Ch.91EP.24 – No Excuses for My Life (2)

……When was it?

“Aren’t you tired of that martial arts stuff yet?”

While on duty, a senior officer I’d known for nearly 10 years asked me.

How could I not get tired of reading martial arts novels every day during my shifts?

“After reading them for nearly 10 years, shouldn’t you be tired of them?”

“Sometimes I am. But there’s always something new each time I read them.”

“Seriously. Why do you like martial arts novels so much?”

“Hmm… because they’re full of romance?”

“Romance my ass.”

“Well, haven’t you been playing that Duel thing or whatever for over 10 years? Don’t you get tired of that?”

“Hey! Dueling is the fundamental essence that stirs a man’s soul, the essence!”

“Ah, yes sir…”

Birds of a feather flock together.

Looking back now, I think both of us were oddballs.

Still, I considered myself better than my senior officer.

After all, I enjoyed a variety of things beyond martial arts novels—web comics, romance stories, whatever—while that man obsessively played only first-generation cards.

According to him, he only acknowledged the “fundamentals” and up to the second generation…

Anyway, my senior was right that I particularly preferred the martial arts genre over others.

If I had to give a reason:

“Because it’s exhilarating.”

Exhilarating.

They say people envy what they don’t have, and I strangely liked those gallant martial heroes.

They have no worries. They just charge forward and do what they want.

Rather than worrying about tomorrow, they live in the present, and instead of fearing death, they live each minute with full intensity, anxious about wasting even a day.

So that there are no regrets, no matter when life ends.

How exhilarating and brilliant is that?

…I wasn’t like that.

Always intimidated, lacking confidence, a life of being pushed around.

What a reed-like existence.

So I envied the lives of martial heroes in novels who lived for chivalry (俠) more than the wealthy or powerful.

Because their lives had no petty excuses.

“So, you like the protagonists?”

“No, I just envy all those who pursue chivalry in martial arts novels.”

Yes, it wasn’t that he liked the protagonists of martial arts novels.

He admired the life of a martial hero, and it became the ideal he always pictured deep in his heart.

So he often muttered:

“If there’s a next life, I’ll live without cowardly excuses, just following my heart.”

“Why not try that now?”

“Then, can I set fire to the battalion commander’s head?”

“…Well, that guy’s already bald, so why bother?”

“Hehe, that’s true.”

If there’s a next life, I won’t live like I do now, he said.

Well.

“Hmm, is assaulting a superior officer really exhilarating?”

At the end of his life, he thought he had somewhat achieved his ideal.

He—no, Ihan, who had somehow become the same age as his past self—thought as he moved forward, looking only ahead.

Was he truly living according to his heart, as his past self had said?

“…Who cares.”

But Ihan soon dismissed this as another pointless worry.

The very act of worrying isn’t heroic.

He just needed to remember one thing:

‘I will do what I believe is right, and I don’t need others’ approval for my actions.’

In the end, there is no correct answer.

Who, except God, would know what consequences these actions might bring?

So this is merely an act of self-satisfaction.

And the responsibility lies solely with oneself.

Tap.

Ihan finally stopped walking.

He didn’t stop with the intention of halting his advance.

He simply saw a fortress-like wall blocking his path, with an iron gate at the entrance that looked even sturdier than the wall, so he was contemplating what to do.

There were two options.

Either climb over the wall or shout.

But neither option appealed to him.

He was provoking a great noble. Shouldn’t he do it more dramatically?

So he…

Step, step.

“Huh?”

“What’s that?”

“Stop right there and identify yourself! This is the Tristan family estate.”

The soldiers guarding the iron gate warned him with sharp intensity.

As expected of a prestigious family.

Even the soldiers were elite, with extraordinary presence, conveying their readiness to attack him at any moment.

Yet…

“S-stop, I said!”

Ihan didn’t stop and continued straight ahead.

Like a truck with broken brakes.

And as his pace quickened, and he eventually started running…

“Sh-shoot arrows! It’s an intruder!!”

Ding ding!!

With the sound of bells alerting everyone to a nighttime intruder, the soldiers aimed their bows.

Unhesitating shots.

Impressive.

If they were under his command, he would gladly give them vacation days.

But unfortunately, he had nothing to give them now, and currently, he was simply…

Tang! Taang!

“Th-the arrows?!”

“W-what is that?!”

…an attacker who would break through them.

The arrows that should have hit his body precisely all bounced off.

Not because they hit armor and deflected.

They were deflected by the intense pressure created as he ran at full speed.

Running as if tearing through the wind, and then…

Whoosh!!

He soared.

“—!”

Like a high jumper, he floated in the air, covering a distance of 5 meters in one breath, extending his fist toward the iron gate blocking his path.

Not the Hundred Step Divine Fist or anything fancy, just a straight punch with all his might.

And that fist…

Crash!!

…unleashed enough power to blow away the gate made of iron.

Kwaaang!

“……”

“…Am I dreaming right now?”

The soldiers stopped their attack and just stood there with their mouths open stupidly.

No….

How could a punch destroy that?

“…Whew, the hinges must have been rusty. You should maintain them better.”

“……”

“What?”

“Huh……”

Ihan was brazenly stretching his wrist while offering advice, and the soldier let out a hollow laugh.

A frontal assault.

Ihan’s third option was shocking in many ways.

* * *

The mansion of Marquis Tristan was vast.

Not just spacious, but jaw-droppingly enormous, with five separate farms surrounding it and even a wide garden for raising horses.

With over 2,000 servants, it wasn’t just a mansion but practically a village.

Even more shocking was that this was just a drop in the bucket compared to the immense influence and wealth the Tristan family possessed.

Well, with excellent precious metal mines and five trading companies under their operation, maintaining such a mansion wouldn’t be extravagant for the Tristans.

And with such vast wealth and influence, the Tristan mansion was comparable to a fortress.

A fortress disguised as a mansion.

Dozens of elite soldiers were always on standby, patrolling the entire estate in shifts.

Archers lined the high walls, ready to shoot at any time.

Each entrance was blocked by iron gates commissioned directly from the mystical Dwarven race.

Even if one defeated the soldiers, it would be common sense that there was no way to pass through the main gate.

…Yet, now, that common sense had collapsed.

Whoosh….

The iron wall’s gate had been completely torn off—an impossible sight.

What were they witnessing right now?

As soldiers gathered, illuminating the surroundings with torches, they could share the situation.

“W-what is this?!”

“Did a large-scale magical beast attack?!”

“Watch out for ballistas! There might be ballistas nearby!”

The soldiers thought and prepared to respond within the bounds of common sense.

A ballista or a large magical beast must have launched a surprise attack, tearing off the iron gate.

Otherwise, there’s no way that gate could be torn off.

It was all within common sense, and they couldn’t imagine that a single man had accomplished this.

But soon…

“…No, this isn’t right.”

“??”

They were about to discover who was responsible for this impossible act.

…Unintelligible muttering.

But the intruder seemed dissatisfied with something.

Perhaps he was already regretting attacking the marquis’s estate?

If so, that would be welcome.

Even now, mitigating circumstances…

“If you’re going to pick a fight, do it properly.”

“……”

Apparently not.

The soldier looked into his eyes as he muttered.

His gaze was remarkably clear.

Flinch!

The soldier suddenly felt goosebumps and sensed that he should flee right now.

Sure enough…

Crack!

“Get out of the way if you don’t want to die.”

“……”

The soldiers witnessed it.

The monstrous strength of a man lifting that enormous iron gate with one hand!

The expression of a soldier who remembered that it had taken more than ten men to install that gate the day before turned pale.

Once again, people began to wonder if this was a dream, but unfortunately, this situation was not a dream.

“Huuuuu!”

Inhale and exhale.

Taking a deep breath, the man, Ihan, slowly began to rotate his body while gripping the iron gate.

Whack!!

It would have been natural for his shoulder or arm to dislocate while lifting such a massive gate, but Ihan decided to temporarily set aside the principles of human anatomy.

He finally…

Whoosh…! Whoooosh-!

Took a stance as if about to throw the iron gate like a shot put, spinning it and turning the surrounding area into chaos.

“Aaaagh!”

“R-run!!!”

“Urrrgh-!”

2,550kg.

Approximately 2.5 tons of iron spinning around is threatening and destructive in itself.

Even though it was rotating slowly, the turbulence created generated formidable wind pressure that devastated everything, and the soldiers forgot their duties and scrambled to escape.

Not only was Ihan’s existence terrifying as he played with such a massive piece of iron, but no one wanted to end their life as a sliced piece of meat caught in the rotating iron gate.

It was a scene of panic, and soon no one was within a 30-meter radius of Ihan.

Crack!

Thanks to this, Ihan had gained sufficient run-up distance, and he began his preparations, gritting his teeth.

Crunch, crunch!

The sound of rupturing from Ihan’s arms, shoulders, waist, and legs.

If it had been before taking the elixir, the pressure overwhelming him would have been more than enough to crush him.

“Urrrgh!!”

But Ihan endured it.

His much stronger grip and strength, along with his deeper understanding of the Way, gave him the monstrous power and ability to throw such a mass.

But he had only one chance.

He wouldn’t be able to do this twice.

A single insane act.

But once was enough, and when he had gathered enough strength and calculated the distance and timing perfectly…

“Aaaagh!!”

With a shout that could have been either a battle cry or sheer stubbornness, he threw the shot put—no, the iron gate.

Whoooosh-!

It traced a slowly rotating parabola.

Though he threw it, it was still difficult to rotate such a mass.

But what matters is the fact that he “threw” it.

A 2.5-ton piece of iron flying and colliding.

That was already…

Kwaaang!!

…a disaster sufficient to collapse a building and the ground beneath it.

Rumble!

The iron gate—or projectile—that Ihan threw hit the mansion where the marquis resided with perfect accuracy, making the ground shake.

“…Yes, this is how you properly pick a fight.”

What good would it be if a man just broke down a gate and called it a provocation?

Although Ihan was bleeding from his eyes, mouth, and nose—truly in a state of “bleeding from seven orifices”—he merely wiped the dust from the bridge of his nose with satisfaction.

The result was quite satisfactory, enough that he didn’t mind the (minor?) injuries.