Chapter 703: Instructor Bureau (7)

Before entering the martial world, Qing had already spent a little over two years in her homeland’s army, reborn as a killing specialist after finishing its brutal training.

Amazingly enough, in Qing’s homeland, once men reached adulthood and entered the army, they were given the chance—through training that was astonishingly systematic, scientific, and even fun—to learn terrifying, refined killing techniques.

But more than that!

The greatest lesson you learned in her homeland’s army wasn’t mere killing technique.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to gain truly important teachings, great lessons for life itself.

Like how a closed society and rigid hierarchy can cause human beings to degenerate.

How pitifully small humans become when an organization is short on budget.

How goal-setting that values results over process leads to absurd farces and massive inefficiencies.

How people who lead with nothing but “authority” usually have absolutely nothing else to recommend them.

And so on, and so forth.

The biggest problem, however, was the mysterious phenomenon where all those precious lessons learned in the body and all those terrifying killing techniques ended up being completely forgotten within a month of leaving the army.

Which meant, in the end, that it was all a waste of time, wasn’t it?

Well, not that it matters now.

Anyway.

In Qing’s homeland’s army, once a year they held the harshest and most dangerous training of all.

A course meant to push human physical limits and bring you to the heights of self-mortification: field training—“Ranger Training.”

This infamous training was so brutal and dangerous that tens of millions died every year; only one out of every thousand survived and returned. (Probably.)

And Qing, having survived this training twice in the past, later came to a new realization about it.

She’d thought it was just a “we picked a day to absolutely wreck you” kind of training, but—mm, that wasn’t it after all.

To her surprise, even sects counted among the finest reputations had days where they picked a date specifically to wreck their disciples.

For the disciples’ safety.

When a person takes an impact from outside, if that impact is spread evenly through the entire body, you can avoid major injury.

But people have nerves and perception, so in the moment they sense danger, they tense and harden the point of impact.

Then the force doesn’t get distributed; it concentrates on a single point, leading to bad injuries like torn muscles and broken bones.

But—if you wreck the entire body evenly beforehand?

Then, even if you instinctively tense up and squeeze the muscles at the moment of impact, the dull, throbbing ache of widespread muscle soreness forces the tension to loosen.

And then?

The kind of hit that would have broken something is reduced to a bruise, and what would have been a bruise is downgraded to muscle soreness.

In other words, they wrecked you for safety’s sake.

So of course Qing, and all three assistant instructors from great houses, had undergone training while being viciously, ruthlessly “wrecked” by their masters and senior uncles.

Because that was the tradition of the great houses.

And tradition is something passed from the past into the future. In other words?

I’m not suffering this alone.

Of course, that wasn’t the real reason.

They were about to move the curriculum into spars now.

If everyone were already skilled in swordsmanship, fine—but with attacks and defenses this clumsy, there were inevitably going to be hitters and hittees.

And the one who got hit, naturally, would feel pissed. That resentment would build up, put extra force into their sword-qi, and might boil over into emotional, dangerous attacks.

So to prevent accidents, they needed to knead every muscle in every body thoroughly to mush.

All of it, for the cadets.

Though it hurt her heart, she had no choice but to wreck them with the loving heart of a parent—so they’d turn out well.

Qing and the assistant instructors looked at each other, evil smiles bright with savage anticipation.

And to answer that anticipation, Qing raised her voice.

“This afternoon, before we begin sparring class, we will lightly loosen up our bodies!”

Some of the cadets’ faces went gray.

Before sparring, they would “loosen up.”

The ones who already understood what that meant were those from mid-sized sects or those lucky enough to have good masters and systematic training.

Oh, right. There was that. We’re screwed, they thought.

But that was only some.

The fact that most of them still didn’t grasp the seriousness of it showed what backgrounds they came from—and what a huge opportunity the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy was giving them.

“The life of a martial artist lies in the lower body. Quick Sword, Heavy Sword, Gentle Sword—and beyond that, every subtlety of parries, changes, feints, thrusts, cuts, and so on—all begin right there at the soles of your feet!”

This was something known by everyone from third-rate martial artists to unmatched grandmasters.

But though they knew it, very few actually trained it properly.

Lower-body training takes a long time and it’s hard.

In Qing’s homeland, there isn’t a single person who doesn’t know that alcohol is a poison with not a single positive effect, purely harmful to the body, and that sugar and salt are also harmful.

But they still drank well and ate freely.

Knowing something and acting on it are two very different things.

“Look at Assistant Moyong over here. Of all the martial artists this instructor has seen, she has the finest lower body. Isn’t it amazing?”

Moyong Juhee lifted her chin.

She only trembled like a meek rabbit in front of Qing; originally, she was a heroine who had half the Phoenix Society’s female martial artists under her thumb.

“As a friend rather than an instructor, I can say I want to shout it to all the realms under heaven—her lower body is astonishing. Don’t you agree, Assistant Namgung?”

“That much is true. I cannot forgive the sin of wielding a saber, but when it comes to her lower-body training, even I must admit it.”

“Assistant Moyong, what is the great secret by which you trained that magnificent lower body?”

“There is no great secret in lower-body training, Instructor. Horse Stance. Only Horse Stance.”

Moyong Juhee replied.

Qing nodded up and down.

“You all heard her! Then, Assistant Moyong, I’ll entrust Central Plains’ Number One Legs to you.”

“We will all train together with me. Assume Horse Stance!”

Moyong Juhee dropped into Horse Stance with a CHAK, demonstrating the most ideal posture.

Horse Stance—literally, “rider’s posture”—was just that: the shape of sitting on a horse.

To be precise, you bent your knees until your thighs were parallel with the ground, raised both arms until they too were parallel with the ground, and held that position.

Once you got used to it, you hung weights from your wrists to add load, and later shouldered packs or other burdens.

It was to the point people said that a martial artist who hadn’t trained Horse Stance wasn’t a martial artist at all. Everyone knew the posture, even without explanation.

So everyone bent their knees.

And then?

Why wasn’t it ending?

After only half a gak (seven minutes and thirty seconds), cadets started popping up with knees trembling and thighs drifting up or sinking down.

“Don’t raise your thighs! Look at Assistant Moyong! I thought she was a stone statue! Thighs in a straight line with the earth! Assistants, help supervise the training!”

At that, Namgung Sinjae and Changbin leapt in as if they’d been waiting for the cue.

“Don’t raise your thighs! Lower them, like this, like this!”

“Why are your legs shaking already? You mustn’t let your knees jut forward!”

The two of them looked suspiciously happy.

Of course, Changbin very naturally just walked right past the female cadets as if he couldn’t see them at all.

“Cadet, your butt is coming up.”

Sword Jade Girl subtly joined the assistants and started tending to cadets as well.

She probably hated Horse Stance herself—but mm, Sword Jade Girl was so slim her legs looked like they’d snap if you kicked them too hard; she really ought to be holding Horse Stance too.

Still, she was a talent destined to be an assistant later, and Qing couldn’t very well point her out and chip away at her authority already.

And so one gak passed.

Unlike the fragile, utterly soft modern civilians of Qing’s homeland, martial artists of this age were, after all, primitive people who used their bodies instead of their brains.

The third-rate cadets did show signs of strain, but still gritted through it without whining.

But what about two gak?

“Enough! Stand!”

After merely two gak, the Drill Yard was scorched earth.

Aigo, at this rate how were they supposed to learn sword techniques?

In comparison, Sword Jade Girl not moving a single inch was genuinely impressive. She wasn’t even using inner power; she was just clinging on with pure lower-body strength.

No wonder she was something special.

“Those I call, step forward! Cadet Chae Seong-ha, Cadet Mandarlo, Cadet Woo Surim, Cadet Kang Hwangja......”

Names streamed from Qing’s mouth.

They were the excellent Horse Stance practitioners who had kept their posture firm for the full gak.

Maybe that was why they stepped forward with just a hint of pride.

“Second rule of Sword Hall! Until this instructor gives permission, you do not use inner power! Line up!”

The cadets all went ashen in an instant.

If they could rely on inner power to endure, what kind of training was that?

It only counted as training if you ripped the muscle fibers purely with physical strength.

“I’ll hit lightly, so don’t tense up.”

WHAP, WHAP, WHAP, WHAP. Qing swung the recorder as she went down the line.

And she really had hit lightly, so this level of cheating didn’t quite rise to the level of a crime.

Naturally the reactions were modest too.

Not the kind of launching, flying, rolling responses she got when she hit for real—just constant sharp hissing breaths through clenched teeth, SSSSS, or—

“Cadet, where are you going?”

When Qing addressed one cadet who had started to walk in a wide, fast circle, her gentle tone drew quiet laughter through the hall.

But only for a moment.

“All right, let’s continue loosening up.”

Shock, resignation, and despair filled the cadets’ faces.

They were only now understanding what it meant to “loosen up.”

“Next, Lying Tiger!”

Lying Tiger—literally, “reclining tiger.”

Another famous training method.

You put your hands on the ground, lie face down, and support your body on your toes. Your torso must stay straight as a board without sagging, and your elbows must be bent at right angles.

In Qing’s homeland, it was the “down” position of wide push-ups: from there, once you got used to it, you lifted your palms and balanced on your fingers, later adding weight onto your back.

“Tsk, tuck your hips in, please.”

“Come on, get up! You can do it!”

There was no creature in this world more infuriating than an instructor.

Of course they were having an easy time—since they weren’t doing it themselves.

And so another gak.

“Next is Peacock Posture. First, watch the demonstration from our experienced assistant.”

Namgung Sinjae lay down on his back, spread his arms, then lifted his tightly joined legs straight and held them tilted at an angle.

On “one,” he swung them to the left; “two,” back to center; “three,” to the right; “four,” back to center.

Anyone from Qing’s homeland, upon seeing it, would have shuddered.

Ranger Training, Eighth Move—Full-Body Twist.

The most hellish conditioning drill under the heavens, making its debut in the Central Plains!

Honestly, she didn’t remember the rest very well.

There was this one, and the drill where you lay down, then sprang up from the prone position; there might have been one where you rotated while running; maybe, maybe not—something like that.

Whether it looked easy because it was done lying down, or because their arms and legs were already overworked and hurting—

They might have been expected to hesitate when told to lie down, but everyone simply dropped their backs to the ground without a word.

But really, now.

Just how long would these “primitives” be able to endure in front of this most fiendish of drills, containing the distilled essence of modern exercise science?

“One. Two. Three. Four.”

Qing chanted the count from the platform.

At first, they more or less kept up, but then—

“Gkhh.” “Aaagh......” “Nnnngh.”

They hadn’t even reached twenty before groans began to burst out.

They were already drained from Horse Stance and Lying Tiger; what kind of atrocity was it to bring in Ranger Training’s Eighth Move on top of that?

Seen from the platform, it was quite a sight.

Some sixty trainees lying on their backs, knees awkwardly bent and barely raised, flopping left and right as they wobbled, their mouths constantly groaning.

Ah. So this is what it feels like.

They say life is tragedy up close, but comedy from a distance.

This was... well. How to put it. Kinda fun......

Ha-ha. Humans really are trash, huh?

Still, she’d gone easy on them.

She hadn’t done the “last count is silent” thing or anything like that. Personally, she thought collective punishment was a bit much.

“Stop!”

“Ahhh......” “Hoooo......” “Haaah.”

Deep sighs of relief rose here and there.

They lay there, still flat on their backs, chests heaving up and down, gasping for breath.

Qing let them stay like that a moment to catch it.

Because once you rest a bit, it gets harder.

“All right, that’s one round. We’ll continue loosening up. Back to the start—Horse Stance!”

They had only completed one round. Meaning, it wasn’t over.

Despair settled deep into the cadets’ eyes.