I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple-Chapter 140

The Martial God didn't respond right away. Worse yet, something about his demeanor felt off.

"Martial God?" I called out cautiously.

He responded curtly.

—Lately, the reasons you summon me feel a little insolent. Or is it just my imagination?

Insolent... I knew what the word meant, but I couldn't understand what he was implying.

As I sat there trying to figure it out, the Martial God let out a sigh.

—Messenger, I am the Martial God.

"Yes."

—I'm not a historian, nor a mage, much less an antiques dealer.

"Right."

—If you have questions about martial arts, I'll always welcome them. But summoning me for things like this? Honestly, it's a little offensive.

Was he sulking? Maybe there was more to it, especially from the Martial God, but with my limited vocabulary, I couldn't think of a better way to describe it.

I hesitated for a moment. But the truth was, I'd always had one way of dealing with someone who was upset: first, address the issue head-on. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. It's entirely my fault.."

He hummed.

"Martial God, you've been so generous with me that I crossed a line without realizing it. I sincerely apologize. I won't summon you again unless it's about martial arts."

The Martial God cleared his throat slightly.

—Well, it's not like I'm saying never summon me again.

It was as I expected. The Martial God had a straightforward personality, so it would fluster him if I bowed my head too much. I'd learned that while smoothing things over after he got upset in Hell.

—Just don't keep calling me over trivial matters. That's all. I, too, am bound to you and usually spend my time in solitude. If you space things out, it might even be a welcome change of pace for me, Messenger.

"Thank you. You are really broad-minded."

—Was that sarcasm?

"Of course not."

He wasn't oblivious, though. I couldn't push it too far.

Only then did the Martial God look around, surveying our surroundings.

—It is a treasure trove. Are you asking me to choose the most valuable item here?

"Yes."

—Hmm. That is a pretty difficult premise.

"In what way?" I asked cautiously.

—The value of an item is fluid by nature. It depends on supply and demand, urgency, rarity... all kinds of factors. Generally, jewels or ornaments tend to hold the most consistent value.

He gestured toward something.

—For example, something like that.

Following his gesture, I spotted a gem that looked expensive at a glance.

—It is a Bright Ruby. It is a gem so precious that it can be called the king of precious stones.

A ruby. The empire prized rubies above all gemstones, and for a clear reason: their sacred red hue. But the ruby the Martial God pointed to was far brighter and clearer than any I had ever seen.

"I don't need any jewels."

—I figured as much. That means what you truly seek isn't something with objective value, but something you need right now, Messenger.

"Actually, that's the problem. There's nothing I need right now."

The Martial God burst into laughter.

—Nothing you need, you say? How arrogant. From where I stand, you still lack plenty.

"Like what?"

—You have yet to complete your White Sun Eclipse. Your training method needs refinement, your inner and outer harmony isn't fully united, and your musculoskeletal development is insufficient.

"Most of those problems will resolve with time, Martial God."

—That's right.

The Martial God chuckled and continued.

—By the way, there's a common trait among weapons known as divine weapons. They allow one to experience the realm that they will someday reach.

"Hmm... What do you mean by that?"

—Take a slab of steel you couldn't hope to cut through at your current level. With a divine sword, you'd slice it like tofu. And if you're clad in armor that doesn't even scratch under sword strikes, then muscle training naturally drops in priority.

"I see." I finally understood what the Martial God meant. At the same time, I found it a fresh perspective. He didn't treat weapons as mere tools.

—That's why becoming obsessed with divine equipment is dangerous, Messenger. There are always fools who mistake the realm they glimpse through shortcuts for a realm they've truly attained. But...

He trailed off deliberately, so I finished the thought for him. "So, setting that risk aside, using excellent equipment will give a definite edge in battle."

—That's right.

That was a bit unexpected. Given his manner and tone, I'd pegged him as a very stubborn, prideful martial artist. But in matters like this, he was strikingly pragmatic.

I suddenly found myself wondering, What kind of life had he lived before becoming the Martial God?

—Hmm? That presence...

Suddenly, his voice sharpened in surprise.

"What is it?"

—Messenger, look to your left.

"My left?"

Though puzzled, I followed his instructions without hesitation.

—A little more. Just a few steps forward. Now, stop.

When I came to a halt, I saw something that didn't match the brilliance of this treasure trove. It was a vicious-looking tool, its twin blades crossed like a trap, forged to slice through anything in its path. It was an unexpected tool.

"A pair of scissors?"

—Yes, Messenger.

He eyed the pair of scissors with a complex expression and made a request.

—May I ask you to pick them up for a moment?

"Yes." I reached out and took hold of the pair of scissors. The blades were riddled with rust, so old they hardly looked functional. I wasn't sure I could even cut my hair with them.

—Just as I thought.

The Martial God cried out.

"So what is it?"

—Messenger, this is one of the few divine objects left on the continent.

"A divine object?"

—A medium that links directly to the gods. I suppose humans would call them sacred relics these days.

"Ah!" A gasp slipped out before I could stop it.

At last, I understood what he meant. He was referring to the relics of the gods. A treasure among treasures, one of only ninety-nine scattered across the continent.

I'd encountered a sacred relic before. It was Vine's Chains. Ludwig, who I met at the main house, wielded it. Of course, his was a replica. Still, it had been impressive, even as a fake.

The Nameless King was one of the five kings revered as a god after death. The Seven Sins Sword wasn't his only weapon, so its classification was a little ambiguous.

"Wait. Now that I think about it, isn't the Seven Sins Sword also a sacred relic? Is this pair of scissors the original?"

—It is, Messenger.

If the Martial God said so with such certainty, it had to be true. Even so, I glanced down at the scissors with lingering doubt.

"Seems too shabby for a sacred relic."

—They must've been left unattended for ages. Likely haven't been unearthed for long.

"I see."

—They're still usable, but after two or three uses, they might fall apart. You'll need to find a master blacksmith to carefully remove the rust and reinforce their structure.

An outstanding blacksmith... Naturally, the first ones who came to mind were the dwarves, born craftsmen.

If I'd known this would happen, I would've tried to get closer to that dwarf hero disciple at the training camp. The one who always hovered near Hector.

What was his name again? Basil Joule?

Well, I wasn't in a rush. It could wait. So, I asked the most important question.

"So, is this item valuable?"

—Hard to say in terms of simple monetary worth. Even if I were offered everything in this treasure trove, I would still choose that pair of scissors.

The Martial God's voice was firm when he stated that fact.

I grinned. Looks like I've made my choice.

***

At the same moment, Alderson collapsed into his chair, eyes fixed anxiously on the monitor.

"D-Dean Alderson?! Are you okay?"

He wailed, "M-my treasure! My treasure! My Amon's Scissors!"

"D-Dean Alderson?!"

"The dean's having a fit! Hurry and get him to the infirmary!"

"Gyaaaaaaah—!"

***

Amon's Scissors. So that's the name of this sacred relic.

I'd heard there was nothing these scissors couldn't cut. It was an absurdly overpowered ability, but something about it caught my attention. This pair of scissors doesn't seem particularly intimidating. Not when it's this small.

What could you even cut with something so narrow? Fingers? Ears? It'd be tricky, but I figured it could slice through a tongue.

Honestly, stabbing someone with a sharp blade seemed far more threatening.

—Messenger, Amon's Scissors are sealed right now. Once the rust is removed and the structure reinforced, they'll reveal their true form.

"Got it."

Well, if the Martial God says so, I'll take his word for it. I nodded internally and turned to Seren.

While I'd been choosing my weapon, she'd finally melted all the ice in her mouth. One glance told me she'd absorbed it well. The elixir wasn't fully dissolved, but her Qi had definitely changed.

"Done picking?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"What'd you choose?"

I held up the old pair of scissors in my hand. Part of me wondered if she'd recognize them.

"This pair of scissors is ugly. You've got bad taste," she remarked.

She clearly didn't know what it was. I doubted she even asked out of genuine curiosity. In any case, Seren and I finally left the treasure trove. It had taken longer than I expected, but we were ready to face the trial.

We opened the door at the end of the treasure trove and stepped into a large space. The layout felt oddly familiar.

"It is a training ground." Seren spoke the thought I'd barely formed. "This is the Sparring Floor, right? I guess we are sparring here."

Another large door stood at the far end.

"That is correct." A voice echoed through the space.

Unlike the mechanical voice that had explained the tower earlier, this one belonged to Alderson. Somehow, he sounded stifled—exhausted, even.

"You said we wouldn't be fighting each other. So who is our opponent? Another hero disciple?" Seren asked.

"Correct."

That was a bit of a letdown. What did he mean by another hero disciple? Was he telling us to fight against fellow hero disciples here?

I don't think I will lose. If a hero disciple had reached the fourth floor, it could only be one of a few: Charon, Hector, Butterfly, and maybe Evan if he were lucky. But neither Seren nor I were inferior to Charon or Hector. No matter who came up, the fight would be one-sided. The only question was when they would arrive.

"Humans are beings that evolve," Alderson said suddenly, out of nowhere. "To evolve, we must overcome the past. I designed this place, the Sparring Floor, to observe that process with my own eyes."

"What are you even talking about?"

"I admit it. You aren't ordinary hero disciples. You're already at a level comparable to active heroes," he said.

Then I felt Alderson's gaze settle on me. "Especially you, Luan Badniker. Your physical abilities are astounding. I thought the top rankings on the third floor would remain unchanged until the Tower of Training closed, but your performance shattered that assumption. You set a record so overwhelming that the data has been very useful to me. Thank you in advance for that."

As expected, Alderson was truly a mage. He slipped into his own world, rambling nonsense out of nowhere. Not that I could say that to his face—he was the dean—but I couldn't help sighing as I exchanged a look with Seren.

Alderson continued, "This tower meticulously records everything about its climbers. Not just their physical abilities, but their martial arts, quirks, personalities, speech patterns, and habits. All that data is stored in individual forms in a puppet."

"Stored?"

"My name is Alderson Marbour—the dean of Cartel Academy, a member of the Seven Colors Across Heaven, and the empire's only Puppet Master."

Lise had introduced herself similarly. Did all mages follow some code for self-introductions?

Regardless, it was hard to ignore how ominous things were getting. I asked, "What exactly is a Puppet Master?"

"A puppeteer," he replied.

"What is a puppeteer?"

"Someone who controls puppets," he answered.

"Like in the circus or something?"

Seren sighed. "If that were true, at least the puppets would be cute."

Alderson ignored us. "On the fourth floor of the Tower of Training, climbers face beings from the past. Honestly, I've been looking forward to this. It's been decades since the tower was built, but this is the first time I've released these two puppets at the same time."

A deep, resonating noise echoed through the chamber as the heavy iron doors at the far end creaked open. Seren and I both turned toward the opening, our expressions freezing in shock as if we'd silently agreed. The faces of the hero disciples far exceeded our expectations.

"Leone and Delac Badniker," Alderson announced with satisfaction. "If you want to claim first place overall, I have to bring out these two masterpieces."

I finally understood what Alderson was saying. He had meticulously recorded the hero disciples' physical abilities during their climbs. Those biometric records must be embedded in the puppets.

What an insane old man. He was normal compared to Assad or Lise? I had to correct myself. Alderson was far more sinister and dangerous than either of them.

Seren clicked her tongue. "So basically, if you hadn't scored so high, we'd be fighting some easier doll right now."

"My bad."

"Forget it." Seren's gaze shifted to the puppets. "Even the Iron-Blooded Lord wasn't the strongest from birth. Back at the academy, he wouldn't have been as powerful as he is now. That Leone looks about our age. Maybe she is younger. And no matter how accurate the puppets are, they probably can't use blessings. So this fight should still be manageable."

"Yeah." I agreed with her logic, but I couldn't shake the sense of unease creeping over me.

At that moment, Leone's puppet drew her sword. I observed her while recalling the records I had seen on the third floor.

Second in the overall rankings, Leone. The absence of a surname meant she was a commoner. Yet there was a strange nobility in the way she moved. And that wasn't the only thing bothering me.

Studying Leone carefully, I spoke before Seren could. "I'll take Leone. You handle the family head."

"You want me to take on the Iron-Blooded Lord?" she exclaimed.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not dumping him on you. Rather, this is a strategy to win."

Seren paused for a moment before asking, "Is it a matter of compatibility?"

"Pretty much."

"Fine. But I won't be able to last long."

"I'll join you as soon as I can," I assured her.

The moment Seren nodded, the battle started without warning.

I lunged at Leone, drawing the Seven Sins Sword. I didn't have enough information yet, so I opened with a series of probing strikes. The moment our swords clashed, Leone's puppet unexpectedly burst out laughing. The sound was so human it startled me.

We exchanged three blows in rapid succession. Each time, the recoil numbed my wrists. The swordsmanship she displayed was far from half-baked or third-rate. It was elegant and methodical. In other words, I could feel the lineage behind it. It resembled the hereditary sword style of a prestigious family.

Could a commoner have had access to such training?

Her proficiency was exceptional. Moreover, Leone wielded her sword with wild abandon. The way she infused her own style into the sword style without restriction proved the exceptional mastery of her swordsmanship. In truth, it was harder than simply mastering a traditional technique. It was like watching a flawless variation layered onto a classical form.

That strange feeling I had sensed from the start now became certainty.

I was right. Leone was stronger than the Iron-Blooded Lord had been at that stage of his life. By a wide margin.

"You are a child of the Badnikers." Her crimson eyes traced an arc through the air as she studied me. "You are strong."

I couldn't help but wonder, Is this girl really a puppet?