Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 78
>Chapter Title: The Sparring Tournament (3)
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“Die! Just drop dead already, you bastard!!”
The sight of Baek Cheon wildly spewing curses and hurling hidden weapons from the center of the training ground had his fellow cadets watching with strangely complicated expressions.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen that.”
“Indeed. Wasn’t it a common sight back in the early days of enrollment?”
“Hmm. It was a sight I never wanted to see again.”
To them, it was a somewhat familiar scene. In the early days of enrollment, Baek Cheon had embodied the term “no one beneath my eyes” in human form.
They’d thought he’d changed a bit since then, but it seemed his true nature hadn’t gone anywhere.
And Il-mok, who was in the midst of sparring with that utter wastrel, charged toward Baek Cheon with a scowl on his face.
Il-mok’s blood pressure was rising a little, too.
It wasn’t because of the filthy curses spewing from Baek Cheon’s mouth. He’d already built up quite the immunity to profanity back in his previous life as a civil servant, dealing with endless complaints from the public.
The problem was.
“I almost died! You fucking wastrel!!”
The iron rod that had shot out from that fan just moments ago.
No matter how he thought about it, it was a technique clearly meant to kill him.
If not for the astonishing reflexes of this Il-mok body, if not for the harsh, almost abusive training from the Heavenly Demon, he probably wouldn’t have even been able to react before a hole got punched through his skull.
“You dare!! You think you can call this body a wastrel and get away with it!!”
Baek Cheon’s eyes rolled back as he screamed again, flailing his arms madly in the air.
Clang!
Clang clang!
Thanks to nearly dying once himself, Il-mok’s eyes were also bloodshot. He precisely deflected the hidden weapons one after another with swordsmanship as accurate as a ruler.
Then, at the moment the flying dagger met his sword, he unleashed the Plum Blossom Grafting technique.
But this time, it wasn’t aimed at Choi Il-hwan.
The instant the dagger stuck to his blade, Il-mok spun his body like he was dancing a sword dance, riding the rotational force to send the dagger right back at Baek Cheon.
“!?”
Even in his rage, Baek Cheon was momentarily stunned by the near-miraculous technique.
“Eeeeek!!!”
But perhaps his pride was wounded even more by his own surprise, he gritted his teeth and swatted the dagger away with his fan.
Clang!
And in that split second as Baek Cheon deflected the dagger.
Whiiiiiish!
Sword ki poured from Il-mok’s blade, which he had already swung repeatedly in the air, flying straight toward Baek Cheon.
“You fucking bastard!!”
Now even forgetting that Il-mok was the Heavenly Demon’s disciple, Baek Cheon spat insane curses as he deflected the sword ki with his fan.
“If I’m a fucking bastard, then what does that make my master, you fucking wastrel!”
While Baek Cheon was tied up deflecting the sword ki, Il-mok closed in in an instant and shouted as he swung his sword again.
Successfully penetrating to close range, Il-mok unleashed a barrage of concise sword techniques, pressing Baek Cheon relentlessly. Baek Cheon somehow held on, utilizing footwork and evasion techniques.
Clang!
Clang!!
The metallic clashes rang out continuously, along with a splendid display of martial arts in the center of the training ground.
One might expect awe at the exceptional skills that seemed beyond mere cadets.
“Ugh.”
“That guy, he’s really going to...”
But at the curses flying between Baek Cheon and Il-mok, all the spectators shook their heads.
Meanwhile.
“Goddamn it!!”
Pushed back relentlessly, Baek Cheon let out a furious roar and threw himself to the ground, rolling across the dirt.
Lazy Donkey Roll.
Some warriors considered it the most humiliating technique, saying they’d rather die than resort to it.
But Baek Cheon’s pettiness, now fully revealed, didn’t end there.
Pop!!
As if rolling on the ground was to build momentum, Baek Cheon secretly grabbed a handful of sand while rolling and hurled it at Il-mok, who was charging after him.
On top of that, he infused his ki into the sand using a hidden weapon technique.
“Haat!”
And as if refusing to let his guard down, he pulled more hidden weapons from his clothes and threw them one after another.
But.
“I knew you’d pull something like this.”
From the moment Baek Cheon hit the dirt, Il-mok had felt an ominous premonition and was already prepared.
Ki flickered from his left palm, which had touched the flat of his blade.
Pop!
Il-mok swung his sword widely to the right, and the ki from his left palm spread along the blade, forming a thin membrane of qi.
Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword, twelfth form: Soul Prison Silk.
Il-mok didn’t stop there.
The moment Baek Cheon’s flung sand hit the thin qi membrane, Il-mok’s left palm and right hand holding the sword began a soft dance.
Sword and palm, utilizing the thin qi membrane to unleash the Ghost Soul Sword technique.
The membrane moved fluidly according to the principles of softness, gently enveloping not just the sand but also the incoming hidden weapons.
Pop!
Then it was swung forcefully toward somewhere.
Whiiiiiish!
The sand and hidden weapons, now clumped together and infused with fierce ki, hurtled toward Choi Il-hwan at tremendous speed.
“!?”
While Choi Il-hwan deflected the mass with a bewildered expression using his Black Thunder Demon Palm.
Pop!
Il-mok, who had overcome the crisis with exquisite technique, had already closed in right up to Baek Cheon’s nose.
Baek Cheon, who hadn’t even had time to get up after rolling and desperately throwing sand and weapons, tried to move in a hurry.
Snikt.
Il-mok’s sword advanced boldly toward Baek Cheon, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
Thwack!!
In the midst of it, almost kindly, Il-mok twisted his sword and slapped Baek Cheon’s face with the flat of the blade.
“Guh....”
“Where do you think you’re getting up? Keep rolling like the dog you are!”
Il-mok swung his sword relentlessly, as if savoring the perfect trap.
Even as he was getting pummeled, Baek Cheon swung his fan in resistance or twisted his body this way and that.
Whoosh!
Thwack!
Il-mok’s sword, blending various subtleties, knocked away Baek Cheon’s fan, moved in bizarre patterns, and repeatedly battered his body.
“Dogs have always been weak to the stick!”
His eyes wild from the near-death experience, Il-mok truly didn’t let up on the swings.
“Stop!”
“That’s enough! The spar is over!”
The instructors, arriving late, had to grab Il-mok’s limbs to restrain him.
And Il-mok, seized by the instructors, pleaded with them desperately.
“P-Please let me go. I-I have to swing my sword.”
“...Enough. Cadet Baek has already lost consciousness.”
“But....”
“Ahem.”
When the instructors wouldn’t release him, Il-mok thrashed his whole body and shouted.
“Because of that guy, enlightenment came again!”
At Il-mok’s desperate cry, the instructors holding him and the spectating cadets all thought the same thing.
‘...If enlightenment came, isn’t that good?’
‘Why beat the guy who gave you enlightenment like that?’
‘Now I see he’s completely insane.’
‘I’ve never seen anyone worse than Baek Cheon.’
They all looked at Il-mok like he was a madman.
* * *
Right after the sparring tournament ended in unexpected chaos, contrary to its original intent.
Il-mok rushed back to the clearing where he’d been with Jeong-hyeon and began swinging his sword like a maniac.
It was because of the damn enlightenment brought on by Baek Cheon, triggering his compulsion again.
The trigger seemed to be the last exam. His compulsion had flared up because of Bang Mi-hwa, causing him to lose himself once already in a sword dance.
While the compulsion hadn’t fully subsided, recklessly unleashing Ghost Soul Sword repeatedly to get revenge on Choi Il-hwan had been a blunder.
Then nearly dying to Baek Cheon became the catalyst.
After that, with his focus at its peak, he’d finally succeeded in simultaneously executing Soul Prison Silk and Ghost Soul Sword.
‘Damn. Damn. Damn. I thought I’d just need to practice the later forms since the first set was complete.’
It seemed there was still more enlightenment to be gained even from just the first set of forms.
Il-mok swung his sword like a madman.
What he was focusing on now was the subtlety of softness.
Among the fourteen forms of the Soul-Stealing Heartless Sword’s first set, he was trying to infuse the principles of softness even into those that didn’t originally use it.
He incorporated softness while unleashing forceful sword strikes, and preserved it even in rapid slashes.
His sword moved as if dancing gracefully, imbued with profound mystery and flowing softly.
If anyone saw it, they might think he wasn’t the Heavenly Demon’s youngest disciple but a direct disciple of the Wudang Sect.
He danced the sword dance ceaselessly until his internal energy ran dry, then sat cross-legged for Qi Circulation and Breath Adjustment.
But even that wasn’t rest.
While meditating and guiding his internal energy to his dantian, deep in his mind’s eye, he continued the sword dance, gathering insights.
Once his dantian was refilled, he rose again and danced the sword, embodying the insights gathered in meditation with his body.
How long did he continue like that?
“Hoo. Hoo.”
His breath reeked of sweetness, his muscles screamed in agony, and before he knew it, his dantian had dried up again.
“I-It’s... done....”
Finally freed from the compulsion, Il-mok wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep.
But he couldn’t.
“F-Fucking hygiene compulsion.”
Drenched in sweat all over, the thought of sleeping like that made his skin crawl.
* * *
The next morning.
Instructor Choi Il-hwan’s martial arts class, as always.
But before starting the lesson, Instructor Choi Il-hwan unusually opened his mouth with a solemn expression.
“Cadet Il-mok.”
“Yes, Instructor.”
“Congratulations. The Academy Lord has taken note of your talent and will make special time for you.”
“Thank you!”
“Hahaha. No need to thank me. It’s the Academy Lord’s decision. I had no part in it.”
Il-mok’s face lit up with emotion, but inwardly he was cursing up a storm.
It wasn’t aimed at Choi Il-hwan.
‘Damn! If I take special training from the Academy Lord on top of this enlightenment, my body really won’t hold up?’
With enlightenment already hitting him, special training from the Academy Lord?
He’d really risk being devoured by side effects and turning into a lunatic.
‘I need an excuse somehow! Some pretext to refuse!!’
Unaware of Il-mok’s inner turmoil, Choi Il-hwan pointed somewhere with a solemn face unusual for him.
“The Academy Lord is waiting in the Academy Lord’s Hall, so go see him now.”
“Understood!”
Il-mok replied brightly but trudged toward the Academy Lord’s Hall feeling like he was being led to the slaughterhouse.
‘What excuse can I use? Damn! Brain, work!’
Still unable to think of a good one, he stopped in front of the Academy Lord’s Hall, lost in thought.
“Come in.”
Sensing his presence, Yeom Ga-hwi’s voice came from inside.
‘Damn it.’
Cursing inwardly again, Il-mok schooled his expression and entered the Academy Lord’s Hall.
“Come in.”
“This cadet of the Demonic Path Academy, Il-mok, pays respects to the Academy Lord.”
As Il-mok bowed with clasped fists and pondered what to say, the Academy Lord spoke first.
“I called you to the Academy Lord’s Hall instead of the training ground because I have a few questions before the training.”
“Please ask.”
Curious about what he’d ask, Il-mok froze at Yeom Ga-hwi’s question.
“Why did you show such an attitude at the start of your spar with Cadet Baek Cheon?”
As one of the top masters even in the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, Yeom Ga-hwi had naturally seen through Il-mok’s act.
Unlike the pretense of struggling, Baek Cheon hadn’t even been in his sights.
Naturally, Il-mok’s gaze went to the Academy Lord’s hands, interlaced on the table.
‘If I just say I twisted it because it was Instructor Choi Il-hwan, that fist’s coming flying?’
It was a horrific prospect in every way.
Horrific if his head got smashed by that fist, horrific if enlightenment hit while resisting to survive.
In Il-mok’s mind, the topic of ‘excuse to refuse the Academy Lord’s special lesson’ was instantly buried.
To avoid death, he had to come up with an excuse for that spar.
And perhaps sensing the crisis of death, his brain worked faster than usual.
‘Ah! That’s it!’
Sorting his thoughts in an instant, Il-mok spoke with a serious face.
“It was for my fellow cadets.”
Il-mok had decided to sell out his classmates.