Episode 63

I knew little about Tanko, the Hunting Master, but one thing was clear—his life in the empire had been far from easy. His rough speech, coarse features, and distinctly foreign appearance marked him as a member of the Grasslands’ ethnic minorities.

His journey to fame had probably been a relentless struggle every step of the way.

“I’m sure you understand the importance of points,” Tanko said. “Luan Badniker, your current score is eleven points. If you lose to me, it drops to nine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied.

“Really?” Tanko’s tone was skeptical.

He glanced over his shoulder, and several knights behind him stepped forward to observe the other hero disciples sparring. Their presence seemed intended to prevent the matches from escalating into violence.

“I heard you fight with your fists,” Tanko remarked.

It appeared the Great Masters had already caught wind of my earlier spar with Hector.

Though I carried the Seven Sins Sword, I had no intention of using it now. I lacked the confidence to wield it effectively.

“That’s correct,” I admitted.

“Good. Then I’ll face you bare-handed,” Tanko said, his tone dismissive.

I didn’t mind; in fact, I believed it was a fitting penalty.

“I’ll only use one hand. That should make it somewhat fair,” he added.

I was taken aback.

“Why is your expression like that?” he asked.

“Isn’t this a bit excessive?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tanko replied.

“Fair enough,” I said, nodding calmly.

Still, a fire of determination ignited within me. Regardless of his status, being underestimated to this extent demanded a response. If nothing else, I owed it to myself to land at least one blow.

***

One phrase I despised stood out: “You can’t show your skills in actual combat.”

It was nonsense. Sparring and mock matches existed precisely to prepare for real battles. Being undefeated in practice meant nothing if that prowess couldn’t be replicated when it mattered.

I couldn’t show my skills in actual combat?

On the contrary, actual combat was where my true abilities shone. That said, I didn’t deny the value of sparring.

Tanko exuded a unique aura. Although this was a spar, he exuded an intense killing intent. I knew it was deliberate, but it still unnerved me. If I felt this way, most hero disciples would likely struggle to maintain their composure in his presence.

The moment Tanko launched himself forward, I felt the pressure of a muscular beast barreling toward me.

Is he attacking first?

That was unusual in a sparring match, where the weaker party typically initiated the first move. He was an instructor, too.

Ah, is this why?

Perhaps this was his way of teaching—an unconventional approach to catch his students off guard. It suited him. His rugged demeanor didn’t suggest a man who followed traditions.

Instead of dodging, I charged toward him.

As the distance between us closed, Tanko’s movements slowed slightly. I noticed a subtle shift in his center of gravity, a telltale sign that he was preparing to kick.

Sparring rules forbade the use of mana, yet the sheer speed of Tanko’s kick horrified me.

How could anyone move that fast without mana? In my previous life as a mercenary, I had never encountered someone who had honed their body to such an extreme level.

I narrowly dodged the attack, though I doubted I could evade the next one as easily.

Honestly, I credited half my success to luck—or perhaps Tanko had held back.

Either way, I didn’t feel discouraged. Now that I had glimpsed Tanko’s true strength, I could accept the vast gap between an instructor and a hero disciple without any objections.

A clumsy defense would leave me overwhelmed. If I didn’t act decisively, I’d be defeated before five breaths were over.

It was a shame. Fighting with my fully grown body would have been much more enjoyable than in my current incomplete state. Still, it was interesting. Facing a powerful opponent under such unfavorable conditions was an opportunity to gain valuable experience.

I bent low, running through a few strategies.

First, I decided to leverage my small stature to my advantage. In an instant, I darted into Tanko’s reach and extended my palm. Though it carried no internal energy, I executed the White Sun Style’s 2nd Move, Fire Wheel.

The strike landed squarely on his solar plexus. No matter how tough he was, a blow like that should have made him stagger.

For a moment, Tanko’s defenses faltered, but I withdrew instead of attacking.

Swish.

Just as I did, his hand whistled past the tip of my chin, narrowly missing me. I didn’t let the opportunity slip and reached out, seizing his right wrist.

If he is using his right arm, then his left arm is the restrained one.

With his left arm sealed and his right arm in my grip, we were now at the ideal distance—my preferred range.

I swung my right hand and slapped his chin.

Bam!

The impact left his chin red and swollen.

It was the first significant hit I’d landed, yet something felt off. Tanko’s expression betrayed no pain, no surprise. It wasn’t the reaction of someone who had just taken a solid blow.

Before I could land a follow-up blow, a loud noise rang in my ears, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. For a moment, my vision blurred, and my legs grew weak.

I was kicked before I could regain my footing, sending me tumbling twice across the ground. I scrambled to my feet, coughing as I finally exhaled and fixed my gaze ahead.

Tanko charged at me like a wild beast. There was no time to recover. We clashed in close quarters, exchanging blows.

As I parried his onslaught, I realized what had struck me earlier—a knee strike. Tanko’s attacks were relentless, his elbows and knees serving as brutal weapons.

I’ve never encountered someone so ruthless.

I couldn’t help but laugh. For the Hunting Master, fighting with one arm restrained wasn’t much of a handicap. His legs were his primary weapons, after all.

What an unusual martial art, I marveled. Is it some indigenous style practiced by the Grasslands’ warriors?

Regardless, every strike—whether from his knee or elbow—carried enough force to knock me out. If he infused mana into those techniques, each move would be lethal. It was clear that Tanko’s fighting style was similar to mine.

Every technique of the White Sun Eclipse was designed to be deadly. My approach was to adapt to the situation, improvising as needed, and finishing with a move from the White Sun Eclipse suited for the decisive moment.

Recognizing this common ground between our styles sparked a sudden clarity in my mind.

In that instant, I lost myself in thought, forgetting I was in the middle of a fierce battle. I wondered if this sparring session could provide clues for completing the second half of the still-incomplete White Sun Eclipse.

***

Most of the spars ended quickly, none lasting more than five minutes. The boldness of the attacks, coupled with the nature of the exercise, ensured swift conclusions.

“I lost.”

“I lost…”

Heads drooped in despair. For many of the defeated, tomorrow’s dinner was now out of reach.

In contrast, the victors wore bright expressions. Although they didn’t yet know how the points would be used, they understood their value. In this training camp, they were as precious as life itself.

“I-I lost,” Hector admitted, his face blank.

Seren sheathed her sword, her expression unreadable, and gave a curt nod. “Thanks for the hard work.”

Hector bit his lip, his clenched fists trembling. His shame burned hotter than any resentment toward Seren.

He had proudly declared to Luan that he would outshine him in this camp and achieve remarkable results. Yet, barely any time had passed since that boast, and here he was, utterly defeated.

“Were you hiding your strength?” he asked.

It was a pathetic excuse, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the person before him had suddenly become much stronger.

Seren Goodspring, a name that evoked a warm spring day yet had nothing to do with one, looked at him with ice-cold eyes. “No.”

“Then you got this strong in such a short time?” he pressed.

“Something like that.”

She didn’t elaborate, nor did she mention her potential to grow faster than anyone else in the world. That was a secret she kept to herself, with no intention of sharing.

“If we meet again alive, I will tell you a secret,”

Seren had promised.

Damn. Crazy. Absolutely crazy. Why say something like that and make things complicated? Seren berated herself as she recalled her promise.

Of course, she had no one to blame but herself.

Clicking her tongue, Seren scanned the area for Luan. She wondered who he was sparring with, but he wasn’t easy to spot. Then, she noticed a particularly dense crowd and made her way over.

Fortunately, the hero disciples parted to let her through, sparing her the need to push her way in. At times like this, she was grateful for the prestige she often found burdensome.

Beyond the gathered spectators, she finally saw Luan and the Hunting Master.

Hah. So, he is the poor soul fighting the instructor? How did this happen?

Seren knew Luan was unusual, but most of the hero disciples didn’t. His reputation was at rock bottom, so he should’ve been able to choose his opponent.

Did he deliberately pick the instructor? It was a mad thought, but Seren wouldn’t put it past him.

She stopped grumbling inwardly and focused on the scene. Now she understood why the crowd was so silent.

First of all, Luan and the Hunting Master were fighting bare-handed.

This was surprising as most sparring matches involved bladeless swords, spears, or wooden weapons.

Shouldn’t these two have been given wooden swords for safety? But her doubts vanished as she watched.

Everyone knew the strength of the Great Masters. Seren, however, understood the Hunting Master better than most.

He wasn’t just a hunter—he was a warrior from the Eastern Grasslands, where to earn the title of Great Warrior, one had to master every form of combat. A warrior’s final trial was to journey across the vast plains and earn the recognition of all twenty-seven representative tribes. This recognition usually came through battle.

Tanko held the record for the most victories of any Great Warrior, earning him the nickname Undefeated Great Warrior.

Although he wasn’t truly undefeated, no one disputed the title.

Then why does this spar seem so evenly matched?

Naturally, Seren’s sharp eyes caught the answer immediately. Tanko wasn’t using one of his arms.

At that moment, Luan leapt, avoiding Tanko’s kick.

Seizing the opening, Tanko threw a punch.

“Wow!” a few people exclaimed.

It was possible Seren’s voice was among them.

Luan leapt forward, twisting in midair to latch onto Tanko’s arm.

To Seren, it looked like a large snake coiling around Tanko’s limb.

A joint lock!

She was impressed. It was an exceptionally refined technique. If it held, Tanko’s shoulder would be dislocated or worse.

But Tanko slammed his left elbow into Luan’s back, sending him crashing to the ground.

Yet, as Luan looked up, he was smiling. “You used your left arm.”

Tanko glanced down at it, his expression darkening.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep