Chapter 8: Let It Flow

In my past life, I didn’t roam the campus much.

There simply wasn’t time.

Even though I took fewer classes than other cadets, I was always holed up in the training room.

Having so little inner energy drastically limited my range of activities.

At a school that expelled mere first-class warriors without hesitation, I had to build my inner energy to reach the peak level, no matter what.

In my case, my inner energy was so pitiful it was a wonder I even got into Seondo.

I barely met the minimum credit requirements, spending all day cultivating energy.

So, I didn’t wander the campus or mingle with other cadets.

And with Cheon Yuha, who packed her schedule to the brim, I had even fewer chances to cross paths.

Still, we shared mandatory classes like Basic Combat Theory, and I’d occasionally run into her in the halls.

“Hey.”

“Greetings.”

Back then, our exchanges were curt, just acquaintances who knew each other’s faces.

No humor, no romance—just people who happened to know each other.

But to some lunatic, it didn’t seem that way.

“Hey, friend. Did you meditate well today? If not, how dare a weakling like you speak to the young cult leader? Apologize for your insolence.”

“…?”

I was already stressed from my inner energy not growing, so what was this nonsense?

We weren’t even close—why was he picking a fight?

It wasn’t outright insults, so I let it slide.

“How dare you casually speak to our noble young cult leader!”

But every time I crossed paths with Cheon Yuha, he’d spout such garbage, and I couldn’t help but notice.

This crazy monk, a disciple of the righteous Shaolin, had a thing for the Heavenly Demon Cult’s heir, Cheon Yuha.

‘Lunatic.’

I later heard he confessed to her, got rejected, threw a tantrum, and got physically shut down.

Back then, I was too weak to say anything, so Cheon Yuha took revenge for me.

Of course, I wasn’t saintly enough to pass up a chance for payback when it came.

“Alright, I’ll crush him.”

The bald monk, Iljin, returned to his spot with a sullen expression after submitting our pairing to the teacher.

He seemed uneasy, as things weren’t going as he’d planned.

While I pondered how to deal with him, a commotion erupted nearby.

“Just shoot at my head!”

“What?! How am I supposed to shoot?”

“I’ll dodge it well!”

“If you die, what am I supposed to do?!”

“It’s fine! Even if an arrow hits, people don’t die easily! Come on, shoot!”

“You crazy woman!”

Cheon Yuha was picking a fight with her sparring partner, an elf archer, demanding she shoot at her head.

Now that I think about it, those two were pretty close in my past life too.

It felt like some things were destined to happen.

“Hmm, they’re having fun.”

I smiled warmly at Cheon Yuha and the elf bickering over the bow, then turned away.

Hoping they’d get along better this time, I shifted my gaze—

“…Huh?”

I felt a gaze.

Not just someone looking at me—a piercing sensation, like my soul was being seen through.

A familiar feeling from long ago. I turned my head.

“…Master?”

Unbeknownst to anyone, a woman leaning on the second-floor railing tilted her head.

“Huh, we made eye contact.”

“Eternity Frost.”

The Death Knight placed a hand on Iljin’s shiny head.

A dark blue aura, born from the Nightmare of Frost, swept from his head to his body and vanished.

Feeling a sudden drain, Iljin clenched his fist and furrowed his brow.

‘…I just wanted to teach him a lesson, but what’s this hassle?’

His surging energy was cut down in an instant. His body felt heavy, his strength lacked, and his inner energy wouldn’t flow properly.

It was like being back at first-class level.

He’d been reduced to the same level as the guy grinning in front of him.

‘Damn bastard.’

Cursing the sly opponent, Iljin sighed and rubbed his face.

…Fine, his opponent was just a first-class nobody fawning over the young cult leader.

Meanwhile, he was a peak-level martial artist in a mature realm.

Even without using fists or palms, just kicks would be enough to dominate.

The conditions might be equal, but their realms were different. This was an excuse to toy with him.

‘I’ll crush him completely.’

Regaining his composure, Iljin spoke with a benevolent smile.

“I’m Iljin, third-generation Shaolin disciple. I’ve trained in Diamond Fist and Diamond Palm, but since Choi here has injured arms, we’ll spar using only kicks.”

The other cadets, expecting to see the prowess of Shaolin’s prodigy, tilted their heads or nodded.

Even in the 21st century, Shaolin was renowned.

It was a pity not to see his main techniques, but they figured they’d catch a glimpse through his kicks.

Iljin shrugged at the attention.

‘So, what do you have? A mere first-class warrior! Ranked 298th in the year!’

A world apart from him, a peak-level Shaolin martial artist ranked 27th.

Iljin looked at the first-class warrior with a triumphant expression.

Choi Kang-jun glanced somewhere and muttered quietly.

“Choi Kang-jun. I’ve trained in Taiji Martial Arts.”

“Taiji Martial Arts?”

Not even Taiji Fist, but some obscure technique.

And such a brief introduction.

Of course, with shallow learning, he’d have little to say.

Wearing a kind smile but sneering inwardly, Iljin took his stance.

Choi Kang-jun followed suit, and the Death Knight quickly spoke.

“Three, two, one, start.”

The spar began.

Boom!

Iljin immediately circulated his core technique and stomped the ground.

A massive wave of energy rippled through the stone-slab arena.

The illustrious Dharma Muscle-Changing Classic.

Shaolin’s supreme heart technique, created by Bodhidharma, far beyond a first-class warrior’s reach.

Its miraculous energy slightly purified the curse on his body.

Feeling lighter, Iljin planned how to punish this insolent nobody.

‘…I’ll show you how different our worlds are!’

Crack! Iljin pulled his left leg back, leaning forward as if to charge.

What came next was a showcase of Shaolin’s top prodigy obliterating a civilian.

Even with only first-class inner energy, his body, imbued with the strength and resilience of diamond, wouldn’t falter.

—Supreme Kick.

Bang! Iljin crushed the stone slab and shot forward at terrifying speed.

It was practically flying.

Zero to a hundred in an instant, without a running start.

His astonishing speed erased the ten-meter distance in a flash.

Right in front! Close enough to hit with a kick!

‘This ends it!’

Iljin raised his left leg, which he’d pulled back, aiming to kick Choi Kang-jun’s torso.

The gale in his foot! The sonic boom of the storm! It would sweep this first-class nobody away!

“Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Supreme Arts! Be honored to be struck by the Supreme Kick!”

Shouting, Iljin thrust his foot forward, mocking Choi Kang-jun for not moving, as if he couldn’t keep up.

Yes, this is the level of a first-class—

‘…What?!’

He was stunned.

Meeting Choi Kang-jun’s eyes directly, Iljin felt a chill run through him.

The guy wasn’t failing to keep up.

Clear Mirror, Still Water.

Like a clear mirror and calm water, he gazed at Iljin without a hint of wavering.

Even as a ferocious high-speed kick closed in!

‘Hey! If you don’t move, you’ll get kicked at the speed of light! Why are you just watching?! What’s your plan—!’

Iljin’s eyes widened.

For a moment, it seemed like Choi Kang-jun’s form moved abruptly.

Like a flash of light.

—Zhen (Thunder) of the Eight Trigrams.

“Flash Thunder.”

Crackle! Blue lightning surged. Choi Kang-jun vanished like a mirage.

‘…Damn!’

Iljin realized too late.

This guy wasn’t just a first-class warrior.

This lunatic knew Position-Shifting Technique.

‘…If this goes on, I’ll expose my back!’

That would mean certain defeat.

With that thought, Iljin gritted his teeth and forcibly twisted his body midsair.

Crack—Crack!

Even his sturdy body strained under the immense speed and force, but he managed to turn in the air.

‘…This guy!’

Choi Kang-jun, cloaked in blue energy, came into view.

Iljin glared with bloodshot eyes.

The guy looked slightly surprised, then smirked, shaking his cast-bound hands.

And he raised his foot.

Iljin felt a chilling sensation and hardened his face.

At that moment, the miraculous energy of the Dharma Muscle-Changing Classic calmed his rigid mind.

He realized again.

‘I was foolish, Amitabha, Guanyin Bodhisattva.’

Iljin discarded all thoughts of civilian slaughter or showcasing his prodigy skills. He erased them from his mind.

‘How could I be so foolish?’

From now on, he’d fight purely as a martial artist, giving his all.

The Shaolin warrior monk drove his airborne left leg, with all its immense power, into the ground.

Boom!

A second stomp.

—Double Stack, Supreme Kick.

A running start at the same time.

BOOM!

Iljin shot forward like a missile.

With cold eyes and a clear mind, he tried to perceive every flow of energy.

He’d cast aside all distractions and prepared to kick with all his might.

“Get crushed!!!”

Choi Kang-jun, watching, thought:

‘This lunatic’s trying to kill me!’

From the golem yesterday to this bald monk today, everyone seemed to throw lethal strikes.

If he hadn’t restricted Iljin’s inner energy, it would’ve been bad.

‘…Is he already into Cheon Yuha? Man, his jealousy is intense.’

He’d planned various ways to crush this jerk to make a name for himself.

‘But that’s all gone to hell…’

Choi Kang-jun exhaled deeply, glancing at the second-floor railing.

Though her presence was hidden, that gaze was definitely his master’s.

Even if it was a future yet to come, as her former disciple, he had to show his best.

‘To prove your disciple learned well.’

So, the martial artist raised his foot.

—Kan (Water) of the Eight Trigrams.

He drew the Taiji.

Of course, he couldn’t use Great Shift of Heaven and Earth.

It wasn’t an easy technique to begin with, and despite his painstaking efforts, it was impossible with just feet and no arms.

If he’d had that skill, he wouldn’t have died in his past life—he’d have scraped by.

But he could let it flow like water.

CRASH!

The mad monk’s kick, shining like Maitreya’s golden statue, flew toward him.

Throwing a lethal strike in a mere spar—how audacious.

Thinking so, the martial artist remained unshaken, like calm water, and did his job.

‘This is how to win.’

With the teachings he’d once learned.

More precisely, with the ‘will’ to dominate and control the world.

He moved like flowing water.

—Taiji Martial Arts, First Wave.

He met the golden, diamond-like foot with his own.

Their eyes locked.

The once-weakest martial artist faced the ferocious gaze and strike—

—Flowing Water.

And let it flow like water.

Iljin’s body tilted and collapsed.

He wore a dumbstruck expression, unaware of what happened.

Against his will, his foot’s direction changed, throwing his body off balance and nearly making him fall.

Choi Kang-jun didn’t miss the chance.

—Zhen (Thunder) of the Eight Trigrams.

Crackle! A weaker blue lightning sparked in his left foot.

‘Three times is the limit, huh.’

Clicking his tongue at the faint regret, Choi Kang-jun moved like lightning, kicking the glowing bald head at just the right spot.

With his own force and momentum, Iljin flew forward.

CRASH! Rumble!

With a tremendous roar, Iljin rolled dozens of times across the arena.

The head that once gleamed under the gym’s lights was now covered in dirt, no longer shining.

“….”

“….”

Silence.

The shocking scene left the cadets speechless.

What just happened?

All eyes turned to the martial artist who’d caused this upset.

But Choi Kang-jun only glanced up and smiled quietly.

…Along with someone else.