Even Buffs Require Skill (3)

Thirty minutes before the match began, Chae Mu-jin explained to Kim Yeo-ul exactly how he needed to fight.

“Cheon I-hwa is a swift-sword specialist. Her blade moves faster than thought. So, Yeo-ul, you must not think during this fight.”

Mages had many natural counters, but the most troublesome were assassins and swift-sword users. Chae Mu-jin, however, had experience. He had raised both assassins and swift-sword users to the highest level. Their psychology was as transparent to him as the palm of his hand.

“The most important thing is that you trust me. If you don’t, your posture and breathing will collapse. It’s a mistake that takes less than a second to fix, but in our world that single second is enough time for a dozen lives to vanish.”

“Ugh… I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up…”

“It’s perfectly natural to fear a strong opponent. There’s no shame in it. However—”

Chae Mu-jin gripped the boy’s shoulder and whispered.

“Have the courage to overcome that fear. To seize what you want. To keep your precious things from being taken away.”

At the word taken away, Kim Yeo-ul reacted violently. Veins immediately rose on his neck and forehead, and his eyes grew heavy.

“Don’t waste energy tensing your eyes. Just focus on giving it everything you have.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s go. Winning is ideal, but even losing brings benefits!”

Slap, slap! After vigorously patting the boy’s back in encouragement, Chae Mu-jin moved on to his own preparations. Which, in his case, simply meant equipping two items.

In this spar, the only resources Chae Mu-jin could use were his buffs and a total of fifty-one mana. To anyone watching, it hardly looked like enough to defeat a hunter in the 150s. Chae Mu-jin knew the odds were against him. Yet nothing changed.

I’ll simply do my best no matter the situation.

That one principle remained exactly the same as in his previous life.

Cheon I-hwa was a combat genius who surpassed even her father, Cheon Mu-jong. That was precisely why the possibility that Chae Mu-jin could become a variable had crossed her mind. She dismissed it for two reasons.

The sparring arena isn’t open-style. Buffs are treated as projectiles, so he can’t send them through walls.

Even if he somehow managed to apply a buff, it wouldn’t matter. The only buff he possessed was a physical attack power increase.

That was how it should have been.

“……?”

Cheon I-hwa’s sword had definitely sliced across Kim Yeo-ul’s chest. Yet at the exact same moment, the fireball he created hovered right in front of her abdomen.

No matter how much I held back, how can he be completely unharmed after taking my strike? And he used his staff to distract my gaze?

Common sense said magic emerged from the tip of a staff. But that was merely preconception. Magic could be created anywhere. The staff tip simply made it easier to perceive.

Cheon I-hwa had unconsciously accepted that assumption—that magic would come from the end of the staff.

Still, she wondered what difference it made. She had landed the first successful attack with enough force to drop someone’s life to zero. The fireball should have vanished without ever being fired.

But then—

The fireball slammed straight into Cheon I-hwa’s abdomen with a deafening roar. The force was so great it shook the spectator seats along with the entire sparring arena. Cheon I-hwa was blasted backward. Yet she spun a mid-air somersault and landed stably. Her hair was disheveled, but she had taken no damage whatsoever. Body-Protecting Gangqi. The defensive wall formed from her inner energy had shielded her.

“……”

A heavy silence fell over ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the stands, where everyone had expected the match to end in a single second. It was shocking enough that Kim Yeo-ul had fired a point-blank fireball tantamount to self-destruction. But the power behind it was utterly impossible for a level-ten mage. And that wasn’t all—Kim Yeo-ul’s own survival was now in doubt. Magic did not spare its caster. A fireball detonating at such close range should have caught the user in its blast as well. Yet no one called for the match to be stopped.

Because the red light had not appeared in the arena. Which meant neither combatant’s life had yet reached zero.

Just before the smoke from the fireball cleared, a second fireball tore through it.

“……!”

Judging by appearance alone, Kim Yeo-ul seemed timid and frail. The sharp follow-up attack genuinely surprised Cheon I-hwa. Emotions aside, she was a warrior with abundant real-combat experience. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. The instant she leaped over the blast and tried to close the distance—

The fireball exploded in mid-air. Another preconception—that fireballs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only detonated on impact—shattered. Of course, the distance reduced the damage. But it was more than enough to destroy the balance of someone floating in the air.

In that moment, a chill ran down Cheon I-hwa’s spine. She expected a third fireball to come flying at her while she fell helplessly off-balance. It was the most defenseless state possible.

As predicted, Kim Yeo-ul had a third fireball ready. But he waited. Eyes wide open, all the way until the instant Cheon I-hwa hit the floor.

He can stay this calm in a situation like this?

Cheon I-hwa had originally planned to dodge the incoming fireball in mid-air and end the match instantly. But because Kim Yeo-ul refused to fire recklessly and simply waited, she was forced to take a risk as well.

Tap!

She kicked off the empty air and shot forward in a straight line. Flying straight made her an easy target for the fireball, but that was exactly what she intended. Blue aura—sword energy—coated her blade. A miracle of the current era that had existed long before skills. It possessed the power to cut all things, and the mana composing skills was no exception.

Yet from beginning to end, Kim Yeo-ul refused to act as Cheon I-hwa anticipated. Even as she flew at him with her sword extended, he remained perfectly still. His eyelids trembled with fear, but he never closed his eyes. His legs shook, yet he held his ground.

Oh no.

Cheon I-hwa panicked. The sword energy she had poured into her blade was meant to slice through the fireball. If it cut Kim Yeo-ul instead, he would be split in two along with his armor. Changing the trajectory of an already committed strike required exerting enough force to nearly break her own bones.

But Cheon I-hwa was experienced. Instead of pulling her extended arm back, she twisted her upper body inward. Centrifugal force flipped her body, reversing her hands and feet.

Crack!

Her kick slammed into Kim Yeo-ul’s chest. At the same moment, the fireball hovering above his head dropped straight down.

The third fireball was far more powerful than the previous two. The sparring room’s reinforced glass—strong enough to withstand missiles—creaked and began to fracture. The arena filled with thick smoke. Visibility dropped to zero. The automatic ventilation system should have cleared it, but the previous blast appeared to have damaged it.

One thing, however, was certain.

“…The match is decided.”

The lights inside the sparring room had turned red. Someone’s life had reached zero.

Yet no one dared shout the result. That Cheon I-hwa had won. The victory that should have been obvious had become strangely uncertain.

“Who won?”

No one had seen the final moment clearly. Depending on the viewing angle, the fireball looked as though it had struck Kim Yeo-ul himself, or as though it had hit Cheon I-hwa squarely.

Everyone held their breath.

“Cough, cough.”

The referee who had been inside the arena opened the door and stepped out. Only then did the spectators raise their voices.

“Who won?!”

“Well… cough, cough.”

The referee kept coughing and couldn’t speak properly. The crowd’s anxiety boiled over. But when the referee opened the door, the smoke inside began to pour out, revealing two hazy silhouettes.

One lay on the floor. The other leaned against the wall.

Once the smoke fully cleared, what they saw was…

“I-it’s Cheon I-hwa!”

“Cheon I-hwa won!”

“But who the hell is that mage that Cheon I-hwa barely beat?!”

“According to his profile he’s a completely ordinary mage?”

They hadn’t assumed victory simply because the one standing was Cheon I-hwa. The mana armor she wore ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was still active. It was flickering on the verge of shutting down, but her life clearly remained.

Yet for some reason the victor did not smile. She simply stared down at Kim Yeo-ul with a complicated, subtle expression.

Kim Yeo-ul was immediately moved to the recovery room. His injuries were not severe. He had simply exhausted every last drop of stamina and mana and collapsed from fatigue. The result was, of course, Kim Yeo-ul’s defeat and Cheon I-hwa’s victory.

Scratch, scratch.

Chae Mu-jin peeled an apple beside the bed, carving it into an adorable rabbit shape. He popped the peel into Kim Yeo-ul’s mouth.

Twitch.

“I know you’re awake.”

“Sorry—mmph.”

He slipped a slice of apple into the open mouth.

“Eat quickly and recover. We still have the second round.”

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

When Kim Yeo-ul hurriedly chewed the apple so he could speak, his mouth emptied and a second slice immediately replaced it. Only after he had eaten an entire apple did he finally manage to talk.

“I won’t take the wish voucher.”

“Why? Because you dropped the fireball on the floor at the end, afraid you might actually kill Cheon I-hwa?”

Drip.

Apple juice he hadn’t yet swallowed ran down the corner of his mouth.

“H-how did you know?”

“I have eyes. I saw it.”

Contrary to Chae Mu-jin’s casual tone, only two people knew the truth. Himself, and Cheon I-hwa who had been present. Due to distance and angle, no one else realized Kim Yeo-ul had deliberately driven the fireball into the ground. Even if someone had seen it touch the floor, they would never have guessed it was intentional.

Kim Yeo-ul looked almost relieved.

“That’s why I won’t take the wish voucher. If anything, I feel like I should compensate you. If I had followed the manager’s instructions, I would have won…”

Swish.

When Chae Mu-jin’s arm rose, Kim Yeo-ul instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. Growing up under his father, any mistake had always earned him a slap across the cheek. It was pure reflex. Yet he did not open his eyes again. This situation was different from his father’s time. He felt no resentment. It was only natural. If you made a mistake, you received punishment.

But what he felt next was not pain, but warmth.

“You’re not taking the wish voucher? You did well.”

At the hand gently stroking his hair, Kim Yeo-ul’s mind went blank. He could not understand what he had possibly done right to deserve praise.

“Cheon I-hwa was preparing a counterattack. I predicted she would twist her body to avoid using sword energy, but I didn’t anticipate she could maintain that energy even while changing posture.”

“If you had fired the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fireball exactly as I instructed, it would have been sliced apart by her sword energy. At that point, with all your mana depleted, you would have had no options left and it would have been the same as defeat.”

“But you didn’t shoot. With that choice neither Cheon I-hwa nor I predicted, she won the match but lost the battle, and you lost the match but won the battle. Therefore—”

Unlike the gentle touch earlier, this time he ruffled the boy’s hair roughly.

“Changing your mind at the very end was the correct decision. You did well.”

“……!”

Kim Yeo-ul tried to deny it, but his tightened throat produced no sound. Everything that had allowed him to reach this point had been prepared by Chae Mu-jin from start to finish. The man had predicted every single one of Cheon I-hwa’s actions as if he had seen the future. The miraculous buff granted to the space itself, ignoring obstacles. The overwhelming support that had raised both his offensive and defensive capabilities to their absolute limits had allowed him to withstand Cheon I-hwa’s sword strikes and launch those enormous fireballs.

Yet despite receiving such perfect assistance, he had still lost. And instead of blaming him, Chae Mu-jin comforted him, saying he had done well. Even if it was only empty consolation, it was the first time in his life experiencing unconditional warmth. Kim Yeo-ul pressed down the tears threatening to burst free, unable to form a single coherent thought.

Knock, knock.

The sound of someone rapping on the door helped him hold the tears back.

“I’m coming in for a moment.”

The owner of that voice was someone now familiar to both Chae Mu-jin and Kim Yeo-ul.