Chapter 187

"That was truly an unexpected and bewildering sight..."

Just moments ago, they had been calmly discussing the evacuation manual and were overwhelmed with admiration after meeting Sir Raq, one of the kingdom's most renowned knights. But now—

Boom!

"!!?"

"Y-you’re not blocking it!?"

"Is... is that the sound of a punch hitting someone’s face?"

The chaos quickly settled.

It was forced, really.

Because anyone who saw a scene like that would move from confusion to another kind of astonishment, with sheer horror etched across their face.

Boom!

Unrelenting blows.

Relentless strikes to the face, ignoring all defense.

Someone might think they were just randomly swinging, but—

"…There’s no way that sound could come from 'random' punches like that…"

It sounded like a hammer striking armor.

The sound made one’s spine shiver, and with each resounding thud, bodies flinched involuntarily.

…One thing was certain: if anyone else were to take punches like that to the face, their nasal bones would collapse, and their jaws would shatter.

The ferocity of the punches was palpable, and each strike made their bodies flinch involuntarily…

Clang.

“Five minutes have passed.”

With the ringing of a bell, it ended.

Young Lord Roen, who had been unnoticed until now, rang the bell, and the two knights froze in their stances, fists poised to strike one another.

Drip.

Spit…

Blood flowed from their faces.

Blood trickled from their noses and mouths, painting their bruised faces red and visibly painful.

What shocked the cadets even more was how relatively intact the two knights appeared despite the brutal exchange.

They had assumed cheekbones would collapse at the very least, but it seemed to end with only minor bruises.

And yet—

“Whew, now my blood’s finally circulating.”

“You arrogant brute, don’t hold back!”

“If I hadn’t held back, your head would be rolling by now.”

“You bastard…!”

—What were they even saying?

The cadets doubted their ears.

What had they just heard?

Holding back…?

That?

…A serious question arose among them, one they couldn't suppress:

Are these instructors even human?

And if they were human,

What the hell are they? Terrifying…

*****

"His punches really are viciously sharp."

Drip…

Even now, Ihan could clearly sense that the guy had grown stronger since yesterday.

Their first encounter had already shown that he was no slouch—his punches back then had been sharp enough to take note of.

But now, it was different.

It wasn’t just sharpness; there was weight behind them.

As a result—

"Some of the impact remains," Ihan admitted.

Despite his unique recovery abilities, which had quickly mended the bruises, he marveled at how the lingering shock hadn’t entirely dissipated.

Of course, part of the difficulty in recovering fully stemmed from Ihan’s conscious effort not to use [Iron Body].

But this was precisely the process Ihan needed right now.

And that was why—

“Are you mocking me, scoundrel? Not even using that strange technique of yours—!”

“It’s mutual, isn’t it? You’re holding back your killing intent too.”

“…”

‘This guy’s no different,’ Ihan thought with a smirk.

Lecturing him while holding back himself? Ridiculous.

“Just like I’m suppressing [Iron Body] and my strength, you’re holding back your aura and techniques, aren’t you?”

“…Hmph.”

Ihan knew.

This guy was a terrifyingly skilled technician.

He had at least hundreds of defensive and deflective techniques at his disposal, all mastered to the level of a grandmaster.

If he put his mind to it, no matter how hard Ihan struck, he could likely deflect it all with ease.

In martial arts terms, he was the epitome of "soft overcoming hard."

The reason why a man with such a frail-looking build could endure so many magical blows in battles against sorcerers and still rise was probably due to those incredible skills of his.

‘What an absurdly talented guy.’

Adding to that, his innate aura of slaughter made him a genius among geniuses, standing on a completely different level.

So Ihan understood that this guy had also been holding back in the first round.

But that wasn’t out of consideration for Ihan or a sense of fair play.

He, too, had his own struggles—

“You can’t fully control your power either, can you?”

“…”

“I thought so. You’re not the type to show up just because I called you, but here you are.”

“…This so-called ‘blessing’ is far more troublesome than I anticipated.”

Raq had no choice but to admit it.

Even though Ihan had figured him out, Raq wasn’t the type to stubbornly deny it. Clicking his tongue with a slightly gruff expression, he spat his response.

“What a personality…”

Swish.

With those words, Ihan and Raq ended their brief exchange and resumed their stances.

Conversations were fine, but—

Clang!

Another minute had passed.

It was time to fight again.

The two knights swung their fists once more.

If one had to describe Ihan’s current state—

‘A runaway train with no brakes?’

Yes, Ihan felt his condition was just like that.

‘It’s not even just a runaway train at this point…’

People often mistook him as someone who fought recklessly in battles, but Ihan was someone who meticulously combined control and technique to dominate his opponents.

Because his strength far surpassed others, he had to learn how to control it.

The effort he had put into mastering that control was immense.

From his assassin days to his time as a mercenary, strength control had always been a vital part of his training.

Yet now, all of that effort felt meaningless.

‘The fairies gave me a troublesome gift.’

Although he had anticipated changes after his rebirth, he hadn’t expected it to this degree.

Whoosh!

‘Damn it, even my senses are a mess.’

The problem wasn’t just his strength—it was his unstable perception, like a dog suddenly going through puberty and baring its teeth unpredictably.

It was, quite literally—

‘…enough to bring tears to my eyes.’

Ihan chuckled bitterly.

Still, there was a reason he couldn’t completely resent this situation.

Bang!

“You countered my technique?”

“It wasn’t me. My body did it on its own.”

“…You’re spouting nonsense. Have you finally lost your mind?”

“Every time I see you, I think, what an insufferable mouth you have.”

“You bastard!”

"This new [feature] may not be entirely welcome, but it’s not all bad."

Raq had apparently intended to employ the "soft overcoming hard" method, but Ihan’s strikes disrupted the flow with pinpoint precision.

This wasn’t something Ihan could originally achieve.

It was a technique reserved for geniuses.

Yet Ihan’s body and senses, enhanced by his rebirth, now demonstrated an ability to dismantle the opponent's skills as if it were second nature.

With such a finely tuned body, using his brain seemed almost unnecessary.

However, Ihan didn’t welcome this gift at all.

“What use is a gun I can’t control?”

This was no different from a malfunctioning weapon—powerful, yes, but unpredictable and prone to accidents.

“Basically, I’ve been reset.”

Against weaker opponents, he might dominate, but against those of similar or superior skill, it could prove a fatal flaw.

His inability to regulate his physical strength and the disjointed nature of his senses left him in a state akin to someone relearning basic skills like using chopsticks or riding a bike from scratch.

The silver lining?

“If I’ve forgotten, I just need to relearn.”

Skills like riding a bike or handling chopsticks were things the body never truly forgot once mastered. The key was adapting to his newly changed body and senses, regaining full control through effort and practice.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Given a month or two of focused effort, he was confident he could regain his form.

...The only problem was that he didn’t have the luxury of even two months.

“Who knows when another fanatic or crazed mage might show up.”

For that reason, Ihan needed to recalibrate his physical abilities and senses in a short period. To achieve this, sparring was essential—not just any sparring.

He required opponents of similar strength, ones who would push him to his limits.

And so—

Boom!

“Your strikes have gotten weaker. Don’t you realize half-hearted control is worse than no control at all?”

“And what about you? Can’t even deflect a ‘weak’ blow without bleeding from your nose?”

“This time, I’ll kill you.”

“Go ahead. Try.”

Crunch!

Thud!

—The more realistic the sparring, the more Ihan felt his body adjusting.

Additionally, his fierce competitiveness—his refusal to lose to "that guy"—fueled his efforts to forcibly synchronize his body and senses.

It’s said that experience is more valuable than hundreds of pieces of advice.

The intense sparring, indistinguishable from a real fight, was rapidly helping Ihan overcome months of potential discord between his body and senses.

At some point, the fight escalated beyond mere punches.

Both Ihan and Raq began using kicks, knees, elbows, and even grappling techniques like joint locks.

Crash!

Boom!

They constantly shifted between offensive and defensive positions, their surroundings turning into a wasteland with each exchange of techniques.

Rumble!

Whenever Ihan landed a blow, the ground trembled, kicking up thick clouds of dust.

Swoosh!

Raq’s strikes unleashed sharp gusts of wind, carving clear marks into rocks and trees.

The battle was so intense that it wouldn’t have been surprising if one of them died. As they neared a decisive moment—

Ding!

“…Five minutes are up.”

“━━.”

“And this makes over ten rounds. Just how long do you intend to keep this up?”

The bell rang once more.

As the thick dust settled, the scene became clear: Ihan in a mounted position, hammer-like fists poised above Raq’s face, and Raq’s blade-like hand aimed directly at Ihan’s neck.

If Ihan’s hammer-like fists had struck Raq’s face, his brain would’ve turned to mush. Conversely, if Raq’s knife-like hand had reached Ihan’s neck, his carotid artery would’ve been severed.

In the end—

“Stop this at once. At this rate, one of you will die.”

“Not from something like this.”

“That’s probably true.”

“…But normal people would die from this.”

“?”

“?”

“…Please, for the love of all things, stop calling yourselves human in public.”

The returner couldn’t help but doubt once again whether they truly belonged to the same species.