I’m also quite confident in my fists.
Those were Berald’s last words before his towering fra left the ground like a leaf caught in a violent updraft. His body twisted midair—a perfect arc—and slamd into the training ground with a thunderous crash.
Boom!
"Ugh!" he groaned, wheezing as the impact knocked the wind out of him.
I let out a breath. That throw—it had co back to naturally. The technique he had once taught in another life. A life where I was the one lying sprawled on this floor, and Berald stood above , laughing with that damn hearty grin, offering his hand every ti I failed to get the move right.
"What’s this? Already done?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.
Berald rolled over with a grunt and pushed himself to his feet, wincing. "Ugh... You’ve certainly gained so kind of enlightennt, alright!"
And just like that, the ground shook again.
Thud, thud, thud!
His two-ter-tall fra charged at like a berserk rhinoceros, every step threatening to shatter the floor beneath us. I didn’t move. I didn’t need to.
"You think you can win just by overpowering ?" I muttered.
Instead of stepping aside or evading, I t his charge head-on. My body surged forward, instincts igniting like fla.
His fist ca at —a sledgehamr of mana-enhanced might.
Bang!
The mont our fists collided, the air between us scread. It wasn’t just the sound—it was the pressure, the shockwave. His expression twisted as his hand jerked back violently, pain etched across his face.
"Grrr!" Berald clutched his fist, staggering as he tried to steady himself.
I stepped forward, calm and cold.
"If the strongest always won," I said, "why would we need martial arts at all?"
Then it was my turn.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
My fists landed with relentless precision—one to his philtrum, two to the throat and solar plexus. A sharp kick crushed his stance from the knee, and my hand sliced upward like a blade, connecting with the top of his head.
"Ugh!" Berald yelped, hands flying to his scalp as he stumbled back, groaning like a wounded beast.
"Do you want more?"
"N-No! Stop! I surrender!"
He dropped to one knee, panting. The difference between us was... decisive.
Too decisive.
He blinked at like he didn’t recognize the person standing in front of him anymore. "Grr... Where did you learn techniques like that?"
I gave him a crooked smile. "...I wonder."
What could I even say?
That he had taught these exact techniques? That I had once begged him for help, fists bloodied from failure, and he’d stayed up night after night fixing my stances? That I owed half my survival in the old world to him?
How do you explain that to soone who doesn’t rember?
He tilted his head, letting out a resigned sigh. "Hmph. You don’t have to tell if it’s hard to talk about."
Berald staggered upright and cracked his neck. "Still... I thought I was confident in my fists. Guess warrior departnt candidates really are on another level."
"No, that’s not it."
He looked at , confused. "Hm? What do you an?"
"I bet if you lined up every single candidate in the warrior departnt, only a handful could beat you in pure hand-to-hand combat."
And I wasn’t being generous.
He had talent. Natural, raw, absurd talent. His movents were instinctual, his power explosive. Even without proper training, he adjusted his breathing on the fly, adapted his rhythm, closed distances like a predator.
But he’d never stood a chance.
Because I was .
Because the martial arts I wielded weren’t just sothing you learned—they were sothing you survived to master.
"Still..." Berald muttered, scratching the back of his head, "...what you just used—are you sure that’s martial arts?"
I blinked. "Huh?"
"It felt... different from what I know." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "When our fists collided, it was like... sothing exploded. Your fist hadn’t even reached mine, and I already felt the impact."
I remained silent.
"It wasn’t just force. It was sothing else. It felt more like... magic?"
A small laugh escaped . I couldn’t help it.
So he sensed it.
"You’re not wrong," I admitted. "The techniques I used—they aren’t just martial arts. They’re a fusion. A martial art designed to work with magic."
He stared at . "A martial art that requires magic to use...? That’s even possible?"
"It is. For soone who understands both."
Berald humd in admiration. "What’s the na of it?"
"The na?"
"Yeah. For a martial art that crazy, surely it’s got so kind of badass na, right?"
I hesitated.
A mory surged to the surface.
-Hey, co to think of it, what’s the na of this martial art?
-The na, you say?
-Yeah. You’ve cobbled it together from dozens of styles, but by now, it’s your own.
-Well... I never really thought of a na for it.
-You what? You’ve made a martial art strong enough to kill archdemons and you didn’t na it?
-Haha! If it needs a na, let’s call it Berald’s Martial Art!
-Are you joking? That’s the na you’re going with?
Isn’t it cool? You’re the only one who knows it besides . You won’t forget it, even after a thousand years, right?
-You idiot... don’t talk like that. You’re not dying anyti soon.
-Of course not! I’m going to live long enough to smash the Demon God’s skull and then retire on a beach. With drinks!
-...Fine. Then we’ll call it Berald’s Martial Art. But only because I know you’ll never let forget it.
He died not long after that.
Crushed beneath the rubble of a cathedral set ablaze by a demon’s curse. I rembered the sight of his lifeless body more clearly than my own reflection.
The way his lips were curled—not in pain, but in that stupid smile.
I clenched my fists unconsciously, veins pushing to the surface of my skin.
"Brother?" Berald asked, looking puzzled. "Sothing wrong?"
"...No," I said after a pause. "Just lost in thought."
"So then, what’s the na of the martial art?" he asked again.
I stared at him.
At the living version of soone I had already mourned.
At the man who had once told , with tears in his eyes and laughter in his voice, ’Even if I die, at least rember the na.’
I let out a small breath. "It doesn’t have a na."
"What? That level of technique, and you didn’t na it?"
"Martial arts are fringe," I replied. "Not everyone sees the value in naming sothing no one else will learn."
Berald scratched his head in disbelief. "Still, what a waste. You could’ve called it sothing epic. Like... Dragon Bone Fist or Fla Pulse Combat..."
I chuckled. "Maybe next ti."
He’d forgotten. But I hadn’t.
I’d never forget. Because he was the one who nad it.
Berald’s Martial Art.
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