Chapter 79 : How to Defeat a Genius

The brat lasted no time at all. After a few strikes he crumpled, unconscious.

Turns out he was softer than I expected.

I hadn’t even hit him as hard as my old captain used to hit me at that age—barely half, really. Yet the kid folded right over.

With a sigh, I pressed a few points on his body, letting my inner energy patch up the worst of it, then dumped him outside the squires’ barracks.

Someone would find him and drag him in. Or, if not, he’d wake before his lips froze stiff on the cold ground.

Half of me just wanted him out of my clearing anyway.

The next day, he didn’t show.

I was pleased.

Celebrating the empty field all to myself, I spun around like a lunatic, swinging my sword in wild arcs, practically dancing with it.

Later, when I tried doing pull-ups with one arm from the branch where Shushruta napped, the branch snapped. We both crashed to the ground, and I caught a few swats to the back for my trouble.

Afterward I picked out a sturdier tree and carried on training.

Inner energy cultivation was vital, but so was physical conditioning.

Normally, fighting off maniacs who wanted the dagger had covered my external training. But with no pursuers around, I had to make do with punishing trees instead—swinging my sword like a madman, pushups, sit-ups hanging from branches, pounding trunks with fists and kicks.

Two days passed this way.

On the third, he came back.

I blinked in surprise.

He’d taken a beating hard enough to black out, yet here he was again.

I studied his eyes carefully.

Maybe this one was crazy too.

The boy glared at me, fire in his gaze, and charged with his wooden sword.

“Raaaagh!”

I raised a brow at his reckless rush, then lightly flicked his wrist with my foot.

The sword flew from his hands, but he didn’t quit—he swung fists and feet wildly instead.

Ah. A berserker type.

There’s a saying: the madman’s cure is a good beating.

“This’ll be your medicine.”

[You could use some yourself.]

“Not on me. Doesn’t work.”

So I prescribed him a full dose.

Thrashed him thoroughly until, at last, he slumped over unconscious again.

“Stubborn kid. Fights until he drops.”

I tapped points across his body, channeling inner energy to ease the damage, then called up to Shushruta.

“Oi. Drop him by the barracks.”

“Ugh, what a chore…”

“Move.”

“…Fine.”

She grumbled, dragging him off by the legs.

I nodded in satisfaction.

“Good. He won’t be back.”

Next day, he came back.

“…Maybe I hit too lightly.”

I flexed my hand, beckoning him.

“Come on then. No time to waste.”

“Raaagh!”

He charged again.

Only—this time he was faster.

Not just a little faster. A sharp, sudden increase.

But his body couldn’t handle it—his form broke down, balance wavering, like a boar charging headlong without control.

That made him easier to deal with.

I slipped past his swing and tapped him lightly in the chest.

Thump!

“Ghhk!”

He collapsed, clutching his stomach.

I looked down at him.

“You. Did you just use mana?”

He glared up at me, eyes bloodshot.

“…Mana? That power… that’s mana?”

Answering a question with a question—cheeky brat.

“Watch your mouth, boy.”

I was about to thrash him again when he suddenly pointed at the tree stump.

“You cut that tree, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did?”

His gaze turned serious.

“You can use aura?”

I didn’t bother with words.

Instead, I drew my broken sword, flooding it with scarlet aura until it formed a full blade once more.

Vmm—

The sword gave a short cry.

The boy gaped, staring wide-eyed at the crimson edge, then looked up at me.

“…Who are you?”

I shrugged.

“None of your business. Cool though, isn’t it?”

“…It’s cool.”

“I know. What’s your name?”

“Hugo.”

Then Hugo straightened, face set with determination, and said firmly,

“Teach me how to use mana.”

“No.”

I beat him again and tossed him back at the barracks.

But this time, before the day even ended, he was waiting for me in the clearing after dinner.

“Well, aren’t you healthy. Sprouting like a weed. What kind of recovery speed is that? Maybe I shouldn’t have fixed your meridians…”

Without warning, Hugo dropped to his knees, bowing low.

“Please teach me the sword. I beg you.”

“You’re a squire. Learn from the knights.”

“They’re too busy.”

“So am I. Get lost.”

I shoved him away with a kick laced in inner energy.

He tumbled, then crawled back to kneel again.

“Please teach me.”

No matter how many times I kicked, he rolled and came back, bowing like a stubborn pill bug.

“Please teach me.”

“…Damn it.”

I scratched my head.

Leech had latched on.

“Oi. Get up.”

I nudged him upright with my foot and stared into his eyes.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“No.”

His gaze was innocent, guileless as a calf’s. He wasn’t lying.

Made sense—always too busy training to pay attention to rumors.

Still, I gave him a warning.

“You so much as mention seeing me, you die. Got it?”

“Yes. So you’ll teach me?”

I clicked my tongue.

“I’ve got better things to do. But fine—I’ll teach you just enough to beat those bullies of yours. That’s it. For real swordsmanship, go to the knights. They’ll teach you better than I ever will.”

Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Rickmon is the strongest in our whole class.”

“Rickmon? So that brat leader’s name is Rickmon?”

“Yes. He’s a genius.”

I nodded slowly.

“A genius, sure… though still less than that young lordling who’d never even touched a sword before.”

“…What?”

“But whatever. He’s still just a brat. Nothing impossible.”

“That’s absurd. How could I ever beat him?”

“Why, you little—”

Whack!

I smacked Hugo on the head. His eyes flared.

“Why’d you hit me?”

“You pathetic fool. Fighting is about spirit. If you start with your tail between your legs, you’ve already lost. Got it?”

“….”

“Oh, I see. That’s the look of someone who doesn’t get it. Take your stance.”

“…?”

“Do what you always do. I’ll fix your form.”

“Ah.”

Finally understanding, Hugo raised his wooden sword overhead.

I tapped his arms and legs with a branch, correcting each part.

“Your balance is garbage. Step that foot back. Tighten your ass. Keep your legs loose, upper body firm—straighten up, dammit. Good. Now press the sword flat against your back. That widens your swing range and maximizes power. Relax your wrists and shoulders. Strong yet supple. Don’t strike, cut. That’s a sword in your hands, not a stick. So cut with it.”

After correcting him, I stepped back.

“Now swing.”

Hugo brought the sword down.

Whoosh!

The sound was completely different. Wind stirred, tossing his hair.

He blinked, stunned, staring at the wooden blade.

“Mm.”

I nodded, satisfied.

The tip wavered far less. Which meant—his power was transferring cleanly into the weapon instead of being wasted.

With mana behind it, that swing would be devastating.

I said,

“With this single cut, you’ll put down Langmon.”

“Rickmon.”

“Right, Rickmon.”

“…That’s possible?”

Smack!

“Argh!”

“I told you—fighting is spirit. Stop thinking like a worm. Possible or not is for me to decide.”

“….”

“Of course you won’t surpass him in raw power anytime soon. A genius is a genius for a reason.”

“…Then how do I beat Rickmon?”

“Being stronger doesn’t guarantee victory. The one who wins is strong. Understand?”

“No.”

“Listen well. Geniuses are arrogant, insufferably so.”

“That much I know.”

“They always carry a little seed of arrogance inside them. All you have to do is strike when it sprouts. Exploit their carelessness, and victory is yours.”

“Oh.”

“Got it?”

“No.”

I drove my foot into his stomach.

“Guhk!”

He flew several meters, rolling across the dirt.

“That was carelessness.”

“Urk…”

“It’s not hard. You’ll learn as you take your lumps. A man facing death draws on everything he has. That’s how I learned, and it’s the only way I can teach. If you don’t like it, run.”

But Hugo only lifted his wooden sword, eyes blazing.

“No problem.”

“Good. You pass.”

I grinned and began the lesson.

Training split into two parts: mind games, and using mana. But I taught both at once.

“You dimwit. Calling yourself a candlemaker’s son? Your father brings light to the world, and yet you wallow in darkness, dragging yourself through the shadows.”

“Kh!”

“Pathetic bastard. If someone insults your father, you rip his arm off. You burn his house down with your candle flames. That’s the pride of a candlemaker’s son!”

I cursed him six ways to Sunday, peppering him with blows.

Hugo staggered under the barrage of insults, his mind spinning.

Then a warm fist crashed into him.

Thwack!

“Still dazed? You want your father remembered as some noblewoman’s plaything?”

I kept at it, striking and goading until at last his eyes flashed.

“Raaagh!”

Thud!

His punch landed with surprising weight.

I caught it in my palm, lips curling into a grin.

Mana coiled around his fist.

“There you go, brat. That’s it.”

Hugo stared in shock at his own hand.

“Remember that feeling.”

From the branches above, applause rang out.

Shushruta, still watching, was clapping.

Hugo gawked at her—then I kicked him again.

“Gap, idiot.”

“Ugh!”

He tumbled across the ground once more.

I said like it was a proverb,

“Never let your guard down.”

The Heavenly Demon chuckled.

[And you think you’re fit to be teaching anyone?]

I scratched my neck awkwardly.

“…Fair point. Still, it’s kind of fun. Makes me realize a few things myself.”

[Indeed. Teaching teaches the teacher too.]

“Fine. I’ll train him until my arm heals. Doctor said a month, after all.”

I pressed a fingertip, laced with inner energy, into the meridian of my splinted arm.

I’d been doing this whenever I remembered, forcing inner energy into the fracture.

It wasn’t as instant as healing torn muscle, but I figured it was helping.

So maybe my “miraculous” recovery wasn’t just demonic constitution, but also these constant little efforts.

[Do as you like. At least it keeps things interesting.]

“Then you just sit back and watch, Master.”

“…Me?” asked Hugo.

“Not you, brat.”

I turned suddenly, feeling eyes on me.

Shushruta was staring with that strange look she always had whenever I spoke with the Heavenly Demon.

“What are you staring at?”

She stuck out her tongue.

(End of Chapter)

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