8. Asura's Path (2)

In my past life, I never made a habit of wandering around campus. I simply didn't have the time for it.

And that was true even compared to students who attended fewer lectures than I did.

Because whenever I found a spare moment, I holed myself up in the training hall.

Having so little internal energy dramatically shrank the radius of my life. The school would expel anyone below First-rate without a second thought, so I had to pile up my internal energy however I could and reach the Peak Realm, no matter what.

In my case, my internal energy was so meager that people wondered how I'd even gotten into Seondo in the first place — so I scraped together the minimum credits and spent every waking hour pumping qi.

Which meant I never roamed the campus, and I rarely crossed paths with the other students.

Cheon Yuha, whose schedule was packed to bursting, was someone I saw even less.

Still, required courses like Foundations of Combat Instruction put us in the same classroom, and every now and then we'd bump into each other in the hallways.

'Hey.'

'Yes. I trust you are well.'

Back then, we were acquaintances who exchanged perfunctory greetings — faces recognized, nothing more.

No humor, no romance, not a shred of anything beyond that. Just two people who knew each other's names.

But apparently, to some lunatic, it didn't look that way at all.

'Ah, young hero. Did you complete your meditation today? If not, then daring to address the Young Cult Leader of the Demon Cult in your weakling state — I beg you, offer your apologies at once.'

'……?'

I was already stressed out from failing to build internal energy, and now this. What was this guy's problem? We weren't even friends.

Since it wasn't outright profanity, I let it slide in one ear and out the other.

'Ah, how dare you speak so carelessly to our honored Young Cult Leader!'

But he spewed that garbage every single time I ran into Cheon Yuha, so even I couldn't help but notice.

This lunatic of a monk — a Shaolin priest, pillar of the orthodox sects, of all people — had fallen for Cheon Yuha, heir to the Demon Cult.

'What a lunatic.'

From what I heard later, he confessed to her, got rejected, threw a tantrum, and then got rejected physically.

I was too young at the time to say anything, but Cheon Yuha avenged me on my behalf, in a way.

Not that I was any saint who'd turn down a chance at revenge when it landed in my lap.

"Good. I'll kill him."

The bald head that returned to his seat after reporting our group assignment to the homeroom teacher wore a sour expression. Il-jin, that bastard — things clearly weren't going the way he'd imagined, and it was eating at him.

I was mulling over how exactly to cook this guy when a commotion drifted over from far away.

-Just shoot me in the head!

-Excuse me?! How am I supposed to shoot you?!

-I'll dodge it just fine!

-No, what am I supposed to do if you die?!

-It's fine! Even if an arrow lands, people don't die that easily! Come on! Shoot!!

-You're insane, you absolute—!

Cheon Yuha was picking a fight with her sparring partner, an elven archer, demanding the elf shoot arrows at her head. Come to think of it, those two had been pretty close in my past life too.

Seeing that, I figured whatever was fated to happen would happen exactly as it always had.

"Hm. Having fun, are we."

I watched the elf and Cheon Yuha squabbling over a compound bow with a faint smile, then looked away.

Just as I turned my head, praying that this time, unlike my past life, things would go smoothly for them—

"……Huh?"

I felt a gaze from somewhere.

Not the simple sensation of someone watching. It was more like my very soul was being pierced through.

A strange sense of déjà vu stirred at that feeling, one I'd experienced once before, and I turned my head.

"……Master?"

Unnoticed by anyone, a woman leaning against the second-floor railing tilted her head.

"Oh. Our eyes met."

Il-jin clenched his fist once, for no particular reason, at the wave of lethargy that followed, and his brow furrowed hard.

'……All I did was teach him his place. Where did all this trouble come from?'

The surging energy in his body had been shaved away in an instant. His ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body felt heavier than he remembered it ever being; the Aegis Power wouldn't flow in, and even his circulation of internal energy sputtered.

It was like being thrown back to his First-rate days.

He'd dropped to roughly the same level as the grinning idiot standing in front of him.

'That scheming bastard.'

Cursing the cunning wretch before him, Il-jin let out a sigh and wiped his face with a dry hand.

……Right. His opponent was nothing but a First-rate curd-scraper who did nothing but wag his tail at the Young Cult Leader. Whereas he himself was a fully matured Peak Realm martial artist.

He could win this decisively using nothing but kicks — no fists, no palms. The conditions laid down were identical, but the realms they occupied were worlds apart. If anything, he now had the perfect excuse to toy with the man.

'I'll grind him into the dirt.'

Having steeled himself, Il-jin quickly recovered his composure and spoke with a benevolent smile.

"I am Il-jin, third-generation disciple of the Shaolin Temple. I have trained in the Iron Fist and Iron Palm arts — though as our benefactor Choi's arms are in casts, this bout will proceed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with kicks alone."

At those words, the classmates who'd been hoping to glimpse the Shaolin upstart's skills tilted their heads or murmured in interest.

Even in the twenty-first century, the name Shaolin still commanded respect as a storied lineage. It was a shame they couldn't see his signature martial arts, but surely even footwork alone would give them a taste of it — or so they thought.

Basking in the attention gathering around him, Il-jin squared his shoulders.

'And you? What do you have? A mere First-rate! Ranked 298th in the year, no less!'

He was ranked 27th on his entrance scores — a Peak Realm talent out of Shaolin — and the gulf between them was heaven and earth.

Il-jin stared at the First-rate before him with a triumphant smirk.

And Choi Gangjun, after a brief glance at somewhere off to the side, quietly recited:

"Choi Gangjun. I've studied Taegukmu."

"Taegukmu?"

Not even Taiji Fist — apparently the man had gone off somewhere and learned some miscellaneous junk. And what a breathtakingly brief introduction.

Well, naturally. With an education that shallow, he'd hardly have much to say for himself.

Wearing a pleasant smile on his face while sneering on the inside, Il-jin took his stance.

Choi Gangjun belatedly took his as well, and the Death Knight, confirming both were ready, spoke quickly.

"Three, two, one — begin."

And so the duel began.

Kuwung—!

Il-jin immediately engaged his breathing technique and planted his advancing step.

A great surge of qi rippled out across the stone-tiled sparring ground.

Bodhidharma's Muscle-Tendon Change Classic — that dazzlingly renowned technique. The supreme mental cultivation method of the Buddhist school, said to have been created by the Great Master Bodhidharma himself, an art that a mere First-rate wouldn't dare covet.

The miraculous energy of the Classic washed over his body, purifying at least a portion of the curse clinging to it.

Feeling his body grow markedly lighter, Il-jin began devising how best to discipline the wretch who had humiliated him.

'……Yes. I'll show you, right here and now, how different the worlds we live in are!'

Crack! Il-jin drew his left leg back and leaned his body forward, poised to launch himself.

What he was about to show them was the overwhelming pest-slaughter performance of Shaolin's finest prospect.

It was time to unveil a body tempered with the hardness and resilience of vajra steel — untarnished even if its wielder could only circulate a First-rate's worth of internal energy.

It was practically flight. Without so much as a running start, he covered zero-to-hundred in the blink of an eye.

That miraculous speed erased the ten-meter distance to his opponent in a single bound. He was right there — a mere extension of the leg away!

'This ends it!'

Il-jin hoisted the left leg he'd coiled back, ready to drive it into Choi Gangjun's torso. The gale riding his instep — the sonic wave of the storm — would sweep this First-rate trash away in one stroke!

"One of the Seventy-Two Ultimate Arts of Shaolin! Count yourself honored to be struck by the Supreme Kick!"

So shouting, Il-jin thrust his foot out — and sneered at Choi Gangjun, who hadn't so much as twitched, as if his body still hadn't caught up with itself.

Yes, such was the level of a First-rate after all—

'……What?!'

Then shock seized him.

Il-jin felt every hair on his body stand on end as his gaze locked precisely with Choi Gangjun's. The man hadn't failed to follow him at all.

Still water, a polished mirror. He was simply regarding him without the slightest tremor, calm as a clear mirror and silent as still water.

Even in this instant, as the ferocious, ultra-high-speed kick closed in second by second!

'Hey! HEY! If you don't move, you'll get kicked at the speed of light?! Why are you just standing there watching?! What the hell are you scheming—!'

Il-jin's eyes went wide.

In that instant, Choi Gangjun's form seemed to move all at once.

It was nothing short of a flash of light.

Crack-crack! Azure lightning tore forward. Choi Gangjun vanished like a mirage.

'……Damn it all!'

Only then did Il-jin understand.

His opponent was no ordinary First-rate.

This bastard was a lunatic who knew Shifting Substitution.

'……If this keeps up, he'll take my back!'

And that would mean certain defeat. Driven to that conclusion, Il-jin clenched his teeth and forcibly twisted his body midair.

Grrrrk—grrgrrgrrk—!

Even the hardiest body buckles under such monstrous speed and force — but Il-jin, at last, wrenched himself around in midair.

'……You bastard!'

At last, Choi Gangjun — wreathed in a blue aura — entered his field of vision.

Il-jin glared at him with bloodshot eyes. The man gave a faintly surprised look, then snorted a laugh and rattled the casts sealing his hands.

Then, he lifted his leg.

In that instant, Il-jin felt a chill crawl down his spine, and his face went rigid.

Just then, the miraculous energy of the Muscle-Tendon Change Classic settled his rigid, panicked heart.

And he understood, once more.

'How foolish I have been. Namu Amitabha, Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva.'

Il-jin threw out every thought of pest-slaughter and flashy Shaolin showcases he'd been nursing until this very moment. He scoured them from his mind.

'How could I have been so blind.'

From now on, he would simply fight as one martial artist — with everything he had, giving his absolute best.

The martial monk of Shaolin drove his hovering left leg — and all of its mountainous power — straight down into the ground.

Kuwung—!

His second planted step.

Il-jin launched himself like a missile.

With cold eyes and a still mind, he strained to read every current of qi in his path.

At last he erased every stray thought, poured out his full strength, and readied the kick that would end it all.

"──CRUSH, YOU BASTAAAARD!!!"

Watching him come, Choi Gangjun thought:

'This lunatic is actually trying to kill me?'

Since yesterday, whether it was a golem or this meathead, everyone kept trying to shave his head. If he hadn't placed restrictions on his internal energy, things would surely have gotten ugly.

'……Don't tell me he's already fallen for Cheon Yuha? Good grief. I had no idea jealousy could run this deep.'

He'd originally been brainstorming all sorts of ways to deal with this insolent bastard — ways that would make the rounds as a well-earned beatdown.

'But they've all gone up in smoke……'

Choi Gangjun exhaled a long breath and flicked a glance toward the second-floor railing.

Her presence was hidden so well that he couldn't make her out clearly, but that gaze belonged to his Master, without a doubt.

It was a future he hadn't yet reached — but even so, as a former disciple, didn't he owe her his very best move?

'Your disciple learned from you very well, you know.'

And so Mutu-ga lifted his leg.

Of course, he could not use the Great Shift of Heaven and Earth.

It was hardly an easy technique to begin with, and he'd attempted it through years of painstaking effort — but no matter what, it was simply impossible with no arms, feet alone.

If he'd been capable of that, he wouldn't have died in his past life; he'd have clawed and squirmed his way to survival.

But he could let the force flow past him like a wave.

Kwagagagagak───!!!

The mad monk's kick came flying at him, radiating a brilliance like the golden statue of Maitreya Buddha.

Trying to scalp his opponent in a friendly sparring match — the sheer audacity.

Even as he thought it, Mutu-ga did what needed doing, unshaken as the surface of a still lake.

'This is how you win.'

With a teaching he'd learned long ago.

More precisely, he poured into it the will — the intent to dominate and command the world itself.

He moved like flowing water.

The monk's gaze met his.

Mutu-ga, who had once been weaker than anyone, took that ferociously incoming glare and strike—

—Flowing Water.

—and let it pour past him, like water.

"Eh?"

Il-jin's body crumpled sideways and collapsed.

He wore a vacant expression, as if he had no idea what had just happened. Against his own will, the direction of his kick had been diverted, throwing his body and trajectory out of alignment — and so, inevitably, his balance broke, and he tipped toward the ground.

Choi Gangjun did not miss that opening.

—Eight Trigrams, Zhen.Crack! Azure lightning, weaker than before, coiled around his left foot.

'Three times really is my limit, huh.'

Clicking his tongue at the needless regret, Choi Gangjun moved like a lightning bolt, planted himself at the perfect spot, and drove his foot hard into that glowing bald head.

Il-jin, aided further by his own strength and momentum, went flying forward.

Kwakwakwakwang—! Grrgrrgrrgrrk—!!

With a tremendous roar, Il-jin rolled head over heels across the sparring ground dozens of times.

Dirt caked the head that had been gleaming under the gymnasium lights, and it shone no longer.

"……"

"……"

Silence.

Struck speechless by the staggering spectacle that had unfolded in an instant, the students stood frozen.

No — what just happened?

Every eye turned toward Mutu-ga, author of this unforeseen upheaval.

But Choi Gangjun merely lifted his head a little and smiled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quietly.

……For someone in particular.