Episode 99

I rose from my spot just as the monstrous bird’s eerie cry echoed in the distance. Without hesitation, I ran. I sprinted with every ounce of energy I had, pushing myself to the absolute limit until I collapsed, utterly exhausted.

Once on the ground, I started my energy circulation practice. But it wasn’t just about internal energy; it was about refining the method to speed up physical recovery.

Today, like many times before, I coughed up blood. I idly wondered how much blood I had lost over time. I had no way of knowing, but in a strange, almost absurd way, I felt I could fill a beer barrel with it.

I wiped the blood from my mouth.

Even if my body recovered, my clothes didn’t magically clean themselves. In other words, it took skill to cough up blood without staining a single thread of fabric.

FAD commented, “Damn impressive.”

As I waited for my body to recover, I reflected on the White Sun Eclipse’s second half. My imaginary opponent in this scenario was the Black Swamp Demon King, Ahop—a monstrous being that had the power to overwhelm me even in my imagination.

Yet, Ahop wasn’t invincible. The more I thought about it, the more I adapted to its presence. In the grand scheme of things, this was all part of my training.

How could I face the sheer power of a demon king? One that could crush an opponent in an instant?

A scorching dash to maximize speed? Or deceive the opponent’s vision with flames?

By the time my body had recovered, I had finished strategizing. I ran again, burned through my strength, collapsed, practiced energy circulation, refined the method, and then imagined the enemy once more.

…

FAD informed me, “Current progress: 23.3%.”

…

Doing simple, repetitive tasks every day without fail was often called practice or training.

FAD informed me, “Current progress: 25.9%.”

…

I had repeated these actions so many times that I had lost count. The routine had become so ingrained that I could recite it in my sleep.

It would be a lie to say the process wasn’t tedious. Few people enjoyed it, but human adaptability was unsettlingly swift.

In other words, it was all too easy to grow numb to what I had already experienced and lose interest. When that happened, training itself could become grueling.

FAD informed me, “Current progress: 27.1%.”

As for me, I didn’t particularly mind the training, as long as I believed it was the right approach.

…

FAD informed me, “Current progress: 33.2%.”

“Fifty days,” I muttered.

Halfway through this period, I suddenly wondered, Am I truly making progress?

My body was undeniably growing stronger. I could now run for an hour with ease.

Still, doubts lingered.

Am I on the right path? I found myself questioning it multiple times a day. What if there is a more effective method? What if I am just trudging forward like an idiot, oblivious to my own mistakes?

…

One day, I glimpsed Master’s figure through the fog.

“Trash,” he said.

Of course, I knew it was an illusion.

“Do you truly think you’re fit to meddle with my martial arts?” he continued.

The image flickered like it might vanish at any moment. My master would never speak like that. If I made a mistake, he’d smack me on the head.

Was this another of Spirit Mountain’s trials? Or had I finally lost my mind?

“I never should have taken you as my disciple.”

A heavy sigh welled up inside me. Even knowing it was just an illusion, hearing those words in Bai Luguang’s voice made it hard to stay composed. Especially now, as my thoughts were spiraling into negativity.

I wasn’t naturally pessimistic, but my mind had grown unbearably heavy after being trapped alone in this empty place for days on end.

Suddenly, I felt a pang of respect for the Gand Masters of the martial world.

This wasn’t a path one could walk on talent alone. To tread where no one had gone required unshakable confidence and conviction.

Yet here I was, doubting myself at every turn, drowning in regret, wondering if there had been a better choice. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on those thoughts. Despite my doubts, I pushed forward, struggling to take even a single step.

“You look miserable.”

The illusions multiplied.

No—were these auditory hallucinations now?

This time, Senior Brother Arang’s voice echoed. “You can give up here.”

It isn’t an auditory hallucination? This voice is coming from FAD.

I rolled my eyes and lay back on the ground. “I don’t remember calling you.”

“I know,” Senior Brother Arang replied. “That’s why I am speaking through FAD.”

I remained silent.

“Seventy days have passed.”

Time had flown. I’d stopped counting after the fiftieth day.

Suddenly, FAD’s screen changed, reflecting my image like a mirror. “This is what you look like now.”

There was a pathetic, ugly man there.

I didn’t see the immature fifteen-year-old Luan. Instead, I saw the twenty-five-year-old Luan who had died a tragic death in a war.

“What’s my progression?” I asked.

“35%,” he answered.

“I’m not even halfway there,” I muttered.

I pushed myself up.

As I started running again, Senior Brother Arang followed. “You’re still going?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’ll descend in the remaining thirty days?”

“Who knows? Honestly, it’s unlikely.” I paused, struggling to articulate my thoughts. “But I feel like I’m on the verge of grasping something.”

It was vague, but it was the only way I could put it. As I walked through the fog, I continued, speaking more to myself than anyone else. “Fourth Senior Brother, this is out of nowhere, but I’ve started to respect the Gand Masters.”

“What?”

“Did they feel like this their whole lives? Wandering through fog, running a race with no end in sight?” I let out a hollow laugh. “It’s a lonely journey.”

Even if I achieved something, how would I know if it was right or just a mistake’s byproduct? Choosing everything on my own—wasn’t it more suffering than freedom?

Then, a question I’d been mulling over slipped out. “Did Master feel this way too?”

I thought of Bai Luguang, the First Under Heaven. My master had always been confident, arrogant, and haughty, but his arrogance was well-earned.

Had his life had its ups and downs? If so, how had he overcome them?

“If it wasn’t easy for Master, then how could someone like me pursue martial studies on my own?”

“What are you afraid of?” Senior Brother Arang asked.

I hesitated for a moment before replying, “Not being able to live up to expectations.”

I’d experienced it in my first life. My family’s hopes and my ambitions had all ended in disaster. Failure was something I had grown used to, just as I had grown used to being overlooked. But I wasn’t used to disappointing someone’s expectations.

“I wonder if I’ll become a stain on Master’s reputation. That’s what scares me the most.”

The thought paralyzed me. If it were someone else, I would not care as much. But this was Bai Luguang. I didn’t want to fail the master I admired above all others.

What did my master think of me? How much did he expect from Luan Badniker? Did he compare me to my seniors?

At the deepest core of human nature, there had always been a lowly, inferior thought lurking within.

Unexpectedly, Senior Brother Arang spoke up. “My real name is RAN-4700 Type-A.”

“What? Ah, right. FAD mentioned it.”

Whether my reaction was awkward or not, Senior Brother Arang continued, “I was a fourth-generation android, originally designed as a military weapon.”

“Why are you suddenly telling me this?”

“My first master was a soldier. He retired after losing one of his arms on the battlefield.”

Was this a story from Senior Brother Arang’s past? It was the first time I had heard it.

Cautiously, I asked, “Were you a slave?”

I omitted the phrase “Like Master.”

“It was a similar status. However, my master didn’t treat me as a slave. After his retirement, he continued honing his martial arts against me to prepare for a return to the battlefield.”

Senior Brother Arang’s voice softened. Though still inorganic, I sensed nostalgia in his words.

“He didn’t want easy victories. He pushed me to improve, feeding me vast amounts of combat data in a short time. New patterns emerged from analyzing our fights, yet I never won. Even one-armed, he was a true martial artist.

“Then one day, I combined two moves I suddenly remembered and attacked with a new technique. My master couldn’t respond and was defeated. He was overjoyed. He looked at me and said—”

I couldn’t help but ask, “What?”

“You are a martial artist,” he said simply.

I was rendered speechless.

“That was the moment I was truly born,” he added thoughtfully.

Not all of Senior Brother Arang’s words made sense. His world seemed very different from mine, but it was still a world where people lived.

Emotions were meant to be accepted, not necessarily understood. I embraced his words as an emotion.

“Look, Luan. I don’t have a heart. There are no muscles, no blood. Without a dantian, I can’t accumulate internal energy. Without muscles, physical training is useless. Does this mean I can’t pursue martial arts? Is it unforgivable to even talk about learning martial arts?”

I had no answer to that.

“I have been thinking about this from the moment I was born. For a long time, I didn’t have an answer. A machine pursuing martial arts. There was no answer to this in any of the databases.”

Then I felt Senior Brother Arang smile on the other side of the screen. “That was when I met Master. He told me, ‘If that’s the case, why not create a martial art that isn’t bound by any of that?'”

“Pfft—”

Senior Brother Arang wasn’t one for impressions, but I could vividly imagine Master saying exactly that.

“I have no objections to the Grand Masters’ qualifications,” he said thoughtfully. “But everyone has the right to pursue their martial arts. Even a single tree knows how to firmly plant its roots to withstand the wind and rain. In my view, trees embody the martial education of resilience.”

“Martial education of resilience…” I repeated, intrigued.

“For me, martial arts isn’t about grand achievements,” he explained. “It’s about not losing the spirit of pursuing strength. After all, strength is relative. Fighting is full of variables.”

He turned to me. “Luan, what is your martial education?”

Maybe my answer would define me as a martial artist, but I didn’t feel the weight of that expectation. Senior Brother Arang was right. Martial arts didn’t have to be grand.

“My martial education is about moving forward, even if it’s just a little bit each day,” I said thoughtfully.

It didn’t need to be obvious or measured by physical strength, deeper internal energy, or mastery of subtle techniques.

The growth of my mind, following an epiphany, was a significant step for me. So, today, I felt like I had taken another step forward.

“Thank you, Fourth Senior Brother,” I said with gratitude.

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