Chapter 83: Shall We Drop the Ranks and Fight? (3)
Chapter 83: Shall We Drop the Ranks and Fight? (3)
“Huuuuuuh….”
“The way of the sword is like a path of penance….”
“Kugh… uuuugh….”
“There is no such thing as an easy path to strength.”
“Aaaaaaaargh…!”
“First, you must build the foundation. And what is that foundation? It is the lower body. An unwavering, rock-solid lower body is the first virtue a swordsman must possess….”
Thud.
“Oh? Look at you.”
Patrick’s eyes widened.
“Your butt touched the ground? You plan on fighting in that posture?”
“No, this is….”
“Reset.”
“Kugh… uuuu….”
At Patrick’s command, Matthew forced himself back into the Horse Stance. Patrick then began placing sheepskin pouches filled with sand onto Matthew’s shoulders, one by one.
“Grit your teeth and hold. No one has ever died doing this.”
“Kugh… uuuuuh…. Aaaargh…!”
Not even half a day into Patrick’s training, Matthew was already tasting physical hell.
Patrick had first ordered the Horse Stance to strengthen the lower body, and to see faster results, he added heavy weights to both shoulders.
“Heh, it’s nice having good equipment. Back in my territory, the kids had to balance jagged rocks, but here we have these soft, well-balanced sheepskin pouches. What a pleasant and comfortable training environment, don't you think, friend?”
“Ugh…. Uuuuugh….”
Desperately trying to steady his knees, which were shaking regardless of his will, Matthew bit his lip.
He was a student of the Knight Academy, after all; it wasn't as if he had never done strength training before. But this…
‘This is insane.’
The intensity was on a completely different level.
The training Patrick forced upon him seemed to be teaching Matthew a whole new world—one where he realized exactly how much pain a human body could feel from a single action.
The moment his body reached its limit and he was about to collapse again….
“If you fall again, I’m doubling the time.”
“Huuugh….”
“You think I won’t? You think I’m just saying this and I’ll go easy on you?”
“Hu… huaaaargh!”
“If you’re curious, go ahead and collapse. I’ll show you whether I’m a man of my word or not.”
Matthew’s eyes became bloodshot.
How did this demon accurately perceive his limits and hurl such threats at the exact moment he was about to break?
No, the reason didn't matter.
This guy would do it.
He definitely would. He was exactly that kind of person.
“Surpass your limits. Don’t define your own boundaries. I’m the one who decides your limits.”
“Huaaaargh!”
As Matthew let out a scream that was half-battle cry and half-sob, Patrick placed one more sandbag on his shoulders.
* * *
“Whoa….”
“Now that Royist is gone, it’s that freshman’s turn.”
“It would be better to just get beaten up. Is that bullying disguised as public training?”
“Look over there. Even the professors aren't saying anything.”
“What a wicked little demon.”
These were the impressions of the other first-years watching Patrick and Matthew.
To them, it didn't look like training at all; it looked like blatant harassment using training as an excuse.
Perhaps because it was essentially torture masked as practice, the professors watching from one side of the training ground only glanced at them occasionally and did not interfere.
“Is he really going to quit the Knight Department?”
“It can’t be helped if he does. He was a donation admission anyway; how long did he expect to last?”
“True. Even if you drop out in your first year, the world still treats you like a talent.”
“That’s true.”
The other first-years expected Matthew to withdraw before the year was out.
Even to them, this was unbearable.
It wasn't even sword practice; it was just pushing the body to the point of torture. How was that training?
If they were in Matthew’s shoes, they didn't think they could endure such vicious bullying and continue attending the Academy.
Even the professors shared similar thoughts.
However, there was one person who saw this training process differently.
‘I see. The basics first. He intends to solidify the roots.’
Professor Georg Austin.
After watching Patrick train Matthew, he had told the other professors not to interfere and had been observing from a distance.
The Patrick he knew was a far greater master than himself.
He believed there was much to learn from the way such a master taught a student.
‘I should keep watching for a while.’
* * *
One day passed, then two….
A week passed, and as it neared a month….
“Fix your posture.”
“Ugh…. Aaaaaaaargh…!”
Nothing had changed.
Patrick continued to make Matthew train only the Horse Stance, the foundation of everything, and Matthew followed Patrick’s lead silently.
Well… not exactly silently.
“Aaaaaaap!”
Screams erupted without pause.
If one only heard the sounds, they would think a criminal was being tortured rather than a student training; it was a gruesome scene.
The only thing that changed was the number of sandbags piled on Matthew’s shoulders. Others watching the scene began to feel a sense of awe.
“He’s actually holding out.”
“How can he endure that much strength training?”
“He’s not even using Aura, right?”
“Is that exercise easier than it looks?”
“No way. I tried it once, and I couldn't last thirty minutes without Aura.”
“But Matthew’s doing it all day.”
“You have to respect his grit. His grit, at least….”
Now, even the other first-years watched with a hint of admiration in their eyes.
In truth, they didn't think the training was particularly helpful.
They believed it would be better to swing a sword one more time or focus more on Aura Blessing rather than doing such ignorant strength exercises.
Even so….
“His grit…. Yeah, his grit is something else….”
“I have to admit it. I guess he wasn't someone to be ignored just because he was a donation admission.”
“You can say that again.”
Humans are naturally inclined to admire those who accomplish things they cannot.
The expressions of the first-year peers watching Matthew, who had continued Patrick’s high-intensity lower-body training for over a month, had changed significantly.
And in truth….
Patrick himself was a bit surprised.
‘Look at this brat.’
Matthew’s eyes were bloodshot.
The sweat pouring from his body had formed a puddle on the ground.
His trembling legs proved that his body had already reached its physical limit.
Yet, seeing Matthew use sheer willpower to hold onto that broken body and push himself even further, a peculiar light flickered in Patrick’s eyes.
No matter how hard it was, no matter if he felt like he was dying, Matthew never chose the option of giving up.
The only times Matthew had collapsed so far were not because his will broke, but because his physical limits were reached repeatedly until his muscle fibers could no longer function.
In Matthew, Patrick felt interest, pride, and a sense of nostalgia.
‘I found another grit-monster like Namgung Cheon.’
* * *
The Iron Dragon Swordsman, Namgung Cheon.
A man who was born as the legitimate son of the Namgung Clan—the most prestigious of the Five Great Families—yet was cast aside.
As was the case with most of Patrick’s friends, Namgung Cheon was not treated well by his family.
Despite being the eldest grandson of the Namgung Clan, he was a world-class dullard who showed not a single spark of talent.
The Head of the Namgung Clan had long since given up on him.
While his younger brothers learned the Boundless Firmament Sword Technique—the high-level swordsmanship of the clan—and the Imperial Sword Form, which only the direct line of the Clan Head could learn, all he could learn was the basic swordsmanship, the Twelve Forms of the Iron Sword.
He was such a dullard that he couldn't even perform those twelve forms perfectly, leading him to repeat the basic training endlessly.
As outcasts tend to flock together, he eventually bonded with the Dragon-Chasing Scholar Zhuge Hyeon, who was discriminated against for his appearance, and the Iron Blood Dragon Peng Mu-jong, a man of foul personality who had been discarded by the Peng Family. Consequently, he also became acquainted with the Radiant Dragon Hero, Jincheon.
To Jincheon, Namgung Cheon was a person who stood at the complete opposite end of the spectrum from himself.
Jincheon, who belonged to a third-rate sect and had nothing to rely on but his own genius.
Namgung Cheon, who was born as the eldest grandson of the greatest noble family in the Martial World but possessed zero talent.
They couldn't have been more different.
Jincheon never thought he would live to see the day he felt pity for the direct eldest grandson of the great Namgung Clan.
To the man who couldn't learn a single high-level martial art because of his lack of talent, Jincheon had once made a casual suggestion.
“Want me to teach you a few things?”
At the time, Jincheon had already caused a ruckus at the Namgung Clan and extorted the first half of the Boundless Firmament Sword Technique from the Clan Head.
Though there was a condition that he would never teach it to anyone else, he figured the Clan Head wouldn't complain if he taught it to his own son.
But back then, Namgung Cheon had simply smiled and said:
“How can I learn the Boundless Firmament Sword when I still haven't mastered the Twelve Forms of the Iron Sword?”
“But your younger brother is already past the Boundless Firmament Sword and is learning the Imperial Sword Form. Isn't it embarrassing? You're the older brother.”
“It’s fine.”
Namgung Cheon spoke with a smile.
“Why should someone as untalented as I try to compete against monsters like my brother or you? I only need to be able to defeat one person.”
“And who is that?”
“The me of yesterday.”
“…….”
“If I can become even a little bit stronger than I was yesterday, that is enough for me.”
“Whatever. You talentless fool….”
“Hahaha.”
Namgung Cheon just laughed at Jincheon’s blunt sarcasm.
At that moment, Patrick had a strange conviction.
This guy will become strong.
There was no logical basis for it, but he felt certain, and that certainty proved correct.
When the Black Snake Sect, a leader of the Unorthodox Faction, led an elite force to attack the Namgung Clan, the Clan Head was away fighting elsewhere with his own elite troops.
Just when everyone thought the Namgung Clan was doomed to be blindsided and destroyed….
“Who dares covet the Namgung Clan?”
The one who defeated Yama’s Blade Jeokmak, the leader of the Black Snake Sect, and stood firmly at the main gate to protect his family until Jincheon and his friends arrived with reinforcements, was Namgung Cheon—the man who had been ridiculed as the world’s greatest dullard even within his own family.
He had never received a single lesson in the Imperial Sword Form, let alone the Boundless Firmament Sword Technique. Yet, by silently practicing only the Twelve Forms of the Iron Sword to surpass his past self, he had claimed a magnificent victory against an Absolute Master of the Unorthodox Faction and earned the title of the Iron Dragon Swordsman.
Effort, grit, passion.
People talk about these things easily.
Those who say you just need to work harder than others if you lack talent.
Since his past life, Patrick had always sneered at such fools.
Effort? Grit?
Don't make me laugh. You think others aren't trying?
If someone is in their right mind, putting in effort is only natural. What’s so great about it that they can hold their heads high and spout nonsense like, “I worked hard”?
Above all, among those who spouted such nonsense, almost none actually put in the effort until the very end.
What good is effort in the short term?
The moment they see others surpassing them and feel the misery of being left behind, the vast majority of them stop even that ‘effort.’
Those who say they worked hard or did their best were usually just losers whining, “I worked hard, but it didn't work out, so please feel sorry for me.”
Except for one grit-monster: the Iron Dragon Swordsman, Namgung Cheon.
The world considered him the greatest dullard, but in Patrick’s eyes, Namgung Cheon was not untalented.
The talent to persevere until the very end.
That was a talent even Jincheon, who left his name in history as the greatest genius of his era, did not possess.
And perhaps, the Matthew standing before him possessed that same quality.
Looking at the venomous determination in Matthew’s eyes, Patrick thought:
‘I don’t know how far you’ll be able to follow me, but as long as you do, I’ll see you through to the end.’
“Ugh…. Uuuuugh….”
Finally, Matthew lost consciousness and collapsed.
Patrick reached down, picked him up, and slung him over his shoulder.
“Young Master, I will do that.”
“It’s fine.”
Patrick brushed off April’s offer to help and walked back with Matthew over his shoulder.
‘You will become strong.’