Chapter 22
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: The Reality of the Imperial Palace Martial Academy
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Upon arriving in the capital, Ni Dae-ho wrote out a scholarship confirmation letter in his own name and handed it to Yang Cho-gun.
Ni Dae-ho, who had started speaking casually to Yang Cho-gun due to their age difference akin to father and son, said,
"Take this to the Thousand Gold Merchant Group in the capital, and they'll cover your tuition at the Imperial Palace Martial Academy. Pick it up whenever it's convenient for you."
"My deepest gratitude, Vice Leader."
"Nonsense. It's I who owes you a favor. And if you graduate without any particular plans, come join our Thousand Gold Merchant Group. I'll welcome you with open arms."
Yang Cho-gun, slightly touched by Ni Dae-ho's promise of a warm welcome, smiled brightly and replied,
"Yes, I certainly will."
Even to my eyes, it wasn't a bad picture at all.
No matter how much one graduated from an academy, places willing to accept someone like Yang Cho-gun, who stubbornly stuck to Yang family swordsmanship, wouldn't be many.
In that context, getting into a major group like the Thousand Gold Merchant Group could only be called a stroke of fortune.
Besides, what could be more leisurely than having your career path set while attending an academy like university?
I was actually worried Yang Cho-gun's feet might grow too heavy to move.
We bid farewell to the Thousand Gold Merchant Group's Vice Leader and headed to the Imperial Palace Martial Academy in the capital.
With five days still left until the entrance exam, we checked into a nearby inn.
Well, our luggage was just one bundle each, anyway.
We took separate rooms and went down to the dining hall to fill our stomachs.
The surroundings felt far quieter than when we were in the west.
Thinking about it, there were hardly any restaurants or taverns here—just this one inn.
It was definitely a world apart from the Dragon Academy's location.
I asked the server bringing out our food, who looked a bit on in years,
"Mind if I ask you something?"
"Sure, what's on your mind?"
"I hear the Imperial Palace Martial Academy's entrance exam is coming up soon, but is this place always this deserted?"
"Haha, this is the busiest time of the year for customers?"
"I-is that so?"
I stroked my chin for a moment, then pulled a few copper coins from my pocket and handed them over. The server bowed happily once and vanished.
Chewing my food, I said,
"Well, looks like flunking the entrance exam won't be an issue."
"I'm a bit anxious, though."
"About what?"
"Worried we might dodge the mud just to step in shit..."
"Hey, we're eating—can we skip the shit talk?"
"Ah! Sorry, slipped my mind."
"Let's fill up first and scout the area afterward."
"Sounds good."
After finishing our meal, we immediately toured the area around the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
With shuttered inns and shops everywhere, it was obvious the commercial district was dead.
Even so, the capital was an enormous city.
The academy might be on the outskirts, but this level of emptiness was hard to fathom.
And settling here made zero sense.
There were over ten sects nearby alone.
Among them, Emei Sect, Qingcheng Sect, Tang Clan, Qingcheng Family, and Eight Wonders Sect were all within striking distance of the capital.
Thus, the capital was one of the strongest bastions of orthodox murim families in the Central Plains.
Building a martial academy here from the palace was practically screaming "I'm not in the business game."
Having finished our reconnaissance, we returned to the inn, rested our travel-worn bodies, and awaited the entrance exam day for the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
In the meantime, I spent my days in meditation, turning the insights gained from our last bandit fight into my own.
"Ha, still short on murim applicants this year? I have no face to show His Majesty the Emperor."
"My apologies, Academy Head. At least the civilian applicants exceed capacity."
"You call that an answer?"
Geum Deok-jin oversaw the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
Lately, worries had him on the verge of baldness.
The academy wasn't running as smoothly as hoped.
He thought they never should have built this third-rate academy in the first place.
The main reason for its creation was the Emperor's greed to turn promising murim experts into his imperial guards.
But the Emperor didn't understand murim folk.
Those in the know said the academy's failure stemmed from three big reasons.
First, murim folk were born rebels.
They had strong defiant streaks and wouldn't acknowledge superiors who weren't stronger masters.
Age or wealth might make someone "big brother" in the streets, but in murim, only martial prowess did.
To such experts, the Emperor was just a clueless civilian.
Plus, Emperors often ascended solely by birthright.
In murim, even a sect leader's son couldn't take the throne without the skills to back it.
Murim bowed only to the strong—a culture especially fierce in unorthodox sects.
Second, murim folk were obsessed with training.
They prized martial cultivation over three square meals.
They'd skip eating for inner power practice and never sell their manuals, no matter how broke.
Military life, with its endless missions, held little appeal for them.
And third—the biggest reason—the imperial martial arts sucked.
To murim eyes, imperial arts lacked depth compared to true murim styles.
Murim techniques infused even a single thrust with layers of meaning, spawning variations and evolutions, with the useless weeded out over centuries—like aged vinegar gaining profundity.
Imperial arts? Raw and stagnant.
Surely someone thought, "Hey, tweaking this might work better," or "My arms are long—adjusting it this way could improve it."
But superiors would chew them out: "You playing games? Who gave you leave to alter forms? Sabotaging my promotion?"
Like a soldier in modern army taekwondo ditching forms for practicality—would the company commander approve?
That vibe.
Thus, imperial arts barely evolved, stuck in primitive forms.
But not all bad.
Simple enough for regular soldiers to learn fast and apply in combat.
Aesthetics of simplicity: no wasted moves, efficient in attack and defense stamina-wise.
Shone in group battles over duels.
Purpose-built for that.
But most murim folk dueled one-on-one to prove worth, not fought in formations like soldiers.
So, no reason to pick the academy.
And for some, the killer was money—tuition was exorbitant.
Ridiculously so.
As the Central Plains joke went: "Nothing with 'imperial' is cheap."
Tuition here made you want to check if the registrar's parents were well.
Waivers existed: serve ten years in the imperial army post-graduation.
Like Korea's army officer academy.
Pay your own way, and career freedom awaits after.
Could join the army later for a refund and serve—but few chose that for the money.
Graduates ended up in minor sects, families, escort agencies, or gambling dens, lowering sights below Dragon Academy alums.
That was the Imperial Palace Martial Academy's reality.
Heading it meant demotion from military ranks.
Someone always took the fall annually.
Thus, Geum Deok-jin fretted over his neck when a letter arrived.
From his old direct superior—the sole savior who could pull him out.
His hands tore it open hastily.
Riiip!
The contents: two top murim talents arriving—pass them no questions asked.
Convince them for army service, send to him. A "request" request.
"Oh ho?"
Geum Deok-jin felt a lifeline from the heavens.
Two, even.
"Adjutant!"
"Yes, Academy Head!"
"I'm heading to the exam grounds now!"
"Pardon?"
"I must see these gems with my own eyes."
"Yes, sir!"
Imperial Palace Martial Academy entrance exam application desk.
More crowded than expected.
But few looked skilled.
Civilians overwhelmingly outnumbered murim applicants.
Yet procedures were stricter and more complex than Dragon Academy's.
Sandbag armor for ten-plus laps around the training ground, hauling water tanks up a watchtower in time, archery, horsemanship.
Plus inner power checks and sparring.
But standards fit civilians.
Inner power test? Chick-level: just detect presence.
Hand on full water jar, ripple the surface with qi.
Oddly, Thousand Character Classic exam too.
As officer training for army service, needed basic orders and strategy scrolls readable.
Illiteracy a snag.
The filing line bustled with diverse applicants: rich merchants' sons, nobles' heirs, even farmers' boys.
Murim folk? Rare.
Those present? Mostly unorthodox, second- or third-rate at best.