A Half-Baked Martial Artist
"Hah!"
Burren Zieghart ran through the forms of Thunder Fist in sequence, then let out a ragged breath.
This isn't easy.
The second stage, True Rising Fist, he'd already learned back at the Main House, so he'd passed it without much trouble. Mastering the third stage was another matter. Thunder Fist wove advanced principles into a foundation of basic techniques, and that made it maddeningly difficult to internalize.
Still, I should be able to finish it by next week or so.
Thanks to the solid foundation in fist arts he'd built at the Main House, his form was gradually coming together. He'd been practicing Thunder Fist for over two weeks now. He would pass within the next week.
Alright. Again.
Burren clenched his molars and resumed his training. He repeated the forms until his breath turned sour and his uniform clung to him, soaked through. Then he straightened his posture.
Whoosh!
As he slowly caught his breath, a harsh rush of wind came from his right. He turned his head. A beautiful girl with long black hair was swinging a training sword with fierce intensity.
Marta Zieghart.
Marta had finished the fist arts long ago and been the first to advance to swordsmanship. Perfect posture. Refined form. Swordsmanship that drew admiration on its own. Her personality was insufferable, but her skill was something he had no choice but to acknowledge.
But...
There was one strange thing. Marta's progress was faster than anyone else's in the training ground, and her skill was the finest as well. Every instructor had been stunned. And yet there wasn't a shred of ease on her face. She executed her swordsmanship packed with irritation and tension, as if a starving predator were chasing her from behind.
Well. I suppose she can't help it.
Burren furrowed his brow and turned his head the other way. He was there.
Raon Zieghart.
With a monster behind her who'd locked down the forms of the Seven-Form Fist in a single day and finished learning True Rising Fist in ten, there was no way she could let her guard down. It was absurd, but right now Raon was training Thunder Fist just like him.
Whoosh!
The air itself seemed to warp around the fists Raon threw, and the floor of the training ground shuddered under the stamp of his feet. The principles of Thunder Fist had clearly soaked into every motion of his hands and feet.
What a monster.
He'd grown up hearing people call him a genius, a monster—but he'd never expected to use those words on someone else.
I don't even understand how he does it.
Before becoming a trainee, Burren had spent a month learning True Rising Fist, and even then he'd only been able to start Thunder Fist after three extra days of training.
And even that was called fast.
A month of practice had been enough to earn praise. Raon had caught up to that level in a mere ten days. And he hadn't just learned the forms—he'd packed the genuine principles into the fist art itself.
At this rate...
The thought occurred to him that Raon would move on to swordsmanship around the same time he did.
"Hah..."
Burren let out a thin sigh. The truth was, it wasn't only Raon's talent that had shocked him as he watched.
His effort. His willpower.
Raon had never once failed to give his all during training hours. Icy cold leaked from his mouth while his entire body ran with sweat. To any third party, his physical condition was far from normal—and yet the boy never abandoned a single exercise. People talked easily about giving their best, about seeing things through to the end. Almost no one actually did it.
But he does.
Raon poured out everything he had, every single time, and gave his all to the training. He was using the method Rimer had described—the fastest way to improve, by pushing past your own limits—more efficiently than anyone else.
He amazes me every time I look.
Even thinking of Raon as an enemy, Burren couldn't help but be impressed. The boy displayed a presence more worthy of the Zieghart name than anyone else in this training ground.
"Burren. Your hands stopped. If you want to rest, go to the rest area!"
"No, sir. I'll continue."
Burren bowed his head at the instructor's shout. He exhaled a sigh and let the thoughts crowding his mind drain away.
Right. This isn't the time for that.
He'd sworn he would never lose to Raon. He needed to take that willpower as his example and give his all in every moment.
Bang!
Burren focused his mind and drove out a tightly clenched fist.
Whoosh!
Marta's hands stopped mid-swing. She had been bringing the sword down as if an enemy stood before her, madness packed into the blow. She let out a faint sigh and clenched the hilt tight.
This is infuriating.
Even though she was the only one in this training ground holding a sword, an irritation she could barely contain came flooding in.
This is all because of...
Marta bit her lip and turned her gaze. She could see him—throwing punches, white breath steaming from his mouth.
Raon Zieghart. Just looking at him made her chest seize up, like she'd swallowed something that wouldn't go down.
He's already started Thunder Fist.
While she'd been advancing to the sword, Raon had mastered both fist arts and begun training Thunder Fist. If he'd already known fist arts, like Burren or Runaan, that would be one thing. But this was his first time learning them, and that rate of progress was just ridiculous.
Damn it...
That thrilling talent chasing her from behind. The terror of not knowing when the lead would be stolen from her made it hard to breathe.
That place was supposed to be mine.
Ever since she'd been adopted into House Zieghart, she had always been the one doing the chasing. She'd overtaken the direct-line and collateral-line kids who swaggered around calling themselves geniuses, and she'd laughed at the despair on their faces.
But...
This time the roles were reversed, and she was learning just how terrifying it was to be the one being chased.
Whoosh!
Marta brought her sword down, trying to erase Raon's presence—which only seemed to grow larger by the moment. The blade of her training sword, packed with irritation, tore through empty air. She swung and swung again, until the sun hanging at its zenith caught on the western mountains.
"Hah..."
Marta let out a long breath and lowered her sword. After swinging all day, the tightness in her chest had eased a little. But the moment she looked to her right, her face twisted again. Because Raon's fist art was still improving, even now.
Does that damn bastard never get tired?
Maintaining extreme focus and training all day long—even the most pigheaded people she'd known weren't pigheaded like that. He was a kind of human she'd never seen in the back alleys.
"Tsk."
Confirming the sun had set, Marta turned and left the training ground.
"You've worked hard."
"Yeah."
Camil the butler, waiting at the door, bowed his head. She didn't have the energy to answer, so she just nodded.
"Young lady."
Camil matched her pace quickly and called to her.
"There's no need to be so impatient."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Everyone's forgotten because of the astonishing things he's shown recently, but Young Master Raon has a significant weakness."
Camil glanced toward the training ground, where shouts of exertion still rang out, and smiled faintly.
"You mean the illness? That guy's a stubborn bastard. He doesn't even notice pain."
"That's not it."
"Then what?"
"Young Master Raon's talent for aura is of the lowest grade."
"What?"
"You wouldn't know, since this was before you were adopted, but at the aptitude test, Young Master Raon's mana sensitivity came out at the lowest possible level."
Camil pointed to his aura core with a gentle smile.
"Currently, isn't Young Master Raon the only person in the 5th Training Ground who hasn't learned aura?"
"That's true."
Marta nodded. The trainees who'd learned the Linden cultivation art two months ago had all settled aura into their cores. Just as Camil said, among the trainees, Raon was the only one who hadn't learned aura.
"The cultivation arts you can obtain with a bronze plaque only go from intermediate to upper-intermediate. A little better than Linden, that's all. And yet he still hasn't acquired a cultivation art—which means his mana talent is exactly as the aptitude test indicated. The lowest grade."
"Ah!"
"No matter how much talent he has for swordsmanship and fist arts, if his talent for aura is feeble, he can never become a proper martial artist."
Camil shook his head with a kindly-looking smile.
"I see."
Marta curled the corner of her mouth and nodded.
So he has no talent for aura.
Raon's martial talent was so outstanding she'd forgotten, but even now, he still hadn't learned aura. There was a saying that a martial artist with weak aura talent was only half a warrior. Raon Zieghart was a half-baked martial artist who'd poured all his talent into martial technique alone.
"Heh."
A laugh came out on its own. The anxiety that had kept her up at night all this time vanished in an instant.
"I was worrying over nothing. I gave my attention to someone who isn't even worth it."
Marta headed toward the direct-line training ground with steps as light as if a weight of iron had been lifted from her, and Camil followed behind, wearing a smile so faint it was impossible to read.
Raon didn't stop training for even a moment. He moved constantly, hammering the principles and flow of Thunder Fist into his body and mind. Cold sweat ran down his back, and breath as white as snow steamed from his mouth. Anyone could see he was exhausted. But his face was bright, as if he were looking at the sun.
"Hah."
Raon wet his dry lips and smiled faintly.
It's getting more and more enjoyable.
The movements the instructor had demonstrated were carved into his mind without a millimeter of error, and that flow and form were reproduced through his body. He'd had no idea that learning martial arts could be this much fun.
I suppose that's only natural.
In his previous life, he hadn't learned martial arts. He'd learned methods of survival and methods of killing. The only thing that grew was the way he murdered people. Increasing his aura and training the killing sword hadn't been for his own development—it had been to snuff out an enemy's life. Even if his own body shattered and crumpled, he'd carved into flesh and mind only the methods of killing the enemy.
But now it was different. The Seven-Form Fist, True Rising Fist, Thunder Fist—they were all basic fist arts, but just learning and mastering them made his chest swell.
Because this growth is for me.
Not to kill someone. Not to follow someone's orders. Training for himself—and even though it was hard, all he could do was smile.
Even the pain is bearable.
In terms of pain alone, the cold in his mana circuits made this worse than his previous life. But the exhilaration of growth wouldn't let him stop moving. The Ring of Fire spun fiercely, grasping the flow of martial arts and strengthening his body. He could feel not only the fist arts but his body and mind growing as well, and the training was nothing but enjoyable.
"What do you intend to do with those pathetic flailings?" Wrath's voice rang through his mind, dripping with disdain. "Hand this body over to This King, and I shall place you at the pinnacle of the continent this very moment."
"If my own will isn't in it, it's meaningless."
A life of following someone else's orders without any meaning of his own—his previous life had been more than enough of that. He had no need for a "strongest" gained by handing over his body.
"Foolish. A weakling like you could strive for a lifetime and still never reach that height..."
"Hmm."
His mood was so pleasant that even Wrath's nonsense made him laugh.
Bang!
Using Wrath's words as a rhythm, Raon executed the Thunder Fist stances in sequence. Through the training, he felt as if he were learning, little by little, the emotion called joy.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
He threw punches with everything he had, and as he briefly regulated his breathing, one of the trainees approached and bowed.
"U-um, top trainee. Would it be all right if I asked you something?"
"What is it?"
"The last stance of True Rising Fist isn't going well for me..."
"Spread your right foot a little wider. Your legs are out of balance."
Raon identified the problem the moment he looked at the trainee's stance.
"Ah! Thank you!"
The trainee bowed and stepped back. He'd understood immediately—he corrected the pointed-out issue and settled into a proper stance.
"Whoa, it got fixed in one go!"
"I told you, he's a genius at fist arts!"
"He sees better than the instructors..."
The trainees checked each other's stances, then sent looks of admiration toward Raon. Raon paid no mind to whether they were impressed or not. He trained his fist arts until the sun set, then returned to the dormitory.
He finished a simple dinner and went straight to his room to prepare for aura cultivation. Unlike the fist arts, where his achievements exploded by the day, his progress with the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames was sluggish—but Raon's expression was calm.
I knew from the start it would take a long time.
He'd reviewed everything about the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames in his mind and understood. Like the Ring of Fire, it was a legendary-grade cultivation art. If he mastered it properly, he would be able to wield aura so powerful that finding a rival would be difficult—so of course it would take a great deal of time to acquire.
And I'm absorbing the cold as well.
Raon wasn't circulating only the heat of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames. He was also working the cold inside his mana circuits. He was circulating two opposing energies at the same time. It would have been stranger if those energies settled easily into his aura core.
No need to worry.
It was true that his immediate progress was slow. But he knew the reward would be enormous once he acquired the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and absorbed all the cold, so he felt no anxiety at all.
I can't wait to bloom the first flower.
Raon pictured a single flower blooming from the flames of the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, closed his eyes, and sank into cultivation.