The Indomitable Martial King - Chapter 76

[ Chapter 76 ]

Strassand was a crucial military and commercial hub located at the crossroads of the western highway of the Graim Kingdom and the northern trade routes of the Setellad mountain range. True to its reputation as the northern gateway of the Graim Kingdom, the streets were lined with inns and taverns. In the backyard of one such inn, four men and women were deeply engrossed in a sparring session.

“Your left side is open, Russ!” a youth, towering a full head taller than an average adult, shouted sharply as he swung his right hand down. A faint golden aura enveloped his blade as it surged towards the shoulder of Russ, a young man wielding a sword. Grimacing, Russ twisted his body to dodge the attack before thrusting back.

“It’s the heart, hyung!” A long sword, radiating a blue hue, struck precisely into the chest of the burly youth, Repenhardt. Swinging his left hand to deflect the blade, Repenhardt exclaimed, “A fine counterattack! But your aura is wavering! Your power shouldn’t diminish even when you’re attacking!”

“Yes, hyung!” Repenhardt, while critiquing, continued to engage Russ in the sparring. He felt a bit guilty for neglecting him for the past three days, and he himself felt the need to get his body back in shape. Russ, too, was earnestly feeling out Repenhardt’s movements and the flow of his aura.

Meanwhile, at a corner of the yard far from these two, two girls were fiercely dueling with wooden swords and an axe. They were Siris and Tilla.

“The head!” With a short shout, Siris swung her wooden sword. It was a makeshift weapon given by Repenhardt until he could buy her a splendid sword, ever since hers was taken at Kelberen Castle.

Though it was just a wooden sword, Repenhardt did not hesitate to go to great lengths to create it. He broke a whole mature tree that had been growing well for hundreds of years and carved the trunk into the shape of a scimitar, infusing it with aura. The idea of felling an entire tree just to make one wooden sword? Sillan was astounded by such folly, his mouth agape, while Russ gave a thumbs up, admiring the martial spirit and generosity. This cold-looking youth, who had apparently been scolded a lot, now saw everything Repenhardt did as magnificent, as long as he was being nice.

As Siris shouted, her wooden sword aimed for Tilla’s head flew through the air. Tilla, with a spirited shout, stomped the ground.

“Taah!”

As soon as she dodged the wooden sword aimed at her head by jumping back, Tilla propelled herself forward again. The speed of her movement, retreating then returning to her spot so quickly, was so fast it almost seemed like she had never moved at all. Then, Tilla swung her battle axe, shouting,

“Shoulder! Waist!”

Tilla, though small for a human, wielded the giant battle axe, which would usually require both hands, with ease. Well, in truth, Tilla was considered a mature lady by dwarf standards, but she looked merely a girl to anyone else. With this decidedly unbalanced appearance, Tilla pressured Siris’s shoulder and waist simultaneously.

Even if it were not a wooden sword, it would be nearly impossible to counter such consecutive heavy blows. Siris danced around in zigzags to avoid the attacks. Each of her evasive moves was also a preparation for a counterattack, leaving Tilla no chance to land a follow-up hit. After creating some distance, Tilla said with a smile,

“Wow, in technique, I’m nowhere near Siris’s match.”

Siris responded with a bright smile,

“But the difference in the destructive power of a single blow is too vast; I can’t find an opening to exploit. I heard about the bloodline of the Dwarf warriors in my childhood, and it’s truly remarkable.”

The last remaining warrior of the Steelhammer clan, Tilla de Steelhammer. Her skills were surprisingly exceptional. Despite her appearance, her attacks, powered by her incredible brute strength, were unavoidable, and dodging them left very little room for counterattack. Even Siris, known for her delicate swordsmanship, found it difficult to face her.

After catching their breath, the two clashed again. They were in the spacious backyard of an inn, having rented an entire outbuilding, so they were free from the gaze of others and could fully immerse themselves in the sparring session. Since the sparring session involved indicating attack positions in advance, there was little risk of injury, and in case of any mistakes, there was a top-grade medicine bottle right beside them. It allowed them to enjoy the sparring without any pressure.

Of course, that top-grade medicine bottle was sitting in a corner, sulking.

“Martial artists must enjoy never being bored…”

Without an opponent, and also being a cleric, Sillan was yawning out of boredom. Watching the fight was fun at first, but after tens of minutes, it became tedious. Noticing Repenhardt’s glances, Sillan quietly stood up.

“Maybe I should train too…”

Repenhardt immediately caught on and yelled.

“I told you to rest!”

It wasn’t that Sillan had been just lazing around. He had already completed a basic muscle training schedule, including doing push-ups twenty times in five sets, and standing up from a sitting position one hundred times, as scheduled by Repenhardt. Sillan was in quite a sore state, with muscles aching all over his body. Pushing his body further would only make him sick.

But for Sillan, who used to push his body to the brink of illness whenever possible, it felt insufficient.

“No, I can just heal myself with healing magic…”

“Did I not say? No healing magic allowed.”

After escaping from Viscount Kelberen’s castle, Repenhardt began to take a more serious look at Sillan’s condition. The most important part of this new regimen was the prohibition of using healing magic after training. He was frank about the mechanism of holy spells, but the problem was that Sillan was skeptical of his words. Well, it was understandable. Sillan was a high-ranking cleric himself, and it was doubtful that Repenhardt, a mere fighter, would know about holy spells that even Sillan was unaware of.

“Um…”

Seeing Sillan still looking unconvinced, Repenhardt asked him seriously.

“Sillan.”

“What?”

“Whose body is better, mine or yours?”

“Yours, Mr. Repen.”

“Then, who do you think knows how to build a better body? You or me?”

“You, Mr. Repen.”

“Then try to trust me a bit. If it hasn’t worked for 5 years, it’s about time you realized something’s wrong, right?”

“Yes…”

Sillan might not believe in the details about holy spells, but when it came to building a body, Repenhardt was indeed an expert. Sillan humbly decided to acknowledge this fact and sat down again. Repenhardt gave a wry smile and turned his attention back to Russ.

Just then, a middle-aged man entered the courtyard unexpectedly. Everyone looked puzzled, and after the man glanced around, he asked a question.

“Excuse me. I heard that a person named Repenhardt is here?”