The One Who Saved a World Before Will be Best at Saving Another

With a bright red mark left on her face, Han Sang-ah spat blood-tinged saliva onto the ground and stared at me.

"Ugh."

"I’m not telling you to block the attack."

See, hear, feel it with your skin. Even if you can’t block it, I’ll stop the attack midway if you succeed just that much.

But if you instinctively raise your sword to block like just now, that’s when I hit you.

Han Sang-ah, having taken dozens of hits, looked absolutely terrible. It was bad enough that a few coast guard officers cautiously approached to ask what we were doing.

"I… know"

"Then do it, you punk. Don’t just say you know with your mouth."

So the night deepened again. Han Sang-ah took dozens more hits from me, and finally, she succeeded in blocking and countering properly twenty times in a row.

"The injuries will heal after a good day’s rest."

I only hit her to that level after all.

"Jeez, did you powder your face?"

The dried sweat had left white streaks on her face. On top of that, her limbs bore marks from where I struck her with my spear, like lash marks.

I took a container of water I had prepared earlier and poured it over Han Sang-ah’s head.

"Urgh… haa."

Soaked by the pouring water, Han Sang-ah collapsed on the spot, gagged for the eighth time since the spar began, and passed out with her face in the yellow bile she vomited.

"Snf… hoo."

At least she didn’t faint completely, and she circulated her mana through her body to relieve her fatigue as quickly as possible. I brought a blanket, rolled her up like a gimbap, and carried her into a room at the hotel.

"You did well. Once you recover a bit, eat and drink something, then get some sleep."

I placed water and food by her bedside and left.

"I’m dead tired."

After staying up for several nights and training with Han Sang-ah, my body was obviously fatigued. Mentally, I was used to sleepless wandering, so I didn’t mind.

Like her, I ate, washed, and fell asleep, then woke up the next morning.

"Well now."

Looking out the window, I saw Han Sang-ah swinging her sword in the yard. She really was hardcore.

"She must hold a serious grudge against Club Shaddai."

I yawned deeply as I looked out the window, then went down.

"Yoo Chan-seok."

Instead of replying, I swung my spear, and Han Sang-ah raised her sword to block it.

"Good. Seems like you’ve gotten the hang of it."

"If I let my guard down even a little, I go right back to how I was."

"That’s obvious."

You think the body and mind change that easily?

"Have you ever heard this?"

"Heard what?"

I tapped my spear with my hand as I spoke.

"Terms like ‘harmonious grafting’ or ‘slanted beam method,’ or ‘soft overcomes hard.’"

"Yeah. I’ve heard such levels exist."

I frowned slightly at her response.

"Levels, my ass. They're just tricks. You don’t need some grand enlightenment to try them."

If you want enlightenment, go study philosophy or train in Daoism. Why the hell are you throwing hands like a maniac?

Han Sang-ah gave me a confused look, not understanding my harsh take.

"Tricks?"

"It’s like how Chinese martial artists get their asses handed to them by MMA fighters."

While pro fighters improve through research-based training and nutrition, those guys punch sand and hit their stomachs with sticks.

Back in the day, they had no proper sandbags or mitts, so fine. But there’s no reason for such self-abuse in modern times.

"If that thing you call a ‘level’ really existed, then someone with my level of magic power shouldn’t be able to use such techniques, right?"

I finished speaking and swung my spear. Han Sang-ah blocked it as if she had been waiting for it. She followed me and the spear with her eyes, heard it with her ears, felt it through her skin, then defended.

As our weapons clashed, I moved my hand gently. As if her sword had been glued to my spear, it followed my motion and soon flew out of her hand.

"They even gave it a fancy name. Harmonious grafting. What a load of crap."

Isn’t that embarrassing? You just need to judge the distance of the weapon, understand both your and your opponent’s center of gravity, apply the right force in the right direction, and control your mana.

"…"

"It’s just a flashy move with a nice name. If you have the skill to pull off a trick like that, it’d be faster to just beat your opponent to a pulp."

I spun my spear a few times and continued.

"People do it just to show off. It’s basically a circus or strongman act."

It’s a narcissistic display, wanting to bask in others’ admiration.

"Don’t long for that kind of crap and train diligently every day. Skill doesn’t suddenly jump up because of some flash of insight like a lightning bolt."

I struck a cross-legged pose in an exaggerated way, like I was joking.

"Of course, it’s not like people burst from cocoons either. We’re not moths, are we?"

Listening to me, Han Sang-ah finally spoke.

"There were a few moments during our sparring when my mind went blank."

"Yeah, I know. That’s when I hit you to snap you out of it."

At that, Han Sang-ah let out an "Ah…" sound.

"I thought that was some kind of ‘no-self’ state."

"One of the biggest dangers weightlifters warn about is losing focus during reps. That ‘no-self’ stuff isn’t much different."

Keep doing that and you’ll just increase your chance of injury. Losing focus and letting your body move on its own due to fatigue isn’t something to brag about.

"I thought you were intentionally inducing that."

"No way. If your body’s the car, your mind is the driver."

What kind of lunatic teaches drowsy driving to someone taking their road test? Immediate license revoked.

"There are plenty of people stronger than me for now. If you think my advice is worthless, you don’t have to listen."

Not like I’m expecting anything from others anyway. Han Sang-ah replied.

"There were many people stronger than me at the academy. But none of them made me wonder whether I could ever catch up, except…"

"Except me, huh?"

"Yeah. There has to be a reason I started thinking that way."

That was a kind of belief in herself. It meant she recognized her own special talent.

That wasn’t a bad thing. Go a bit too far and it’d be arrogance, but she wasn’t there yet.

I took out an egg.

"What are you gonna do with that?"

Instead of answering, I set down the egg and quickly jabbed it with chopsticks. The tips broke through the shell. I repeated it about five times on one egg.

"Finish peeling it."

Han Sang-ah glanced at me for a moment at the sudden request, then peeled the rest. She looked at me again, her expression saying, “What’s the point of this?”

"It’s simple. Stop the chopsticks the moment they touch the yolk."

That way, the yolk won’t break, right? Han Sang-ah’s expression twisted oddly.

"Most people rely too much on sight and sound. But touch is just as important."

All the impact transferred through a weapon is perceived as touch.

"I’m not telling you to succeed right away. Just practice an hour each day, whenever you have time. You’re rich, so you won’t be short on eggs, right?"

She looked at the jiggling yolk on the floor, then back at me.

"Got it."

"It’s fine if you stop it by instinct at first."

I’m not saying instinct is bad. It’s accumulated experience influencing the body from the unconscious.

"But if you manage to succeed more than ten times in a row on instinct, stop relying on it after that."

You’ll have enough experience that you no longer break the yolk by instinct. Then it’s time to bring that unconscious memory into conscious control.

"I understand, and if I succeed in what you said?"

"Then try doing it with a sword next."

Han Sang-ah let out a small sigh at my words.

"I’ll try."

"Trying means nothing. You need results. If you’re planning to die at Club Shaddai thinking ‘at least I tried,’ I won’t stop you."

She glared at me for a second, then stabbed the egg repeatedly with her chopsticks.

In the following days, our meals were egg-centric. When we requested ingredients from the coast guard, eggs were never missing.

Boiled eggs, steamed eggs, rolled omelets, egg rice, egg fried rice, scrambled eggs, egg porridge…

People say bodybuilders eat lots of eggs, right? We usually tossed the yolks after 2 or 3. But we ate every bit of the whites.

While the rescued fishermen were recovering, Han Sang-ah and I weren’t just poking eggs. We worked out massively, then followed it with tons of eggs.

All those eggs that entered my body helped tremendously with what people call physical enhancement.

"Aren’t you tired of it?"

The fishy smell made me want to gag. Han Sang-ah, eating snowy-white scrambled eggs, replied.

"Just think of it as refueling with calories. Honestly, sometimes I wish I were a car."

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

She moved her empty plate and answered.

"Cars only need gasoline. No need to fuss about what to eat."

She must’ve meant she was tired of taking care of meals. How bleakly she lived. At that moment, a coast guard officer came running toward us.

"Hunters! One of the rescued fishermen has regained stability, according to the medics."

Good. Finally someone had recovered enough to talk.

Some might say it took too long, but considering their wrists and ankles were shattered, bones exposed, and their bodies emaciated from lack of food and water…

The fact that they recovered at all was uplifting news.

"I assume they can at least speak now?"

The coast guard guiding us answered.

"Yes, just one, but they’re in the best condition."

That meant they were the most recently captured. Han Sang-ah and I took a deep breath outside the patient’s room, then entered.

"Hello."

"Ah, uh…"

The patient was a woman. She looked pale and exhausted, matching the description of someone who had just regained consciousness. She looked like she’d faint from a single poke.

"I heard you’re originally from Seoul. How did you end up here…?"

At my question, the woman bit her lip and answered.

"Jiseok really liked sea fishing."

Just hearing that told me what had happened. She came sea fishing with her boyfriend and got taken.

They couldn’t have just been friends. Who takes a platonic friend on a boat trip all the way from Seoul?

"Sea fishing is currently prohibited. You’re lucky the coast guard didn’t come after you."

At my words, she flinched and nodded.

"Y-Yeah. Maybe this was my punishment."

Looking unwell, she muttered that and began to cry.

"I don’t think it’s like that. There’s a concept called the ‘small-number fallacy,’ which contradicts the law of large numbers…"

Han Sang-ah tried to comfort her. But obviously, that kind of statistical logic wasn’t really going to help. I clapped my hands once.

"Please focus. We can’t allow more victims and we need your help."