Chapter 9
"9998... 9999... 10000—!!"
With a final strained grunt, Han slammed his palms into the ground, finishing his 10,000th push-up. His black-and-white hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his arms trembled like jelly.
Without missing a beat, he kicked off the ground in a flashy somersault and landed with a heavy thud, panting like a broken steam engine.
Ding!
[Daily Quest 1 Completed!]
A bright system message floated before his bleary eyes.
> The Host should complete the remaining two daily quests to claim your reward!
Han sighed so hard he nearly deflated.
"Am I an idiot… or just stupidly enthusiastic?" he muttered, glaring at the system window.
When the system first asked him to create his own daily quests, he thought he was being smart. Now he realized he'd been the architect of his own suffering.
His first quest? 10,000 push-ups, sit-ups, and squats.
Done. Barely. At the cost of his soul.
The second quest?
Run around Serenya City three times.
Which, to his horror, he only realized was massive. Running around it once was a death wish; three times was straight-up masochism.
"Well, the faster I finish, the faster I can start regretting my life choices..." Han groaned. He crouched into a sprinter's stance, his legs trembling slightly, then—blast off! He shot forward like a bullet, the ground cracking under his sudden burst of speed.
Meanwhile, two young women walking nearby blinked in shock as Han whooshed past them, a white-and-black blur.
"W-Was that the Young Master Han?" the first stammered.
"I thought he only awakened an E-rank skill?" her companion said, equally stunned.
"...I'm starting to think we were lied to," the first whispered, eyes wide.
Han, meanwhile, was too busy regretting every decision that led him to this moment. He smiled and greeted the people he passed—but by the time they opened their mouths to reply, he was already a speck on the horizon.
The cityfolk stared, impressed.
Han? Han was impressed too—with how fast he was losing stamina.
Several agonizing laps later, he staggered into the city's training grounds, where dozens of martial artists in black uniforms struggled to learn the legendary Jungle Arts.
To call it 'training' was generous.
Most of them looked like they were trying not to die.
Han plopped down, panting so hard he was seeing double. Beside him sat an old elder, whose wise, weathered face was twisted in visible disappointment at the sight before him.
"Tch, such a pity," the old man grumbled. "Months of training, and they can't even grasp the first Art. I thought at least a few would make it through the basics by now..."
He glanced sideways at Han.
"Not like you. You learned nine arts in two years... and that was you being lazy. If you were serious, you would've mastered all fifteen already."
Han didn't respond. His mind was elsewhere, whirring with possibilities.
If I complete all fifteen Jungle Arts...and evolve them all to S-rank, what kind of monster will I be!
The thought alone was enough to spark a small grin across his face.
Snap!
Han blinked as a hand clapped loudly in front of his face.
The elder gave him a suspicious look.
"You still with us, boy?" he grunted.
Han rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Heh. Sorry, sorry. Just got... distracted."
Then, with renewed determination, he turned to the elder.
"Old one," Han said. "Teach me the rest of the Jungle Arts."
The elder raised a bushy brow. "Why the sudden interest? You've been slacking off for months."
Han coughed. "Personal growth," he lied shamelessly.
The old man chuckled dryly. "Fine. But you know, it usually takes decades to master all fifteen."
Han gave him a look so smug it could kill a cow.
"...Alright, you're an exception," the elder sighed. "You could probably do it in a few months, you monster."
Just as they were about to start, the doors of the training grounds creaked open.
A figure walked in, face swollen slightly and bruised. He walked pitifully, looking like he had lost a fight with a rhinoceros.
Han's eyes lit up wickedly.
He cracked his knuckles, turning to the elder with a grin that could only be described as criminal.
"Actually... mind if I spar a little first?"
The elder, clueless, simply nodded.
Han stepped casually into the sparring ring on the right side of the training room, stretching his arms lazily as he did. The moment the trainees noticed, a buzz of excitement swept through them—they knew what this meant.
And they definitely knew who Han was about to challenge.
"Ron!" Han called, his voice light but carrying a dangerous undertone.
"Y-Yes, Young Master..." the slightly battered newcomer answered, flinching instinctively.
"Come up here," Han said, flashing a smile so cheerful it sent shivers down Ron's spine. That wasn't a smile. That was a death sentence disguised as kindness.
Han had been relentlessly thrashing him for days now.
It wasn't always like this. A few years ago, when Han had first joined the Martial Arts Club, Ron used to treat him like a human punching bag. Out of pure jealousy over Han's freakish ability to learn techniques quickly, Ron had beaten him black and blue countless times, without caring that Han was the city young master.
But time... time was a cruel and beautiful thing.
Ron had watched in horror as Han grew—stronger, faster, smarter—until even the once "untouchable senior brother" Ron had been left in the dust. Han had mastered nine of the Jungle Arts in just two years, while Ron... had barely scraped through two.
In desperation, Ron had awakened a skill to keep up:
Skill: Stone Fist
Rank: D
Allows user to channel Earth essence into their fists for enhanced blocking and striking power.
It sounded cooler than it actually was.
When Han had gone for his Awakening, Ron prayed to every spirit he knew: "Please don't let him awaken something broken."
When he heard that Han had only gotten an E-rank skill, Ron wept with mixed emotions.
Sadness—because he had genuinely hoped his young master would become a beacon for the city.
Relief—because maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be Han's personal ragdoll.
That illusion shattered one week ago.
When Han had returned, he challenged Ron... and beat him so thoroughly that Ron's soul almost left his body mid-match.
And now... here they were again.
"Come on!" Han encouraged, beckoning him forward like a friendly demon.
Ron glanced around—some trainees looked at him with pity, others with barely concealed anticipation.
If I refuse, I'll be a coward.
If I accept... I might die.
Trapped between humiliation and destruction, Ron let out a breath and stepped onto the stage, his hands clasped together in a pleading gesture.
"Young Master Han," he said with a forced grin, "let's hold back a little, right? No need to go all-out and hurt each other."
He was lying through his teeth. He knew Han would crush him. He just hoped to minimize the damage.
Han's grin widened. "Nope. We can just heal afterward. Let's go all out!"
Ron's heart dropped. He was officially doomed.
"You should really hold back, Young Master! You've gotten too strong! Don't bully the weak!" Ron cried, still trying to talk his way out.
Han's smile twitched. "I remember you saying something years ago," he said. "Something about how a weakling just needs to get stronger?"
Ron paled.
He remembers?I was fifteen! He was ten! Damn it! That was eight years ago! How could he hold a grudge for that long!?.
Without another word, Han dropped into a familiar fighting stance—feet planted, fingers slightly splayed apart—the signature opening move of the Wolf Clutch, the first Jungle Art.
Ron cursed under his breath.
He's even using Wolf Clutch?! Against me?!
He knew Han was way more proficient at it.
He couldn't win this.
Still, if he ran away now, he might as well dig a hole and live inside it forever.
Summoning every ounce of courage (and stupidity), Ron rushed forward, using a clumsy combo he'd practiced: leap, mid-air feint, roll, and strike!
Han's back was turned.
Maybe... just maybe, I can land a hit!
Ron's fist flew straight for Han's spine, hope flickering in his chest.
Then—
Grasp!
Han's hand shot out with impossible speed, grabbing Ron's wrist effortlessly.
Ron's heart froze.
Looking up, he met Han's perfectly calm, almost bored gaze.
"No way..."
He knew what was coming next.
"First Jungle Art—Wolf Clutch," Han said smoothly.
Han twisted Ron's arm with practiced grace, lifted him clear off the ground as if he weighed nothing, and smashed him into the arena floor with a deafening thud.
The entire training hall went silent.
Han took a step back, ready for round two.
But Ron wasn't moving.
Han blinked.
He knelt down and inspected him.
Ron's eyes had rolled up into his skull.
Completely knocked out cold.
"...Wait." Han rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Is Ron getting weaker, or am I just... getting that much stronger?"
As if answering his question, the System popped up.
> Daily Quest Completed!
Reward: +4 Stat Points, +500 EP, +100 CP, +1 restoration pill.
Han chuckled to himself, stretching lazily.
"Well, the rewards are as good as always."
Minutes later, Han, the old man, and several disciples gathered at the sprawling backyard, where massive boulders lay scattered like sleeping beasts.
Ron, naturally, was absent—still unconscious from Han's earlier "lesson."
"Pay close attention," the old man said, his voice carrying a rare seriousness that immediately silenced the murmuring disciples.
"I will demonstrate the Tenth Jungle Art: Falcon Dive."
Han's eyes sharpened like a blade drawn from its sheath.
The old master inhaled deeply, taking a wide, grounded stance—his right foot braced forward, his left drawn slightly behind. His arms hung loose but ready, fingers slightly curled like talons preparing to strike. His center of gravity lowered, body coiled like a spring about to snap.
Then, he moved.
His first step slammed into the earth with quiet force, the ground beneath him cracking faintly under the precise pressure.
As his second foot landed, the fracture widened, a spiderweb of hairline cracks fanning out beneath him.
With an explosive surge, the old man kicked off the ground. His body shot upward, soaring several meters into the sky like a bird breaking free of gravity's grip.
At the peak of his ascent, he snapped his hands together in front of him, elbows tight, and began spinning rapidly—a silver blur against the blue backdrop.
He descended like a falling star.
A thunderous BOOM erupted as he crashed into one of the boulders, spiderweb cracks exploding across its surface. Dust and small shards danced into the air as the boulder groaned under the force but stubbornly held itself together, trembling.
The onlookers burst into stunned applause, their faces lit with awe.
The old man, panting lightly, wiped sweat from his forehead as he staggered back to his seat.
"With Falcon Dive," he said between breaths, "one can contend with Awakened fighters—so long as their skill rank isn't too far above yours."
A distant look crossed his eyes as he sank into the chair.
Once... he mused silently, I could unleash five or six Jungle Arts in a day. Now even one leaves me gasping like a fish out of water.
Before anyone could comment, Han stepped forward, his expression unusually serious.
"Wait!" the old man barked, alarm flashing across his face. "You need to watch it many more times—if you attempt it recklessly, you might cripple yourself!"
But Han didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the ground, body moving instinctively.
He mirrored the old master's earlier stance almost perfectly—feet braced, arms loose but tense, fingers clawed slightly. It wasn't imitation; it was replication, down to the smallest shift of balance.
"Tenth Jungle Art: Falcon Dive," Han muttered under his breath.
Without hesitation, he launched into motion.
His first step struck the earth, cracks splitting outward under his foot. His second step followed with a heavier thud, widening the fissures.
In a blink, Han hurled himself skyward, ascending like a living missile. At the apex, his hands locked together, and he began spinning—a rapid, controlled twister against the heavens.
He descended with terrifying speed, targeting a second boulder.
CRACK—BOOM!
The impact shook the ground, the boulder buckling under the sheer force. For a breathless moment, it stood, groaning against its impending doom... then shattered spectacularly into a rain of stone fragments.
Dust billowed outward, covering the backyard in a haze.
When the dust settled, Han stood calmly among the ruins, hands beside him, looking almost bored.
"...That was actually easy," he said, tilting his head.
Silence.
The old master's jaw hung open, eyes bugging out so far they looked ready to pop from his skull.
One of the disciples, stammering in shock, turned toward him.
"Teacher.... d-did the young master really... get it?"
The old man slowly closed his eyes, taking a deep, weary breath as if he were about to faint.
"He didn't just get it..." he croaked.
"...He perfected it."
To be continued.