Chapter 16
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 16
"What's so great about hitting people? Flip that around—what’s so great about getting beaten until your nose is broken and your lips are split? I guess some guys just enjoy hurting others, but I’m a little different.
There’s this knot coiled up inside me. Right in my chest. When I let it out, it’s a clean release. Every time I feel my skills improving, it’s like an empty hole inside me gets filled. That’s it—a sense of fulfillment. Don't you feel that too?
I don’t know if you’ll understand, but trading blows with someone feels like having a deep conversation.
Even without words, you can feel it all. You think, ‘Ah, this bastard is a piece of garbage,’ or, ‘Ah, this guy’s actually all right.’
But fighting means there’s an opponent, and there’s no guarantee I’ll always win. Losing is frustrating, infuriating. I used to just train harder, thinking I’d win the next time.
Yet, no matter how much I tried, there were some guys I just couldn't beat. Were they born with it? What were they born with? How could they do so easily what I couldn't achieve no matter how hard I struggled?
They say a whole new world opens up when you can feel and use mana. Well, I couldn't feel a thing from those guys. They were just walls. Walls that never answered back.
So, you know… I’m going to stop trying."
Strangely, Volka found himself remembering those words he had spoken so long ago. He couldn't recall who he had said them to. Was it his ex-girlfriend?
Opening his eyes to the morning light, Volka lay lost in thought before finally sitting up. For some reason, his chest felt a strange, fluttering sensation.
Rickert's lessons naturally came to mind. As he mulled over each piece of advice, his entire focus shifted inward.
Pay attention to distance before throwing a punch. First, secure a distance you’re comfortable with. Kicks are just as important as punches…
In truth, these were merely fundamentals. But the Academy only taught basic stances and a few of the professors’ personal tricks. Beyond that, students had to improve on their own through actual combat.
Volka, however, had been too busy. Between working, dealing with various incidents, and managing his crew, he hadn't been able to fully focus on training. On top of that, physical development varied wildly among students, making it even harder to find a good sparring partner.
He replayed the fights he had lost before meeting Rickert. Now, the reasons for his defeats seemed remarkably clear. He felt like his past self had been an utter fool.
After a good night’s sleep, his body still hadn't fully recovered, but Volka threw himself into solo practice anyway. He kept the concept of ‘distance’ constantly in mind, trying to burn the corresponding movements into his body. Rickert’s beautifully precise strikes, though he hadn’t caught every detail, served as his ultimate goal.
Rickert would hang from the pull-up bar, quietly watching Volka practice. Occasionally, he would correct his stance or offer a tip.
*
Two days passed in a flash, bringing the day of the bare-handed combat class. About fifty students attended, with a male-to-female ratio of roughly three to one. Among them was Volka’s ex-girlfriend.
As usual, the inexperienced group was separated to be taught directly by the professor, while the rest gathered in small groups to spar and hone their techniques. Among them were kids who just goofed off, giggling with their friends.
Meanwhile, Volka struck a wooden dummy all by himself, looking somewhat isolated. Perhaps because of the incident with Rickert, the other students kept giving him strange looks.
"Hey, Volka."
Someone called out to him. Volka turned to see a student ranked higher than him, one who spent more time in the city than in the dormitories.
"What?"
"I heard you got your ass handed to you by a newbie."
"So?"
"You're supposedly the leader around here. How are you going to keep the others in line looking like that?"
"Since when did you care about the others?"
"I don't. I care about improving my own skills. Unlike you, I'm not talentless."
"..."
"Aren't you just playing at being a gang leader because you gave up after realizing you had no talent? Now that even that's over, what are you gonna do? Shine shoes?"
Snickers broke out at the mention of shoe-shining.
The Adventurers' Academy was a cruel place. People delighted in watching someone fall and never hesitated to mock them. Picking on someone weaker was taken for granted.
Just then, the professor, noticing the students slacking off, spoke up.
"Look at you brats. I told you to practice, and here you are fooling around. I may not care much about you, but playing around during my class is a sign of disrespect."
The students tensed at his words. He was known to subject them to training that bordered on torture, disguised as physical conditioning.
But the professor just smirked. "Then again, this is pretty boring. Let's liven things up a bit. Pankration!"
At that, the students' eyes widened, and they shouted in unison.
"Pankration! Pankration!"
Listening to the chorus, the professor briefly reminisced about his own academy days before calling out, "Whoever's confident, step forward!"
The student who had been mocking Volka raised his hand. "Can I call someone out?"
"As long as they don't refuse the challenge."
With the professor's permission, the student turned to Volka. "Gonna refuse?"
Volka paused. To the onlookers, it seemed he was weighing his pride against the certainty of another defeat. But that wasn't it at all. Volka wasn't calculating his chances of winning; he was mentally reviewing everything he had practiced over the past two days.
Once his thoughts settled, he raised his head.
"No. Get out here."
With that, he walked toward the sand pit, prompting murmurs of intrigue from the crowd. Unbothered, Volka kept repeating a mantra to himself: Measure the distance. Measure the distance. Measure the distance…
Fight at the distance I want, avoid the distance I don't. Once I reach my distance, the punches will throw themselves. So, measure the distance.
It had only been two days of practice. How much could have really changed? Yet sometimes, a small change could bring about a monumental result.
Volka felt his heart pounding. It wasn't fear of defeat, nor was it a desperate desire for victory. It was the simple, thrilling anticipation of knowing that he had changed.
"Let's not make this ugly by grappling. The audience needs a good show, right?" said the student facing Volka in the sand pit. He was around the same age as Volka—technically an adult. They had entered the Academy around the same time and had even hung out together for a while.
How had their relationship soured like this? Whether it stemmed from an inferiority complex over talent or some unspoken resentment, it was hard to say.
"Both ready?" the professor asked.
Volka nodded. His opponent grabbed his opposite shoulder and rotated his arm in a wide circle.
"Alright. Everything is allowed except biting and kicks to the groin. The match ends in death or surrender. Pankration, start!"
At the shout of "start," Volka took his stance. It was slightly different from before. Being right-handed, he put his left hand and left foot forward, drew his right hand back, and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. Most importantly, he kept his upper body upright. He flicked his left hand out periodically, both measuring the distance and keeping his opponent at bay.
Then, in a sudden burst, his opponent ducked and charged. He threw a heavy left jab, quickly retracted it, and followed with a right uppercut.
Huh? Wait a second.
Volka extended an arm and tilted his head back slightly to widen the distance, but that was secondary. His opponent's attack looked agonizingly slow. Was he just testing the waters?
"Haha, turned into a coward, Volka? Let me heat things up for you!" the opponent taunted, bouncing loosely to stay limber. He took his stance once more and aggressively closed the distance.
This time, too, Volka saw every part of the attack coming. If I just extend my hand, he’ll walk right into it. Is it really this easy?
After enduring Rickert’s lightning-fast strikes, which often came from his blind spots, his opponent's attacks felt like child's play. Setting aside any lessons, the difference in skill between Rickert and the man before him was like night and day.
His opponent continued to press forward, eventually backing Volka to the edge of the sand pit. Sand kicked up from their rough steps as the watching students grew more invested in the match. A broken nose or a split lip was inevitable. Blood would stain the sand. And everyone expected it to be Volka's.
But at that moment, as his opponent swung a wild punch, his head snapped back violently. He collapsed with a thud. Volka had sidestepped the blow and struck him squarely in the face.
Thwack!
The punch hadn't landed on the chin, but rather on the cheekbone. Instead of being knocked out cold and planting face-first, the student managed to catch himself with his hands on the sand outside the ring.
Still, his head was spinning so badly he couldn't gather his senses. He scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of pure shock.
Everyone's eyes widened at the unexpected result. Even students who held no ill will toward either fighter were intrigued by the surprising turn of events.
After taking that single hit, all of the student's confidence seemed to vanish. He looked dazed as he cautiously stepped back. But with fifty pairs of eyes on him, shame and a refusal to accept defeat drove him into a reckless assault.
Volka widened the distance again. Then, using his back foot just as Rickert had taught him, he instantly closed the gap from afar and launched a punch.
CRACK!
The hit connected cleanly. His opponent's lip didn't just split—broken teeth scattered across the sand. He slammed face-first into the ground, out cold.
"Oh? What's with you? You can actually fight," the professor commented nonchalantly, unbothered that the student lay unconscious. In truth, he was merely a High-Rank Adventurer affiliated with the Guild, lacking the character to truly be called a professor. "Just two hits. Very clean. Striking techniques of that level could be useful in real combat. Now, you have to finish it, right? This is Pankration."
Bare-handed combat was crucial because weapons often broke or were knocked from one's grasp in battle. That was why grappling techniques were so vital, though striking skills were equally important. Besides being useful for self-defense, knowing how to fight well without a weapon instilled a deep confidence—the assurance that one always had a last resort.
At any rate, a match didn't end with a simple knockout. It was death or surrender.
Volka's opponent soon regained consciousness, but his body wouldn't obey him as he squirmed on the ground. Volka planted a foot firmly on his chest, looked down, and asked, "What's it going to be?"
"...I-I surrender."
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
Applause erupted from all around.
"Whoa, he's actually good?"
"Volka's pretty tough. You sure you wouldn't lose to him?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Wait, then what does that make the newbie?"
The students who lived in the city and had only heard rumors began chattering. Volka's overwhelming victory naturally drew their interest toward Rickert. Seeing Volka's considerable skill with their own eyes made them intensely curious about the person who had beaten him to a pulp on his very first day.
Meanwhile, those close to Volka's opponent couldn't recover from the shock. If the rank difference had been one or two spots, a loss might have been understandable. But Volka was ranked 20th and their friend was 15th—a gap of five whole ranks. It was baffling, ridiculous, and hard to accept. Yet since it had ended in just two hits, they couldn't even dismiss it as a fluke.
Volka himself felt a bit dazed. He couldn't quite tell if he had gotten stronger or if his opponent had simply gotten weaker.
But it undeniably felt good. The drive to improve, which he had given up on at some point, reignited like a flame. His heart thrummed in his chest.
When class ended and he left the Inner Keep, students who had been subtly keeping their distance now approached him, feigning friendliness. Even his ex-girlfriend, the one who had dumped him, walked up.
"Guess you started training again?" she asked, her tone forced and casual.
Volka couldn't help but chuckle. His mind was so consumed by other things that his ex-girlfriend now felt completely insignificant. Not a single shred of feeling remained.
So, without a trace of anger or resentment, he simply said, "Hey, don't talk to me. I'm busy."
As her face flushed bright red, Volka left her behind and headed for the dormitory. He then gathered Rickert and Boribori and headed out into the city.
From a distance, the higher-ranked students who had come to the dormitories for class watched the boy in the red cloak walk away, their eyes filled with a newfound interest.