Chương 63

The salty ocean breeze of Seabreak Town brushed against a young man's face. He stood in the middle of the bustling beginner's plaza, wearing a simple, rough cloth shirt and standard beginner pants. He had bright blonde hair, sharp, energetic eyes, and a physique boasting absolutely ideal, perfectly proportioned muscles. His name was Regas. In the real world, he was Roald Hoffmann, an Olympic gold medalist in Taekwondo who lived and breathed martial arts.

Here, in the newly launched virtual reality of Satisfy, he was currently Level 1. A translucent blue communication window flashed in his peripheral vision. It was a private group chat connecting the scattered former members of the Tzedakah Guild. [Jishuka]: Is everyone finally logged in? The transition took longer than expected. [Vantner]: I'm in some dusty mining town. It smells terrible. [Pon]: Stop complaining, you bald idiot. Just find a weapon and start grinding. [Jishuka]: Listen up.

We are currently scattered across the continent, starting from scratch. Do not rush blindly. Grind your levels, secure your basic gear, and build a solid foundation. Our first milestone is Level 50. Once you hit it, make your way to the Eternal Kingdom. We will officially reform the Tzedakah Guild there. [Regas]: Understood, Captain. I pray you all find worthy struggles to temper your foundations! Regas closed the chat window, a bright, pure smile spreading across his face.

While the other players in the plaza were frantically forming parties to hunt slimes with rusty swords, Regas didn't even visit the weapon shop. To him, relying on a weapon violated the pure spirit of Taekwondo. His fists and feet were all the steel he would ever need. He wandered through the cobblestone streets, his naive curiosity leading him toward the edge of the settlement. There, he found a massive wooden palisade. A sign hung near the entrance: Murray Local Militia Training Registration - Fee: 2 Silver.

Regas's eyes lit up. A military training camp designed to break the body and forge raw physical stats. It was exactly the kind of training he desired. He walked up to the registration desk, happily handed over two silver coins, and stepped into the dirt yard. A few minutes later, Commander Gareth Rowan marched out.

"Listen up," Gareth barked, his sharp eyes sweeping over the nervous players.

"For the next seven days, you belong to me. This training will break you. It will hurt, you will complain, and most of you will quit." Regas simply smiled and bowed respectfully. A true path to strength requires suffering, he thought, his battle-junkie instincts flaring to life. The next seven days were absolute hell for the normal players, but pure joy for Regas. Gareth forced the recruits to run through freezing ocean water, drag heavy nets, and dodge sandbags.

While others quit in tears, Regas treated every single torturous drill as an extension of his Taekwondo forms. When they pushed the heavy sleds, he rooted his stance, driving the power upward from his calves. During the evasion drills, he breathed out, relaxed his shoulders, and let his martial arts instincts take over, weaving around the heavy bags with flawless, rhythmic footwork. Finally, the sun rose on the seventh day. Regas stood in the dirt ring, panting heavily.

He had just gone toe-to-toe with a Level 100+ militia instructor for ten grueling minutes using only his bare hands and perfectly executed kicks. He had ultimately lost when his stamina hit zero, but his technique had been so pure that the instructor was visibly sweating. Gareth Rowan stepped into the center of the yard. He looked down at Regas, who was lying in the dirt, covered in mud but smiling brightly. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The scarred commander let out an approving grunt.

"Your intelligence is questionable, recruit. But your discipline is absolute." A golden window flashed in front of Regas. [The Quest "Murray Militia Basic Training" has been completed!] [Quest Grade: S] Regas sat up and gave a deep, respectful bow.

"Thank you for your profound guidance, Sir Gareth! The physical struggle was deeply enlightening. I will continue to polish the flaws you exposed in my forms." Gareth blinked, completely taken aback by the kid's total lack of arrogance. He let out a loud, barking laugh.

"You're a strange one, boy," Gareth chuckled, shaking his head.

"You remind me of the last kid who got an S-Grade here. Though your forms are infinitely prettier than his." Regas froze, his eyes widening with sheer, unadulterated excitement.

"Someone else achieved an S-Grade at Level 1? That is wonderful! Who was this incredible warrior?"

"A stubborn fool who came through here about a year ago," Gareth grunted, looking out toward the ocean.

"He didn't use martial arts. He had absolutely zero technique. He just ran through the entire course swinging a basic wooden stick until his hands blistered and bled. Cleared the final assessment almost twice as fast as you did through sheer, mad persistence." Gareth scratched his scarred chin.

"Said his name was Rudra. I hear he runs around the continent in a dark mask now, causing all sorts of trouble." Rudra, Regas thought. His heart pounded wildly against his ribs. A man with zero formal technique who could beat his perfect Taekwondo footwork using nothing but raw suffering and a wooden stick? Regas immediately pulled up his system interface. He opened the Unified Global Rankings. His eyes locked onto the glowing text, his breath hitching. [Unified Global Rankings] Kraugel - Lv. 150 Rudra - Lv.

149 Zibal - Lv. 145 Regas stared at the name. The gaming forums had been in a state of absolute chaos over this specific player recently. According to the community trackers, "Rudra" had originally been sitting comfortably in the 4th rank position. Then, inexplicably, his progression had completely flatlined. For thirty straight days, he hadn't leveled up a single time. The forums assumed he had suffered a massive death penalty or quit the game entirely.

But then, just a few weeks ago, his level had suddenly skyrocketed at a mathematically impossible rate, catapulting him into 2nd place and breathing right down the neck of Kraugel, the untouchable god of Satisfy, The Sky above the Sky. And he started right here, Regas thought. A wide, innocent, yet terrifyingly battle-hungry smile spread across his face. He suffered in this exact same dirt, broke his own limits, and is now challenging the very sky above us.

Regas closed the ranking board and bowed to Gareth one final time.

"I will take my leave now, Commander. I have much catching up to do!" Without another word, Regas turned and sprinted out of the militia camp, heading directly for the northern gates of Seabreak Town. He didn't stop to buy potions. He didn't stop to look for armor. He ran straight out onto the sandy coastline, his bare fists clenched. Less than a mile up the beach, a loud, chaotic screeching filled the air. A patrol of [Coastal Goblin Raiders (Lv. 25)] had set up a crude camp, completely surrounded by spiked wooden barricades and hidden pitfalls in the sand. Any normal Level 1 player would have immediately recognized the obvious tripwires strung between the driftwood. Regas didn't even look at the ground. He only saw the largest, meanest-looking goblin sitting by the campfire.

"Ah! Worthy opponents!" Regas cheered brightly. He sprinted directly into the camp, his foot catching the thick tripwire instantly. A massive, heavy net woven from thorny sea-vines dropped from the trees, crashing down and completely burying him in the sand. The goblins shrieked in delight, drawing their rusted cutlasses and swarming the trapped human. For a second, the net didn't move. Then, a joyful laugh echoed from beneath the vines.

"Excellent trap! A true test of flexibility!" RIIIP! The heavy vines violently tore apart as Regas exploded upward. He didn't use a blade to cut the net; he simply tore it to shreds with a flawless, spinning upward kick. He landed gracefully on the sand, entirely ignoring the minor bleeding debuff from the thorns. The closest goblin thrust a rusted spear directly at his chest. Regas smiled. He didn't step back.

He deflected the spear shaft with the back of his wrist, stepped into the goblin's guard, and delivered a devastating, spinning roundhouse kick directly to its temple. CRACK. The goblin was sent flying across the beach, instantly turning to grey ash.

"One!" Regas counted out loud, his blood pumping with pure exhilaration. Three more goblins rushed him simultaneously. Regas took a glancing slash to his shoulder, his health dipping, but his smile only grew wider. He loved the pain. He loved the struggle. It was the only way to truly grow stronger. He danced across the sand, a blur of blonde hair and lethal martial arts. Rudra... Regas thought, executing a flawless flying knee strike that shattered another goblin's jaw. I will reach the Eternal Kingdom.

I will temper my fists until they are flawless. And then, I am going to find you. I must experience your strength!