Chapter 62
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Dokgo Myeong's Resolve
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Fortunately, Jin Ga-baek's temperament wasn't all that cruel, so aside from a few broken ribs from being smacked with the flat of the blade, he wasn't seriously hurt.
Of course, his face was pretty banged up.
The real problem was the next match: Jo Chil-bong versus the Demonic Cult's Yeom Ma-cheon.
Jo Chil-bong, who had to face the Heavenly Demon's disciple, was gripped by fear.
This time, there was no choice but to worry because his opponent was the Heavenly Demon's disciple.
"According to the match rules, he can't take your life, but he could easily leave you with a permanent disability."
That's why I told Jo Chil-bong to surrender immediately if things looked bad.
He accepted my advice without hesitation.
And as soon as the match started, before Yeom Ma-cheon could even charge in, he raised his hand and declared defeat.
"I lose!!"
It was the fastest surrender in any match so far.
Everyone had expected the Imperial Palace Martial Academy's matches to play out just like this, so the audience showered Jo Chil-bong with mockery and laughter.
Yeom Ma-cheon returned to the waiting area with a look of utter disbelief, and the defeated Jo Chil-bong slunk back as well.
"Man, I really wanted to go a proper round with those Demonic Cult bastards, what a shame! If I'd been in top shape today, a punk like that would've been..."
Jo Chil-bong spouted empty bravado, his face plastered with a relieved grin.
It was the kind of sight that made the old saying "If you're quiet, you're half safe" pop right into my head.
"Cut the cringey act and help out the next fighters."
"Got it..."
Wilted by my sharp words, Jo Chil-bong shuffled over to Dokgo Myeong, who was warming up for the next match, and assisted with his stretches.
Jo Chil-bong's skills weren't bad, but his usual behavior was no different from a sycophant's, so I had no desire to get close to him.
Of course, it had nothing to do with the grudge from getting beaten like a dog in summer heat during staff sparring. It was just my honest assessment from training him.
The matches continued, and Namgung Mo-cheon from the Namgung family and Ja-wol from the Heavenly Response Sect stepped up to the arena.
Neither of them had particularly fond memories with me. So I couldn't care less who won.
In the midst of it all, Namgung Mo-cheon's eyes turned toward Tae-seong. Ja-wol followed his gaze and spotted me too.
Ja-wol's face twisted up like he'd just chewed on a raw liver.
"That bastard..."
Seeing Ja-wol's intense reaction, Namgung Mo-cheon asked with a puzzled look.
"You know that guy?"
"Hmph! Of course I do. That filthy traitor."
"Traitor? Isn't he the spy you were trying to plant in our academy?"
"Spy my ass! If we were planting one, we'd do it without a trace. You think we'd send a clown like that?"
"Fair point. A properly trained spy wouldn't strut around so openly in unorthodox garb. Anyway, I have a debt to settle with him no matter what."
"Same here."
"Oh yeah? Well, you'll have to beat me first for that to happen. Sorry to disappoint, but I have zero intention of losing to you. If you wanna walk away in one piece, surrender now."
"That's my line."
Dinggggg~
The gong rang out, and the two hacked away at each other like blood-sworn enemies.
Clang! Clang clang! Clanggg! Clang! Clang!!
An intense exchange of blows unfolded.
This might just be the highest-level match so far.
Both were top-tier talents from their academies, making for a fiercer clash than any before.
Watching their back-and-forth from the waiting area, I was surprised by how good Ja-wol's skills were—better than expected.
'If the guy I used as a meat shield back then was this strong, just how much have my own skills advanced now?'
Observing the other matches gave me an indirect gauge of my martial prowess.
The fight grew even more ferocious, hurtling toward its climax.
"Lightning Thirteen Thunders!"
"Heavenly Decree Ten Killing Slashes!"
Their sword auras clashed spectacularly in midair.
A sharp explosive sound rocked the arena, and the freshly repaired stage began crumbling under the sword qi once more.
"Not bad for an unorthodox scum."
"Hmph! You're no slouch yourself..."
"Looks like your internal energy's run dry. Time to admit defeat?"
"I've got more than enough left to deal with the likes of you!"
Ja-wol blustered, but his sword qi was visibly waning.
"Hmph! All talk."
Though evenly matched, Ja-wol's inferior internal energy forced him to concede defeat soon after.
The sight delivered a massive shock to the unorthodox fighters.
Ja-wol was one of the top young prospects in the unorthodox world, excluding the Demonic Cult elites.
In stark contrast, the orthodox side erupted in celebration.
They were dominating the Demon Dragon Academy matches almost completely.
Their momentum soared sky-high.
The next match pitted Dokgo Myeong against Yi Hwan of the Eight Demons Sect.
When his turn came, Dokgo Myeong grabbed his beloved sword and stood up with a ragged air.
He spoke in a voice as menacing as his fierce face.
"I'll be off."
He was the only third-year among the Imperial Palace Martial Academy fighters and would've taken my spot if I weren't here.
In fact, I'd personally subdued him with raw strength when he came at me full of complaints.
The other juniors offered him words of encouragement.
"Senior, don't push yourself too hard. Come back safe."
"We're cheering hard for you, Senior!"
"We're counting on you, Senior!"
He flashed them a slight smile, but they all gulped at his scary face.
In my past life, I'd faced plenty of foreign fighters with grim mugs like that, but the others weren't used to it.
Before heading to the arena, Dokgo Myeong glanced my way, gave a subtle bow, and climbed up.
Though I was his junior, it was his way of showing basic respect to the one who'd trained him.
The Eight Demons Sect expert flinched at the sight of Dokgo Myeong's face upon entering the arena. It was anything but ordinary.
His face was covered in vicious scars—whose origin was a mystery—and it stood in stark, dramatic contrast to Tae-seong's unmarred one.
But a scary face doesn't guarantee skill.
As if to prove that with his body, Dokgo Myeong couldn't keep up with Yi Hwan's attacks at all.
He swung his sword diligently as trained, but Yi Hwan flowed like water, effortlessly deflecting every strike while unleashing terrifying counters in rapid succession.
Thwack! Thud!
"Guh!"
"The skill gap's too wide. This is boring."
"B-boring?"
"Yeah. Boring."
"Want me to spice it up with some salt?"
Dokgo Myeong charged again with grim determination. But nothing changed.
It was just a repeat of the previous scene.
Still, Yi Hwan eyed him warily, unnerved by Dokgo Myeong's relentless tenacity despite the beatings.
Thwackkk!
"Can't get up now, right?"
"Urghhh..."
But against his hopes, Dokgo Myeong staggered to his feet again, prompting Yi Hwan to snap in exasperation.
"Damn it! Just stay down already! What's your grudge against me? If you die like this, what happens to me, you punk?!"
"Heh heh heh..."
Blood streamed from Dokgo Myeong's mouth.
"Please, just give up already!"
Thwackkkk!
Struck by his powerful palm strike, Dokgo Myeong flew like a bird and crashed into the arena's edge.
But he rose again.
His face was now too mangled to recognize.
Yet the ferocity in his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it burned fiercer.
Those watching Dokgo Myeong realized why his face bore those scars.
"You'll really die at this rate!"
"Heh heh heh heh..."
'Does this guy not feel pain?'
Yi Hwan felt an inexplicable dread, likening him to a jiangshi.
He halted his next attack.
Dokgo Myeong stood stock-still.
The referee approached to check on him.
Confirming Dokgo Myeong's state, the referee raised his flag toward Yi Hwan and shouted.
"Eight Demons Sect Yi Hwan wins!"
Dokgo Myeong had passed out on his feet.
Yi Hwan fled the arena with a pale face, clearly never wanting to fight him again.
In just one match, Dokgo Myeong left a profound impression on many.
The next bout was Pyo Gi-myeong's turn. But he was huddled in the corner.
No one spoke to him.
They all knew why.
His opponent was the infamous Jang Baek-pung.
Look what happened to Yu Si-bin, the strong favorite who faced Shaolin's Gong-un.
Didn't he come back on a stretcher with broken limbs?
Pyo Gi-myeong could already picture himself returning with one arm or a limp.
Tae-seong called out to him.
"Pyo Gi-myeong!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"What's with the sudden formality? It's your turn next. Get ready."
"R-right! Gotta go!"
His reply was spirited, but his feet were rooted like an apple tree on doomsday.
To force his feet loose, Tae-seong resorted to drastic measures—he smacked Pyo Gi-myeong's butt hard.
Smack—!
"Argh!"
The sharp crack and searing pain sent Pyo Gi-myeong leaping straight up, setting a personal record.
He glared at Tae-seong, face boiling with rage.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
"The Pyo Gi-myeong I know is a bold man with dreams of becoming this land's great general. Do you know what you look like right now?"
"Wh-what do I...?"
"No one's telling you to go win and come back. Hell, no one thinks you will."
"Th-then..."
"Just go have some fun out there. Be yourself."
"Be myself?"
"Yeah, be yourself."
"..."
"Don't you remember all that training you've done? You've definitely gotten stronger! Don't psych yourself out."
"..."
Pyo Gi-myeong fiddled with his treasured sword for a moment, steeled his resolve, and shouted.
"Right! Got it. I'll head out feeling light and carefree!"
"That's the spirit! That's my friend Pyo Gi-myeong."
"I'll be off!"
"Come back safe."
Pyo Gi-myeong strode to the arena with bold dignity.