Chapter 45
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Sharp Strike
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"White-Clothed Youth Corps? You had something in mind after all, didn't you?"
"Haha, a man has to think about his future."
"Quite right. A real man needs ambition. With your level of skill, there's no reason to stick around in the military anyway."
"So, is it possible?"
"Of course! Writing a recommendation letter is the academy head's prerogative. Don't worry about that. And recommending a top placer from the tournament? Who could argue? Plus, I hear the prizes for the winner are incredible—a priceless famed sword and top-grade elixirs, the kind of things money can't buy."
Hmm, elixirs might actually be useful.
"Then I'll take that as settled and start preparing for the tournament right away."
"Reliable as ever. I knew I had an eye for people."
Strictly speaking, it was General Won Dong-gi who had first noticed me, not the academy head, but I had no desire to nitpick.
"Will I be the only one representing the Imperial Palace Martial Academy?"
"No, not at all. Since it's a tournament hosted between academies, they've asked us to prepare a team of our own. However..."
The academy head's face was clouded with worry.
How many warriors here at the Imperial Palace Martial Academy could truly shine in an inter-academy tournament?
Sending out a mob of mediocrity would only make us a laughingstock.
In that case, it might not be a bad idea for me to step in directly.
"Then here's what I propose."
"What?"
"If you grant me full authority, I'll select the team myself and train them."
"Oh ho! You'd do that? Really?"
Participating in a tournament that would draw the eyes of the entire Central Plains—and beyond—would tag me forever as an Imperial Palace Martial Academy graduate.
That's why I didn't want the academy becoming a joke to the people of the Central Plains.
It couldn't be allowed to hold me back later on.
"I don't want my alma mater to become a laughingstock either."
"Exactly! That's the spirit! School pride!"
"But."
"But?"
"Even I can't turn them into masters overnight. You know that as well as I do."
"Y-Yeah, you're right..."
"However."
"However?"
"I'll make damn sure everyone knows we're not pushovers."
"Ho! Excellent! I love it!"
I thought of the best lineup as I spoke.
"Then I'll select a few and report directly to you."
"Yes, yes. I'll leave it all to you."
With that, I parted ways with the academy head and returned to the physical training grounds to resume my workout.
As I trained, I pictured the opponents we'd face in this tournament.
It was easy to guess that many of the guys I'd met in Cheonhyang would show up.
But without me, our chances looked nonexistent.
Even with Yang Cho-gun on the team.
Yang Cho-gun was undoubtedly a formidable expert.
But comparing him to the top elites of the Dragon Academy was a stretch.
Guess I'll have to grind them to the bone and force their skills to improve.
The next day.
A notice went up on the academy bulletin board announcing the tournament participants.
All selected by my discerning eye.
The forcibly drafted bunch stared at the notice, each muttering their piece.
"Fuck..."
"Damn it! Me? Why me?"
"Crazy. You want me to go die?"
"Ha, life's gone to shit."
"Should I... write a last will and testament?"
Curses flew from their lips.
The notice's final line—selected purely by skill—left them speechless.
Their only crime was training harder than everyone else.
So they could only curse their own diligence.
Of the ten selected warriors, seven were first-years, with only three upperclassmen.
A catastrophe born of pure merit selection.
Yet no upperclassmen protested.
They kept their mouths shut in shame, pretending ignorance.
If anything, the first-years were the ones griping to the higher-ups.
Why pick on the easy marks? Using only freshmen as scapegoats?
But the situation wasn't lenient enough to send only first-years.
Quite the opposite.
We had to scrape together anyone with even a shred of potential—classmates, seniors, whoever.
I couldn't help but chuckle at the notice.
Three of the seven first-years shared my dorm room.
"Their faces must be a sight."
Sure enough, when I got back to the dorm that day, everyone looked like they'd swallowed shit.
Sima Ryang resembled a twenty-year-old draftee.
Pyo Gi-myeong was equally restless.
He clutched brush and paper, agonizing over whether to send word to his grandfather for help.
Only Yang Cho-gun kept a straight face.
Having indirectly experienced the Dragon Academy, he seemed more mature than the others.
Mature, my ass.
Yang Cho-gun, his face half-eaten by worry, came to me with a grim expression and requested a spar.
To test his skills before the tournament, he said.
I just laughed inwardly.
I was the one who'd shoved him into the jaws of hell, after all.
Feigning ignorance, I replied.
"A spar out of the blue?"
"I beg you."
"Sure, why not? It's been a while since we sparred properly."
"Thank you."
We'd sparred countless times on the way to the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
But those were friendly bouts where we both held back.
This one would be different.
I planned to probe the depths of his ability.
The sparring ring at one end of the physical training grounds already had occupants.
Second-year seniors destined for the inter-academy tournament were practicing diligently.
Their skills made me sigh, but they were serious in their own way.
"Not here—how about the main training hall?"
"No, there's a small clearing in the back mountains. What about there?"
I knew the spot well; I used it often.
I'd even taken the assassin girl there once.
"Sounds good."
We headed straight out the academy's back gate and up into the mountains.
Sima Ryang and Pyo Gi-myeong trailed after us like puppies.
They wanted to watch the spar, they said.
Nothing beat fight-watching for fun, apparently.
If popcorn existed in this era, they'd have brought some for sure.
We reached the clearing and took position in the center.
I asked Yang Cho-gun.
"What kind of spar do you want?"
"Real combat."
Yang Cho-gun gave his curt reply and slowly drew his rapier.
It was the elegant stance he'd used against the Twin-Handed Four Ghosts.
It had been ages since I'd seen him wield the rapier since arriving at the academy.
He'd spent most of his free time in the internal energy cultivation chamber.
Let's see how much he's grown.
"Real combat it is."
Yang Cho-gun nodded solemnly.
"Anyone care to start us off?"
"I'll do it."
Pyo Gi-myeong stepped up, raised his hand high, and swung it down.
"Begin!"
The instant his hand dropped, Yang Cho-gun's rapier thrust toward me.
Far faster than when he'd faced the Twin-Handed Four Ghosts.
Sima Ryang and Pyo Gi-myeong gasped in awe at the speed.
A lightning-quick strike, perfectly described.
But to me, it looked sluggish.
I slipped past with minimal movement, then unleashed a powerful body blow at his gut.
Yang Cho-gun dodged nimbly, creating distance in a flash.
Every time, he moves like a damn weasel.
This time, I pursued, fist flying.
But when he tried to parry with his rapier, I had to pull back.
Couldn't block a sharp blade with bare skin.
Fighting a weapon barehanded was always tricky. I needed a counter for his rapier.
I began circulating the Muscle Heart Technique.
First time trying it in real combat. This spar would teach me plenty too.
Squeezing internal energy from my muscles, a subtle glow emanated from my body.
Pyo Gi-myeong recognized it and cried out in shock.
"P-Protective Aura?"
Protective Aura was exactly that—enveloping the body in aura, a feat only for peak experts and above.
In other words, I'd just outed myself as a peak expert.
I went further, manifesting fist aura around both hands.
The Muscle Heart Technique couldn't sustain it, so I used my original energy.
My fist aura took the form of a murky black mist, demonic qi unmistakable.
Sima Ryang and Pyo Gi-myeong's jaws practically hit the floor.
"H-How?!"
"Y-You! You've been hiding your power?"
Someone with Protective Aura using fist aura was logical, but jaw-dropping to witnesses.
Most martial artists died without ever seeing sword aura.
In this world, sword wind alone earned you "first-rate" status and a cushy life.
A fist aura user? God-tier treatment.
With Protective Aura up and fist aura strikes, Yang Cho-gun paled.
Yet he gritted his teeth, meeting my attacks head-on.
Then, amazingly, a faint glow shimmered from his rapier.
Sword aura.
Not sword aura proper, but wielding sword aura meant Yang Cho-gun had reached Sword Unity level.
Grinding away all this time, huh? Congrats on Sword Unity.
I congratulated him inwardly.
Yang Cho-gun leaped into the air, thrusting his rapier forward.
Sharper than a stinger, sword aura lanced out.
I flicked it away one-handed; sparks flew.
He unleashed the stinger strikes repeatedly.
I blocked them all, closing in fast.
The moment he landed, I kicked at him.
He dodged twice, then dropped into a low stance, targeting my side.
Too low to fully evade; his rapier grazed me.
But Protective Aura blocked it—no damage.
That was a pretty sharp strike.