011. Real Combat! Hunter Academy

"I know. That I've still got a long way to go."

Kanghyuk was still nodding along to the constellation's words when—

Vwoom—vwoom—fwoosh!

The Breaker in his grip shuddered without warning and burst into flame.

"Wha—! What is this?!"

The moment the startled Kanghyuk shouted, the flames began to die down, and the Breaker that reemerged had changed shape—enough that, with a generous stretch of the imagination, you could call it a poleaxe now instead of a sledgehammer.

"A gift? Info!"

"It levels up, changes shape a little, and that's it?"

After reading the message, Kanghyuk gave the Breaker another careful look.

"What is this?"

Etched faintly across the weapon were markings that looked as if lightning had struck it.

"It's not going to break, is it?"

"Seriously, why does this constellation have so many secrets?! Just tell me straight for once!"

The constellation said nothing.

"Going dark again, right when it matters! I know you're watching!"

"Fine. Just you wait. Someday I'm going to pay you back for this. Every last bit."

And so Kanghyuk clenched his fist, vowing revenge.

"Ping, there's no such thing as a mana cultivation method like the ones in novels, right?"

"There is."

I had asked on the off chance, so the answer knocked me sideways.

"Awakened can't train mana or anything like that, can they?"

"Well, mana was never something they earned. When you're using power you got for free without understanding the first thing about how it works, how would there be a training method for it?"

"So the way I move holy power and a mana cultivation method are different things?"

Ping fell into thought for a moment.

"Fundamentally they're the same, but the way you move holy power, my lord, is far more natural."

"Is it just because this has become part of my body by now?"

"Then why do you ask?"

I held up the Breaker as I answered.

"I was wondering if I could use it to carve channels for mana to run through my body."

"That would take quite a lot of holy power, wouldn't it?"

"I earn more every day, so it's fine. The stronger I get, the better off I'll be for what's coming anyway."

"Come to think of it, that's exactly why poor Kanghyuk gets swindled day after day with no reward, eating dirt over and over. Even right now, he knows the only reason he isn't aching all over is thanks to you, my lord. Our poor, poor Kanghyuk."

"What's good for me is good for me, isn't it?"

"That makes no sense, and yet it's somehow true."

Ping cocked her head at the bizarre logic, but since I was, well, me, it wasn't exactly wrong.

"First things first: when I raise the divine weapon's level, I'll add a function so that holding the Breaker makes mana flow through the body the way holy power does."

"Then Kanghyuk will have to carry the Breaker everywhere, won't he?"

"He'll carry it to the bathroom. He'll sleep holding it, too."

"Ugh. One more thing for poor Kanghyuk to suffer through."

"I really wanted a recall function for when it's thrown. Next time, for sure."

I said, tossing the Breaker up and catching it.

"Back in the day, I often wished I had some kind of ranged attack. But you can't exactly throw the Breaker, and a dagger just doesn't feel right in the hand."

"You want to throw that monstrous thing and catch it?!"

"Wouldn't it wipe out a whole crowd of small fry in one throw?"

"And when it comes flying back, can Kanghyuk actually catch it?"

"I'll figure something out, won't I?"

"Oh, you hopeless constellation, you!"

Ping's cotton-soft punch thudded against me again.

"You've already gone and named the technique, haven't you!"

"Why are you so obsessed with that sort of thing!"

"No, just hear me out. The technique's name is..."

Ping's tiny hands slapped themselves over my mouth.

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't want to know!!"

There had been an incident along the way, but Kanghyuk made for the training hall all the same. If he let himself get hauled in and burned the hours on questioning and statements, he'd miss his training—and that agony would come crawling right back.

It wasn't as if the Lizardman Swordsman was a monster worth any money, either.

"Looks like I can finally call it a long-handled hammer instead of a sledgehammer."

Saying that, Kanghyuk rested the Breaker across his shoulder—and never noticed the faint mana now threading through his own body along the channels etched into the weapon.

"That lunatic constellation. Today, I swear, I'm landing at least one hit on him."

Gritting his teeth, Kanghyuk's training began—so locked onto the drills that he never noticed the mana channels taking shape beneath his Arachne Suit.

The moment training ended and he sank into sleep, Kanghyuk came face to face with the constellation, right on schedule.

"Right, I did let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be every single day—but of course it is! You're dead, you bastard!"

Thanks to his live bout with the Lizardman Swordsman, the lines Kanghyuk drew were cleaner now, the wasted motion burned away—but the constellation slipped past every one without so much as a graze. Then came the counterattack. Kanghyuk steeled himself for the impact.

"Huh? What gives? Why aren't you hitting me?"

Contrary to his expectations, the constellation's Breaker had stopped just short of Kanghyuk's eyes.

"Wow. That's terrifyingly precise. Of all places to stop, it has to stop right in front of my eyes."

"Excuse me. Lord Constellation? Could you at least say something?"

The constellation shook his head, raised a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, then curled that finger into a circle—the universal sign for money.

"Ugh. I honestly have no idea what you're getting at. Anyway—going again?"

Driven by a single obsession—land one hit, just one—Kanghyuk swung the Breaker, and swung it again.

"Argh, just take the hit already!"

But every time Kanghyuk pulled in his step to throw off the rhythm, the constellation stomped his foot dead; every time he shifted his weight, the constellation was already half a step ahead. There was no way through.

"Argh! Stopping right in front of my eyes again. What exactly are you trying to teach me?"

Kanghyuk folded his arms and began glaring at the constellation.

Whish—

The constellation's Breaker stopped dead in front of Kanghyuk, leaving a gap of barely a sheet of paper. Head, shoulder, stomach, knee—no matter where it aimed, the distance was always the same.

"So what you're saying is I need to be able to handle the Breaker like that?"

The constellation nodded.

"That's insane. Genuinely. With this weight? Are you serious?"

Without a word, the constellation began swinging the Breaker along the exact same arc. Not a hair of waver in the trajectory, and not a tremor when it stopped.

"Wow. I must be dreaming. Do I seriously have to keep going until I can do that?"

The constellation nodded again. Kanghyuk tried to follow, swinging his own Breaker.

"I never noticed before, but now that I look, it wobbles like crazy. And it's never consistent, either."

Looking thoroughly pleased with him, the constellation thrust a thumbs-up into the air—then swung the Breaker straight at Kanghyuk.

"Gwahk!"

Kanghyuk went flying with a whump, rolled a few times, and scrambled upright shouting.

"Weren't you not hitting me today?!"

Instead of an answer, the Breaker's hammer came flying at him.

"Damn it. This cursed constellation. I knew it—there's no such thing as a peaceful day with you."

Kanghyuk was seething, but he never noticed that the channels of mana still ran along the Breaker clutched in his hand—flowing stronger now than they had before he'd fallen asleep.

"What scares me is that this brutish method actually works."

"I told you, the body learns fastest. And since I focused my strikes on the points where his holy power ran strongest and fastest, you saw how his mana flow sped up while he slept, right?"

"That was just dumb luck! Stop tormenting poor Kanghyuk!"

I shook my head.

"Anything gained easily is lost just as easily. If the money Kanghyuk made in stocks had come from working for every last won of it, he'd have spent it more carefully than he does now. No matter how angry he got, he'd have treasured each coin and trained that much harder."

"Now that you mention it, Kanghyuk hasn't been paying much attention to money lately, has he?"

"Because it'll be fun. I always lived with my teeth clenched. Even mid-training, I'd catch myself thinking: I could do more than this. I feel like I could go further. I lived inside thoughts like those."

Without a word, Ping patted my back.

"But it's fine now. I have a body so absurd that the word 'better' doesn't even come close."

Even as I said it, I kept hammering the Core, and now every strike washed its flames over with orange, again and again.

"Not much longer now. For this, too."

Kanghyuk's training rolled on. But this time, copying what the constellation had shown him was anything but easy.

"Seriously, what kind of muscles does it take to stop a swing that precisely?"

Recent training had taught Kanghyuk, beyond any doubt, that stopping the Breaker exactly, in exactly the right spot, was several times harder than it looked.

"Seriously? Now there's not even a reward?"

"That may be, but it's expensive! Who even goes to the Hunter Academy these days!"

"My lord, it sounds like you've been reading too many novels—the Hunter Academy is not that kind of place. The instructors are mediocre, the classes are a mess, and all they teach is weapons like swords and spears. Why would I waste money going there?"

"I'm sorry? You want me to spend all day at the Hunter Academy doing nothing but use those?"

"That's the same thing! Seriously, did I wrong you in a past life or something? You're practically salivating to eat me alive."

Kanghyuk grumbled, but he knew by now that the constellation had his reasons. The constellation seemed to care about nothing in this world except making Kanghyuk stronger.

"Um... you do know the Hunter Academy registration is for a full year, right? And that there are no refunds midway?"

Kanghyuk stole a cautious glance.

"No—it's the money I'm worried about. The money. Do you know how much beef that would buy!"

"Fine, fine! I'll go, okay!"

Dragging feet that refused to lift, Kanghyuk finally made his way to the Hunter Academy.

"Hello. Are you here to register?"

"Yes."

Even faced with Kanghyuk's expression, twisted like he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bitten into something foul, and his sour tone, the clerk carried on with the explanation as if nothing were amiss.

"I take it you're aware of the one-year registration fee?"

"Yes. But is it really 100 million won?"

It was a figure that wrung a groan out of him just to hear it.

"It is, and there are no refunds midway. If you'd like to register, please sign here."

The contract stated, in no uncertain terms, that because the fee covered registration for the virtual simulation pods, refunds were absolutely out of the question.

"God, that's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disgustingly expensive."

The clerk pretended not to hear his muttering.

The Hunter Academy. By the name alone, you'd expect a professional institution for training hunters, but it was just a cram school. The only thing special about it was that, thanks to a hunter with the relevant trait, you could try out the virtual simulations.

"Now, which classes would you like to register for? Our academy has an excellent roster of instructors standing by to assist you at all times."

"I'll pass. On the classes."

"I'm sorry?"

For the first time, the clerk's face went blank as he asked again.

"I said I'm not signing up. For classes. I'm spending the entire year doing nothing but the virtual simulation sessions."

A real piece of work had just dropped into the Hunter Academy.