkin fresh in town for the Dragon Academy exam. No wonder you don't have a clue."
He pointed to the character "覇" (Overlord) on his chest.
"Ever heard of the Overlord Sect?"
The Overlord Sect was one of the top prestigious sects in the martial world—I'd have to know it.
"I'm the son of the Overlord Sect Leader. Consider yourself lucky, punk. If it weren't for the exam, I'd have smashed your face in right here."
"Junior brother, easy! Easy! Let's just go—don't stir up trouble."
"You're lucky, you bastard!"
"......"
That was exactly what I'd wanted to say, but getting involved in violence before the exam would disqualify me automatically, so I held my temper.
Hmph, the Overlord Sect Leader's son. I'll remember that.
A week passed, and the day to submit entrance exam applications arrived.
Huge tents had been set up in the vast training grounds of the Dragon Academy, and from morning, people lined up to reach the registration desks.
No internet reservations like in the modern world here—just on-site registration.
Thanks to that, I'd been standing in the blazing sun for over an hour.
There were so many people, the term "packed like sardines" felt real.
In this era, being a warrior was a high-demand blue-ocean job.
With security such a mess, escorts for goods, personal bodyguards, and imperial guards were lucrative, popular gigs. Joining a sect or the Murim Alliance's forces meant a real shot at rising in status.
Or you could open your own dojo and go entrepreneurial.
In modern terms, escorts for big merchant groups or Murim Alliance units were like mega-corps or civil service jobs, and if you had the skills, you could start your own venture dojo.
The Dragon Academy was the golden key to all that.
Just graduating from there made it way easier to land escort work for famous merchants or bodyguard gigs for tycoons. Worst case, you could enlist as an officer in the imperial army.
Even opening a dojo, slapping "Dragon Academy alum" on the sign boosted credibility—like a dentist or taekwondo gym flaunting their university in the modern world.
So in an era where farming was pretty much the only other option, anyone hungry for success flocked here.
After a long wait in line, it was finally my turn.
I submitted my papers, and the real exams started tomorrow.
I headed back to the inn early to rest up.
The morning of the entrance exam.
People began gathering one by one in the Dragon Academy's grand training grounds.
Everyone wore anxious expressions.
The wall was plastered with the list of applicants who'd passed document review.
Moments of joy and despair.
After the first cull, the crowd had noticeably thinned.
Nearly half had been cut in the paper screening.
But the remaining half still numbered over a thousand.
Only 100 would earn the honor of entering the Dragon Academy.
The tests were divided into three parts: physical and internal energy evaluation, interview, and sparring.
Claaang~~~!
Claaang~~~!
A booming bell echoed across the grounds.
"Alright! The entrance exam begins! Anyone not taking the exam, clear out immediately!"
The chief examiner, head instructor Jang Man-cheol, bellowed with a voice like a lion's roar that filled the grounds without a mic.
Soon, families and friends left, leaving only the applicants scattered across the field.
Then the Dragon Academy examiners swiftly and efficiently sorted the applicants.
"You, over here! You, that way!"
First by gender, then region, then weapon type.
That formed about twenty groups of fifty each.
"Now for the physical and internal energy evaluation! Everyone to the strength testing area!"
I was confident in the physical test.
My group headed to a spot stacked with rice sacks.
The more sacks you lifted, the more extra points from the graders.
"Hrah!"
"North Wind Hyun Baek Mountain, two sacks!"
"Hiyaaap!"
"Five Peaks Sect O Dae-gil, three sacks!"
"Kyaap!"
"Crane Rock Sect, three—fail!"
"Make way."
"Gasp! A giant!"
A massive brute shoved through the crowd to the sacks.
He stacked five and hoisted them up.
"Huuriyaaap! Pffft~!"
He let out a dry fart from the sudden strain, but no one laughed.
He'd lifted five rice sacks clean off the ground.
Each sack was 130 geun (80kg), so five made 650 geun (400kg).
"Goryeong Hyun Go Dae-han, five sacks!"
"Whoa! Is that even human?"
"......That's an ox, not a man."
Everyone gawked at him in awe.
Average folks lifted two, external art specialists maybe three.
He was the only one who'd managed five.
Compared to him, my build was average, and with my pretty-boy face, no one paid me any mind.
All eyes were on the sack-lifting giant.
While they ignored me, I quietly stacked six sacks.
"What's that guy doing?"
"Tidying up the sacks?"
"Six? He's gotta be joking."
"He'll throw his back out at this rate..."
The examiner started to say something but stopped.
He was a grader, not a coach.
He figured I'd give up after pretending.
But I had no intention of half-assing it.
"Krraaah!"
Up!
"Gasp!"
"No... way..."
"He... lifted it!"
Booom!
The ground shook slightly as I set down the six sacks.
The five-sack giant stared at me in disbelief.
Even with internal energy boosting strength, no one else had hit that mark.
Not only did no one match my internal energy depth, but my muscles were exceptionally efficient among cultivators.
I could've doubled it by maxing out my energy, but that risked leaking demonic qi, so I held back.
Still, everyone gaped at me like I was a monster.
Next up: internal energy test.
Strike the provided ocheol slab with a cheap steel sword and measure the mark left behind.
Ocheol—fivefold iron, called the martial world's treasure—was the strongest metal around, aside from millennium meteorite iron.
Scratching it barehanded with a junk sword? Impossible without internal energy.