Chapter 40
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Hell Gym Rat No. 2
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"What do you think? Want to learn some martial arts from me? Worst case, you break even, right?"
"Exactly what kind? Won't it clash with what I'm practicing?"
"I don't know precisely what you're cultivating, but since it doesn't touch the dantian, I doubt there'll be any conflict."
"Doesn't use the dantian? So it's external arts?"
"Well, it could be... or maybe not?"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"One thing's certain. The training method's close to external arts."
"Hmm, fine. You're strong, that's a fact. Like you said, I'll give it a shot."
"Good call. You won't regret it."
The next day.
Sima Liang regretted it from the very start.
Right from the moment he picked up the nameless exercise tool Hwang Tae-seong handed him.
It was far heavier than he'd imagined.
"Cough! W-what... is this...?"
Hwang had lifted it so effortlessly that Sima hadn't anticipated it being this brutal.
'This thing's solid iron? Insane!'
"Grab it with both hands, lift it overhead and lower it thirty times. The key here's breathing. Inhale on the way down, exhale on the way up. Got it?"
"H-how's this... supposed to help...?"
"Just follow my lead for now. You can handle this much, right?"
"What do you take me for? Fine! Here goes! Hngh!"
"Good! Keep that posture neutral! Nice and slow~"
The martial training Hwang Tae-seong taught was nothing like anything Sima had done before.
No inner power formulas or form sets—just pure strength exercises.
Sima honestly doubted if this even counted as martial arts training.
Isn't this just straight-up external work?
He'd never slacked on external training himself and had decent confidence in his strength, but this unfamiliar method left him no better than a total beginner. It was grueling.
Still, if those insane muscles of Tae-seong's had been forged this way, Sima figured he'd throw himself into it fully now that he'd started. Trust the guy and go all in.
'Screw it! A man's gotta die once, not twice! Let's do this!'
"Oh, right! Five sets of thirty reps."
"......"
"Every day."
"......"
For a split second, Sima strongly considered quitting.
After what felt like an eternity of strength training, Sima barely crawled back to his dorm on all fours.
"Ughhh..."
"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm dying here—don't talk to me!"
"If you can still talk, you didn't push hard enough."
"You heartless bastard."
Sima collapsed onto his bunk and passed out like a light.
The next day.
Sima woke screaming from muscle hell.
"Gaaahhh...!"
He figured Tae-seong was just messing with him through this farce.
But when Tae-seong approached and kneaded his knotted muscles one by one with careful attention, easing the pain away, those suspicions faded bit by bit.
Miraculously, the spots screaming under Tae-seong's touch began to loosen up gradually.
It was a massage style Sima had never seen before, yet so systematic and effective—truly wondrous.
Yang Cho-gun, watching from the side, eyed Tae-seong's technique with a hawk's gaze.
"Impressive handwork. Where'd you pick this up?"
"Just came naturally over time."
"I see. Teach me when you've got a moment. Gotta learn this one."
"Sure thing."
Tae-seong hadn't formally studied sports massage.
Back in his athlete days, he'd received and given so many that the skill had seeped into his bones through sheer experience.
And now, with his vast inner power at his command, he could infuse it directly into Sima's muscles for even quicker relief.
"Thanks. Feels way better."
"Good. Head straight to the strength hall after classes. Nothing loosens knots like more work."
"Haha..."
Sima swallowed the curses bubbling up his throat and just shot Hwang Tae-seong a grin.
Half a month into Tae-seong's beatdown regimen, Sima started changing.
He was gradually getting the hang of the weight training methods.
The new definition popping up all over his body hooked him hard. Now, he didn't even need prodding—straight to the strength hall after classes.
The moment murim's second hell gym rat was born.
Jo Ki-myeong was humming a tune, fussing over his new clothes.
Tae-seong, handstanding against the wall alongside Sima Liang, called out to him.
"You seem extra chipper today."
"Ah! My parents and grandpa are coming for a visit this weekend."
"Lucky."
"Lucky? No one's coming for you?"
Sima shot Jo a warning glance, but Jo just gave him a baffled look.
"What's his deal?"
But words spoken couldn't be unspoken.
Tae-seong answered casually.
"I'm an orphan."
"Oh... Had no idea. Sorry."
"No need. Not your fault."
In his modern life, Tae-seong's parents had been healthy and alive.
But here, they'd both perished in the past war.
That was the root cause—and the reason—he'd become a Demonic Cult assassin.
Of course, it left no scars or trauma on his current self.
He had zero memories of them.
Unaware of those details, Sima chewed out Jo.
"Man, zero tact!"
Jo just coughed awkwardly.
"Ahem."
Tae-seong found the awkward vibe more uncomfortable than anything.
That lunch hour, as Tae-seong and his friends ate at the cadet cafeteria, the academy head showed up.
Officers and cadets had strictly separate dining areas, so this was highly unusual.
The academy head shoved Jo aside with his hip and plopped down in front of Tae-seong and Yang Cho-gun, fawning over them shamelessly.
Reduced to cold rice status, Jo could only glare daggers.
Even during group drills, the head showed up at the main training grounds to cheer specifically for Tae-seong and Yang.
Anyone could spot the favoritism a mile away, but knowing why, they just looked on him with pity.
Despite all the effort, no real gains—and his face grew gaunter by the day.
Then chaos erupted at the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
"W-what? The Grand General's coming here right now?"
"Yes! He's already near the capital."
"Oh no. What do we do? No warning, and all the way out here?"
He couldn't hide his panic.
No—his mind was reeling.
The nation's top military man dropping in unannounced.
"Assemble every cadet immediately!"
"Yes, sir!"
Sunday holiday—sudden emergency assembly. Cadets struck by lightning from a clear sky.
Everyone buzzing: What the hell?
"War break out or something?"
"We get drafted if war hits?"
"Duh. They drag in peasants—think they'll skip us?"
"Jeez."
Instructors lined the first-years across the main training grounds.
"Attention! Emergency situation!"
"Emergency?" All thought war for real.
But the follow-up was even more shocking.
"Flatten the training grounds now! No pebble as small as a nail overlooked! Clear?"
Everyone doubted their ears.
"What'd he say? Do what?"
"I misheard, right?"
"Bolt from the blue—what gives?"
"Instructor! Holiday labor's too much!"
"This is Code Red! No bitching—execute!"
Grousing aplenty, but discipline drilled in—no strong protests like before.
The whole academy's vibe was off.
Second-years pulling weeds. Third-years mopping.
Biggest shock: Fourth-years, rarely mobilized, oiling warehouse weapons.
Academy in full swing—not normal.
"Emperor coming or what?"
"Nah, why'd His Majesty hit a drab all-boys joint on weekend?"
Jo Ki-myeong, who'd overheard, went ashen.
"N-no way?"
Dread hit him: Am I the reason?
And sure enough...
"Overheard officers earlier. Grand General's inbound."
"Him? Why here?"
"Who knows. Unless he's got a grandson enrolled."
"Pfft, as if."
"......"
"You good?"
"Yeah, nothing."
"Why the cold sweat?"
"Haha... hot."
"Frail under that look. Let's hit a tonic spot soon."
"S-sure."
Stone-picking done, next: obstacle course maintenance.
Oil wooden rigs, swap burst sandbags, replace snapped posts. Hard labor galore.
"Damn! This is overkill!"
"Shut up and work."
"Why?"
"Look over there."
Second-years hauling roof tiles. Third-years swapping broken ones atop the roof.
Heights that'd shatter bones on a fall.
"Better than that, right?"
"Hell yeah."
Fourth-years scrubbing emperor's dragon carvings on walls and pillars with brushes.
In just one sichen, the Imperial Palace Martial Academy gleamed like new.