To Hell with Pride

Pride? To hell with it.

"Finished at last. Took long enough."

I had sunk a full half-day into it and barely managed to form one tiny dantian.

If you asked me what mattered most in the Four Divine Beasts Body Art, I would say purity—so much so that purity was the art. Even the dantian had to be formed from nothing but pure energy, because only then would the body be refined to match.

I drove that point home in my past life, and still the only ones who ever managed it were myself and my four disciples.

I understood why. Nature's energy already leaned toward the pure, so no one bothered to strip out further impurities. And even if they wanted to, they lacked the skill to filter dross from their own inner force. More often than not, they couldn't even tell their own energy apart from the filth mixed into it.

But who was I?

The Number One Under Heaven, acknowledged even by Cheon Ma himself—by foe and friend alike. Cheon Hwi, the Heaven-Breaking Sword Saint. In the handling of inner force, I could say without blushing that I stood level with that Heavenly Demon, or above him.

Then why had I lost?

Because techniques other men could barely force out by dragging up their innate true qi, that bastard flung around whenever he was bored. How was I supposed to win? The sheer quantity of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠inner force was on another scale. However fine my efficiency, it was helpless before an overwhelming mass. If Cheon Ma's inner force was an ocean, mine—being generous—was a well.

It was only because it was me that I could wring every drop of use from what I had and drag the fight all the way to mutual destruction. Anyone else would have died long before and become fodder for the Heavenly Demon.

Anyway.

Through the insight into inner force I had gained in my previous life, I could separate my own energy from its impurities, and on that foundation I had forged the purest dantian in the world. I could swear this one was purer even than what I had built before.

The problem was...

It's too small.

For the sake of purity, I had scraped away every impurity I could. Filtered, and filtered again, until nothing remained but a tiny dantian. And yet, however thoroughly I strained the dross, there was simply too little left.

It's that alien energy, most likely.

An internal energy method, as commonly understood, stores the energy of nature inside one's dantian. In the Central Plains that energy saturated every corner; not once had I thought there wasn't enough of it. This world, however, held an energy alien to nature's. And that energy did not merely coexist with nature—it had assimilated into it. So the more of the alien energy I removed, the more of nature's energy came away with it, and the dantian could only shrink.

Even so, that was how I had gathered nothing but pure energy. The quantity was small, but in efficiency no one would ever catch me. And the Four Divine Beasts Body Art was a divine art that grew mightier the purer it became.

I could grow strong.

"Right. Dantian's made. Time to get mov— huh?"

What? Why won't it move?

My legs wouldn't move. No—not just my legs. My entire body refused to budge.

Ah.

Right. I'd drained every last scrap of energy forming the dantian, hadn't I?

Wait. So I can't move at all?

Think before you build the thing—or at the very least, make it a little bigger!

Should've listened to my disciples.

All my life I had thought of the skull as nothing but a vital point, and only after dying did I finally grasp what a head was actually for. But what could I do? Regret wouldn't unwind what had already happened.

Was there anything grit couldn't solve? It was only a lack of effort. Effort! Eeeffort!

Wasn't that what I told my disciples every single day? There is nothing effort cannot accomplish!

......

Turns out there are things effort can't accomplish either.

I had been so certain that dying had granted me every insight there was, and yet—earlier, and again now—here I was at this age, still being taught lessons. Somehow, with each passing day, I wasn't drawing any closer to my disciples. I was only piling up more things to apologize for.

Still, that particular ordeal was over.

"So if I want to reach the academy, which way do I go?"

I had found someone who knew about it.

But why does he look so uneasy?

"Hmm... I could tell you where the academy is. But will you be all right?"

"Me?"

Ha! Looking down on me?

Number One Under Heav— no. I'm sick of that. Enough.

Looking down on me? As if I couldn't get into some measly academy?

"Very well. You already look like a beggar with nothing left to lose, so I'll tell you."

Of all the things I thought I'd live to see—being ranked with some beggar brat...

He was offering the information for nothing, so I ought to have been glad. I couldn't be.

"The place you mean is a famous, storied academy that bears the empire's name. Head west from here and you'll find it. It's enormous. Even if you know nothing of academies, you'll recognize it at a glance."

"I see. My thanks."

With that, I turned to leave at once.

But—

"Child."

The man who had answered me so kindly called me back.

"What?"

"I don't mind, but speak politely to your elders. The academy is strict about its rules."

Politely? Had he just said politely?

I was past eighty and had never once deferred to anyone, and he wanted honorifics from me for some fellow who had lived a good fifty years less ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than I had?

I was too dumbfounded to speak. He stepped in and pressed a map and several steamed buns into my hands.

"You should eat plenty while you're young. Don't worry about the cost."

And on top of that, he was pitying me—treating me like a beggar?

A martial artist lives by his pride, even with a blade at his throat. I threw my head back and shouted.

"Thank you, great hero! May fortune shower upon you!"

Pride? To hell with it.

Pride didn't put food in your stomach. Since ancient times, the ones who clung to their pride were always the first to die. I had only just found a way back to my disciples. I wasn't about to starve to death in a place like this.

"Yes. Off you go."

I didn't even stay to hear it. I broke into a run toward the west.

"Hah...! Hah...! It's absurdly far."

Once, a single step carried me over a mountain, and a single leap across the Yangtze. In this body, forget mountains and great rivers—I doubted I could properly clear a hill, or even a well.

Still, it couldn't be much farther.

Is that the academy?

A magnificent structure loomed in the distance. That had to be it. All I had to do was reach the place and enroll. Then I would see my disciples.

Hope swelling and body spent, I drove myself faster than before.

"Finally... hah! I've arrived...!"

It's enormous.

It had looked large from afar, but up close it was a greater spectacle still. It didn't resemble an emperor's palace, yet in scale it yielded nothing. And the number of people.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Why are there so many?

In size it seemed no smaller than a palace, and in population no smaller than Shaolin. And this place served as nothing more than an academy?

Everyone in sight wore the same clothes, and they looked about the age of third-generation disciples, or second-generation at most. Which meant there had to be people here of first-generation or elder age to teach them. At this scale, it could seriously stand shoulder to shoulder with Shaolin.

While I was turning that over, Beryl—one of the administrators of Elysia Academy—called out to me.

"Hey! You there! We've no food to spare for beggars! Leave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this instant and I won't take a rod to you!"

Now every dog and cow was looking down on me. In my past life, trash like this wouldn't have lasted a single punch.

Tsk.

Being young was the crime. Being young was the crime... or was being a beggar the crime?

Hah...

Endure it. Making a scene now would only ruin what could still be salvaged.

"I'm here to take the transfer exam."

At that, the man called Beryl went blank for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter.

"Hahaha! I must be getting old. To think I'd live to hear a beggar say he's sitting the transfer exam for the storied Elysia Academy."

"You've been beggar this, beggar that, since I got here. It's unpleasant to listen to."

"Sure, sure. Sorry about that. Beggar."

This little shit was doing it on purpose, wasn't he?

I couldn't take it anymore. Bad enough to be born a child beggar, and he had to mock me for it on top of that?

Smack.

The moment I decided, my body set about beating Beryl of its own accord.

"Beggar, beggar, beggar. Fine. Being struck by that beggar ought to be a rare experience. I'll personally bestow it upon you."

Was this what they meant? Past seventy and all the way around to sixty, and the body answered the instant the heart willed it. I helped myself to a reading that would have sent Confucius into a fury, and kept right on beating Beryl.

"Ah! Aagh! I—I'm sorry! No, I'm sorry, sir! I'll let you take the exam! Stop hitting me!"

The first punches I had thrown since my reincarnation vented an old grudge without restraint... no. With a little too much restraint removed.

"Haa... refreshing. Eighty-odd years of pent-up bile, gone in an instant."

Crazy bastard...

No matter how Beryl looked at him, the boy was nothing but a child. So how was he this strong? He hadn't even used magic. Fists alone had put him down. How did that make any sense?

"The sound of you scheming is too loud."

"I'm sorry!"

Crazy psychopath...

"So. How does one take this transfer exam?"

And now a transfer exam, of all things, with no sense of his place.

"I... it isn't that I'm looking down on your skill, Sir Beggar..."

"Beggar? Ha. So you still haven't been hit enough, is that it? Must be. How else would beggar find its way out of your mouth again? Stay right there. I'll educate you once more."

"Aagh! No! I didn't say beggar!"

"There, there. Anyone can misspeak. I'll let it pass just this once. Hurry up and tell me about the transfer exam. To think I'd overlook even this—how soft my heart has grown."

A soft heart, and you beat me like that? You bastard!

But Beryl could only swallow the words. What else could he do? Say them, and he would be hit again. He had no choice but to play along with the beggar brat.

"Hahaha! Right? As expected, Sir Beggar, your heart is also—"

Whud.

"I let it slide once, and you keep calling me a beggar. Clearly your education is lacking, or you've made light of me. Don't worry. We have time. I'll educate you slowly."

You said it was fine! You bastard!

For the first time, Beryl regretted becoming an administrator of Elysia Academy.

"Right. Starting over. What is this academy transfer exam?"

"Um... you do know about our academy, yes?"

"No. I heard of it for the first time today."

"What?!"

"Don't startle me! Why are you shouting?"

"N-no... it's nothing."

He didn't know Elysia Academy? How was that possible?

It was not the empire's only academy, but no one would dispute that it was the greatest. From the imperial capital to the west, the south, the east, and the north—even the Great Forest, the beastkin nations, even the Holy Kingdom—people came to Elysia Academy from everywhere. Every year several thousand applied, and more than eight in ten of them failed. A place as infamous as it was famous.

Even spies knew of this academy.

"Haha... Then I ought to explain our academy first."

For Beryl, there was no choice but the one answer.

"Elysia Academy receives several thousand applicants every year, and through practical tests, interviews, and the like, we accept only a fraction of them."

"You fail an awful lot of them. And what does that have to do with transferring in?"

"For the transfer exam, you must choose one of those who passed, fight them, and win."

"What...?"

Of course he'd be shocked.

Elysia Academy never accepted anyone lacking. It was the empire's finest academy. Countless elites applied, and only the brightest stars among them were permitted to attend. And a mere beggar was supposed to defeat elites like that? It was, in effect, impossible.

"As I thought, this may be rather diffi—"

"The transfer exam is awfully easy, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Hm?"

This lunatic, it seemed, had failed to grasp the difficulty of the transfer exam at all.