Chapter 2
[Translator – Night]
[Proofreader – Gun]
Chapter 2
On the other side of the mirror, a sturdy boy with short brown hair was standing, facing him without a shirt.
He must have been around sixteen years old?
Although his face was too rugged to be called handsome, in fact, looking at his build alone, he seemed like a tough young man.
His height seemed to tower over others, and his whole body was covered in sturdy muscles.
Rough hands with plenty of calluses.
Thick biceps and triceps were as hard as rocks, and his abs were so clearly defined that it seemed unrealistic whether it was really a human belly.
Even if you carved it out of marble, dividing the six-pack so clearly would seem unrealistic.
Moreover, despite being so muscular, he didn’t look fat or anything, but rather maintained a well-balanced body of an eight-headed figure.
It was truly an ideal physique, wasn’t it?
Of course, to Rifenhardt, who pursued the ideal wizard, he only looked like a simple, ignorant, and rough body.
Rifenhardt absentmindedly raised his hand to his cheek.
The boy in the mirror also raised his hand to his cheek.
“Ha… haha….”
Rifenhardt, panicked, let out a bitter laugh.
The boy in the mirror also laughed bitterly.
There was no doubt.
He had to admit it.
That muscular boy was none other than himself!
Rifenhardt muttered blankly with a shocked expression on his face.
“Who are you…you….”
☆ ☆ ☆
Rifenhardt continuously touched his face in front of the mirror.
The muscular boy with a naive expression in the mirror mimicked him.
A sigh escaped him involuntarily.
‘How on earth did this happen….’
As a child, he had been the owner of black hair and black pupils, with a cold demeanor.
And he had also been quite a handsome young man.
Even in his old age, he had exuded a dignified charm that had captivated many elf maidens’ hearts.
Whether young or old.
There had never been a time when he had such a ridiculous face!
Well, if you really thought about it, the boy in the mirror wasn’t really ugly.
He was just not a pretty boy, more like a tough guy type?
But compared to the high beauty standards that Rifenhardt, who had always been highly attractive, had, he just looked like a servant.
Rifenhardt scratched his head in frustration.
What on earth had happened?
Was the time reversal spell a failure after all?
So, instead of his past self, had he entered someone else’s body by mistake?
No, then maybe this isn’t the past at all?
Could it be that only his soul has changed places with someone in the future?
No matter how much he tried to deduce, without any clues, there’s no way to find an answer.
As he was pondering, Rifenhardt’s eyes suddenly widened.
‘Come to think of it, why does this face seem somewhat familiar…?’
Strange.
Somehow, it feels like I’ve seen this face somewhere before.
It’s definitely a face I’ve never seen before, yet there’s something strangely familiar about it.
Those thick brown eyebrows, sturdy eyes, and stubbornly closed lips.
Yeah, if that figure gets bigger, if the muscles swell more, and if a steel-like beard covers the chin…
“Fist King Tesron?”
Then it happened.
The door burst open, and a majestic voice solidified his deduction.
“Tesron, you rascal! The sun is already at its zenith! Why aren’t you out yet?”
As he turned his head, Rifenhardt froze in place.
‘Huh!’
The one who shouted at him was an old man he had never seen before.
With a height of 2.5 meters and muscles that looked like they would burst, whether that creature could be called a human or whether it was a stone statue painted with flesh-colored paint was debatable.
The old man approached briskly.
Rifenhardt was terrified by the clouds of muscles covering his field of vision.
Even though he had dealt with giant monsters like ogres or minotaurs, this old man seemed different.
The bodies of those brutes, which were somewhat fat and had a beer belly, at least had some humanity despite their large size.
In contrast, this old man looked truly rectangular, with well-defined muscle lines and no unnecessary fat.
If those brutes looked like rough sandstone, then this one looked like solid granite.
The physique that Rifenhardt had thought was impressive and robust now seemed like that of a weak and delicate boy compared to this old man.
That’s how terrifying relative evaluation could be.
The old man laughed heartily, his dazzling white hair and silver beard fluttering.
“Well, let’s start the day joyfully again, shall we? Hehehe!”
Once a synonym for terror that stained the continent, the demon king Rifenhardt trembled like a mouse in front of a cat as he asked with a trembling voice.
“Wh-who are you?”
Little did he know, but the identity of the old man was none other than Gerald Crom Protheus, the master of the young Tesron, the strongest martial artist on the continent at the time.
☆ ☆ ☆
Today, as usual, Gerald was preparing for the day to train Tesron.
However, for some reason, Tesron didn’t crawl out to the training ground as usual.
Angrily, he ran to grab the disobedient disciple.
Time is precious, how can even a minute be wasted?
As he burst into the disciple’s room and stepped inside, he saw the disciple looking at himself in the mirror.
Gerald’s mood immediately improved.
It was truly gratifying to see him checking his entire muscular body from head to toe so diligently in the morning.
It was admirable to see him so focused on cultivating a more beautiful physique.
So he cheerfully exclaimed.
“Well, let’s start the day joyfully again, shall we? Hehehe!”
But something seemed strange about the disciple’s expression today.
It wasn’t the intimidating glare and the fiery gaze that usually pierced like flames.
“Wh-who are you?”
“Hmm? For some reason, you seem to be looking at me like you don’t know me today?”
Gerald chuckled.
The disciple spoke again.
“I-I’m really asking because I don’t know….”
Gerald nodded as if understanding.
Then kindly said.
“Tesron, Tesron. Haven’t you used the excuse of amnesia twice already? You should know by now that it won’t work. Ts ts.”
The disciple’s mouth fell open.
It seemed like he was amazed.
This time, his expression seemed quite vivid, and it felt quite realistic.
It seemed like his acting skills had improved significantly.
Gerald clicked his tongue.
But he didn’t want to blame the disciple.
Gerald, too, understood well enough that their martial arts, Unbreakable Gym’s training methods were harsh.
After all, he himself had used all means and methods to escape when he was training under his master.
However, once you reached the level of enlightenment, you couldn’t help but feel moved by the profound meaning of your master’s teachings, experiencing the effects of these training methods firsthand.
Until then, it was the master’s responsibility to forcibly lead the disciple to the pinnacle of ascension!
Gerald reached out and grabbed the disciple’s neck.
Although the disciple already surpassed the stature of an adult, to him, who was 2.5 meters tall, he was still a small boy.
Holding the back of his neck ‘with one hand,’ Gerald cheerfully said.
“Well, let’s go to the training ground!”
☆ ☆ ☆
Deep in the mountains, amidst various deciduous trees, there are two log houses and a large open space located halfway up the mountain ridge.
Although not well known to the public, it is the place where Unbreakable Gym, the lineage that produced the strongest martial artist on the continent for generations, is situated.
Rifenhardt was hanging in midair, his neck grabbed by the muscular old man, Gerald.
That posture was how he was being carried to the open space.
Floundering desperately, Rifenhardt struggled, acutely feeling the emotions of a kitten being taken by its mother.
But it was useless.
This muscle old man was easily suppressing all his struggles with just one hand.
Of course, Rifenhardt’s mouth never stopped moving.
He was a wizard, and wizards had a deeply ingrained habit of dealing with everything with their mouths.
“Wh-whoa, old man!”
“Hey, old man!”
“Excuse me, sir!”
“Please, just listen to me for a moment…”
“Hey! Are you deaf? When someone speaks, you should respond!”
It was futile.
The muscular old man ignored every word, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
Upon reaching the training ground, Gerald released Rifenhardt and abruptly tied him to a giant wooden stake in the middle of the field.
“Huh? Wha-what?”
With his arms bound behind him, Rifenhardt blinked in confusion.
His posture looked ominously familiar.
Wasn’t this the position used when executing prisoners?
Rifenhardt was about to shout in panic.
“Quiet.”
With a brief word, Gerald gagged him.
“Mmm?”
With his mouth blocked, Rifenhardt looked at Gerald in terror.
Gerald grinned warmly and went to the other side of the field, returning with a large bamboo stalk.
“Alright, let’s begin the training!”
Then, Gerald clenched the bamboo stalk and spat on both hands.
Rifenhardt’s fear intensified.
“Ugh!”
Gerald struck Rifenhardt’s abdomen forcefully with the bamboo.
Thud!
“….!”
It hurt like hell.
Unable to scream, it felt even more painful.
Trembling, Rifenhardt stared at the old man before him.
‘What the hell is going on?’
He couldn’t understand the situation at all.
And there seemed to be no chance of understanding.
The beating continued mercilessly.
The bamboo struck his thigh.
It hurt even more.
This time, it hit his side.
It hurt so much that tears welled up.
Known for its strength and elasticity, the southern bamboo was renowned for its viciousness.
Gerald began to beat Rifenhardt’s entire body with it relentlessly.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“…Aaargh!”
With the gag in place, Rifenhardt screamed continuously and desperately.
The beating was relentless, targeting every part of his body with high intensity.
All thoughts of unfairness, confusion about the situation, or wondering how this happened vanished from his mind.
‘Th-this. Maybe…I should just…’
For a moment, Rifenhardt saw an apparition beckoning him from beyond the blue sky, urging him to come quickly.
But he gritted his teeth.
It felt too pathetic to think that he would die just after gaining a second chance at life.
With a lingering sense of attachment to life, he struggled to clear his foggy mind.
‘I can’t die! Not like this!’
Meanwhile, Gerald was puzzled.
The sensation of defeating his disciple felt slightly different.
It felt more satisfying than usual, like there was a bit more resistance?
If he were just training his body as usual, there wouldn’t be such a feeling.
‘Is he really suffering from amnesia?’
It wasn’t particularly surprising.
Since the training methods of Unbreakable Gym were often simple, brutal, and aggressive, temporary amnesia occasionally occurred.
Gerald himself had experienced the loss of memory a few times during his training.
[TL/N: BRO?? ]
And as an experienced person, he knew the solution well.
‘Sometimes, a good beating can jog the memory.’
With that in mind, Gerald’s strikes became even more severe.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The booming sound of the beating reverberated loudly under the clear sky.
It was a soulful drum sound that truly touched the heart.
And of course, given that the drum was imbued with a soul, the inevitable result followed.
‘S-save meee!’
[Translator – Night]
[Proofreader – Gun]
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