Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Disciplining the Wastrel
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Shrieeeek!
The sharp spearhead bore a blade larger than most battle axes.
The intimidating halberd, which made one's legs tremble just by looking at it, seemed intensely poised to destroy anything blocking its path.
No, it only seemed intense.
The face of the man who knew better than anyone that this halberd's power wasn't all that impressive was filled with dissatisfaction.
"Damn it!"
Boom!
Unable to contain his rising frustration, the man—Ralph Kalia—slammed his halberd roughly into the training ground floor.
Men of the Kalia warrior clan, who specialized in heavy weapons, were generally built like giants.
Even among them, Ralph stood out.
After all, at just six years old, he had possessed the innate divine strength to lift a war axe.
Ralph had thought that, with the clan's recognition, his path ahead would be one of steady triumphs.
But because he had caught the eye of the cowardly Manus Kalia in a way that wasted Kalia blood, he hadn't received even a single proper spirit elixir from the clan.
The excuses were convenient enough.
No matter how exceptional his talent, he was ultimately just a branch family member close to the direct line.
"We can't grant the clan's precious spirit elixirs to someone who can never become direct lineage."
But everyone in the clan knew the truth: it was all because that damned Manus had pulled strings behind the scenes.
When had it started?
The direct line idiots who couldn't even meet his gaze properly began borrowing the power of spirit elixirs to build their muscles and aura.
One by one, he started falling behind them.
As more time passed and they supplemented their lacking aura with elixirs, his halberd could no longer reach them.
With time, his divine strength began to fade.
In front of those who now wielded aura, he was destined to become just another mediocre martial artist.
It pissed him off.
He was so furious he felt like he might go mad.
But he knew there was nothing he could do.
That's why he became twisted.
That's why he turned rotten.
What good was his innate strength?
What good was his ghostly mastery of heavy weapons?
In the end, a martial artist's skill was judged by the mana accumulated in their body.
Look at him now.
He, once hailed as a prodigy, had fallen so low that he was roped into playing house with half-assed martial clan brats.
...Thud!
He sprawled out on the training ground floor, staring up at the sky.
A ridiculously clear sky.
"...Damn it. Maybe I should just become a farmer."
What was the point of trying hard when he couldn't rise anyway?
As Ralph lay there lamenting his fate, a mocking voice cast a shadow over his head.
"Well, well. Biggest body in the bunch, but acts worse than a three-year-old brat. What a moron."
"What?!"
He bolted upright.
His gaze fell on a half-assed martial clan punk standing with hands behind his back.
The cowardly bastard who had mocked him behind his back.
"You pathetic worm, what do you think you know...!!"
The despair of someone with innate talent blocked by the walls of reality.
How dare this trash, born into the patriarch's direct line and raised in comfort without a single hardship, presume to understand?
"Oh, I know all about it. All you do is blame others and your circumstances? Pathetic. Not even funny."
Ian met Ralph's glare with a cold stare of his own, unflinching.
Ralph possessed the greatest raw power among the hotheads in the Latent Dragon Squad.
No—even among the warriors of the northern continent's plains in the past, few matched his divine strength.
In that sense, Ralph brimmed with potential to advance far.
Yet this blessed talent wasted on whining and blaming others? His mind was the most pathetic among the squad members Ian had observed for a week, despite his near-perfect physique.
"...Looks like words won't get through to you."
Shing!
Ian placed both hands on his waist, drawing the two serpents.
"...Ha! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ralph scoffed at the sight.
"You got lucky once, ambushing me from behind and knocking me out, so now you think you're above me? If it wasn't a sneak attack, you'd be dead already."
"Yeah? Then prove it."
"You little shit, getting cocky?"
"Since when did Kalia warrior clan men have such long tongues? Getting slow?"
"Slow? Hahaha! Listen to this punk flap his gums!! Fine, so confident? Come at me!"
Clank!
Ian fixed Ralph with a cold glare as the man gripped his halberd and sneered.
Ralph had the talent to stand tall as a powerhouse, yet he squandered it through neglect.
Ian excelled at reforming types like him.
'Fixing trash like this is simple.'
Keep smashing his head until he wakes up.
Over and over.
'I'll make a man out of you.'
Krunch!
The razor-sharp halberd blade plummeted with a murderous momentum that could split Ian's head in two.
Ian had vaguely sensed it while watching Ralph spar with Sylvia earlier.
Apart from his twisted, rotten mindset, Ralph maintained his halberd impeccably.
Heavy weapons like halberds endured far greater shock from clashing with foes or the ground than ordinary arms.
Neglect the maintenance even slightly, and the blade would chip constantly.
Yet this one gleamed murderously sharp. The implication was clear.
'This guy's not given up on his potential and hope, despite his words.'
In the week of observation, despite his pessimistic attitude and sneers, Ralph never skipped training.
So, potential remained aplenty.
Potential to fix that rotten brain of his.
A rotten mind could be mended, but a broken spirit couldn't be straightened no matter how many beatings—not that Ralph's was broken yet.
In other words.
Keep cracking his skull from now on.
And the odds of him snapping out of it? Overflowing!
Twirl!
Ian dodged the halberd blade—aimed to bisect him—by a hair's breadth.
His body arced in a semicircle, swiftly closing the distance along the halberd's shaft.
"Hmph!"
Ralph snorted as if he'd anticipated the move.
If you asked continent's powerhouses what mattered most in battle, nine out of ten would say the same.
'Distance.'
My weapon reaches the foe; theirs doesn't reach me.
No matter the fight, that absolute truth held for the strong.
Ralph, trained in one of the continent's famed houses, the Kalia warrior clan, knew distance control inside out.
Without releasing the shaft, he lashed out with his right leg at Ian's waist.
Bam!
The air pierced with a drum-like thud.
If that log-thick kick from Ralph landed solidly, Ian's slender spine snapping wouldn't be surprising.
Ian knew it full well.
But he wasn't some scrub to take it dumbly.
Thud!
Timing his jump to Ralph's kick, Ian landed atop the man's knee.
"That slow, and you expect to catch a fly?"
Crunch!
Kicking off the joint, Ian leaped gracefully behind Ralph.
"Guh! You bastard!!"
Pain crumpled Ralph's face.
No matter how light Ian was or how massive Ralph, the knee joint couldn't withstand Ian's full weight.
...Limp!
Ian taunted as Ralph staggered, leg dragging slightly.
"What's wrong? Not moving right?"
Ralph's face flushed crimson at Ian's smug grin from the ground.
"...I'll kill you!!"
Thud thud thud!
Ignoring his injured joint, Ralph charged without slowing.
Ian inwardly nodded at the toughness.
Boar-like recklessness, but that spirit was innate. Ian didn't hate such boldness.
Whoosh!
He could charge but not load weight properly, so Ralph swung the halberd with upper body strength alone.
Ian had no reason to eat such a sluggish attack with unstable footing.
Scraaaape!
Tilting his shortsword, Ian smoothly deflected the halberd shaft, closing in.
Twirl!
Reversing his grip on the longsword in his right hand, Ian smashed the hilt into Ralph's jaw with full force.
Crack!
"...Gahk!"
Ian had negligible strength compared to Ralph.
But the hit landed on the jaw, with a sword hilt.
No matter the size difference, Ralph's head couldn't avoid shaking violently.
Thud!
As Ralph flailed off-balance, Ian hooked his leg, toppling him, and mounted his torso.
"You... you fucking dog...!!"
Biting his lip on impact, blood pooling in his mouth, Ralph ground his teeth.
Clink! Clink!
Ignoring it, Ian set down his longsword and shortsword, rolling up his sleeves.
Sensing unease in the motion, Ralph's eyes trembled, unable to hide it.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"What else?"
Ptoo!
Ian spat into his palm, clenching both fists.
"Time to educate a dimwit with a rotten mind. Beasts that don't listen need the stick."
I'm about to punish you, so take it sweet.
Crack!
Thud thud thud thud thud!
A crisp drumming echoed across the training ground.
Ralph's head, now Ian's percussion instrument, whipped side to side.
It hurt. So much that sensation was numb.
'...This is weird.'
Ralph couldn't comprehend his situation.
Clinging to his fogging mind, he retraced events slowly.
He'd been training, then wallowing in pessimism about his lot.
Then this martial clan halfwit picked a fight, so he'd planned to beat sense into him.
But why.
Why was that halfwit now straddling him, pummeling away vigorously?
"St... sto... p...?"
A slurred mumble leaked from Ralph's swollen lips.
"Huh? Stop?"
The guy he'd dismissed as a halfwit asked back.
His pride was shredded, but he nodded weakly.
Pride be damned; survive first.
But the devil in halfwit guise slowly shook his head.
"No can do. You haven't snapped out of it yet, from what I see. Let's take a few more. You're reflecting a bit, so I'll spare the face now."
Thud thud thud thud thud!
'...Aaaargh!'
Honoring his words like a sacred vow, the devil switched to pounding the body.
How did such a tiny frame hide this power? The punches burned fiercely.
His battered muscles screamed in agony.
Flopping like a fish out of water, Ralph's body finally went limp.
"...Phew!"
Ian wiped sweat from his brow, looking refreshed.
The sight was downright terrifying.
"You knew, right? I never once drew up mana while sparring you today."
"......"
"Hope this day makes you realize how your pathetic excuses are just cowardice. If you slack off like this again... I'll boot you from the Latent Dragon Squad on the spot. Man, rumors of the halfwit Second Young Lord beating and kicking you out? That'd be a sight."
'Fucking... bastard. A halfwit like this... existing in the world...'
Outrage mingled with injustice inside, but Ralph was powerless.
Who in the clan knew the Second Young Lord was such a monster?
He could only nod.
Grin!
Satisfied, Ian bared his teeth in a smile.
To Ralph, hornless, he looked every bit the devil.
He'd hooked him good. Ruthlessly so.
"Ugh... damn it, not a spot on me doesn't hurt."
The training ground after Ian left.
Ralph, sprawled alone, slowly rose.
"...Fucking bastard pulverized me good. Ugh!"
Twitch, twitch!
His body convulsed everywhere. No way he could walk back like this.
'...No good.'
Normally, he'd never dream of aura cultivation here.
But who cared in this worm squad no one watched?
Gritting through the throbbing pain, Ralph began aura cultivation.
Hooo!
Started to soothe the pain.
But soon, he nearly suffered internal injury from shock at his body's state.
'Wh-what? What the hell...?!'
For some reason, his severely blocked mana pathways had expanded slightly.
No illusion.
Those narrow paths were his Achilles' heel.
He knew them like his own palm, could sketch blindfolded. Certainty absolute.
Right now, his mana pathways were undeniably wider.
'Why? How?'
Just another day: same training, same meals.
One change.
'...No way?'
Getting beaten like a dog by Ian.
Nothing else.
'...No. Not the time for that.'
Huuu!
Aura raced through the newly widened paths, unlike usual.
Maximize efficiency before they narrowed again.
For the first time in ages, aura cultivation—usually painful drudgery—filled Ralph with profound satisfaction.