Chapter 3
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Weight Training
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Starting the next day, I began weight training in the training hall.
I started with some light stretching, then picked up the jump rope.
I took slow steps, loosening up my body.
Whish— whish— whish—
The people in the training hall stared at me with strange looks.
"What the heck is that?"
"Some weird training I've never seen before. Is it Meteor Footwork or something?"
"Looks like a whip."
My fellow assassins, seeing jump ropes for the first time, gathered in groups and whispered among themselves.
I decided to give them a little demonstration of what a jump rope was.
'Time to blow their minds a bit.'
I switched to boxing-style jump roping.
Whish! Whish! Whish! Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
The fierce sound of the rope slicing through the air echoed through the training hall.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
The assassins' jaws dropped at the spectacular display, like whipping the air in all directions.
'Back in my prime, my jump roping could rival Mayweather's.'
I chained together fifteen reps in an instant, from basic speed jumps to side swings and multi-swing combinations.
The assassins swarmed over, asking questions.
"What kind of martial art is that?"
I chuckled and told them it was just a warm-up exercise. They couldn't believe it, raving about how incredibly threatening it looked.
"Can I give that a try too?"
"Of course."
I handed over the rope and taught him the basics.
But after a few tries, they lost interest and wandered back to their spots.
They probably figured it had no value as a martial art.
Of course. Jump roping wasn't a martial art.
After warming up adequately with the rope, I prepared for rope training next.
It was the training method known as battle ropes.
Swish—
I unrolled a massively thick rope on the training hall floor, drawing all the assassins' gazes back to me.
"What's that now?"
"What the hell does he plan to do with that?"
"Did that guy eat something weird today? What's he gonna use a rope that thick for?"
I ignored their chatter and focused solely on my task.
I looped the rope around a thick pillar supporting the training hall roof.
Then I let it hang long and gripped both ends firmly with my hands, shaking it violently up and down.
The thick rope began undulating in wild waves.
"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I created alternating waves, then horizontal ones, shifting side to side or doing stationary jumps—never staying still.
Everyone looked at me like I was insane.
"Is that guy getting sold off to an acrobatic troupe or something?"
"Yeah, I heard he's been acting weird lately. Guess it's true."
"Why's he suddenly doing stuff he never did before...?"
They didn't know how efficient my strength training was, so they dismissed it as mere eccentricity.
A week later, the barbell and dumbbells arrived from the blacksmith.
With a combined weight exceeding 100kg, the blacksmith's apprentice who hauled them here in a cart looked utterly miserable.
I slipped a few coins into his hand.
"Good work. Grab a drink on your way back."
The apprentice's face lit up instantly.
"Heh heh, no need to go this far, sir."
Money really makes anyone dance.
After sending him off, I inspected the gear. The local blacksmiths' craftsmanship was better than expected.
Of course, it paled compared to modern equipment, but it matched what I'd envisioned.
The downside was they were fixed-weight, all-in-one designs—no adjustments.
I hefted the largest dumbbell.
'Heavy.'
My muscles tensed rigidly; I was itching to tear into them right away.
I hauled everything to the training hall.
Then I started brutalizing my muscles with the barbell and dumbbells.
I combined it with jump rope and battle ropes, diving into serious bodybuilding.
Just a few days in, I already felt the need for more equipment.
'Hmm, a pull-up bar would be great...'
'A bench press would allow for way more variety...'
'Maybe make a Roman chair for lower body work?'
Once I got back into training, the gear I craved piled up endlessly.
But it all boiled down to money.
Having everything I wanted now would be greedy. So I made do with what I had, training as effectively as possible.
Every dawn, I rose early to buy chicken.
I had to do it before starting my duties, no choice.
Everyone clicked their tongues at me picking only the breast meat from that pricey chicken every day.
Behind my back, they mocked me as "Luoyang's Crown Prince."
In this era, not just chicken—meat in general was ridiculously expensive.
Even with my stipend, procuring chicken was a burden.
So I came up with selling the other parts to others.
I'd eat the breasts myself and resell the legs and wings to ease the financial strain.
'Sigh, who knew I'd end up as a reseller after coming all this way.'
I bargained with the butcher: buying two chickens daily got me a 10% discount, dropping the 3 jeon price per bird to 2 jeon 70 pun.
From driving supercars in Nine Heroes neighborhood during my pro days to haggling over chicken prices in the market—life's full of twists.
Hard times make you capable of anything.
Right now, custom iron gym equipment orders had left me broke.
Two chickens a day cost 5 jeon 40 pun.
My stipend wasn't bad—2 nyang of silver a month.
Roughly equivalent to a 2 million won salary back home.
But a live chicken costing only 10,000 won modern money went for about 30,000 won here.
Eating two daily for a month would hand my entire salary to the poultry farmer, so reselling was essential.
First, I offloaded two legs on 102 nearby.
Two legs daily for 50 pun each—he loved chicken, so he agreed happily. Not a bad price.
"I can eat chicken instead of spending on dumplings—why would I say no?!"
I scouted buyers for the rest: a restaurant chef.
He jumped at the below-cost price plus daily morning delivery.
Now he added chicken porridge to the company cafeteria menu and was raking it in.
Two legs and four wings made 50 servings—like magic.
Even that sells out instantly.
That's how I cut my chicken costs.
Chewing tough chicken breasts daily, I focused on building strength.
Three months in, the physical changes were striking.
The Demonic Cultists who once eyed me weirdly started shifting their gazes.
By six months, everyone looked at me in awe.
Whenever I showed up shirtless to train, gasps erupted around me.
The warriors here had solid builds and plenty of muscle, but not as developed as mine.
Like lean pro wrestlers, maybe.
But my muscles were different.
Each fiber breathed like living porcelain—potent yet balanced for peak combat efficiency, not overbuilt.
That day, as usual, I gripped a dumbbell in one hand, hammering my lats, delts, traps, biceps, and triceps with one-handed bent-over rows.
Someone approached and spoke up.
"Uh, hey... 108."
It was 144.
He loved training too—one of the regulars I'd bump into.
"Hoo~ What's up?"
I kept repping without pause.
My delts, bis, and tris writhed like pythons; 144 couldn't peel his eyes away.
"Uh, I have a question."
"When I'm heading to the acrobats?"
"N-no, not that. Look."
"Then what? Hoo~."
"That training you're doing. Can anyone build a body like yours just by copying it?"
I finished my set and set the dumbbell down.
"Of course."
144 brightened, speaking warmly.
"Then could you teach me?"
Sorry, but I'm no saint handing favors to those who mocked me behind my back.
"Why? Planning to join the acrobats too?"
"Haha, that was just a joke back then. I still remember? You were doing such bizarre stuff, I couldn't help it..."
I shifted spots, grabbed the barbell on the floor, and started deadlifts—straight-arm pulls to hip height, no bending.
"Hoo~ Hoo~."
As I focused silently, 144 spoke with resolve.
"Sorry! Your training looked ridiculous then, but not anymore! Can I join you?"
I paused my deadlifts and stood.
"Apology accepted. But on one condition."
"What's that?"
"Money."
"M-money?"
"Gotta pay usage fees, right? You know how much this gear cost? Think you can use it for free with a simple sorry?"
"Of course! I'm not that shameless. How much?"
"Good. 10 jeon a month. I'll coach you on form and all."
Cheap rate, plus personal coaching—144 agreed instantly.
"Deal! That's nothing. Let's start today! What first?"
As bold as he looked.
"Stretching f—er, warm-ups first."
And just like that, I unexpectedly gained my first VIP member.
Soon, membership snowballed.
204, who'd trained with 144 before, joined after seeing him. My classmate 102, witnessing my changes firsthand, wanted in too.
Nearly 20 others piled on.
But equipment was limited, and the hall wasn't mine alone—I couldn't hog it or coach everyone personally. Cap at five.
I picked the diligent ones I knew.
'The rest, my disciples can teach.'
I'd opened a mini gym in the training hall without planning to.
Not a real gym, more like the secret sub-branch fitness club.
I named it after my pre-death gym: 「Warrior's Glory Gym」
102 and the others loved how "Demonic Cult-worthy" it sounded.
'Demonic Cult-worthy? Where?'
I didn't get it, but if my members liked it, I was happy too.
Their steady dues slashed my chicken budget.
My muscles grew rapidly as a result.
A few months later.
With money to spare again, I started commissioning more gear.
The secret sub-branch had skilled carpenters dispatched by the Demonic Cult to manage the vast estate.
A bit of labor fee and materials, plus my sketches for a bench press and Roman chair—they built them readily.
Wood instead of iron made them bulkier and cruder than hoped, but functional enough.
I tested them and grinned.
'Hmm, nice. Pretty usable.'
I opened them to everyone.
The hall was communal—monopolizing big gear would spark complaints from other Demonic Cultists.
Response was solid.
Word of the cool new equipment drew Shadow Squad experts.
I shared training knowledge and corrected their form.
Of course, paid vs. free members had differences.
Can't have our dear paying members feeling shortchanged.
But free coaching worked wonders.
Soon, a bodybuilding craze swept the branch.
Some showed interest in the new methods; others didn't.
"What the hell is this nonsense? So effeminate!"
"Looks like a gathering of idiots."
"Hey, 108~ You think this crap helps martial skill?"
Shadow Squad's notorious scum—always in a trio. Their skills matched their rotten personalities; no one messed with them lightly.
But I felt no threat, replying calmly.
"Curious? Try it yourselves."
"What? You telling us to do this clown shit? You joking with me?"
"Assassins building muscle like this gonna kill better? Won't bulky muscles just make you more visible and raise failure rates?"
"That's for hacks like you guys."
"What? You wanna die, punk?"
The mood turned hostile.
Killers by trade, their killing intent was thick.
102 and 144 flanked me, facing them down.
If fists flew, someone would die—we were trained for that.
Training here would end today.
I wanted to avoid that, so I proposed:
"Not thrilled with our workouts? Settle it like men—with fists."
"Fists?"
"Yeah. Straight up, we'd kill each other. Right?"
I eyed his sleeve.
A poisoned dagger hid there for sure.
Sneering at my gaze, he said:
"You know you'll be the one dying, yeah?"
"Really? Kill a fellow assassin with a blade, and you won't walk away clean either, 266."
"......"
Silence fell. 266 shed his outer robe, handing it to his buddy.
His body was covered in scars and tattoos.
"Fine. Let's see how great this idiot training makes you."