I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple Episode 50

Episode 50

The Trial Room's interior remained unchanged, though the lighting today was unusually bright from the start. It felt almost deliberately irritating, as if designed to make those below feel like sinners, regardless of their actual guilt. Yet, the atmosphere differed from last ti.

I glanced up at the wall and imdiately understood why. Only one person was on the wall today.

It was a young man with turquoise hair that hung limply like seaweed—Archmage Assad. He was so elusive that he earned the nickna of a recluse.

Why is he here? I wondered.

"You ca," he said, his tone suggesting he had been waiting for .

I studied his face from a distance before bowing politely. "It is nice to et you. The Badniker—"

"No need for more formal greetings," Assad interrupted.

"Yes."

"Sit."

At his command, I sat on the table where I had placed my belongings last ti. By now, it felt almost like my designated spot.

I looked up at Assad and asked the question burning in my mind. "Where is the Council of Elders?"

"Right in front of you."

"Sir Assad, are you also a mber of the council?"

"Not officially, but I am a part of it. It is more of an honorary position," he explained.

This was news to .

Assad wore an expression of reluctance as if he had been coerced into a task he despised. He showed no interest in , which wasn't surprising. Mages often had peculiar temperants, treating anything that failed to intrigue them as less than worthless.

I doubted I was entirely worthless, but to him, I was probably no more than a discarded trinket on the street.

"Luan Badniker, let's establish so facts," Assad began.

"Yes."

"The series of events that you experienced in the Jewel Mountains—the betrayal of the Fang Knights, their true identity, your encounter with Swordmaster Carzakh, and, according to Delac, your crucial role in defeating the Jewel Beast. Are these accounts accurate?" he asked.

"They are," I replied.

"Afterward, the Council of Elders refused to acknowledge this, and you proposed a spar as proof. Is that also correct?"

"That's right."

Assad's words were straightforward, devoid of exaggeration or distortion. His deanor suggested he wasn't inclined to deliver a harsh judgnt.

Had Kayan's concerns been unnecessary?

"Alright," Assad said, propping his chin on his hand with a bored expression. "I think the Council of Elders acted unreasonably, but you proposed the sparring match yourself. If you carry the Badnikers' blood, you must stand by your words."

I didn't argue.

"Your opponent will be an apprentice knight of the Iron-Blooded Knights. Is that acceptable?" Assad asked.

I was certain they would send their strongest apprentice knight.

When I didn't respond, Assad pressed with an annoyed look.

"It doesn't matter," I said.

"Really? We will proceed with the sparring now unless you object. If you aren't in good shape, I can delay it for a day or two," he offered.

"No. Let's do it now."

"Then head to the training hall in the garden. Imdiately," he instructed.

With that, Assad disappeared.

Did he use magic? If so, he should've taken with him, I grumbled inwardly as I left the Trial Room.

***

The Badnikers' main house was enormous, with multiple training halls—I knew of at least seven. Finding the one hosting the sparring session proved easier than expected, as only one hall was crowded.

"Why are there so many people?" I muttered, standing dumbfounded.

Then a familiar face erged from the crowd. It was Arjan.

"Young Master Luan," she greeted .

"What's all this about?" I asked, confused.

"Didn't you hear?" she replied. "The Council of Elders announced throughout the entire main house that your Spar of Proof will take place this afternoon."

What is a Spar of Proof?

I stared blankly as Arjan explained that a broadcast had echoed through the main house while I had been facing Assad.

"A sparring match will be held in the fourth training hall. The participant is Luan Badniker, who received a new blessing. He will prove himself there. We encourage everyone to attend if ti permits."

Although it was frad as an opportunity, the announcent's true intent was clear—to publicize what could have been a private matter.

"Oh, they are trying to bury ," I remarked.

"It is a great opportunity for Young Master Luan," Arjan said, her voice tinged with excitent. "With so many witnesses, no one can question or manipulate the outco. Look. It's not just knights and servants. Even the Great Masters are here."

She pointed toward a group of authoritative figures.

Are they the Great Masters? I wondered.

It was the first ti I had seen them all gathered in one place.

"And my mother?" I asked.

"She is with Sir Kayan," Arjan answered.

"Please take care of her."

"Of course," she assured .

I patted Arjan's shoulder and entered the training hall.

"Young Master Luan," a familiar voice called out. It belonged to the blunt-looking man who had stood guard outside the Trial Room.

"It's ti. Head to the training ground," he instructed.

"Understood."

"Aren't you going to wear armor?" he asked.

"Armor? Isn't this a spar?" I countered.

"Yes, but the Badnikers' spars are brutal. You could die if you are unlucky," he warned.

I pondered it for a mont before soon shaking my head. "It'll be fine."

"You'll regret it," he said, his tone unsettling.

I t his gaze, and he added, "I've said my piece."

"Noted," he replied.

I went to the training ground. As I twisted my joints to warm up, I noticed a commotion on the other side.

I focused my attention and saw a familiar figure erge from the crowd.

"You didn't run away," he remarked.

We shared the sa blood, but he didn't resemble exactly. His unwelco smile greeted .

"I told you I'd teach you a lesson soon," he said smugly.

"Hector," I said flatly.

"Hector?"

"Brother Hector," I said, tilting my head. "I heard it would be a mber of the Iron-Blooded Knights."

"That's right," he confird. "I joined the knight division last year."

"Got it."

I could roughly piece together what was happening. This was no coincidence. The Council of Elders and Hector likely shared overlapping interests—both wanted beaten. The Council had secured a skilled individual who wouldn't complain if he beat , while Hector saw an opportunity to teach a lesson.

The person beside us, apparently the marshal, asked again, "Do you want to wear armor now?"

Looking at him, I realized he was trying to be considerate in his own way, but it didn't change my mind. I couldn't sacrifice mobility for defense. Everyone had their own fighting style.

"It's fine," I replied curtly.

"Understood. What weapon would you like?"

I initially planned to fight bare-handed but reconsidered.

"A sword," I answered.

Soon, a knight brought a sword of suitable length. I drew it and gave it a few test swings.

They didn't tamper with my sword. Of course, Hector and the Council of Elders wouldn't stoop so low.

"I am Jane, the marshal in today's spar," the blunt collector announced.

I nodded, noting his feminine na.

Next ca the standard formalities: the purpose of the spar, the format, the marshal's authority to intervene, the acknowledgnt that injuries were permitted but fatalities were not, and so on.

Finally, Jane announced, "Both sides, forward."

I sheathed my sword and stood beside Hector. Even now, he was wearing the sa rotten smile.

I couldn't help but say, "Stop smiling and get serious."

"What?"

"I know you are excited to teach a lesson, but this is still a spar. You have to give your best," I said flatly.

This was a matter of basic courtesy. Even my master maintained a serious deanor during spars, treating it as a learning experience, not a simple lesson.

At my words, Hector let out a low laugh. His ridicule seed to ripple through the crowd as if contagious. Looking around, I realized most of the spectators were Iron-Blooded Knights.

He is very thorough in preparing his supporters.

Hector said with a smile, "Yes. One must do their best against any opponent. But you can't be considered my opponent. Know your place."

"Ah, yes," I replied flatly.

There was no point in arguing with him, so I simply shook my head.

Hector's expression hardened, clearly displeased with my indifference.

"The spar shall comnce," Jane announced.

At Jane's signal, Hector closed the distance instantly. His sword moved even faster as if surpassing sound itself. Its blue blade flashed before in a blink, but I blocked it.

Hector looked a bit surprised but resud his relentless assault. I focused on defense while studying Hector's swordsmanship.

Is this originally the family's secret swordsmanship?

Yet it had a distinct edge as if Hector had infused his flair into it. His style was strong, explosive, and aggressive—a form of swordsmanship that made regaining the initiative nearly impossible once lost.

True to his reputation as a genius, his swordsmanship's overall refinent and completeness were exceptionally high. In the brief exchange, I realized that matching him in pure swordsmanship would be no easy feat.

Predictably, I soon lost my grip on the sword. It clattered loudly against the ground, and Hector smiled again. He paused, his stance relaxed, savoring the mont. His smug expression suggested he was toying with , like a predator savoring its catch.

A soft scoff escaped , more from disbelief than anything else.

Then, Hector's expression hardened slightly. The more he laughed at others, the less he could tolerate being laughed at himself.

I kicked off against the ground just as Hector was about to speak.

His eyes widened. I could see his hand gripping his sword, but my fist moved faster. It connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Ignoring the sudden silence around us, I said, "I told you not to smile."