Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Talent
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⚔ STATUS ⚔ Name: Debussy Race: Vampire Affiliation: - Talent: Prodigy Stats:
⚡ Strength: Lv. 1 💨 Agility: Lv. 1 💪 Stamina: Lv. 2 🛡️ Toughness: Lv. 3 ✨ Mana: Lv. 2 Innate Traits:
[Weakness Exposure - Silver] [Weakness Exposure - Holy] Acquired Traits:
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Skills:
[Spear Art Lv. 1 Rate.F] [Javelin Throw Lv. 1 Rate.F] [Bloodsucking Lv. 1 Rate.C] ⚔ STATUS ⚔ Name: Han Do-yoon Race: Human / Divine Beast Affiliation: - Talent: Genius Stats:
⚡ Strength: Lv. 5 💨 Agility: Lv. 2 💪 Stamina: Lv. 7 🛡️ Toughness: Lv. 4 ✨ Mana: Lv. 1 Innate Traits:
[Trauma (Satiety Obsession)] [Divine Beast] [Acquired Genius] [First Războinic] [First Guild Master] Acquired Traits:
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Skills:
[Războinic Style Mana Circulation Lv. 1 Rate.D] [Hecleus Style Fist Art - Straight Punch Lv. 1 Rate.S] [Javelin Throw Lv. 1 Rate.B] Pathetic stats compared to Do-yoon. But comparing a fresh-faced cadet to him was absurd from the start.
As the status window indicated, Debussy was a prodigy—the tier just below dullard and average.
And when stacked against the other cadets, this was genuinely impressive. Having a stat at level 3 right from the outset marked him as an exceptional sprout. The label fit him perfectly.
'Not bad. But not worth raising myself.'
Still, he'd shown real persistence in class all this time. Talent, grit, and the system's ultimate blessing to boot. He had all the ingredients to grow strong.
Hoping he'd one day stand on the same battlefield, Do-yoon dismissed the status window.
That's when the spear instructor, who'd been watching him from nearby, approached.
"Ahem! ...As I said before."
Do-yoon sighed inwardly as he packed up the javelins. Here we go again.
"Cadet Han Do-yoon. How about properly learning spear arts?"
"...As I've said before, there's no reason to."
"I acknowledge your fist art prowess. But the spear is the king of weapons, vastly superior to all others..."
The monologue began. Even Debussy, who usually stuck close to Do-yoon, shook his head and slipped away.
This instructor had been getting annoyingly persistent lately. It was starting to interfere with training.
'Should I switch classes?'
He'd been craving the feel of a sword anyway. Now that he had Javelin Throw, swinging by swordsmanship class to blow off steam sounded good.
'And scout some sword talent while I'm at it.'
The spear class kids just weren't cutting it. Sure, there were racial advantages like Debussy's and genuine prodigies. But none met Do-yoon's standards.
'I told them to come find me if they need help.'
Plenty of cadets switched positions after realizing their aptitude didn't match. Do-yoon could do the same easily.
He tuned out the spear instructor, lost in thought, waiting for class to end.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Class ended, and Do-yoon headed for the swordsmanship instructor.
He'd peeled away from the group heading to the next lesson, leaving the hallway empty save for him.
'...Two behind me.'
Actually, two were tailing him.
One was hiding their presence clumsily—definitely a cadet.
The bolder of the two approached.
"Cadet Han Do-yoon."
Do-yoon turned, having anticipated the encounter.
"Could we talk for a moment?"
It was the martial arts instructor.
Do-yoon sighed inwardly at the expected interruption. The fist art from the mana test must've drawn him, just like the spear instructor.
'...I need to get to the sword instructor.'
Still, this was tame. The past two weeks, other instructors—not even his own—had hounded him relentlessly.
Do-yoon decided to spare a moment.
"Sure. What is it?"
But the topic caught him off guard.
"Cadet Do-yoon... what's your connection to the Holy King?"
"...Pardon?"
Do-yoon reflexively parroted the baffling question, unsure of its intent.
"Who's the Holy King?"
"Ah... s-sorry. That was a stupid question."
The instructor realized his blunder.
Holy King. Like all great heroes, he bore many titles.
King of Labyrinthia. Third-generation Fist Emperor. The Alliance's number two. Labyrinthia's father. Wisest king. Skill master.
Alongside the Lion King, the Holy King was hailed as the Alliance's pinnacle warrior—the sole person to max a skill at level 10, a true fist art grandmaster.
On mana test day, the instructor had seen the Holy King's fist in Do-yoon's punch. It eerily matched the one he'd witnessed once on the battlefield.
He'd wanted to ask immediately, but opportunities never arose.
Do-yoon had holed up in the dorms for a full week, then been constantly mobbed by instructors.
Today, he'd finally cornered him—but rushed straight to the point.
'The Holy King's a native. A fresh otherworlder like Cadet Han couldn't possibly...'
His words failed him. So what explained that punch?
After hesitating, he opted for honesty. No other questions came to mind; this might get things moving.
"...Cadet Do-yoon's fist art matches one used by a great figure in this world."
"Pardon?"
Do-yoon's eyes widened. The instructor knew he'd chosen right.
"Does that ring any bells?"
"..."
Do-yoon pondered. Confusion and excitement muddled his thoughts.
The instructor assumed the art came from Earth, like Do-yoon. Naturally so.
Which made it baffling. How could a newcomer wield a native's technique?
Do-yoon, its true originator, had a hunch. And it thrilled him.
Someone else punching the same way. The implication was clear.
'Hecleus, you bastard... you finally found a disciple!'
Hecleus was around Enoch's age.
Do-yoon died at varying ages each regression; he'd seen both reach 70 once.
The disciple-starved Fist Emperor hadn't found a worthy student by then.
No regression saw him succeed, regardless of meeting Do-yoon.
Blame Hecleus Style's brutal recoil.
Their generation lacked talent to endure it, save Hecleus. Only he and Enoch could wield it.
Enoch barely mimicked it—a cheat only he could manage.
Hecleus knew, yet clung to Enoch, begging to teach him. That's how desperate he was.
Apparently, post-Enoch, he'd succeeded.
'I died at 30 in round 18, after slaying the Demon King. In others, he searched till 70. No talent in our era. So...'
The round 18 variables: System, Cradle, otherworlders.
Likely, one otherworlder post-Enoch caught his eye.
'Inheriting that monstrous fist art.'
Do-yoon's heart raced. What kind of monster was it?
'Someday, I have to meet them.'
But he couldn't spill everything. Do-yoon mulled a deflection.
"You're the only one who's noticed?"
"Mm... probably. I once saw the Holy King's straight punch on the battlefield by chance. Few venture to foreign fronts, so other instructors likely missed it. Otherwise, the Cradle would've erupted."
Perfect. No need for elaborate excuses. Who'd believe a Cradle cadet matched the Holy King?
A vague brush-off would do.
"No idea."
"Pardon?"
The instructor gaped at the curveball.
"Th-think about it. There must be some connection..."
"Even if you say that... it doesn't make sense. Me knowing an otherworld martial art?"
"Ah, uh..."
"Must be a mistake."
The instructor just gawked. Do-yoon's logic was airtight. Impossible.
Was it really a mistake? No way.
He clutched his head, stumped.
Do-yoon checked his break time. No sword instructor visit, but solid intel gained. Worth it.
"I'll head out then. Next class."
"Y-yeah... sorry for holding you up."
Polite, not stubborn, well-mannered. Do-yoon liked him.
He bowed lightly and turned.
But then—
"Wait!"
The instructor beamed, as if struck by epiphany, and called him back.
"Then! Do you know Hwang Bo-jun?"
Do-yoon tilted his head. What now?
"Hwang Bo-jun's another otherworlder like you—a boss monster slayer, one of only two in history, and the Holy King's master!"
"...Pardon?"
Hwang Bo-what?
The Holy King wasn't Hecleus's disciple?
'What the hell?'
Do-yoon frowned.