Chapter 46
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Lightly on the First Day
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If it had been against an ordinary expert, that alone might have decided the winner.
But if this had been real combat for me too, I wouldn't have even given him the chance to thrust like that.
Right now, it just felt like I was testing his abilities, checking how long he could hold out.
'Then, shall I gradually pick up the speed?'
Yang Cho-gun's specialty was clearly agility, so he seemed confident in a battle of speed.
In contrast, he might have judged me as relatively sluggish due to my muscular build.
But I planned to show him from now on that all of it was nothing but prejudice.
As I matched Yang Cho-gun's movements, unleashing over ten punches in an instant and mixing in kicks, Yang Cho-gun finally dropped into a defensive stance, scrambling just to evade.
After all, charging at someone wielding fist aura with nothing but sword energy was a reckless gamble.
But even that escape was starting to look impossible for him.
Yang Cho-gun's breathing grew ragged.
Against him like that, I had no choice but to hold back my power.
One slip, and that rapier—his master's keepsake—would snap clean in two.
I ramped up my speed while meticulously controlling my strength.
Finally, Yang Cho-gun couldn't keep pace; his footwork began to slow bit by bit.
Holding out this long. I was a little surprised, knowing his true level.
The two watching our duel probably couldn't even track our movements properly.
We were clashing at such ferocious speeds.
"Eek!"
As Yang Cho-gun fell into a desperate defense, non-fencing moves started slipping out.
It was the Hainan Sect's martial arts.
No matter how much he'd switched to fencing, when cornered to the brink, the Hainan Sect techniques emerged on reflex.
Even with a rapier as his weapon.
Yang Cho-gun's rapier began incorporating slashes alongside the thrusts.
"Huff! Huff! Huff! Huff!"
Yang Cho-gun's breaths came in heavy gasps.
In stark contrast, I parried every attack without a hitch in my breathing, like I was out for a casual stroll.
Despair washed over Yang Cho-gun's face.
Now it was time to send him off.
I launched a right high kick at him.
At first glance, it looked like a plain high kick.
Yang Cho-gun drew his main gauche to block my high kick while thrusting his rapier at my torso.
But that was merely his hope.
Mid-air, I folded my right leg after the kick.
My kick effortlessly slipped past Yang Cho-gun's main gauche. Then I snapped my knee straight.
The high kick grazed Yang Cho-gun's head.
Ever so lightly.
Thud!
But the impact was colossal.
Yang Cho-gun blacked out from the brain-rattling shock and crumpled limply in place.
Finishing it in one clean strike like this.
This was the best his friend could do for him.
As our bout ended, a heavy silence crushed the clearing.
The two who bickered daily over pillow talk philosophy now shared the exact same look in that instant.
Disbelief, shock, and the like.
I propped up the fallen Yang Cho-gun and called out to Sima Liang.
"Sima Liang! Come grab Yang Cho-gun's weapon."
"Huh? Y-yeah! I'll get it!"
Sima Liang was so stunned by our skills that his movements looked utterly awkward.
If news of our spar reached the academy head's ears, he'd be shouting huzzahs on the spot.
A peak expert entering the tournament? Victory was as good as sealed.
To hype his legacy, he might even provoke the rival academies and invite the emperor himself.
That's why we'd sworn to keep today's spar under wraps until the main event.
The Martial Academy Tournament was set for Chengdu in Sichuan Province.
Henan was nixed for being too close to the Murim Alliance, and Hubei got rejected over the Evil Alliance presence.
The only spot both sides could stomach was Sichuan, home to the Imperial Palace Martial Academy. They snagged the hosting honors by default.
It flipped the script, making it seem like the Imperial Academy was running the show.
The date was pegged for autumn.
Weather-wise, it was ideal—cool and crisp for a massive event.
With venue and date locked in, the Central Plains erupted in feverish hype.
Inns rang daily with tournament chatter as patrons hotly debated likely champs.
Fights even broke out now and then between righteous and evil faction folk when tempers flared.
Of course, tournaments like this weren't entirely new.
The Murim Alliance ran them sporadically.
But those were righteous-only affairs, seen as elite family fiestas, never whipping up this much buzz.
This was the first academy-vs-academy clash, the first righteous-evil showdown. No wonder it was electric.
The palace showed massive interest too.
The emperor yearned for his perennial headache—the Imperial Palace Martial Academy—to finally earn respect in the martial world this time.
But a dismal showing would just smear his face again, piling even more weight on the academy head's shoulders.
The first day of official training kicked off.
I summoned every contestant to the conditioning yard.
The nine athletes gathered wore matching puzzled looks.
With the tournament looming, they itched for drills, not this detour—irritation was inevitable.
The second- and third-years looked extra sour.
To them, I spoke with a touch of authority.
"I'm Hwang Tae-seong, your training assistant from here on out. You all know who I am, right?"
"Training assistant" drew faces screaming, "What the hell?"
Yang Cho-gun, Sima Liang, and Pyo Gi-myeong especially gawked at me like I'd lost my mind.
Then a third-year stepped up, face twisted in utter disbelief.
His mug was a roadmap of vicious scars—enough to make anyone soil themselves on sight.
"What? You're the assistant? This is bullshit. Not even an instructor—just some first-year punk? Sigh... And you, brat. Why you talking all high and mighty as a freshman?"
At thirty in my past life, his antics just struck me as pathetic.
The second-years who'd witnessed the mosquito incident kept mum, eyes elsewhere.
Only the third-year vented solo.
He turned on the second-years.
"Why are you all clammed up? What kind of junior training is this?"
"Dokgo Myeong."
My uttering his name mangled his features.
"This little shit dares mouth a senior's sacred name like..."
I cut him off cold.
"The academy head handed me full command of the tournament team's training."
"And?"
"There's this clause too."
"What clause?"
"Disobey the assistant, face immediate expulsion from the academy."
"..."
"Forced academy expulsion" slammed his trap shut. A thick silence fell.
I locked eyes with him wordlessly for about half a gakyeong.
Shattering it, I tossed a proposition at the guy glaring daggers.
"If you hate me as assistant, how about a spar? Beat me, the gig's yours. Up for it?"
Dokgo Myeong bellowed.
"Deal! You spat it out—own the consequences!"
The next day.
I welcomed my fresh batch of hellions.
Dokgo Myeong stood out, eyes puffed like raccoon rings.
I kicked off with basic conditioning.
Stretching first, then jump rope to fire them up.
Jump rope was a novelty, so they fumbled awkwardly but seemed to dig it.
But thousands of reps daily? I'd see if "fun" still spilled from their lips.
Boxing rookies often just rope for months straight.
Post-rope, lat pulldowns awaited.
My handmade rig: rope from overhead bar grip to hoist rocks.
Crude as hell, weights a mystery, but serviceable enough.
I dialed it to what they could handle—heavy off the bat risks injury—so moderate load for twenty reps.
Next up: dumbbells and barbells galore.
Swanky gear stuffed with hundreds of kilos of iron, all wrangled via showdown with the head.
No seated chest press here, so dumbbell chest presses: liftable weight, twenty reps.
Then dumbbell shoulder presses.
All breezed twenty without sweat.
Leg presses next.
Another DIY: slanted wall, sandbags atop feet—up, down, repeat.
Pro: dead simple to build. Con: sand everywhere, and solo setup's a beast.
Effects rivaled any future machine.
The stars knocked out twenty sandbag reps.
Barbell curls followed.
Attention stance, palms forward, elbows pinned to sides—arms alone for the up-down lift.
Core locked, back ramrod straight, wrists firm.
Basic stuff; everyone nailed it.
Then dumbbell kickbacks.
Triceps isolation: slight forward lean, elbows glued to torso sides, dumbbells forward and back.