An Absurd Outcome
The next morning, not long after dawn, a sizable crowd had gathered at the training grounds of Geumho Manor.
"I heard the youngest master is going up against a disciple of the Mount Hua Sect?"
"You fool! What do you mean 'going up against'? The proper term is bimu, a martial arts spar."
"Eh, same difference, isn't it? No need to be so particular…"
"Anyway, I'm just worried whether he'll even be a match."
"I heard the other kid is a rising star in the Mount Hua Sect despite being so young. But our young master…"
"He's just been training by himself, practicing some weird third-rate martial arts without even a proper master. Tsk, tsk."
"I just hope he doesn't get hurt too badly…"
News had spread throughout Geumho Manor that disciples from the Mount Hua Sect had arrived the day before, and that a bimu would take place the next day. As a result, many of the manor's residents had come out to watch the match. Since the manor lord, Yeon Chaeho, and Plum Blossom Hero Gi Hyeokdo had agreed to make the bimu public, there was no objection to the audience.
In truth, Yeon Chaeho's thoughts were more along the lines of:
'This brat needs to be thoroughly humiliated once to finally come to his senses…'
He almost wanted to put his son's defeat on full display.
Yeon Hwi-tae, shaking his head as if he could read his father's sly smile, turned his gaze to his upcoming opponent. There stood Kang Yun-hwa, staring at him with bright eyes. Swinging a wooden sword this way and that, she seemed eager for the match to begin. Hwi-tae gave a blunt evaluation.
"Just a kid."
"…And you're not?"
Yeon Chaeho snapped back, annoyed, as Hwi-tae accidentally said what he was thinking out loud.
And once again, he issued a stern warning:
"I'll say this again—if you lose this match, you're going to the Mount Hua Sect without complaint. Understood?"
"Yessir, yessir. But only if I lose, right?"
'…Let's just see how that smug face holds up.'
Thinking the outcome was already obvious, Chaeho snorted and returned to his place.
A moment later, Gi Hyeokdo took the role of witness as an elder of Mount Hua and officially presided over the bimu.
"This match is not a life-or-death duel nor a real blade match, just a friendly sparring session. So make sure not to cause any serious injury. The winner will be decided when one party admits defeat or faints. Do your best, and if I sense any real danger, I'll stop the match immediately. So don't worry and give it your all. Now, we begin the bimu between Yeon Hwi-tae and Kang Yun-hwa."
At his signal, Yeon Hwi-tae and Kang Yun-hwa moved to opposite ends of the training ground and took their stances. Kang Yun-hwa adopted the ready position of the Six Harmonies Sword Art.
Yeon Hwi-tae, on the other hand—
'What's that stance…?'
He bent slightly at the waist and spread his palms in a strange posture. At first glance, it looked like palm technique (jangbeop), but the way he kept shaking his hands made it unclear. Kang Yun-hwa narrowed her eyes, deciding to keep a close watch on the unfamiliar stance, and followed the proper etiquette by introducing herself.
"I'm Kang Yun-hwa, fourth-generation disciple of the Mount Hua Sect. I use the Six Harmonies Sword Art."
"I'm Yeon Hwi-tae."
Normally, it was customary in a friendly match to state your sect, name, and martial art style. But Hwi-tae had no sect, and his martial art was an improvised patchwork of various techniques he had learned. So all he could do was give his name.
However, unaware of all this, Kang Yun-hwa thought she was being underestimated, and it quietly made her angry.
"Then, I'm coming."
Despite that, she maintained a calm and controlled breath, proving she wasn't considered a prodigy for nothing. Just as she began to step forward to launch the first attack, Yeon Hwi-tae suddenly charged at her from his crouched posture in an aggressive rush. The sight of him clearly trying to ram into her made Kang Yun-hwa sneer inwardly.
'Hmph. How primitive.'
Seeing him rush in without any footwork or strategy made her want to laugh. All she had to do was calmly bring her wooden sword down on his crown—victory would be hers. With composure, she swung her sword straight down at his head, sticking to the basics.
Everyone watching thought that was the end.
But then—something unexpected happened.
In his previous life, Yeon Hwi-tae wasn't just a simple fighting champion.
To be clear, he was a star—and arguably the strongest man in the world.
No other fighter had ever shattered weight divisions like he did, defeating heavyweights one after another as a bantamweight. Despite his dominance, he wasn't often accused of drug use or foul play. There were suspicions, yes, but he consistently delivered performances that even skeptics couldn't deny.
Sure, he had the physical attributes—strength, speed, stamina—but what truly set him apart was his intelligence in the ring.
He was a master of mind games, baiting his opponents into lowering their guard. He had an acute sense for spotting weaknesses, and a relentless instinct for exploiting them with his own strengths.
Even amateurs could learn something just by watching a few of his matches. He was sharp, strategic, and battle-smart—whether it was shutting down movement by targeting the legs or ending a match with a surprise submission hold. He was born to fight and had an uncanny sense for the flow of combat.
But there was another key reason behind his unbroken winning streak.
He trained strategically, always looking for ways to improve more effectively and efficiently. He incorporated techniques from other sports—not just martial arts, but any discipline that could enhance his abilities.
He learned archery to sharpen focus, table tennis to improve reflexes, rowing to build endurance—he studied the mechanics of countless sports and adapted them to fighting.
All that hard work, all those layers of experience, made him a long-reigning champion.
And now, back to the present moment.
As he charged toward Kang Yun-hwa, that cross-disciplinary adaptability came roaring back.
"Ha!"
Just as Kang Yun-hwa brought her sword down toward his exposed head, Yeon Hwi-tae's posture suddenly changed.
From a forward-leaning rush, he abruptly shifted—his upper body pulling back as if to lie down mid-air, his charging legs halting mid-step. It was as if his upper body had stopped moving while his lower half kept going. Then came a sharp backward step—a backstep.
All these movements were seamlessly connected with his natural flexibility and control, taking less than a second.
In the split second the wooden sword came down—
"Wha—?!"
—he had already slipped backward, narrowly dodging the strike. As Kang Yun-hwa flinched in surprise and began to pull back her sword to counterattack, Yeon Hwi-tae's stance reversed again.
"Here I come!"
No sooner had he dodged than he surged forward again with the same blinding speed as before. Kang Yun-hwa didn't have the time—or composure—to recover her sword for another strike.
His unexpected moves had thrown her completely off balance.
Yeon Hwi-tae seized that opening and tackled her.
"Kyahhhh!"
Kang Yun-hwa was taken down with a classic wrestling-style takedown.
"Wh-what, what is that?!"
"What the heck just happened…?"
Kang Yun-hwa, who had already taken a direct hit to the waist from Yeon Hwi-tae's tackle, collapsed onto the ground, and Yeon Hwi-tae quickly mounted on top of her.
'W-what is this…?'
This wasn't the kind of biwu (martial contest) Kang Yun-hwa had imagined. She had expected a proper exchange of techniques, where both fighters would take formal stances and test their styles against each other—not this kind of brutish brawl.
It was unfortunate for her, but between the shock of the sudden tackle, the impact of hitting the ground, and the sheer unexpectedness of the situation, she was left dazed. But Yeon Hwi-tae's attack wasn't over yet.
"Ugh… What the hell… Aah?"
As she barely managed to regain her senses, what she saw was Yeon Hwi-tae raising his fist above her face, ready to strike.
"Kyaaah!"
Kang Yun-hwa tightly shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight of the incoming punch.
Yeon Hwi-tae's fist came down—
And stopped right in front of her face.
Stunned silence.
The expressions of the onlookers watching this "biwu" were all blank with disbelief. Some stood with their mouths hanging open, drooling. Others had their eyes so wide it looked like they might pop out. Regardless of the chaos around him, Yeon Hwi-tae held his fist frozen just before Kang Yun-hwa's face and thought to himself:
"Just as I expected."
Once you knock a swordsman to the ground—no matter how skilled they are in the martial arts—they can't react properly. Yeon Hwi-tae had formed this hypothesis from the beginning. Of course, any martial artist would be thrown off by such an unorthodox attack, but he hadn't even thought that far ahead. His thought process came from a completely different world than theirs.
"First, I need to prove this theory slowly, through matches against armed opponents."
From the start, the outcome of the match didn't matter to him. He had full confidence he would win. All he wanted was to test his theory against a swordsman from the renowned Mount Hua Sect.
"If this were a real sword duel, it'd be another story…"
But this was just a sparring match against a child. There was no chance he would lose. Including his experiences from his past life, the difference in training volume and practical experience was astronomical. No matter how promising she was, Kang Yun-hwa was just a nine-year-old. Unless it was a deadly fight, his victory was guaranteed.
So, through this biwu, he aimed to fulfill not only his promise but also to conduct a sort of dress rehearsal: sparring against someone wielding a weapon.
"That's why I tried a football-style fake followed by a tackle… and it worked."
There's a certain "Devil's Rodeo" move from an American football manga—a technique where a player fakes a charge, suddenly backsteps as the opponent tries to block, then snatches their timing. In real-life American football, it's actually a move used by quarterbacks.
As previously mentioned, Yeon Hwi-tae picked up anything he thought might be useful. Football techniques were no exception. And now, that move had just been executed in this completely foreign world.
"The exaggerated rush was just bait to lower her guard. In martial terms, a 'feint.' A real tackle isn't just a reckless charge—it's a setup to draw out a big reaction before striking."
If another martial artist had heard his thoughts, they'd have scoffed, saying that wasn't a proper feint at all. But no one here had the knowledge to challenge him on it.