Chapter 47
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: The Beginning of Hardships
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The next exercise was the plank.
This move stimulates the abs and core. Lie face down, bring your feet together, position your arms in a triangle shape, then lift your body off the ground.
Key points to watch: keep your elbows directly under your shoulders, and make sure your hips, waist, and head form a straight line—no letting those hips pike up. Tense your anus tight and hold for as long as you can.
It looks ridiculously easy, but before long, your body starts trembling uncontrollably. Nothing beats the plank for core training.
Finally, they wrapped up with a light jog around the conditioning hall for about two gak—thirty minutes.
That completed the routine for my hell trainees.
I planned to run them through it a few more times until the basics sank into their bodies. Then I'd crank up the weights and really start demolishing their muscles... or, rather, tenderly nurturing them.
They had no clue what lay ahead, chattering away with, "What's the big deal?" and "This is easy?"
Among them, only Sima Ryang shook his head.
He'd spouted the same nonsense at first, only to crawl back to the dorms on all fours that day.
After they'd finished about three sets of the basic routine, I grinned wickedly and said to them,
"As expected from folks trained systematically in martial arts—you're different, alright. Already getting the hang of it?"
"Just some simple moves. Nothing tough."
"Way too easy."
"True to the academy's top students! Alright, then—shall we start adding some real weight?"
My sinister smile sent a wave of unease through the cadets.
"Come on, come on! It's only the first day, so let's ease in with double—from now on, friends."
"......"
"......"
Among those Tae-seong had picked were the two who'd unleashed that demonic spearwork during the entrance exam.
They were more compliant than expected.
Probably because they'd seen Tae-seong dismantle Dugomyeong yesterday.
Still, they were burdened, knowing they had to face experts from the Dragon Academy and Demon Dragon Academy.
In the midst of it all, good news arrived.
The Emperor was granting top-grade elixirs to the tournament participants.
They were called Imperial Dragon Pills, but really, they were just Murim elixirs with a fancy rename.
Still elixirs through and through—properly consumed, they could boost one's inner power by twenty years' worth. Top-shelf stuff.
The retired Generals Hwang and Jo had been dispatched to the academy.
Handpicked by the Emperor himself, they were said to be highly capable commanders, and both looked peak-level experts.
This showed just how much interest the Emperor had in the tournament.
"Hmm, troubling."
That's why Tae-seong was worried.
These men had come on imperial orders to train the cadets for the tournament. Would they buy it if he said he'd handle the training himself?
But the academy head stepped in and sorted it out.
He convinced them that Tae-seong's skills utterly overwhelmed the cadets from the other two academies, and they could trust him with it.
Tae-seong praised the Imperial Palace Martial Academy's techniques, saying he'd focus on helping with inner power and outer arts training.
The retired generals, lacking any real enthusiasm for instruction, gladly accepted his proposal.
There were two things he could do for the competitors.
Build them systematic muscle in short order to refine their outer arts, and help them absorb the elixir's energy more efficiently.
That alone would elevate them a full step above their current level.
The dispatched instructors would handle the technical side.
The training intensity was climbing day by day.
While they poured out buckets of sweat, I'd been practicing the Imperial Palace Martial Academy arts lately—half for fun.
I couldn't use the techniques my master taught in the tournament, so I planned to fight with MMA powered by the inner energy from my Muscle Heart Method.
For the academy head's sake, I'd sprinkle in some Imperial arts here and there.
Plus, MMA's appeal was that it encompassed every striking art out there, right?
The Imperial arts were incredibly straightforward.
Their sword forms were simply named by form count: 32 Forms Sword, 64 Forms Sword, 128 Forms Sword.
The 128 Forms Sword—hailed as the essence of the Imperial Palace Martial Academy—was reserved for general-rank and above.
They claimed it held up against mid-tier Murim sect techniques at that point, but given the academy's reputation, I was skeptical.
The veteran generals sent by the Emperor weren't Imperial Palace Martial Academy alumni.
They predated the academy's founding by generations.
So they didn't grasp the academies' standing in the Murim world or the skill gaps between them.
"I've heard the Murim academies are exceptionally skilled. But with His Majesty's gift on top, you're saying the gap's still that wide?"
To the old generals' naive question, I laid out the raw truth.
"Those kids have been swallowing elixirs like candy since childhood, dosed with who-knows-what medicines. Think one pill closes that?"
"Clo... closes?"
"One?"
Calling the Emperor's elixir "one" rubbed General Hwang the wrong way—a flicker of anger crossed his face. But rather than snap, he coolly stroked his lip and asked slowly,
"Then what's the difference like?"
"You mean between the Imperial Palace Martial Academy and Dragon Academy?"
"Exactly."
"About like an adult versus a child."
The old warriors' faces darkened.
"Heh, that much...? So what do you think we should do?"
"Maximize their elixir absorption first, then build strength and reflexes."
"That'll let them win?"
"No. They'll lose for sure."
"......"
"......"
The veterans' expressions screamed, "Is this punk messing with us old timers?"
What could I do? It was reality.
Silence stretched between me and the old men.
How much time passed?
General Hwang broke the suffocating quiet with a cynical question.
"Then we don't need to bother trying?"
"Our goal right now isn't beating them."
"What is it?"
"Losing without looking pathetic."
"Pa... pathetic?"
"Yes. For the Imperial Palace Martial Academy, that'd be a resounding success worth celebrating."
"Heh......"
Only then did the veterans seem to grasp the gravity, even if just a bit.
They huddled, fretting over how to word tonight's report to the Emperor, faces etched with dismay.
I threw the competitors into hell-training mode.
Champion-match prep levels from back in the day.
To drag their skills up at least one full tier in three months, I'd have to turn into the devil himself.
Their body overhaul plan was airtight and precise.
Bulking was essential for packing on muscle fast.
Bulking means growing both muscle mass and body fat to fuel gains.
Like a construction site stockpiling materials before raising the building.
But you couldn't just shove anything down their throats.
Pig feet, pizza, chicken? That'd be fat-up, not bulk-up.
Bulking demanded healthy fuel over junk calories.
Stuff like milk, nut powder, eggs, bananas, fish, almonds, peanuts.
Grains, eggs, fish, nuts were easy here, but milk and bananas needed hunting down.
Consulting the chefs confirmed milk wasn't simple—ranches for that.
So we went with goat milk and soy milk.
Midlanders ate tofu like rice; soy milk from tofu makers was no sweat.
Bought goats outright; chefs handled milking. Milk problem solved.
Real headache: bananas.
This era's bananas weren't the ones I knew—seedy like melons, and scarce.
From my past life, I knew modern bananas were selectively bred for seedlessness and looks.
Native to Southeast Asian subtropics, shipping to northern China cost a fortune.
Thousand Gold Merchant Group could source bulk, so I placed the order.
Not my money anyway.
Nut powders and dried grain mixes? Ancient field rations—plenty around.
Nuts galore. I preferred peanuts and almonds, but walnuts and pine nuts were prime too.
Bulking thrived on frequent small hits of diverse nutrients, not gorging.
So I balanced carbs:protein:fat at the golden 6:3:1 ratio, feeding my hell trainees six times a day.
They scarfed it down at first, but soon started questioning the bland, weird repeats.
Why force this crap? Even as I crammed it in, they griped about pig treatment.
No time to explain bulking to each one.
I wasn't their doting mom.
"Hate it? Quit. Door's that way."
That meant leave the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
The complainers clammed up.
Quiet now—no one bolting.
I steadied my voice and explained calmly.
"This is just building momentum before proper outer arts training. Once we dive in, you'll be on extreme restriction. You'll be begging for this stuff then."
"......"
"......"
They shook their heads at my words.
"Th-this isn't real outer arts training?"
"Then what've we been doing?"
I answered their bewilderment.
"Warm-up?"
"......"
"......"
And so they ate in silence.
Four weeks of bulking wrapped.
All puffed up like pigs.
Now came the grueling march: carving that bulk into pure muscle.
Volume skyrocketed, but strict diet ruled—chicken breast, egg whites only.
Pure, unsalted natural flavor.
Could they hack it?