Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
At this point, Bai Xiulian continued to practice swordsmanship in the evening.
Both of them diligently researched and invented new sword techniques based on their existing knowledge, starting with the most fundamental sword stances that were lethal in nature. With the assistance of Mr. Miyamoto, they organized the techniques and documented the sword forms, which could be divided into two types, meaning wielding a sword with both hands.
Miyamoto Narukami pondered deeply throughout the night and only woke up on the second evening. Upon seeing Freyr enter, he remarked, "Perhaps this is a revelation for me. You have comprehended the Essence of Sword Intent from the Miyamoto Clan Head's Ancestral teachings. This sword technique is called Second-Class, my Ancestral Sword Saint Miyamoto Musashi's renowned Sword Intent. You are fated to our clan; from now on, come to my abode every night, and I will impart to you the essence of my swordsmanship throughout my life."
Freyr hurriedly bowed in respect. The two practiced late into the night, as if they had become obsessed. Swordsmanship became as essential as textbook knowledge; a day without practice left them feeling uneasy. There was no end to swordsmanship. Miyamoto Narukami took him to his bedroom to review the Miyamoto Clan's Sword Manual Rare Edition. He opened a tattered page where the section on sword techniques was missing, having remained that way for a thousand years, yellowed like other well-bound pages. It was now passed down to this generation of clan descendants.
Miyamoto Narukami had no wife and longed for a woman to notice him. After thirty years of solitude, he remained a bachelor. At school, his aim as a swordsmanship teacher was to pass on his knowledge, hoping that among his students would emerge a diligent learner. He maintained strict standards for his students, which frightened away many of them; however, he finally welcomed one promising student.
This child grasped the ancestral Second-Class technique and executed it flawlessly in sync with its accompanying mantra. His movements flowed like water, effortlessly dispatching prey as if reaching into his pocket. With his innate talent combined with speed in swordsmanship, it seemed that the legacy of his ancestor Miyamoto Musashi would once again shine through.
There was so much to learn that he often delved into research late into the night, getting less than six hours of sleep. Yet each day he returned to training as if nothing had happened. Even during sleep, he found no peace; memories from the past frequently haunted him. Eventually, he learned to numb his nerves through rigorous training, allowing his brain to shut down during sleep so that even nightmares could no longer disturb him.
Time passed swiftly, and soon he celebrated his eighteenth birthday. He returned to the school playground as usual; at that moment, Long Xingchen had already arrived earlier than him and was warming up on the plastic track. Freya arrived shortly after along with their group of carefree teammates.
"Today we won’t be training; the School Cup Tournament is about to begin," Long Xingchen called everyone together and explained seriously the current issues facing their team. "This year’s Ice Dust Team might get eliminated early because we are too weak. The team lacks standout players and has a tense atmosphere among members; some still don’t understand the rules. I will explain them once; I hope everyone listens carefully."
Eight star teams from Mad Bluefoot comprised over one hundred Gene-Enhanced Humans selected from freshmen to seniors who remained in school—forming eight teams that sparked endless rivalries since the university's inception. These conflicts would never cease unless it was during an apocalyptic event when such meaningless struggles would finally come to an end.
Seniors faced graduation issues and thus did not participate in special training throughout the year; overall strength still lay with juniors who had trained consistently for three years without interruption or gaps—unless health issues affected their performance in competitions. For seniors or juniors, this was their last summer.
All competitions were divided into two zones: Elements and Tyrants. Each team needed eleven qualified participants for battle; only the first and second place teams from each zone could advance to semifinals and finals—two matches in total—while third and fourth places were supplementary matches held after the championship contest concluded.
On each field, individuals fought fiercely to protect a ball while breaking through defensive lines; anyone could be among those wreaking havoc on the court—often the fastest runners known as star players. In comparison, almost every team had at least one versatile star player.
The Ice Dust Team members blinked as they stared at the instructions on the whiteboard, eagerly absorbing the unexpected knowledge. This was the competition's rules and practice, and most of their training had focused on physical conditioning. Many of the team members were freshmen who had not passed the physical tests, which was why Long Xingchen had been assigned as the temporary leader of the Ice Dust Team. Fortunately, their training had transformed them, and now they were all in excellent physical condition.
"The rules of the competition are as follows. We need to divide into teams of eleven, with two substitutes. I will be the quarterback, which means I will guide your tactics on the field. The other two groups will be divided into offense and defense, along with one tight end."
The crowd began to stir. After hearing the rules, many felt as if their brains were on fire, their brain cells dying in droves as they struggled to adapt to such professional terminology. However, there wasn't much time left for them to think. Soon enough, when everyone turned to look, they saw a pile of plastic protective gear laid out on the ground.
Long Xingchen picked up the plastic protective gear from the ground and quickly donned it. A minute later, the oversized fabric made him appear incredibly strong. The elegant young man now looked much more imposing. Long Xingchen put on his gloves and deliberately rolled up his sleeves to reveal a watch. "You have one minute and thirty seconds; that's all the time you have. Put on your armor; this is your great Cosmic Bug War armor that will lead you to the battlefield and grant you invincible glory."
His teammates felt good about this and scrambled to grab the plastic protective gear from the ground. Freyr squeezed in at the back of the crowd, forcing his way through by pushing people aside to grab his share of the gear.
No one believed he could actually do it; those he pushed fell to the ground, clutching their targets in unbearable pain—something even they couldn't tolerate. It was easy to imagine how much force Freyr had used in his actions.
Usually quiet, no one wanted to pay him any attention, especially since his good-natured demeanor was often mistaken for weakness. Gradually, this became fodder for casual insults among the team. But Freyr was aware of this perception and intended to establish a new image within the group.
"Forty seconds left; any delay will result in punishment," Long Xingchen murmured as he glanced at his watch.
Despite Adams being embarrassed in front of everyone, many did not regard him as a leader within the team. They frantically grabbed what should have been freely offered—the plastic protective gear—yet under strict rules, everyone reluctantly complied. They feared punishment from the regulations; even if it meant facing Adams' retaliatory shout, they wouldn't stop what they were doing.
Freyr found that wearing the protective gear felt stiff against his body; after a while, even resting it on his shoulders would become uncomfortable. It didn't feel like clothing at all; unlike what Long Xingchen referred to as battle armor, it truly seemed like essential protective gear that could prevent injuries during critical moments. Aside from its hard plastic exterior, other parts felt smooth and did not cling to his skin when he sweated.
Once fully equipped, he felt surprisingly light—lighter than regular clothing.
Freyr took a few light steps forward but soon stopped again to adjust several pieces of hard gear into comfortable positions.
Soon, a sharp reprimand from Long Xingchen echoed through the air. He scanned the group around him and patted a few shoulders before continuing, "Those I just patted on the shoulder have done well, but the rest of you have failed to complete the tasks assigned to you. You have one and a half minutes, but since you couldn't finish, you will face a punishment: ten kilometers."
Ten kilometers!? This was far more pressure than Freyr's punishment. They had to run laps around the field in these shell-like outfits, which seemed like a thankless task. Some of the Targets struggled to exert their strength, while the fabric restricted their movements, hindering the fluidity of their arm swings.
Another group shook their heads in discontent, turning away and reluctantly starting to run. At that moment, Freyr suddenly shivered and looked up to see Adams glaring at him with a stern expression, raising his fist and gesturing directly at him.
Just seeing that made Freyr sense that some things he wanted to avoid were now unavoidable. However, he felt no fear because he was making progress himself.
His physical fitness and skills were impressive; he excelled in swordsmanship and combat. If it weren't for his current lack of strength, he could even hold his ground against equal numbers for a while. But once his followers arrived, any authority he tried to establish would quickly crumble. No one would want to help him in such circumstances; human nature is inherently selfish.
Even if he faced a group beating, he had no intention of becoming an easy target for everyone. After struggling alone for so many years, he didn't want to return only to be bullied by these juniors. When it mattered most, he would not hesitate to break a few bones if it meant establishing his authority through force.
After a moment of hesitation, a cold voice came from behind him: "Everyone else take this ball and adapt to it as quickly as possible!"
Some people received the order and walked over to another area of the field, each holding a plastic ball. A new round of training focused on the ball began!
However, completing this adjustment phase in such a short time proved to be quite troublesome.
If someone could observe what these individuals were thinking, they would be surprised to find that each harbored their own thoughts. A few huddled together while others formed small groups; creating a positive team atmosphere was undoubtedly an impossible task.
Comment 0 Comment Count