A total of 20 cadets.
The Dean had crammed 17 students in addition to the three existing applicants.
“Wow.”
Lee Seah swiped rapidly through the tablet.
“Their track records are quite colorful, aren’t they? There’s a kid who has been disciplined dozens of times, and another who got suspended for swinging a sword at a professor, trusting in his background. Would you like me to read the roster?”
“No.”
Having stepped into the safe house, Kang Hyeon buried himself in his usual sofa.
Pop.
Then, he casually uncorked a bottle of whiskey.
Lee Seah looked at him, utterly appalled.
At this rate, doesn’t he have alcohol flowing through his veins instead of blood?
“You’re not going to look? They’re still the cadets you’ll be teaching, so shouldn’t you at least know their names or backgrounds…”
“What use is knowing that?”
“Pardon?”
“Whether they beat up professors or run their mouths trusting their backgrounds is none of my business.”
He continued while sipping his whiskey.
“The only thing that matters is what kind of eyes they have when they stand before me.”
Twenty years in Murim.
There was a truth he had realized while cutting down countless geniuses and heaven-sent talents.
Even a bastard born into the greatest family under heaven, raised on all sorts of elixirs and secret manuals, was nothing more than a well-fed pig if they wet themselves and ran away in the face of death.
In contrast, even a beggar rolling in the streets was a true martial talent and vessel if they bared their teeth and charged like a beast to survive.
He had no intention of saving all of them, even if the Dean had asked.
“When is the class?”
“Next Saturday. That week is the first week of the semester.”
As a late hire contract professor, Kang Hyeon could not attend the 20th-anniversary entrance ceremony or orientation.
He found that a bit regrettable personally.
There was no better place to gauge the students’ talents.
Yet, it wasn’t a matter to rush.
Seven vessels capable of maintaining the formation until the very end against that horrific Asura.
Such genuine talents wouldn’t be distinguished merely by clapping politely below the podium at an entrance ceremony.
‘A true masterpiece sword does not reveal its worth when sheathed, but only after it directly cleaves through flesh and bone, bathing in blood.’
He only hoped they existed among those twenty.
Even just one.
* * *
Kang Hyeon once again pushed away Lee Seah, who insisted on cleaning the room.
After she left.
“Ugh.”
He slammed the whiskey glass onto the table, his brow furrowing in agony.
Numbing the pain with alcohol had its limits.
‘You’re eagerly looking for a chance to crawl up, aren’t you.’
Kang Hyeon sat cross-legged on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Soon, his breathing slowed minutely, and the surrounding air began to cool and sink.
The Extreme Yang Mental Art (極陽心法).
The exclusive martial art of the Sword Maniac (劍狂) old man, who dedicated his entire life to a single sword.
As he circulated the mental art, the demonic aura of Asura, which had been writhing up his blood vessels like a snake, was forcefully slammed back down to the very bottom of his energy core.
Of course, this was only a temporary measure.
‘I need to purge it as soon as possible.’
He was pouring eighty percent of his internal energy just to suppress this demonic aura.
He couldn’t afford to take in new energy and enhance his internal strength even if he wanted to.
‘I need to get stronger.’
Last time, he barely won after a neck-and-neck battle with the Demon God.
Thanks to that, all the old men died, and the majority of Murim was blown away.
‘I won’t let that happen this time.’
He intended to prepare more thoroughly and win overwhelmingly.
So that the people of this world would think it was merely a passing typhoon.
Swish.
Kang Hyeon closed his eyes.
* * *
Saturday, 9:50 AM.
The training ground located in the Academy’s old wing.
A few students had gathered to attend Kang Hyeon’s class, which started at 10 o’clock.
“Ha, fuck.”
It was then that a rough curse erupted from someone’s mouth.
The owner of the voice was 18th term, Kwak Dojin.
Normally, he should have long left the Academy, surpassing the graduating 3rd-year class (19th term).
His nickname was the Mad Dog.
He had been disciplined dozens of times and held back a year.
“What a pain in the ass on a Saturday morning.”
Smack!
He irritably kicked a nearby training dummy.
Despite his blatant tantrum, no one stepped forward to stop him.
Because the Academy divided seniors and juniors by term numbers.
‘I would have just ignored it if it weren’t the Dean’s order.’
Kwak Dojin ground his teeth.
No matter how blind the Mad Dog was, he couldn’t defy the order of Dean Seo Ilhyeon, one of only seven S-rank Hunters in the country.
“Hey, you two over there. You’re freshmen, right? Come here.”
Suppressed anger naturally seeks an easy target.
As Kwak Dojin’s vicious gaze pierced two freshmen shrinking in the corner of the training ground.
Dash!
The two tightly disciplined freshmen sprang forward to stand before Kwak Dojin.
“T-Twenty-first term! Han Taeho!”
“Twenty-first term! Reporting, sir!”
“Yeah, yeah. You cute little bastards.”
Kwak Dojin ungracefully shifted his weight onto one leg and tapped their shoulders.
“You’re the ones, aren’t you? Two of the three idiots who voluntarily applied for this retarded class.”
“Th-That’s correct!”
“Why?”
“Sir?”
“This class. I asked why you applied.”
The dopey-looking Han Taeho answered first.
“I-I saw the description saying we could get stronger, so I applied!”
“Bullshit.”
Kwak Dojin snorted.
‘Get stronger, my ass.’
Rumors had already spread even among the freshmen that he was a parachute contract professor.
“You really are a clueless, stupid bastard.”
Clicking his tongue in disdain, Kwak Dojin looked at the other freshman this time.
“And you?”
“M-Me, sir?”
“Yeah, you.”
“…I accidentally clicked the wrong button during course registration.”
“Crazy.”
He let out a scoff of sheer disbelief.
“This one’s even more stupid. What a spectacle, truly.”
Then, he raised his voice, glancing around.
“A perfect trinity. Problem kids on the verge of expulsion, idiots who walked in on their own two feet, and a nobody parachute teaching them.”
Spit!
Kwak Dojin spat on the ground.
“What a waste of time because of some bastard named Kang Hyeon or whatever…”
“You cross the line.”
It was then that someone walked out from a corner of the training ground.
“What are you?”
“20th term, Yoon Hyeonjong.”
“I asked what you are, you bastard.”
Kwak Dojin straightened his stance and strode right up to Yoon Hyeonjong.
The height difference was a full head.
“I am the third voluntary applicant.”
“Ah, you’re that kid? The one who almost died from Qi Deviation.”
“That is correct.”
“So?”
Kwak Dojin’s lips twisted.
“Are you saying you’re pissed because I’m cursing out your savior?”
“…I think it is rash to judge without experiencing it first.”
“What?”
A scoff escaped Kwak Dojin’s lips.
Haha, hoho.
‘The world has become quite nice.’
A guy two terms below him, not just one, was talking back.
“Look at this bastard. Do I look like an easy mark just because I was held back a year?”
Kwak Dojin stepped right up to Yoon Hyeonjong’s face.
“Should I teach you proper hierarchy before the professor arrives?”
“I think you need to learn hierarchy first, Senior.”
“Has this bastard truly lost his mind?”
Enraged to the breaking point, Kwak Dojin roughly grabbed Yoon Hyeonjong by the collar and was just about to raise his fist.
“Senior Kwak.”
A low, annoyed voice drifted over from afar.
“…!”
At that single phrase, Kwak Dojin’s shoulders stiffened.
A man was slowly walking over from the corner of the training ground.
19th term, Cha Yusik!
The de facto apex predator of this Academy!
Skill aside, no student dared to touch him.
Even the professors found him difficult to deal with.
Because he possessed a terrifying background.
The second son of Cha Harang, an S-rank Hunter and the Guild Master of the Heavenly Wolf (天狼).
“Let’s drop it for the first day.”
“Ah, should we, Junior Cha?”
Kwak Dojin quietly let go of the collar.
Even Kwak Dojin, called the Mad Dog, had no choice but to tuck his tail between his legs in front of a true madman.
‘No matter how crazy I am, I don’t swing swords at professors.’
In truth, Cha Yusik looked down on the professors.
No, he couldn’t help but look down on them.
The Academy faculty were mostly retired A-rank Hunters at best.
How would they look in the eyes of Cha Yusik, the second son of the Heavenly Wolf, one of South Korea’s top three guilds?
‘Old men who don’t even measure up to the toes of our guild’s raid captains.’
He had learned his swordsmanship directly from monsters rolling in actual combat since childhood.
The professors’ predictable theory classes or greenhouse-flower-like training only made him yawn.
Even so, there was only one reason he stepped foot into this bothersome training ground on a Saturday morning.
“Hah.”
Cha Yusik let out a short sigh and swept his bangs up.
‘Dean Seo Ilhyeon.’
It was because that old man had personally contacted his father.
“There is no need to get so heated, Senior Kwak.”
Cha Yusik wore his signature arrogant smile.
“This class will likely end today anyway.”
“What does that mean?”
“Is there a need to take a worthless class for a whole semester? I will finish it cleanly today.”
“Oh, no way. You’re going to humiliate him on the first day?”
“Humiliate?”
He grinned.
“I am merely verifying if he is qualified to teach us.”
Tap, tap.
Cha Yusik tapped his scabbard.
A professor who couldn’t even handle a single student?
Even the Dean wouldn’t have the justification to protect such an incompetent professor.
“K-Keh! Right! That’s right! If he isn’t qualified, he should pack his bags!”
Seeing Kwak Dojin rejoice, Yoon Hyeonjong clenched his fists tightly.
‘This is dangerous.’
Rumor had it that Cha Yusik wouldn’t be pushed back even if he sparred with full-time Academy professors.
He knew Professor Kang Hyeon’s medical knowledge was incredible, but there was no guarantee his actual combat prowess was just as strong.
The other cadets gathered in the training ground harbored different thoughts.
‘Cha Yusik is stepping up? Good. This was a pain anyway.’
‘If this class blows up today, I can sleep in next week.’
Some rejoiced.
‘Still, wasn’t he recommended by the Dean? There must be a reason.’
‘He said he’d teach us how to get stronger. He’ll probably show us something.’
Some harbored expectations.
Time continued to pass.
Dong!
Just as the bell signaling exactly 10 o’clock rang out.
Crunch, crunch.
Along with the sound of footsteps dragging through the sand, a man entered the training ground.
“…”
Instantly, the cadets’ expressions crumpled.
“Yawn.”
The professor, walking over while letting out a wide yawn, had messy hair as if he had just woken up, and the top two buttons of his shirt were unfastened.
The absolute spectacle, above all else, was the whiskey bottle held in his hand.
A pungent, harsh smell of alcohol wafted over on the wind.
‘…Alcohol?’
‘Chugging whiskey straight from the bottle in the morning? A professor?’
‘What the hell is…’
Even Yoon Hyeonjong, who had been inwardly defending Kang Hyeon, dropped his jaw.
No, Professor!
What are you doing!
This would be grounds for discipline even for a full-time professor!
The few cadets who had held expectations quickly showed signs of deep disappointment.
But Kang Hyeon paid no attention to the cadets’ stares.
Slowly walking to the center of the training ground, he stopped and faced the cadets.
He hadn’t brought an attendance book in the first place.
He simply stood with his weight shifted to one leg and brought the whiskey bottle to his lips.
Gulp, gulp.
In a strange silence where even the breathing of the twenty people seemed to stop.
“Hah.”
Exhaling hot breath mixed with alcoholic vapor, Kang Hyeon slowly lowered the whiskey bottle.
“There isn’t a single ounce of grit in those eyes.”
Disappointment twisting his lips, Kang Hyeon sneered.
“Even livestock dragged to a slaughterhouse would have more life in their eyes than this.”
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