EPISODE 67

"Luan Badniker," Juan announced.

I had secured second place. That meant eight points, bringing my total to twenty or twenty-one—I wasn't sure. Truthfully, I didn't pay much attention to things I considered unimportant.

All eyes turned to me when my name was called, and whispers rippled through the crowd. Many of the nobles eyed me with suspicion, and I caught a few murmurs of "the sword seller." Clearly, I still had a long way to go to shake off my infamous reputation.

"Hero Disciple Luan may not have excelled in defeating demonic monsters, but he was the only one among the hero disciples who truly understood the trial's intent and acted accordingly," Juan explained.

Evan, who happened to be standing nearby, asked reflexively, "The trial's intent?"

"Didn't the survival instructor make it clear before he left? Survive at all costs," he emphasized.

"Ah, right."

The word survival echoed in the minds of the hero disciples.

"Among the hero disciples, Hero Disciple Luan was the only one who prioritized the lives of others. Regardless of the number of demonic monsters he defeated, his actions earned him second place."

The hero disciples nodded in understanding. A few glanced at me with gratitude—they were the ones whose lives I had saved.

Juan continued, "Now, for first place—Charon Woodjack. You defeated the most demonic monsters, eliminating the greater threats swiftly and reliably. Your skill rivals that of an active hero. Congratulations."

Charon met Juan's gaze, and a smug curve appeared on his irritating face.

So, this fellow actually knows how to smile, I mused.

Juan revealed, "As a special reward, Charon will be granted the power to add a rule to the training camp."

Charon paused. "Add a rule? What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. For instance, one of the current rules states that hero disciples with fewer than ten points are barred from using the dining hall. Charon has the authority to alter that rule," Juan replied.

Then, Juan gestured as if painting a picture. "You could change it to 'hero disciples with less than five points aren't allowed to use the dining hall,' or even 'You can use the dining hall regardless of your points,' for example."

At this, some of the hero disciples gulped and looked anxiously at Charon, particularly those with fewer than ten points.

Juan added, "Or he could impose something like, 'Only the first-place hero disciple may use the dining hall.'"

Most of the hero disciples stiffened and stared up at the stage. They finally realized the extent of the power that this special reward granted.

Charon fell silent momentarily before asking, "It's a huge privilege, so there will be some restrictions, right?"

"Of course," Juan replied. "Nothing absurd is permitted. For example, you couldn't add a rule like 'Charon Woodjack gains one point every hour.' However, within reason, the rule can favor you. After all, it is a special reward."

"How long do I have to decide?" Charon asked.

"There's no time limit, but it's best to act quickly. The rule only applies within the training camp, after all," Juan answered.

Charon fell into deep thought, his expression tense as he racked his brain. He seemed almost obsessively fixated on holding onto first place. Wouldn't the rule he chose be designed to secure his rank?

Juan changed the topic, perhaps to lighten the mood. "Anyway, today marks the third day of the training camp. Time flies, doesn't it?"

However, this sudden topic deflated the hero disciples' spirits.

"Three days?"

"It can't be just three days—it must've been three months!"

"T-that is impossible. At least three weeks, surely."

"We have to endure another five weeks and four days? You're joking, right?"

"Ugh, just kill me already."

It was true that the days of the training camp felt impossibly long, but that was only because the instructors had packed the curriculum so densely. If it had been poorly organized, we wouldn't have felt this way.

"Everyone, quiet down. In any case, you're all tired today, so I'm going to replace the morning class with a lesson on martial arts theory," Juan announced.

Wait, haven't we already covered theory before?

Since he didn't instruct us to stand, I remained seated and nodded silently.

Juan sat at the edge of the stage, positioning himself at eye level with the hero disciples, and started speaking. "As I mentioned before, the essence of martial arts lies in self-defense—a collection of techniques designed to protect oneself from opponents who may surpass you in physique, strength, or speed."

He revisited the previous lesson's content, a tedious review that nearly prompted a yawn. There was nothing more monotonous than hearing repeated explanations of what I already knew.

Since then, he started talking about his martial arts. This was even more useless to me. While listening to someone's values could be a beneficial way to broaden one's perspective, I had already established my personal martial art and was in the process of refining it.

For now, I intended to keep it on its current path. At this stage, external advice wasn't particularly helpful, as I was focused on subtracting, not adding.

My gaze blurred as I turned my thoughts elsewhere. First of all, the fight with Tanko yesterday...

I recalled Tanko's martial art—its characteristics, the flow of our battle, and my responses. Alongside these reflections, I revisited the concept for the White Sun Eclipse's second half and the battle against demonic monsters that had unfolded in the dead of night.

I also considered a few moves that could be incorporated with the Seven Sins Sword in that fight. The idea had come to me on the spot, so it wasn't polished. Still, with refinement, it could be useful.

But could I truly call it swordsmanship when I envisioned it within the White Sun Eclipse's framework?

Then again, there was no reason I couldn't. In truth, the White Sun Eclipse was a versatile martial art, blending finger techniques, fist strikes, hand movements, palm strikes, and footwork.

If aptitude alone dictated its composition, I would have included claw techniques as well. So there was no reason I couldn't add swordsmanship, knife attacks, or spear techniques in the second half.

Even so, I wasn't sure if this was the right path.

Did these techniques belong in the White Sun Eclipse? If so, what qualified them? And how did one define the completion or incompletion of a martial art?

These questions troubled me. As a first-time founder, I was forced to view my creation from an entirely new perspective.

Even with only its first half, the White Sun Eclipse was already an exceptional martial art. Beyond its sheer destructive power, it possessed a distinct uniqueness.

As the Martial God had pointed out, its focus on destruction was both a strength and a defining trait.

Still, I couldn't shake a lingering sense of regret. I decided to channel this enigmatic feeling into the final piece of the martial art's completion. Once this regret was resolved, could I then declare the White Sun Eclipse complete?

I won't find the answer anytime soon.

Perhaps this was a question I would grapple with for the rest of my life as a martial artist. For now, that was all I could conclude.

I opened my eyes slightly, allowing my overheated mind to cool. The atmosphere felt oddly tense. Juan remained seated on the stage, and for reasons unknown, Evan now stood before him.

What's going on?

Fortunately, there was someone nearby who could fill me in. I skillfully scooted over and tapped the shoulder of my target.

"What?" a sharp voice snapped back.

As expected, she was as tough as ever, no matter the circumstances.

"I just woke up. What is going on?"

"You slept? You are truly disgusting," Seren replied, her tone dripping with irritation.

"So what is going on?"

Seren gave me a look of disdain. "The instructor was explaining secret martial arts when he mentioned Raven. It led to an argument."

If it were about Raven, that meant it involved the Helvins' secret martial art.

"An argument?" I asked.

"The instructor called Raven useless and told Evan to abandon it and learn something else," Seren explained.

I glanced at Evan. Now I understood the tension etched across his face.

With a stiff expression, Evan said, "I don't think any martial art is absolutely strong in every situation or against every opponent."

The argument was clearly still unfolding.

"As you mentioned, Instructor Juan, Raven's completeness might not match other martial arts, but that doesn't make it weak," Evan continued, his tone firm.

"Not weak? That's an interesting claim," Juan replied softly. "As far as I know, your father, Lord Dodds Helvin, practiced Raven yet never won a single sparring match. If you're correct, Hero Disciple Evan, wouldn't he have won at least once?"

Evan fell silent, his jaw tightening.

In truth, Juan's argument could be refuted. Evan's point held merit—no martial art is inherently weak. What existed were weak practitioners.

But could Evan, who revered his father above all else, bring himself to say it? That it wasn't Raven that was weak—it was his father?

A voice, barely suppressing laughter, rose from among the hero disciples. "The Knight of Complete Defeat..."

The Knight of Complete Defeat was infamous—a knight who claimed to have invented a new martial art and traveled the empire challenging others to spars. At the time, the empire buzzed with talk of how a member of a Great Family had stooped to behavior even wandering martial artists would mock.

Most arrogant nobles frowned at his actions. Even if he had succeeded, they would have accused him of indecency. But the knight didn't win a single match. The world mocked him and felt contempt for him, dubbing him the Knight of Complete Defeat.

"Hero Disciple Evan, I don't enjoy forcing my views, but I'll be clear for the sake of your future," Juan said, wiping the smile from his lips. "If you want to grow strong, abandon Raven."

The sneers around him pressed heavily on Evan's shoulders. I could almost see the thick smoke of frustration rising from his lowered head.

Something about this felt dangerous.

***

The training camp schedule was grueling. No matter how talented, anyone pushed too hard would break. Yet, even amidst the relentless grind, there were moments to catch one's breath. Aside from the evening break, mealtime offered the most free time.

It wasn't that the instructors were absent, but they didn't interfere unless a fistfight broke out. They didn't even scold us for talking too loudly. The slow-witted hero disciples had finally caught on, and now the dining hall was buzzing with noise.

Seren approached me after finishing her meal. "It looks like you've caught an annoying guy's attention."

I knew exactly who she meant. "I'm aware."

"Have you known each other long?" she asked.

"Not at all."

"Did you make some mistake?"

"No," I answered flatly.

"Then he's keeping you in check to protect his first-place standing," she concluded.

Seren glanced across the room. Following her gaze, I spotted Charon eating some distance away, surrounded by a crowd.

"Surprisingly sociable," I observed. "I thought he was more of a lone wolf."

Seren snorted. "You talk as if you don't know how people work. Humans can form factions with just five people. And most here are nobles who've been schooled in politics since childhood. They can sniff out benefits better than a dog hunting for leftover rice cakes."

"He doesn't strike me as the type to hand out favors," I said.

"He is strong. And handsome," she pointed out.

I agreed with the first part, but the second made me tilt my head.

"Handsome? Doesn't he have a scar on his face?" I asked, doubtful.

"Scars, three eyes—doesn't matter. Handsome is handsome. In fact, uniqueness like that can make someone even more striking," she said with confidence.

"Hey," I interjected. "If people are flocking to him for his looks, I should be popular too."

Seren gave me a pitying look. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

I didn't comment.

"You're not ugly, but compared to Charon or your brother, you fall short. What can I say? You look like you are trying to be handsome," she added.

I nodded calmly at her blunt assessment. "Well, at least I'm not ugly."

"You are so positive," she mocked.

"Thank you."

"Anyway, it's not just his looks. The real game-changer is the extra rule privilege he received today. Depending on how he uses it, others stand to gain."

"Ah, I see."

"The bottom line is, Charon is smart enough to leverage that."

For someone who seemed carefree, Seren was surprisingly perceptive.

She tapped her temple. "He's got no obvious weaknesses. Beyond his strength, his mastery of blessings is already beyond most hero disciples. He's also adept at managing those who approach him with ulterior motives. For a ranger's son, he's oddly versatile."

I hummed in response.

"I think you're the one he's most focused on right now. You'll likely have a tough time during the camp."

Her expression was annoyingly smug.

"But don't pick fights with him too much. Just ignore him when you can," she advised.

"Why?"

"Soon enough, petty squabbles like that won't matter," she replied cryptically.

I looked at Seren. That fearful attitude she sometimes showed during the training session was back.

"Hey. Seren, you—" I started, but a sharp cry cut me off.

"Take it back!"

The voice was so powerful that it made my ears ring. It was also strangely familiar.

I turned to see a diminutive girl gritting her teeth, facing off against a female hero disciple who stood with her arms crossed.

"Why should I? It is all true. You froze up because you were too scared."

"I wasn't scared! My body just couldn't move."

"That's what being scared means. What kind of giant are you?"

I pointed toward the girl who was shaking her head and asked, "Who is that?"

"Charles Rubieta," Seren replied, her voice flat.

"Right," I confirmed, nodding.

She was the youngest daughter of the Rubieta family, the one who had faced Evan in the first sparring match. I had seen her a few times before, but this was the first instance I observed her so clearly.

Is that kind of hair even possible? I wondered.

It resembled a whirlwind given physical form. I'd heard that maintaining such hair required regular use of specialized tools to curl it. But since we lacked those tools here, wouldn't her hair gradually return to its natural state as the training camp progressed?

"I am... a descendant of Ymir, the Frost Giant," Mir stammered.

"So?" Charles replied with a cold expression. "Who here doesn't carry the blood of some hero? Of course, you aren't the only one who's acted pathetically. But you're a giant—when you go berserk, you can't even recognize allies."

Mir didn't respond.

"I'd rather not die at the hands of a giant instead of a demonic monster. So if something like yesterday happens again, don't fight. Just curl up in a corner. Got it?" Charles said harshly.

Mir gritted her teeth again but still couldn't muster a response.

Seren held her chin and asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Which side will you take at this training camp?" she clarified.

"What side? I'm not a child," I replied, glancing at Seren. "You aren't planning to side with anyone either."

Seren snorted. "True. Still, you should join a faction."

"Why?"

"It'd improve your odds of survival," she said bluntly, turning to leave.

However, I wasn't about to let her go so easily. I hated being left with a lingering sense of unease.

I reached out to grab her wrist, but she dodged, and my hand caught her hair instead.

"Let go," she demanded.

"Yes."

Even I couldn't bring myself to hold on after that.