Chapter 3

----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Ace Chapter: 3 Chapter Title: Episode 001 (3) ----------------------------------------------------------------- "I-Is that even possible?" That cry sparked it. The kids sitting by the well began chiming in, one after another. "D-Did you see that just now?" "How did a kid that small pull it off in the blink of an eye?" A low murmur of awe and admiration rose from a few of the trainees. These were kids whose faces bore the marks of hardship beyond their years—clearly not from noble houses or prestigious families, at least not at first glance. The reason they stared at Kuhn's retreating figure with wide-eyed shock was simple. For them—kids who hadn't yet learned aura breathing methods or swordsmanship—size and build were among the most crucial factors in deciding a fight's outcome. Running away? Sure, that might work. But just being quick and nimble? No way you win like that. That was the street-smart wisdom they'd grown up with. Yet Kuhn had ignored all those factors and claimed victory anyway. Even if it was a surprise attack, it was only natural their eyes would change. But not every trainee there shared that assessment. "He looked like a weakling. Did he have some kind of training after all?" A few others shook their heads with sullen expressions. Unlike the first group, these kids had rather refined features. As mentioned before, the trainees from noble or prestigious families evaluated things a bit differently. "But he never really stood out in training up to now, did he?" "Yeah. Wasn't he always dead last, even in basic running drills?" "Still, that move just now..." A brief exchange rippled through the small group. It didn't take long for them to reach a consensus. "Maybe he just got lucky." "Yeah. It was a surprise attack, after all." "Even if it was, losing to a weakling like that? The guy's an idiot." An unexpected result, sure—but chalk it up to luck. Most of the kids nodded in agreement. Of course they did. These were children who'd been trained in their family swordsmanship and aura breathing methods from a young age. They couldn't split boulders or cleave city gates, but they knew full ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well that size and build weren't everything in a fight. To them, Iron Fist Barison was just the leader of some no-name street gang. Hardly an impressive foe. Trash like that...If I got the chance, I could take him anytime...! It was only natural they'd feel dismissive. And— "......" Unlike them, a few gazes offered the most objective take on the fight between Iron Fist Barison and Kuhn. Precisely: one group and one individual. The group, naturally, was the Lion’s Den instructors who'd been watching the scene from hiding. Was that just now... Astal Style Basic Swordsmanship, Spinning Strike?The sword style mostly used by southern mercenaries... They were just as shocked; subtle tremors shook the eyes behind their masks. And the other person. "What was that swordsmanship just now?" One trainee, approaching the well, froze with eyes wide as saucers, staring at the scene. . . Neatly combed blond hair, a youthful face, sapphire-blue eyes gleaming like jewels. Unlike Kuhn's face, which exuded a decadent allure, this was the picture-perfect handsome boy. The trainee was none other than Taylor Rosetta, second son of the fallen merchant-noble Rosetta family. The reason he was in the Lion’s Den was straightforward. For the revival of my house. The Rosetta family had once made a name in the North not just as ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠merchants but as swordsmen too. But that glory had long faded into a distant memory. Someone had to step up and restore it. Originally, my older brother—the firstborn—should have come. With their parents gone, someone had to stay outside, manage the family and business, and look after their young siblings. And... volunteering for the Lion’s Den in his brother's place wasn't just for that reason. ...

When it comes to physical work, I'm probably better suited than him anyway. His brother was a talented merchant but had been plagued by chronic illnesses since childhood. Unlike his once-frail sibling, Taylor had been hailed as a genius with the sword from a young age. The kind of talent often called sword genius. Of course, the family's decline meant it hadn't fully bloomed yet... but by now, his family must have found the runaway note he'd left in his drawer. Time had passed. They're probably worried sick. Thinking of the letter, Taylor let out a quiet sigh. He'd witnessed the scene purely by chance. After training ended and he'd finished cleanup duty, he'd come to the well late to wash off the dust. That guy... He knew one of the people involved well enough. Ethan—Kuhn's alias. The subject of rumors calling him possibly the weakest in the Lion’s Den. They said once real training began, he'd either quit on his own or die from the rigor. His appearance vaguely reminded Taylor of his brother, so his eyes had drifted there often without thinking. But rumors painted him as that kind of guy... Who could've guessed things would turn out like this? As his gaze hardened from the unexpected sight— ......? Whispers from nearby kids reached his ears. "Maybe he just got lucky." "Yeah. It was a surprise attack, after all." "Hmph. Can't believe someone actually lost to a weakling like that." They spoke casually, but jealousy and envy laced their voices. ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Taylor whipped his head around with a look of disbelief. You saw that and still say stuff like that? Are they really that dense? Just idiots lucky enough to be born into good families and learn swordsmanship and breathing methods a bit earlier? That irritation showed on his face. Though he'd thought the same before... anyway. At the same time, a certain movement flashed in his mind. Diving fearlessly into the bulk of someone twice his size. The exact move Kuhn had used to subdue Barison. Not once did the broom snag on his body while spinning to strike the enemy. It was a movement impossible without simultaneously grasping the broom's trajectory and his own safe space. You couldn't do it just by swinging wildly. And yet that speed... He clicked his tongue in spite of himself. Could I have dodged it? Unlike Barison, he'd trained in family swordsmanship and breathing methods under his father before the fall. p>Some of the swordsmen who'd praised his talent were superhumans beyond human limits. He wouldn't have just taken it helplessly like Barison. But... What if it wasn't over? What if attacks kept coming? What if it was infused with aura on top? His thoughts reached that point, and Taylor unconsciously turned his head. Staring meaningfully in the direction Kuhn had vanished, he muttered. If it were me—... "If it were me, a few punches would've ended it." "A few? One strike would've been enough for me." Meanwhile, behind him. The well was still filled with empty chatter. Idiots! 4. Meanwhile, Kuhn had left the scene and was heading toward the trainee dorms. Ugh—? Mid-stride, he suddenly groaned. Turning his head, he saw the muscles in his right arm—the one that had swung the broom—twitching wildly on their own. His undeveloped body had been pushed too hard, and the muscles had cramped up. Staring at the knotted fibers, he let out a quiet sigh. Even so... A cramp from just that much movement? This body was even frailer than he'd thought. Feeling a bitter taste rise unbidden, he moved his left hand. Massaging the arm to loosen the knots, he resumed walking. All while mulling over the memory of the boy that had surfaced at the well. Hm. A groan escaped him naturally. There had to be reasons for inheriting Northern Overlord Jordic blood yet ending up with a body like this. Especially the memories tied to the boy's physique caught Kuhn's attention. Born with the Dream of the Dead? He knew what the illness called Dream of the Dead was—the dream of the deceased. A disease and a curse— It was a constitution so rare in continental history it had appeared fewer than a handful of times, and it could be called a curse. A body born closer to death than life, standing on the boundary between this world and the next. That was the description for Dream of the Dead sufferers. Because of it, those afflicted had inherently frail muscles and bones, and from childhood, they saw illusions so often that their minds grew fragile too. That was why it was called heaven's curse. Kuhn himself had glimpsed illusions a few times since waking in this body. Whether that's the cause or not, hardly anyone with Dream of the Dead lives past thirty. Madness from ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the visions. Most couldn't overcome it and ended their own lives. And— That wasn't the only innate flaw of Dream of the Dead. The body filled to the brim with the energy of the dead[Death Qi]—a constitution that can't even sense or accept mana with normal breathing methods, let alone forge a mana heart. Unable to accept mana in the first place, no treatment was possible. Rubbing his still-sore forearm, Kuhn spoke quietly. "A body that can't accumulate aura, not even learn magic..." Even born to an ordinary family, it would've been a tragic life. Let alone being born to the Jordics, who flew the banner of Survival of the Fittest... No need to explain how this boy had been treated. But— To him, with the doctor's memories, Dream of the Dead was no longer a curse. Clenching his fist slowly— Kuhn stared at his reed-thin wrist and murmured. "A cunning and bewitching sorcery [Demonic Art] , the monster that reached the pinnacle of evil path sorcery." At first, he hadn't grasped what those words meant. But now, inheriting the doctor's memories, he vaguely understood how absurd they were. And Dream of the Dead was, in fact, the perfect body for mastering such a doctor's sorcery. A body brimming with death energy, innately drawing in the profane and twisted. The inability to form a mana heart the normal way was no longer a big issue. ...

Monstrous Strength and Chaotic Spirits. The aura breathing method the doctor had mastered long ago— From a different world than this one. Mulling the name, Kuhn kept walking. His steps had now brought him to the trainees' quarters in the Lion’s Den.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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