WeTried Translations

Translator: Dawn

Editor: Dawn

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Genius Knight of a Fallen Race

Chapter 18

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Metal and People Grow Stronger When They Are Hammered, Melted, and Hardened.

When Shan first lifted the rock, he was simply impressed, thinking, 

So this is what training is like!

From experience, he already knew that the body grew stronger the more it was used. Though he didn’t really understand how lifting a rock related to fighting skills. But for some reason, Sir Darkal gave no order to put it down, even after a long time had passed since Shan raised the rock above his head. He simply stared at Shan, more precisely, at his scar-covered body clad only in underwear, with a harsh gaze.

“Do I keep going...?”

“It’s not the time to lower it if you’ve got the strength to speak! Keep going!”

Gritting his teeth against the pain that felt like his arms would tear apart, Shan did not put the rock down. Every muscle in his body writhed and cooperated, shifting the strain away from overloaded parts and redistributing the force elsewhere.

I can’t do this anymore… should I drop it?

If he stayed like this, he might lose the ability to move freely like before. He might even lose the use of his arms entirely. Tempted, Shan hesitated for a moment. But then clenched his teeth.

Roden had said this man was a good teacher. So even if he didn’t understand, this must be necessary to become a great knight. Repeating that to himself, he felt his exhausted body squeeze out strength once more. Whether a blessing or a curse, enduring unreasonable pain was one of the things Shan did best.

A considerable time had passed. Sweat poured like rain, stinging his eyes. As he shut them tightly, at last the strength left his arms. At that exact moment, Darkal swiftly caught the falling rock above Shan’s head and tossed it aside.

“Good. Not a bad first step.”

This was just the first step…?

Because he had literally squeezed every ounce of strength out of his entire body, Shan didn’t even have the energy to respond. After a while, Sir Darkal, apparently thinking he had rested enough, kicked Shan on the floor.

“Get up! That’s enough rest!”

His body screamed that it wasn’t enough at all, but Shan staggered to his feet and stood before him. Wearing only his underwear, his body was a mess, covered in sweat with dirt smeared all over.

“Stay right there! Spread your legs more… yeah, about that much! Now squat until your knees bend at a right angle! A right angle! I said a right angle! Don’t you know what a right angle is—!”

“I… don’t…”

“Damn it! Am I supposed to be a math teacher now, too?!”

While shouting like a madman, Sir Darkal gestured to explain what a right angle meant. As Shan followed the instructions, he realized that this posture was meant to put strain on different muscles than before. Lifting the rock had worked his upper body; this stance was now targeting his lower body.

Realizing this, Shan closed his eyes, sensing the changes in his body, and slightly adjusted his posture. He spread his legs a bit wider, leaned his waist slightly back, and supported himself with strength in his hips. As the strain on his knee joints decreased, greater pain surged through his thighs and calves.

Instead of shouting at him to return to the original posture, Sir Darkal watched with interest. Once again, it ended only when Shan was completely exhausted and could no longer maintain the stance. Watching Shan collapse with trembling legs, Sir Darkal glanced up at the sky to measure time, then kicked him again to make him stand.

“You’ve rested enough! Next, place both hands here and lie down!”

After what felt like an eternity of performing all kinds of movements, Shan finally reached a state where he couldn’t even move a finger. A bitter taste rose from his mouth, and his vision blurred so badly he could barely distinguish objects. As he lay writhing like an insect, Sir Darkal looked down at him, then ordered Roden, who had been watching from the side for quite some time.

“Roden!”

“Yes, Master!”

“Take care of him!”

The moment the command was given, Roden immediately lifted the limp Shan. He didn’t care at all that sweat and dirt stained his clothes.

“You did well. Let’s get you some rest.”

Truly, not even during the time he had been persecuted as an Alto had he ever felt this much pain. It felt as though his entire body had been pushed past its limits; his muscles practically melted. Everything had been worked so precisely that it felt like not a single muscle in his body was functioning properly. And the intensity had been so excessive that he was certain that, rather than improving, his physical abilities would actually regress after recovery if this continued.

Roden, you were wrong. That crazy old man isn’t a proper teacher.

He wanted to say that, but he didn’t even have the strength to move his lips, and only a groan escaped his mouth. Hearing it, Roden spoke with an impressed expression,

“Yeah, it’s tough, right? I was the same. On my first day, I cried and tried to run away, saying I couldn’t do it, and got beaten… But you held out to the end.”

Was I supposed to give up midway?

While feeling confused, the two arrived at the bathhouse. But for some reason, instead of the usual warm bath, there was a small tub filled with foul-smelling black liquid, just big enough for one person.

“Get in there. You’ll feel better.”

Saying that, Roden carefully adjusted Shan’s position so that his whole body was submerged while keeping his head above the surface. With his eyes closed, Shan soon felt a remarkable change throughout his body.

Ah…

From this mysterious liquid, something unknown rapidly began healing his body. The muscles that had been damaged from overload, even starting to melt, regained their form, and the joints worn down from friction were restored. Even his bones, which hadn’t broken but had been damaged from constant pressure, felt as though they were becoming thicker and stronger.

“What… is this…?”

“A training chemical. You saw it at the alchemy shop, right?”

I guess I do remember.

When he had asked what kind of effect it had, he had been told it wasn’t something he needed to concern himself with yet. He hadn’t paid much attention back then, but he didn’t expect it would be for this purpose.

After some time, Shan realized his body was no longer recovering further and staggered out of the tub. The black liquid from before had somehow faded into a grayish color.

“Haa…”

“How do you feel?”

“I thought I was going to die. Seriously.”

Because he knew his own body better than anyone, Shan was certain. If he repeated that kind of training without the help of the chemical, he would either end up unable to walk properly before becoming a knight or die.

“This is how it’s done in Pendia.”

“What about other countries?”

“They rely on priests’ healing miracles. It’s hard to obtain the ingredients for this kind of bath chemicals...”

He heard that the water ghoul teeth they had hunted when they first entered Pendia were one of those ingredients. The reason they used this instead of priests was that Sir Darkal believed it produced better training results than healing miracles.

“So do we go back to training now?”

Even though his muscles had recovered, the pain of overworking them still remained. Seeing his limbs trembling from nervous system overload, Roden shook his head.

“That’s it for today. Drink this and get some rest.”

Roden handed Shan a cup of yellow liquid, and he swallowed it like a baby bird being fed. It had a thick texture and a somewhat unpleasant sweet taste.

“Something to keep you from pissing blood after training.”

Roden explained before Shan could ask, as if he had anticipated it. After a day had passed in excruciating pain, Shan felt that his body had clearly improved. His muscles had become denser. His damaged joints were restored with cartilage and moved smoothly again. His skeleton had strengthened, allowing him to exert and endure greater force.

Contrary to expectations, on the second day, he did not train completely stripped, as on the first. According to Sir Darkal, it seemed the body needed time to recover enough for the growth to stabilize.

“Today is combat theory. Pick up a sword.”

In the inner garden, training longswords had been prepared, their edges dulled, and tips rounded. Sir Darkal and Shan each took one and sparred in slow movements. Strictly speaking, it was less sparring and more instruction—demonstrating specific movements and explaining their principles and applications. If it had been a real fight, Shan would have vented yesterday’s frustration by smashing the old man’s bald head at least once. 

During the process, Sir Darkal broke down the techniques Shan had been using purely on instinct into theory. He explained the advantages and disadvantages of lowering the sword into a defensive stance, and why one should receive it closer to the hilt rather than the blade when blocking an opponent’s attack. He also learned how to respond not just to the immediate situation but also to read two or three moves ahead, like in chess.

It was the distilled essence of martial arts refined over hundreds and thousands of years of human combat. The beast, which once knew only to move faster and strike vital points, had now gained new weapons: mind games and predictions based on theory. The next day was not combat theory but general education. Sir Darkal taught the basic knowledge a knight should have—starting with reading and writing, as well as history, etiquette, and religious instruction.

“Have you studied the teachings of the Goddess?”

“Yes,” Shan nodded at Sir Darkal’s question.

One of the few who had treated him well was Priest Ador, so he had a fair amount of religious knowledge compared to other general knowledge. After a few exchanges, Sir Darkal looked at him oddly.

“Wait, are you a follower of the Old Faith? Even the way you pray and the doctrines are...”

“Huh? I guess so.”

Libert was a representative nation of Old Faith, so it was natural that Priest Ador taught materials related to that. Hearing his answer, Sir Darkal frowned in disbelief.

“You believe in a religion that teaches you you’re the child of a demon? You’re a strange one. Well, I follow the Old Faith too.”

“Then you shouldn’t be teaching me, right?”

“Even if I follow the old teachings, I have no ill will toward you Alto folks. I even had an Alto friend once. I just can’t abandon my family, so I keep the faith.”

Sir Darkal’s house, the Cordo family, held a barony in western Pendia. Being culturally close to Libert, most nobles in the west were followers of the Old Faith, and most of his relatives were as well.

“Then if I become a knight later and say I learned from you, people will get mad, right?”

“Maybe! Well, you can’t have everything in life, after all. To gain something, you must give something up!”

After that, Sir Darkal went on at length about the country's religious situation. In Pendia, both commoners and nobles were divided between the Old Faith and the New Faith. If one had to categorize, nobles had a higher proportion of Old Faith followers, while commoners had a higher proportion of New Faith followers. However, dividing it by east and west was much simpler.

“At least it’s fortunate that the royal family promotes a policy of blending the teachings of both. His Majesty, the current king, leans toward the New Faith for now. Otherwise, an Alto becoming a knight would be unthinkable.”

“Is that so?”

“Then how do you think a mage princess came to be?”

Before long, the topic shifted to the current King of Pendia, Gizelle the Third, and the character of his children. Sir Darkal discussed various matters, including the first prince's overdevotion to traditional Old Faith teachings and the second prince's dissoluteness due to his Ruman origins. 

He also talked about how the Old Faith believers followed the pope over the king, and that New Faith believers had shallow faith. As expected, an old man’s political talk was terribly boring to the young, so Shan nodded along while letting his mind wander. After rambling for quite some time, Sir Darkal called over a passing servant to bring Roden.

“You called for me, Master?”

“You teach this one theory in my place.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a follower of the New Faith.”

“But Master, I’ve been pretty busy lately…”

“Isn’t it ridiculous to instill Old Faith beliefs into an Alto? Most of the people who will treat him as human will be New Faith believers anyway. Your family, too.”

Since returning home, Roden had been busy preparing to inherit the Weavers Firm. With Kalion entering old age, Roden would have to take over and continue supporting Shan if anything happened to him. Having already lost several years to knight training in his youth, he still had much to learn.

“Enough! Just do it!”

At the old man’s stubborn shout, Roden sighed and nodded. After Sir Darkal left, entrusting Shan to Roden, the lessons continued as an extension of what they had studied during their travels. Roden taught, then Shan failed to understand. Then, he would teach again. Compared to constantly moving around before, sitting down and learning properly now seemed to help him learn better. Of course, it was still boring for Shan.

Smack!

Roden struck Shan’s head with a stick as he nodded off.

“Ah.”

“Don’t doze off. Did you hear what I just said?”

“Sorry, I’m too sleepy.”

“Given how much you used your body, I understand you’re tired. But! You still have to learn. Now, read this.”

After a day of mind-numbingly tedious general education, the next phase was once again hellish training. The second round of training didn’t focus on squeezing the muscles to the point of melting like before, but on expanding the range of motion and building cardiopulmonary function and endurance.

“Run! Run! Faster! Don’t slack off!”

At Sir Darkal’s shouting, Shan ran around the Weavers mansion again and again until it felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. When he could no longer run, he had to crawl on his hands and knees. 

Sir Darkal’s principle was that training must continue until every ounce of strength is completely drained. After exhausting the body and bathing in the recovery chemical, the next day returned to combat theory. This time, he learned all kinds of underhanded fighting techniques.

“In a fight, use every method available. To hell with chivalry! No one listens to the pride of a dead man! Make your excuses after you win!”

What followed were tricks like reflecting sunlight off a polished blade to blind the opponent, kicking up dirt to throw in their face, or spitting to provoke them. With no moral reservations about such things, Shan absorbed those teachings without hesitation.

Then he learned cursive writing, lifted even larger rocks, practiced using various weapons against others, learned how to behave when meeting a lady, ran while wearing his custom chainmail armor, studied the behavior patterns of various monsters, and learned how to deal with them. This cycle continued endlessly, like a squirrel running on a wheel.

Days of exhausting his body, learning the skills necessary for a knight, and taxing his mind with difficult knowledge repeated over and over. As time passed, his body grew larger and stronger, and his mind filled with knowledge, but his face became haggard. The stronger his body became, the harsher the training grew to match it, so the fatigue and pain never lessened.

He had to endure pain as if his entire body were being torn apart once every three days. After such agonizing training, the only things that allowed him to endure were the material comfort he could enjoy afterward and the sense of achievement from becoming better. At some point, Shan began to ask himself why he was going through such hardship.

Do I really want to become a knight? Why? For what purpose? 

There were many Alto people here in Hasra living ordinary lives. He could just make a living off of being a mercenary if he wanted. But whenever he asked himself, the answer came. He wanted to become stronger so that others couldn’t treat him carelessly or threaten his existence. To achieve that, he had to accumulate wealth and honor so that he would be respected and praised.

Various faces passed through his mind—the people of Willow Village who had persecuted him, the people of Leaf Village who had feared him, and Roden, who had been the first to invite him and speak of a better future. He also remembered the members of the Alto troupe had treated him like family, despite the short time they spent together, and even the people of Ovilos City who admired him as a great hunter.

Disdain and fear, goodwill and admiration—all these emotions were the result of him gaining greater strength and achieving more. A prodigy received better treatment than an ordinary Alto child, so he figured that a powerful knight would be treated even better. Whenever he felt like giving up because it was too hard, Shan recalled this and took another step forward.

Time kept flowing—the heat passed, the leaves fell, and the first snow arrived. In the snow-covered inner yard of the Weavers' mansion, Shan stood still, staring at the scarecrow before him. In his hands was a training longsword, deliberately made thicker and several times heavier.

This training was to take dozens of minutes to swing it just once and make it reach the scarecrow. His arms, which had grown long and thick over the past half year of harsh training, trembled as they supported the heavy mass of metal. One minute passed, then five, and then ten. Moving as slowly as a crawling snail, the sword finally reached the thick scarecrow. 

The blunt longsword, which should have merely pressed into the straw, instead sliced through it and the wooden pole as if it were sharpened. Staring blankly at the sight, Shan suddenly burst into laughter. All the painful days of the past flashed through his mind in an instant.

“Haha…”

He had only lightly brushed it with a dull blade, yet the scarecrow was cut just as he had desperately wished. It was the result of imposing his will onto reality itself. Shan realized that he had finally come to wield the power of knights—the Spirit.