Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Stubbornly Correct Sword
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Hunter Association, underground level 3.
The first training ground, usually filled with hunters' shouts and the clanging of weapons, was now so silent that not even breathing could be heard.
A hush like the calm before a storm.
Hundreds of spectators filled the vast space, swallowing dryly as they stared at the center.
"Whoa, this is insane. They're really going at it?"
"The Heavenly Demon herself requests a spar? That guy's a real big shot."
"Big shot? More like sacrificial lamb. Look at Baek Seorin's eyes. She's out for blood today, making an example out of him."
The reporters clicked their shutters nonstop, but hid behind the bulletproof glass walls just in case sparks flew their way.
The air in the center of the training ground was that tense.
Baek Seorin had deliberately left every door of the training ground wide open.
Not relying on CCTV, but letting everyone see with their own two eyes.
Just how pathetic the end would be for an arrogant newbie who didn't know his place.
She planned to expose Han Jaewoo's true colors in front of everyone and crush that smug nose of his.
"Pick up your sword."
Baek Seorin nodded toward the wooden training sword rolling on the floor.
In her hand was already a real sword with a gleaming edge.
Wooden sword versus real steel.
It was blatantly unfair, but no one dared object.
Her opponent was the Heavenly Demon, after all.
Han Jaewoo inwardly shed tears of blood as he picked up the wooden sword.
The rough texture of the wood against his palm felt just like his fate.
'Mom... I think I'm really done for.'
For a jobless kangaroo who had been dragged out of his lazy home life, this was far too cruel.
His opponent was a murder ghost who had experienced every battle under the sun in the martial world.
To hold just a wooden sword against such a monster and endure.
But there was no escape.
Turning his back here meant instant death.
If he wanted to live, he had to somehow block this mad woman's slashes.
Han Jaewoo desperately hid his trembling hands and gripped the sword.
The only swordsmanship he knew was one basic move.
The fundamentals of fundamentals, taught by the imperial knight order captain in the romance fantasy world.
He spread his feet shoulder-width apart and held the wooden sword straight out in middle guard.
No flashy pose, no intimidating aura.
Just stiff and rigidly proper, like an illustration straight from a textbook.
Baek Seorin's eyes narrowed at the sight.
'Ho.'
Most unskilled fighters either cower in fear or throw in unnecessary flourishes to bluff.
But Han Jaewoo's stance had no excess.
Pure textbook form, carved into his bones after a thousand, ten thousand repetitions.
'Solid basics? No, more than that.'
Baek Seorin readjusted her grip on her sword.
Not just a smooth-talking con artist, apparently.
Then she would test it.
Just what lay hidden beneath that shell.
"Block this."
Her voice dropped low.
"I'll confirm your true nature."
Her sword tip pointed at Han Jaewoo.
No need for fancy techniques.
A simple, obvious downward slash whose trajectory anyone could read.
But that blade carried the heavy killing intent of thirty years of cultivation, compressed tight.
Dodge if you can.
Block if you can.
Before the terror of death, humans reveal their ugliest instincts.
Boom-!
The training ground floor shook.
Baek Seorin's form rushed forward in an instant.
Han Jaewoo's pupils dilated.
He couldn't see it.
He thought it was an obvious path, but the sword's speed far exceeded human perception.
No time to think.
The instinct to survive dominated his brain.
Imperial Knight Order Swordsmanship: Honest Downward Slash (B)
His body moved on its own.
That boring motion, drilled into him through bone-grinding practice over ten years, shone in that split second.
Kaboom-!
A roar echoed, and metal shavings flew.
Wooden sword clashed head-on with steel.
"...Urk!"
Han Jaewoo bit his lip.
He blocked it.
But blocking wasn't the end.
A stinging pain shot through his wrist and ravaged his whole body.
Crack.
A chilling snap rang in his ears.
His wrist bone cracked, ligaments screamed.
It felt like a massive iron club had smashed his wrist.
He wanted to drop the sword, roll on the floor, and call for his mom.
Tears welled, snot threatened to drip.
It hurt. It hurt so much. My wrist!
But.
His facial muscles didn't twitch.
Ten years.
The merciless social scene and assassination threats of the romance fantasy world.
The 'Northern Grand Duke' mask he wore to survive it all.
That stubborn acting skill wouldn't even allow its owner's scream.
The greater the pain, the colder his expression hardened.
A pale face without a drop of sweat.
That slight furrow from enduring agony looked like displeasure and contempt toward his opponent.
Baek Seorin's pupils shook like an earthquake.
'He blocked it?'
It was a strike infused with her cultivation.
Enough power to snap a wooden sword instantly and cleave the opponent's shoulder.
Yet this man took it with just a wooden sword.
His expression didn't even change.
Despite the shock that must have felt like his wrist was being crushed.
No sign of pain—instead, that arrogant gaze saying, 'Disgraceful, testing me with this weak attack.'
Baek Seorin shuddered.
Overwhelming physicality.
And steel-like composure.
Not retreating a single step after nullifying her attack perfectly, he stood like a towering mountain.
'Not running, but pressuring me back with even fiercer eyes?'
Silence stretched.
Han Jaewoo couldn't move from the wrist pain; Baek Seorin hesitated to strike again, daunted by his spirit.
The standoff dragged on.
Han Jaewoo wailed inwardly.
'Please stop... My wrist is done... I need a hospital...'
But Baek Seorin showed no sign of backing down.
Stay still like this, and the second strike would come.
Block again, and his wrist would snap for real.
Better to fake an attack first and muddle the situation.
'Screw it!'
Han Jaewoo raised his trembling wooden sword.
And brought it down.
Perfectly honest.
From above his head straight down.
Whoosh-
The sound of cutting air rang hollow.
Too slow.
Too obvious.
A trajectory announcing, "I'm aiming for your crown. Dodge or block at your leisure."
Simpler than a child swinging a toy knife.
Baek Seorin stared blankly at the sword.
No need to dodge.
A slight tilt of the head would make it miss.
But she couldn't dodge.
Or rather, she didn't.
Shock struck her brain.
'This... is your true nature?'
She had charged with killing intent.
Aimed to sever his neck with murderous aura.
Yet this man?
Treating her like a child, demonstrating sword basics slowly, ever so slowly.
As if lecturing, 'This is how you use a sword.'
A sword utterly pure, stubbornly correct, without a speck of intent to harm.
'Patronizing me?'
Her pride stung.
Shame flooded in.
She, who had charged with killing intent, felt endlessly pathetic.
The Heavenly Demon, Korea's top martial artist, receiving such a lesson from a mere newbie.
Baek Seorin stumbled back with a dazed expression.
Strength left her sword hand.
Her shaken mind unbalanced her body.
Thud.
Her foot caught on a tiny bump in the floor.
The Heavenly Demon of the world tripping on flat ground—a slapstick scene.
She hastily regained balance, but a faint scratch marred her white instep.
A rice-grain-sized drop of blood beaded up.
To a hunter—no, even a normal person—it was a scratch saliva could heal.
A mere abrasion that would vanish without trace after one cycle of inner energy.
Trivial enough for Baek Seorin to ignore.
But to Han Jaewoo's eyes, it was a catastrophe.
'Gasp!'
His pupils expanded.
Ten-year Heavenly Demon fanatic.
And his secret fetish no one knew: foot fetish.
Fused through the Northern Grand Duke filter, reason shut down, instinct took over.
'A wound on the Heavenly Demon's sacred body! On such pretty feet!'
He forgot his wrist pain.
Dropped the wooden sword.
And thudded to his knees.
"...Stop."
Han Jaewoo's urgent voice echoed through the training ground.
He lowered his head with a pained expression (actually from his wrist).
"I can't watch any more."
Baek Seorin blankly looked down at him.
Dropping his weapon and kneeling out of nowhere. Surrender?
But his eyes weren't those of defeat.
Eyes grieving as if something precious had shattered—heartbroken, earnest.
"What...?"
"For something so noble to tread this cold floor and get hurt."
Han Jaewoo's gaze fixed on her instep.
Baek Seorin's thoughts froze.
Feet?
He's worried about my feet now?
After blocking an attack that nearly broke his wrist?
"What..."
Before she could speak, Han Jaewoo moved.
He shed the Mithril Frock Coat he wore.
A treasure from the emperor, worth more than any Earth luxury brand.
He laid that precious garment on the floor without hesitation.
Right on the dusty training ground.
And extended his hand to her.
Like a knight escorting his partner at a ball.
"Step up."
Moisture tinged his voice.
Not acting.
A voice aching with genuine sincerity. (Her feet mattered more than his dirty coat.)
"Haven't you walked harsh paths alone... enough already?"
In that moment.
Baek Seorin's heart thudded down.
Harsh paths.
The thirty years she had walked.
Betrayals, power struggles, blood-soaked battlefields.
Unable to trust anyone, not even wearing shoes, always ready to flee or fight—days tense with vigilance.
Her lonely life, like walking a thorny path barefoot.
Han Jaewoo had just meant 'You've suffered standing in the lobby for two weeks.'
But to Baek Seorin, those words were salvation.
'He knew.'
About my stubborn solitude.
My wounds.
That's why he taught me with such a perfectly correct sword, and now offers his most precious garment to let me rest?
Baek Seorin's face flushed.
Not just embarrassed.
Ears burning crimson, steam practically rising.
The first comfort she had ever received in her life.
Overprotective care from a powerhouse who faced her killing intent head-on.
Her frozen heart began pounding wildly.
Numerous reporters and onlookers watched this scene from beyond the glass walls.
The historic moment of the Heavenly Demon blushing before a strange man.
"Th-this...!"
Baek Seorin's lips quivered.
She didn't know what to say.
Thank him? Or rage at his insolence?
Confused emotions exploded, shattering her reason.
"Y-you madman!"
She yelled in a cracked voice.
"Tr-training over! Don't let me see your face again!"
She fled.
Barefoot pounding the floor, she bolted from the training ground at light speed.
Like seeing a ghost—or a girl running from her first love's confession.
Bang!
The training ground door slammed shut, silence returning.
Han Jaewoo blankly stared at the closed door.
Tension released, and he collapsed to the floor.
'...I survived.'
He picked up the frock coat on the floor with trembling hands.
Dusty, but who cared.
This coat saved his life.
No idea why the Heavenly Demon ran, but survival was win enough.
'Ah, my wrist...'
Only then did the held-back pain surge.
He clutched his swollen wrist and groaned.
But he didn't know.
That the reporters who watched it all from the glass walls were typing articles at blinding speed.
[Breaking] Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin Blushes at Han Jaewoo's 'Coat-Removal Flirt' and Flees... Shock!
[Exclusive] Tense Spar Turns Pink? Han Jaewoo: "I'll End Her Harsh Path"
[Photo] Han Jaewoo Kneels, Gazes at Heavenly Demon's Feet... Crowned 'Century's Pure-Hearted Guy'
The next day.
Korea's internet was on the verge of server meltdown.
Han Jaewoo's dream of 'quietly sucking honey' had become an eternally impossible fantasy.