“What exactly is the Time-Stopping Old Man?”
“The Time-Stopping Old Man is an old man who possesses the ability to halt time.”
“I can glean that much from the words alone, but the nuance strikes me as incredibly impure.”
That bastard, clearly aware, feigned ignorance.
Having understood everything, why do you insist on acting like such an amateur?
“Enough with the jokes.”
I presented the only answer that could possibly be correct.
“Are you the Demon God? The Martial Arts Net administrator?”
The notion of a god serving as a community administrator was undeniably amusing.
Perhaps it would sound more extraordinary if described as a hyper-dimensional community, accessible at any time and from any location by those who had transcended the first floor of the towers on both planets?
A highly reliable community, its trustworthiness guaranteed by his absolute nature.
A tool and cyber plaza ostensibly created for the practice and discussion of martial arts, though no one ever utilized it precisely as intended.
The true owner, the Demon God, left me pondering why it bore the name ‘Martial Arts Net’ instead of ‘Magic Net’.
Beyond the Demon God, I could conceive of no other being capable of assuming the identity of the Time-Stopping Old Man.
Indeed, it would prove deeply problematic if he were not the Demon God.
If he, without being the Demon God, possessed the power to halt time, then the sheer breadth of other beings’ potential abilities would be utterly unfathomable.
“I am not the Demon God.”
He was not?
“To be precise, this body before your eyes is not the Demon God. This form is merely a phantom of the tower, or an NPC, as you would call it.”
“Huh!”
He possessed self-awareness as an NPC?
Would not a sentient being typically descend into madness upon such a realization?
Truthfully, having never encountered an NPC self-aware of its own nature, I found myself largely ignorant on the matter.
“This story is a recreation of the event from 4,000 years and a little more before ‘the present,’ when a man named Woojin, who would later become the Demon God, and a woman named Yurim, who would become the Martial God, first met. Just as you are not the senior, I also have issues with truly being called Woojin.”
Yurim was the Martial God?!
That revelation struck me with even greater force than the sudden appearance of the Demon God.
Yet, this man, who disavowed his identity as the Demon God and claimed to be a mere NPC, spoke with an air of profound knowledge, as if privy to the entirety of his past, future, and present self, along with the ultimate truth of the tower.
‘You might be a mere copy of the Demon God’s past, but I am unequivocally a distinct individual.’
I resolved to curb such thoughts, fearing they might diminish an NPC’s mental stability and provoke a berserk state.
“So, was Yurim also offered as a sacrifice? And how exactly did they manage to capture that monstrous tentacled creature?”
“At that juncture, she had yet to commence her training. It was a mage named Woojin who had intervened, dispatching the creature in her stead.”
“It was merely an event battle?!”
Evidently, it had been the sort of combat scenario where merely hitting ‘enter’ in the dialogue window would prompt an NPC to resolve the confrontation.
No wonder the difficulty seemed so anomalous.
To demand its capture from the eleventh floor was, quite frankly, preposterous.
By any logical standard.
“Then if I were to vanquish that monster myself, would I not then stand a step ahead of the Martial God?”
However, I was an existence that defied conventional understanding.
There was nothing I could not achieve.
“Your disposition mirrors that of the senior with uncanny precision.”
Woojin, the most handsome man I had ever encountered, smiled with an expression so overtly doting that a shiver traced its way down my spine.
Unlike the practiced charm celebrities displayed for their adoring fans, this smile, directed with such clear intent, sent a distinct chill through my very bones.
“Bullshit. Cease those expressions, gestures, and that tone; they are utterly repulsive.”
“And your coarse language, too, bears a striking resemblance.”
“Aaaargh!”
Knowing he was such an extraordinary being, should I not be fawning over him, attempting to extract some boon?
Was that truly the path of a Martial God?
A prospective female, no, a *current* female.
“Martial God Missile!”
“Hurling stones at someone simply because you’re embarrassed hardly seems appropriate.”
“Training!”
I deemed it foolish to embark on a quest for a potentially non-existent weapon within this scenario, merely because an additional 72 hours had been granted to me.
Such an endeavor, in its essence, constituted an act of flight for one who perceived no genuine path to victory.
Had I not made a solemn vow to this man?
That I would train for three days and demonstrably vanquish that monster.
Thus, the weapon I would employ had already been determined.
It was this very rock I had first grasped.
“But was not blocking the inventory an excessively harsh measure?”
“From the outset, this scenario was not designed for the purpose of subduing foes.”
“That, I concede, makes perfect sense upon reflection.”
As I had stated previously, I possessed no particular aptitude for persistently repeating the same action.
Consequently, while I performed moderately well in all endeavors, I had never attained remarkable achievement in any specific field.
Yet, with such an unambiguous objective before me, I was certainly capable of maintaining focus for a mere three days.
To fail would be to admit myself a patient.
Afflicted by a severe deficit of concentration.
‘A spear forged to pierce its very essence.’
The undulating tentacle monsters coalesced, merging into a single, colossal serpent.
The serpent rumored to have devoured the sun.
A creature whose power was such that it could meddle with the very climate, said to have ushered in three years of devastating famine.
An entity revered and feared as a god by humanity.
A mere hollow reputation.
I was acquainted with the Martial God and the Demon God, but had no knowledge of any ‘sun-swallowing serpent’.
This was a pathetic monster, effortlessly dispatched by Woojin, who, at that juncture, was still a long way from achieving godhood.
What manner of god could it possibly be, then?
A true god referred to a talent like myself, destined to become the Martial God.
‘A simple stone, while perhaps insufficient on its own…’
I had acquired internal energy, mana, and spiritual power.
Possessing such a multitude of supernatural abilities, if I failed to leverage even one, I could hardly lay claim to being a Martial God candidate.
I recreated the sensation I had experienced when Yodo, the Ghost Slasher, had siphoned away my internal energy.
Though that encounter had involved the forcible extraction of my power, the fundamental concept of imbuing an object with qi to augment its strength had indelibly imprinted itself upon my being.
I reinforced the stone, transmuting it from a common pebble into a spear that would undeniably pierce my adversary.
Then, I threw it.
A flash.
A novel throwing form crystallized in my mind.
Until this moment, I had mimicked the throwing posture of a baseball player.
My strategy had involved lifting a leg, shifting my weight, and channeling that force upwards through my torso.
For it was the most ideal throwing motion I had ever witnessed.
However.
I was no longer an ordinary mortal.
My physique was already superhuman, and I had further augmented it with qi.
Consequently, there was no imperative to adhere to a throwing form constrained by human limitations.
Nay, I absolutely should not.
I was squandering an immense advantage.
I had to wring every last vestige of power from my muscles.
I needed to master the fighting methods of a super-being, methods utterly unattainable by ordinary folk.
‘Rotate.’
Why did throwing forms and catapults alike describe circular arcs?
Because rotation imbued a more potent throwing force.
‘Run.’
Even primary school children inherently understood that running to build momentum yielded greater power than generating it from a sudden standstill.
‘Run and rotate.’
I was bound by no such stricture as remaining stationary.
Thus, by merely utilizing a rotation of less than 270 degrees from a fixed position to hurl a stone, I had been incurring a monumental disadvantage all this time.
Converting the momentum of my sprint into rotational force, I spun my entire body, and having completed the pirouette, I launched the stone from my hand.
“Ohh.”
I heard Woojin’s voice, laced with admiration.
To be astonished by such a modest display.
Had he come to witness a kindergarten talent show, perhaps?
I was not merely ‘this much.’
The true essence of the Martial God’s talent lay in acquiring 256 times the proficiency when wielding weaponry.
‘Three rotations would likely be optimal.’
Martial arts were, in truth, rather peculiar.
Given that every individual possessed unique body weights, muscle strengths, arm lengths, and myriad other specific details, how could a single, standardized martial art ever be devised?
Consequently, while they were broadly categorized into martial arts for women, for children, and the like, it was self-evident that they could not surpass the efficacy of custom-tailored martial arts.
And I was achieving that precise optimization 256 times faster than anyone else.
‘If I were to train for a mere 100 years, would it equate to the effect of others training for 25,600 years?’
That seemed, well, rather trivial, didn’t it?
If a being hailed as a god was merely 256 times superior to a human, they would appear incredibly feeble.
I relentlessly continued to refine my throwing technique.
The second throw proved stronger than the first.
The third, more potent than the second.
Optimization occurred with startling rapidity.
I was steadily mastering the perfect throw, meticulously tailored to my own physique.
[The Special Grade Throwing Skill has evolved into a superior martial art.]
[Would you like to name it?]
Running and rotating… ‘Running Rotating Whirlwind Shot’?
No.
My master had instructed me.
On the proper way to name martial arts.
Azure Dragon Heart Sutra, Dragon Claw Fist—they simply sounded more impressive when rendered in Chinese characters.
“I cast the wheel of heaven. Heavenly Wheel Throw.”
[You have founded a new martial art.]
[You have acquired Heavenly Wheel Throw (1-Star).]
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Suddenly, the distinct sound of applause drifted from beside me.
“Eavesdropping on that is hardly appropriate!”
I felt a mortifying blush creep over me, akin to a chuunibyou (TL Note: A Japanese slang term referring to a teenager who has delusions of grandeur and believes they possess special powers or knowledge) whose secret fantasy notebook had been discovered by their mother.
The name of this technique is Crimson Jail.
It is a technique to bind foes within a prison of blood. Kekekekek.
“My applause was born of pure admiration and offered as a genuine compliment. You have, indeed, grown remarkably strong.”
“This is merely the genesis.”
And then, a considerable span of time elapsed.
“But 72 hours seems excessively prolonged, doesn’t it? Should we not engage in combat soon?”
“Only two hours have elapsed.”
[69:27:16]
“Do you not comprehend the concept of rounding? Two hours and thirty-three minutes should unequivocally be referred to as three hours.”
I already informed you.
I am simply incapable of sustained concentration.
Is this not sufficient?
“I believe I can now achieve a decisive victory.”
****
[Heavenly Wheel Throw (3-Star)]
·Type: Martial Art
·Grade: Legendary
·Permanently increases Strength +15 and Sensation +30.
·When throwing an object, Accuracy +30 and Power +700%.
