Chapter 13
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Eliminated
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The internal energy verification scoring was straightforward.
If you couldn't inflict any wound at all: Lower grade.
If you at least managed a scratch: Middle grade.
A deep gash: Upper grade.
Everyone used the same standardized steel sword to ensure fairness. If some rich kid showed up with a precious sword forged from five-fold steel, they'd slice scratches into the iron block far more easily than anyone else.
"Hiyah!"
Clang!
"Lower!"
"Kiyoyoyop!"
Ching!
"Middle!"
"Kyaaaaah!"
"Lower."
The kiai shouts were all over the place, too.
I was brimming with confidence.
At full power, I could cleave right through that iron block, not just leave a gash.
Toning it down just enough to hide my Demonic Cult aura, scoring top marks with a deep wound was child's play.
So I had no doubt I'd ace this one too.
Until I spotted that bald monk.
"Sniff... sniff... sniff sniff!"
"What's wrong, Reverend Jeong-gong?"
"Don't you smell a filthy Demonic Cultist anywhere?"
"Demonic Cultist stench? Come on, this is the Dragon Academy. No way one of those demons slipped in here."
'Damn it all!'
Shaolin monks were hypersensitive to Demonic aura.
And of all people, the verifier in front of the iron block had to be one.
I had no choice but to suppress my Demonic energy as much as possible.
If they found out I was from the Demonic Cult right now, I'd be branded a spy infiltrating the Dragon Academy.
Murim Alliance warriors would swarm me like bees, and if they caught me, I wouldn't survive.
'Damn! I figured if anyone asked, I'd just play it off as a former unorthodox fighter who'd turned righteous. Didn't expect someone who could sniff out my Demonic aura so precisely.'
I never thought I could hide my Demonic Cult past forever.
Someday, my true identity would come out.
But not today.
Not until I'd racked up enough heroic deeds to convince them otherwise.
For now, I had to bury that aura deep.
Which meant... the test?
"Hwang Tae-seong! Step forward!"
'Argh, this is insane!'
I swung the steel sword down on the iron block with pure muscle power, no internal energy at all, striking as hard as I could.
"Hiyah!"
Craaaang!
'Huh?'
The blade snapped and ricocheted off.
After repeated tests, the sword was already notched, and without internal energy to protect it, my brute force shattered it.
The iron block? Not a scratch, let alone a cut.
"Hwang Tae-seong: Lower!"
"......"
The examiner collected the broken sword as I stood there, dazed. He patted my shoulder.
"Hey, kid. Lacking internal energy isn't shameful. Have some confidence—in yourself! Don't worry about the broken sword; the academy covers it. Next!"
"......"
Suddenly treated like some warrior who hadn't even learned internal energy, I glared daggers at that damned monk still sniffing my way.
Once the physical and internal energy tests wrapped up, we headed to the interviews.
The questions would be predictable.
Stuff like: What sect are you from? What's your signature technique? What are your future aspirations?
But my original affiliation was the Demonic Cult. My master was a public enemy of the martial world. And the only practical techniques I had were stolen from righteous sect targets. Nothing I could explain cleanly.
So for today's interview, I'd sold my old gym and listed it as my affiliation.
'Eh, they'll just think it's some no-name rural dojo. The real test is the sparring match, right?'
I waited my turn, keeping it simple.
Finally, my name was called.
"Hwang Tae-seong!"
"Yes!"
I sat before the interviewer who'd called me.
The middle-aged academy interviewer looked utterly drained.
He must've grilled at least fifty applicants already today.
With a completely emotionless face, he slowly reviewed my application, physical results, and internal energy score before asking,
"Your sect is listed as Hanbang Gym? Never heard of it. What kind of faction is that?"
"I'm not formally affiliated with any faction."
"No faction...? A lone practitioner, then. Who's your master?"
"Choi Tae-han."
"Choi Tae-han...? Another name I've never heard."
He was the legend who sparked Korea's boxing boom, an undefeated champ from the early '80s. But here? Just another nobody.
"Does your master have a nickname?"
"N-Nickname?"
'Suddenly nicknames? Uh, what was it? After the divorce, he lived alone in the gym's back room, so folks called him the Lone Old Man. That'll do...'
"The Lone Old Man."
"Lone Old Man?"
"Yes. He gave up on marriage, pursued only the martial arts in lonely solitude, forever gazing toward the heights. He always said marriage is hell, by the way."
"Well, that's... not wrong, but... Anyway, you must have some signature technique?"
He looked like he didn't want to ask but forced it out.
"Mixed martial arts."
"Mix... mixed martial arts? What's that?"
"It's about using the most efficient strikes for any situation..."
The other interviewers eavesdropping burst into snickers.
"Pfft! What is that? Like a Lunar New Year gift basket assortment?"
"Heh, sounds like third-rate street thug scraps thrown together. Typical backwater dojo nonsense."
"Your master forsook marriage to create this art, so I won't outright mock it. But seriously—what kind of technique has a name like that? Even you must admit it lacks sincerity."
"Ha, hahaha..."
The head interviewer crossed his arms.
"Show me a signature move you're proud of."
"Well... I don't have specific forms."
"What? No forms?"
"It's adapting to the situation..."
"So it's just formless brawling?"
"I can't demonstrate it right now, but if we step into the sparring ring, I'll show you exactly what mixed martial arts is."
"No need."
"Pardon?"
"This is why we can't ignore origins. Someone applying to the Dragon Academy with no internal energy, from some unheard-of dojo—how did your paperwork even pass? I don't think you're a fit. Head home. Exit's that way. Next!"
"......"
'What... just happened?'
Elimination hadn't even crossed my mind. Now that it hit, I felt utterly deflated.
I stared blankly at the interviewer, and then another reject emerged beside me.
"What's that weapon of yours? You dare bring a foreigner's tool here? You're out—go home!"
"This is unfair! Sure, it's a foreign sword, but it's still a sword! And I'm no foreigner—I'm from the Central Plains! I deserve to join the Dragon Academy!"
"If you're whining about qualifications, take it up with the country that made that weapon. Or borrow a wooden sword and prove yourself with Central Plains swordsmanship. Then you'll pass."
My eyes hadn't lied—the man's weapon resembled a Western rapier.
"How can you say that...? I wouldn't deny my master's very existence just to join the Dragon Academy. I've come to the wrong place."
He turned and headed for the exit.
Me too, now eliminated. We walked together unexpectedly.
We just trudged along in silence.
Then someone spotted me, waved mockingly, and unleashed a torrent of jeers.
"What? You couldn't even pass the interview? Hahaha! Total country bumpkin level after all, huh? With that pathetic skill, strutting around all stiff-necked—you'd need extra lives just to survive. If you see me on the road from now on, run. I'll kick your ass otherwise!"
I paused, stared at him coolly, and asked,
"You sure about that?"
"Sure about what?"
"Kicking my ass."
"What? I could kick your sorry ass a hundred times. Why? Want it now? Empty-handed on the way home, ass itching for a boot?"
Yang Cho-gun tried to intervene.
"Hey, don't fall for that childish bait. Just ignore him."
It wasn't dismissal—it was genuine concern.
The taunter was the Overlord Sect leader's son, after all.
I was the type who had to repay in kind to feel satisfied. I just wanted to return the favor.
"You..."
I gave Yang Cho-gun's shoulder a light pat and stepped up to the Overlord Sect punk.
"Fine. Spar with me."
"Right now? You're already bummed about failing—wanna get beat and feel worse?"
"Let me see that fancy Overlord Sect technique of yours."
I sneered at "fancy Overlord Sect," and his face went ice-cold.
No matter how much of a punk, his sect pride ran deep.
"Daring to insult the Overlord Sect? You're begging for a beating. Follow me."
Interviews weren't done, so the sparring ring stood empty.
As we headed there, an examiner barked,
"Hey! You two! Sparring hasn't started—why're you on the stage? Get down!"
"This fool needs a quick lesson to know his place."
"What? You sane? Sparring's next—now you wanna fight?"
"Don't worry. I'll take full responsibility."
The punk dropped his sect's name, and the examiner coughed awkwardly, backing off.
"Ahem, fine. Interviews will take hours. But whatever happens, the academy takes no blame. Got it?"
"Understood."
With the examiner's okay, we dove right into the match.
"Saw you fail the internal energy test earlier... I'll fight without mine. Wouldn't wanna make you look too pathetic, right? Heh."
"Do whatever."
Two random guys jumping on the empty stage before official sparring? Every applicant waiting turned to watch.
One the Overlord Sect leader's son, the other an interview reject? Prime entertainment.