Breaking the Exoskeleton?
"Exoskeleton breaking?"
The trainees' reactions rippled through the crowd. For those still in the Growth Stage like them, shattering the exoskeleton of a primal species—like Binzar had just done—was an incredibly tough feat. Sure, if it were the softer shell of an immature specimen before reaching adulthood, maybe.
"To be precise, it's measuring striking power. 'Exoskeleton Breaking' is just the name of the test."
As we buzzed with murmurs, Binzar grinned and clarified. The trainees let out relieved chuckles, their tension easing.
Drag, drag, drag.
The other sub-instructors wheeled in rectangular boxes over two meters long.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
They soon finished setting them up.
"This is the equipment we'll use to measure striking power," Binzar said, pointing to the completed device.
A massive iron pillar over two meters tall stood at each corner of the rectangular frame. In the center, a dartboard-like disc was suspended, woven together with spider threads and spells.
"This is the Striking Power Meter. See that red dot right in the center? Focus your power and hit it dead-on for the highest score."
In other words, you had to concentrate your force on that fist-sized red dot to rack up big points.
"Looks kinda like punch-force testing, huh?"
"This is totally rigged for the Hercules beetle clans."
Once the test details were out, the trainees figured the top individual score would go to someone from a clan known for raw strength. And who could blame them? It sure seemed like a contest that favored brute muscle.
Squad 1 leader, Max of the Hercules long-horned beetle clan.
Squad 2 leader, Polt of the Caucasus long-horned beetle clan.
All eyes turned to them. With their sturdy builds and bulging muscles, they radiated an aura that screamed unbeatable power.
"This'll be fun, right, Polt?"
"Yeah."
"Wanna make a bet? It's been a while."
"Sure."
Max spoke confidently, arms crossed, and Polt responded flatly.
"Ooh, are they gonna throw down?"
"This oughta be a good show."
The trainees cheered at their exchange. True to form for those who worshipped strength, they loved seeing powerhouses clash—even if it was just over some measly score!
"Heh, count me in too."
At that moment, a hulking figure with brown hair stepped up—Drvito of the Amar king centipede clan—declaring his entry into the bet. The Amar king centipedes were renowned as heavy hitters anywhere they went, and apparently, Drvito's pride wouldn't let him sit this one out.
"Hey, Montiol. You in?"
"M-me? Ahem, yeah... I'll join."
The stakes escalated in a flash. Drvito's nudge dragged in Montiol of the giant black centipede clan, half-forcing his participation since he'd roped in others too.
"Bartea! You just gonna watch?"
Squad 3 leader Bartea of the king Baphomet tarantula clan joined, followed by Squad 4 leader Jodru of the giraffe-top stag beetle clan, Squad 7 leader Hoover of the hornet clan, Squad 8 leader Burduluk of the Titanus Typhoon stag beetle clan, and Squad 9 leader Muruan of the manticore tiger beetle (emperor scarab) clan.
All the squad leaders known for their brawn piled in.
"Pasasi, Hanks! What're you waiting for?"
Squad 6 member Pasasi of the cherry red centipede clan and Squad 10 member Hanks of the emperor scorpion clan got pulled in too—anyone who looked like they could throw weight around.
A few invitees turned it down, sure, but with twelve already committed—mostly top-tier species—the trainees buzzed with excitement over this unexpected spectacle.
"So, what're we betting?"
Muruan of the manticore tiger beetle clan asked, arms crossed as he scanned the group.
"Gold coins?"
Drvito of the king centipede clan shot back instantly.
'Figures it'd be Craig's clan—money-grubbing as ever.'
I shot Drvito a sour glare, muttering under my breath. Maybe it was all the bad blood with Craig, but just looking at that king centipede face soured my mood. That was exactly why I'd been avoiding clashes with the four great clans—at least until I hit Complete Body.
"Bets involving money or valuables are prohibited here at Chung Hak Gwan—they're considered gambling."
Chief Instructor Binzar shut down Drvito's proposal flat. Made sense; wagering gold was straight-up gambling, no way they'd allow it.
I figured whatever they bet was none of my business anyway.
"How about miles, then?"
"Miles are fine."
"Nice! Miles it is. Everyone cool?"
"Haven't earned any yet, though."
"Just pay up when you do."
"Works for me."
"Yeah, sounds good."
'...!'
My eyes lit up at their words. Twelve participants. If I won, that was twelve miles in one go.
I had 27 miles so far. Add twelve, and I'd hit 39. Toss in the top individual prize and any squad bonuses, and...
'Around 41 miles total.'
Just nine more after that, and I'd reach my initial goal of 50. No way I was missing this.
I strode over, eyes gleaming. "Mind if I join the bet?"
"...?"
The group turned as one, their gazes locking onto me. Disdain and mockery filled their faces—some even smirked in disbelief.
"You?"
Squad 4 leader Jodru of the giraffe-top stag beetle clan sneered. His eyes screamed, How dare a puny mantis butt in?
"Can't tell when you're wanted or not, huh? This is an elite gathering... King mantis, maybe we'd consider. But a common mantis? Think being a squad leader makes you one of us?"
Burduluk of the Titanus Typhoon clan scoffed dismissively. The other trainees watched as if the scorn was only natural.
This was a continent ruled by survival of the fittest, the law of the jungle. The weak got this treatment—it was par for the course.
'Brings back memories.'
I couldn't help but chuckle at their reactions. Before my Limit Break trait propelled me to transcendence, I'd endured those exact looks. It had been so long, I'd almost forgotten.
No anger, though. I wasn't some Ultimate Body throwing a tantrum over childish insults.
The gap between us had been vast before my regression—and it would only widen further now.
"So, no room for me?"
A few eyes flickered with intrigue at my calm response. Not what they expected, apparently.
"What's this guy got to be so cocky?"
"He's no ordinary mantis, though. That was him who snapped Montiol's wrist, right?"
"Oh yeah, that dude?"
"Heard he even beat that emperor scorpion in arm wrestling."
Someone spilled the beans on my scraps with Montiol and Hanks, and suddenly everyone eyed me with real interest. Everyone except one.
Montiol alone flushed beet-red at the reminder of his humiliation, clamping his mouth shut.
"Fine by me—one more makes it more fun. Hop in."
Max of the Hercules clan, who'd been watching silently, gave the nod.
"Uh... yeah, why not."
"Pots more miles on the line, right?"
"If he's volunteering to donate, no reason to stop him."
Max's influence was huge. His approval flipped the room, letting me in.
"Heh, let's rope in more suckers."
"Max or Polt's taking it anyway—what's the point of fattening the pot?"
"That's the thrill of a bet. And I'm pretty confident in my strength."
They clearly didn't see me as a threat.
'Twelve miles. Jackpot.'
I hummed inwardly, grinning at them.
* * *
Being a quick prelim, the test kicked off right away—no delays. Order went from Squad 1 to 10.
Simple setup: Step up one by one and smack the meter. Scores ranged 1-100.
Ninety-plus meant enough force to crack or shatter a stag beetle's shell.
"Key is concentrating your power. Most of you can't handle ether fluidly yet, so it'll be tricky. Just aim single-mindedly for that red dot."
Binzar demonstrated: clenched fist, no ether, pure muscle.
Boom—!
Beep-beep-beep.
—100.
A deafening blast, and the meter flashed 100. Hercules beetle strength, alright—raw physicals, no ether boost.
"Squad 1, you're up."
Squad 1's first: a Jerusalem cricket clan member.
"Haaap!"
Known for leg power, he jumped in place to strike.
Splat!
—78.
He'd missed the red dot dead-center. Sheepish, he slunk back.
"Er, um."
"Couldn't even hit 80? Pathetic!"
Next, a six-eyed sand spider clan member. Not powerhouse physiques, but infamous for vicious venom.
Sizzle...
His fist blackened as he gathered force, a sharp toxic scent wafting out.
Splaaat—!
Venom-infused punch connected.
—91.
"Whoa."
"Six-eyed sand spider venom lives up to the hype."
"Venom's allowed, huh."
"As long as it amps the impact."
The tests rolled on. The meter self-repaired via spells despite damage, keeping things speedy.
"Bishin 81, Kureo 80, Chiriz 85..."
Squad 1 put up solid numbers—everyone but the first hitter broke 80.
And Squad 1's finale.
"Next, Max."
Hercules clan. Max's turn.
"Ooh."
"Max, show us what you got."
All eyes on him.
'Hmm.'
I raised a brow as he took stance. Couldn't blame me.
His form was Great Power Divine Palm Ronmudi's foundational kicking art from Hercules' Five Great Generals—one of their secret techniques.
Kaboooom—!!
Max unleashed his fist. A massive explosion rocked the air as the score popped up on the meter.