MTO C63

Chapter 63

Michel promptly gripped the wooden sword’s hilt. Even holding a blade still felt awkward. Before a brand‑new discipline, humility came naturally.

“It may seem like beheading solves everything, but some monsters must have their wings broken first. Some live even after you sever the neck. To win against monsters, knowing each species’ traits matters. But in the North alone there are more than twenty kinds.”

Michel clicked his tongue at Kaidan’s explanation.

“More than twenty?”

“Twenty known kinds. How many exist in truth—no one knows.”

Even hearing it chilled the blood. With a nervous swallow, Michel adjusted his grip, and Kaidan’s tone gentled.

“Still, with basic swordwork, even if you can’t kill a monster, you can create a chance to flee.”

Kaidan tossed a wooden sword to Heart. Unlike the neat hand‑off to Michel, this throw was rough. Heart barely caught it, face screwing up. Kaidan did not apologize.

“If you want to learn the sword, mind your manners. I do not teach ill‑bred knights.”

It was a high‑handed stance; clearly, Heart’s sharp tongue had irritated him. Heart did not meekly comply; his gaze pointed like a blade. He was not a child who obeyed simply because an adult spoke. The tension prickled Michel’s skin, but he did not interfere. The instructor set the rules, and bringing Heart at all had already taxed Kaidan’s patience.

Besides, one who truly sought instruction should first show courtesy to the teacher. Whether Heart would bend that much for sword lessons was doubtful.

Perhaps not yet…

Michel watched, anxious. Heart looked ready to fling the sword and storm off. Kaidan, for his part, was no saint of patience.

“Are you not going to learn?”

“…Okay.”

Michel started. He hadn’t expected Heart to choose, of his own will, to learn from Kaidan. It was what Michel hoped for—though he knew he had dragged Heart here without much asking.

Michel was moved; Kaidan was not satisfied.

“You still don’t get it. Get out.”

“I said okay! …sir.”

When Kaidan reached to reclaim the sword, Heart hid it behind his back, snapping. Only at the last breath did the honorific stick, earning a crooked brow from Kaidan. Heart bit his lip, anxious.

“I… want to learn the sword. Please teach me.”

“Heart…!”

Michel clapped a hand over his mouth, emotion surging. A child’s hunger to learn shines like starlight; the same boy who had sworn to kill now politely asked to be taught. The moment itself could feed him till night.

Buoyed by Heart’s change, Michel set his own resolve alight.

“I also wish to learn the sword! Please instruct me!”

He raised his wooden blade. Kaidan sighed, still displeased.

“Your grip is wrong.”

He began at the beginning: how to hold the sword; then the simplest foundations—thrusting, cutting, guarding. As Michel practiced, he felt the same thrill as the first days of taekwondo. He already knew rough‑hewn basics piled into formidable power. Though the blade felt foreign now, with training it would one day move like a limb.

Kaidan had his two new pupils repeat the same motions dozens of times. Naturally, Heart’s form unraveled before Michel’s—but even shaking with effort, he never dropped the sword. His wish had not been a fit of temper.

“Good. Enough.”

At the awaited signal, Heart slumped against the blade, breath ragged. Michel, by contrast, wiped sweat with a bright face; after days of weakness, moving again felt clean and new.

He offered water he’d brought. Heart drank without a peep, like a hatchling waiting for its dam.

“Take up your sword.”

Break over, Kaidan beckoned Michel forward to the front.

“Show me shield‑guard.”

Shield‑guard: the most basic defensive motion. Michel raised the sword horizontally as instructed. Kaidan dipped his head—good.

He ordered a few more guards; Michel executed each as taught.

“Now, block me.”

“Eh?”

Without warning, Kaidan lifted his wooden sword. As always, Michel’s body moved before thought. His eyes tracked the blade’s line. It was a simple, honest downward strike. Instinctively, he slid one foot back and raised his right arm. In the sudden rush, his body defaulted—forgetting the fresh lesson—into the familiar stance of taekwondo’s high block.

Which was why neither he nor Kaidan realized, until a heartbeat later, that he had not used his sword at all.

Crack!

Wooden blade met Michel’s forearm, full on. He saw Kaidan’s eyes, calm throughout the lesson, suddenly quake—yet he had no time to marvel. Pain sparked along the bone.

“Ugh…”

His face twisted; a groan escaped. Clutching his arm, he plopped down. Heart, who had been sprawled out spectating, leapt to him.

“Master!”

“Why didn’t you block with the sword—!”

Kaidan and Heart crowded him, competing to check the injury, but Michel rolled on the ground, hugging his forearm, unable to think. It felt as if the bone had snapped clean in two.

“Ow…! Ow, my arm…!”

“Master! Master! You jerk—get your hands off him!”

“Please—hold still…!”

Heart and Kaidan becoming fast friends—and Michel wielding a sword like a limb—both seemed far off.

In the end, Michel’s forearm bloomed in a bruise, reddish‑purple like a ripe plum.

“The bone is fine. Apply this salve until the bruise fades.”

The physician handed a small jar. Michel had been sure it was fractured; he thanked him with relief and took the salve.

“How did you injure it?”

“Practicing swordwork.”

“…Swordwork?”

The confusion was fair; a priest—a Saint—injured while training with a sword made little sense.

“Never touch a blade again,” Kaidan said, pale as ash. He looked as if he’d been through hell—he had carried Michel in a panic all the way to the infirmary. Michel had protested he could walk, but Kaidan didn’t set him down until the physician arrived. He was still white with fright.

But Michel would not yield.

“The bone’s fine. Bruises happen when you train. No need to overdo it.”

“If I hadn’t pulled the blow at the last instant, the bone would have broken.”

“I know—you went easy because I’m a beginner. Keep using exactly that much force. I won’t drop my sword ever again. Okay?”

Kaidan glowered down at him—eyes one uses for stubborn children.

“Heart, you’ll keep training with me, right?”

Michel dragged Heart into it. The boy had sat glued to his side throughout, face twisted through every stage of treatment. At Michel’s question, Heart shook his head at once—he was rattled by seeing Michel felled at swordpoint.

“See? He wants to keep going!”

“I do?”

Heart gaped; Michel pretended not to hear. Kaidan sighed low.

“Refrain from training until the bruising is completely gone. I will consider this further.”

“It really is fine…”

Michel muttered, rubbing his arm. Truthfully, even near the bruise, a touch sent a sting crawling.

Why won’t muscle stick…?

Flesh against solid wood—bruises were natural. And the wielder was a war hero; the one struck, a patient recently out of bed. To escape with only a bruise was luck.

Still—he was a little affronted the wooden sword hadn’t snapped.

His body felt flimsier than when he was Geum Jeong‑oh, a constant annoyance. Compared to the day he had awoken in this world, he was leagues healthier: spine straight, taller, no soft fat, stamina enough to romp all day with children.

Yet muscle stubbornly refused to knit. Abs had peeked out briefly, then no more. Shoulders spread only to their bones; thighs stayed smooth, without the cut lines—visually, he looked more like a diet‑managed idol than a martial artist.

Diet? But David ate less than him and had size. Likely a matter of build—and too many years of underuse. To build sturdier muscle, he would need to work several times harder than before.

This is why you start young.

He resolved to restart taekwondo classes the very next day. Even if his own body had limits, the orphans would inherit a better genetic “base” of strength through early training.