Chapter 137 – Test Your Skills (5)

Episode 137 Test Your Skills (5)

The buzzer beater is one of the more unusual rules of the game.

It allows a goal to be scored at the same time as the buzzer sounds, or even slightly later, as long as the ball has left the player’s body and is still in the air when the end of the match is announced.

Vikir’s ball hit the post almost simultaneously with the signal to end the game.

The score was tied at 1:1 between the two teams, and the game went into overtime.

By then, Tudor, sprawled out on the field, had come to his senses.

“What the hell is going on?

Tudor still hadn’t quite gotten his composure back.

It was inexplicable, unless he had slipped, but the mighty Tudor would never make such a rudimentary mistake.


In the midst of all the questions, a large hand rested on Tudor’s shoulder.

“Let me deal with him.”

Sancho, who has been Tudor’s best friend since enrollment, steps forward.

Sancho Barataria, was a scholarship student selected for integration by numerous mercenary guilds in the North.

He’s given up his keeper’s position and moved to the front of the field to pay back Tudor for recognizing him as a friend and someone he can trust with his back.

Sancho stared across the field at Vikir with a serious expression on his face.

Unlike Tudor, he hadn’t let his guard down.

“In the frozen north, where even the frost itself groans, everyone fights their own battles, from the newborn to the dying. Everyone is a warrior.”

Warriors are tempered by the harsh climate and terrain.

Sancho was well aware that even the most insignificant of men could take the life of a great man.

Tudor said to Sancho.

“I thought you were only a keeper?”

“How can I stand idly by when my friend has been struck down twice?”

Sancho said as he stood next to Tudor.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t play in his age group’s league because he was too physically overpowered.

Tudor was touched by Sancho’s words and patted him on the arm.

And then, the game was on.


The first team to score a “golden goal” in either A or B would win.

This is a performance evaluation that is also reflected in the midterm evaluation, so everyone was on the line.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s the last one! Let’s win!”

“It’s a B-side shootout! All defenders, come out and attack!”

“Linemen, get together! Block it!”

“Smash it!”

All the students began to shout back and forth.


“Anyone get it!”

Highbrow, who was holding the ball, found a gap in the siege of Class A linemen and passed it.

He threw it to the guy who thought he was on the same side based on his uniform.


It was Vikir.

He had been half-dragged out by the B team’s strategy of using every defender as an attacker.


Unintentionally, Vikir caught the ball.


As soon as Vikir caught the ball, he looked at Highbrow.

Not wanting to be the center of attention, Vikir’s unspoken message to Highbrow was simple.

“Do you want to play?”


Highbrow met Vikir’s gaze, even in that urgent moment, and lowered his eyes.

It was the same with Midbrow and Lowbrow.

When the Baskerville triplets suddenly became sullen for an unknown reason, the morale of the Class A linemen skyrocketed.

Tudor and Sancho also seized the opportunity to hit.

“What’s going on? Why are they suddenly so intimidated?”

“I think it’s our guts. Here we go!”

Sancho stepped forward.


Sancho charged like a buffalo toward Vikir, who was standing in the distance with the ball.

Then, his muscled, log-like forearms and palms slammed ferociously into Vikir’s chest.

Just then.


Sancho’s eyes flashed open to an unreal scene.

It was a memory from a long time ago. It was a memory from his childhood, when he used to push and roll huge boulders for training.

Does his small body have the ability to roll over a much larger rock?

But the young Sancho kept pushing and pushing and pushing that rock.

And now.


The same frustration he’d felt then was being felt in the tips of his palms.

‘What kind of power…….’

Sancho felt a huge boulder in Vikir’s slender body.

He pushed with all his might and it didn’t budge.

In fact, it felt so heavy and counter-elastic that it pushed him back.


Sancho gritted his teeth.

He had never been pushed by another person before, not with mana, but with pure strength.

Not by people his own age, not by older warriors like his father and mentor.

‘I’ve never been defeated by strength in my hometown, so how can I lose here at the Academy!’

Even in the frozen northern continent of the warriors, he was unbeatable.

Even Sancho as a child had been forced to push a seemingly insurmountable boulder.

‘It will happen again!’

Sancho snorted and used his arms to push Vikir away.


The giant boulder finally moved.

‘Look at that! How about that!’

Sancho smiled curiously and looked down at Vikir.

At that moment.


Sancho had to face it.

Vikir’s gaze, unmoved, just staring back at him with an expressionless face.

A rock, what he thought was just a giant rock.

The moment he’s knocked backward by Sancho’s force, and the moment he stretches one leg out behind him, heels on the ground behind him.

A thud!

A different kind of gravity, a different kind of weight, stood in Sancho’s way.

It was overwhelming (壓倒的).

He pushed against what he thought was a large boulder, only to find Mount Tai standing behind him.

‘No way! How can this little guy……!’

Sancho was amazed.

When Vikir kept his feet horizontal, he could push back a little, but now that he had one leg stretched out behind him, he couldn’t push back even a millimeter.


Vikir was bearing Sancho’s strength and weight and still not losing the ball.

He was just thinking.

‘Should I let him fall?’

Vikir wasn’t using any mana.

His bones and muscles had been strengthened beyond their limits by the protection of the Styx River that permeated his body.

Before his regeneration, this would have been impossible, but for Vikir in this life, who had tapped into the power of the Styx River from a young age, it was quite possible.

It is also said that a healthy body is a healthy mind.

The karma, experience, and the smell of blood imprinted on his soul from slaying countless demons had pushed his physical strength to the limit.

The Baskervilles’ superior physical strength, coupled with their hardy souls that had seen it all, allowed them to surpass the natural limits of their weight class.

…… But that doesn’t mean you have to use mana to win here.

Eventually, Vikir backed off.

“Oh no. I can’t take this.”

Vikir collapses in a heap.

The ball was thrown far enough away that Vikir was no longer a target for the Class A linemen.

As the ball flies away, all eyes turn back to him.

“Oooh, Sancho got the ball!”

“……Yaah, but that guy who got tackled by Sancho isn’t dead, is he?”

“Who cares, shut up and get the ball back!”

All the students rush after the ball again.

…… but only one. Sancho’s gaze was still on Vikir.

‘What was that?’

He collapsed into a heap at the end, but the gravitas he’d displayed just moments before was still making Sancho’s palms and wrists tingle.

He’d managed to push him off eventually, but his vision had gone black with frustration during the clash.

Tudor, seeing the look on his friend’s face, realized what was happening.

“That guy’s got a really tight body.”

“Guess he wasn’t a studying worm-like …….”

“His basic physique is pretty good, maybe even better than yours or mine.”

“It would be a different story if he used mana.”

“Yeah. That’s too bad. If you’d been born into a noble family and gotten some organized training, you’d be an Expert by now.”

Tudor and Sancho looked at Vikir, who had fallen behind them as they ran for the ball.

There was pity, envy, and a bit of recognition in their eyes.

* * *

Then, with a dramatic golden goal from Highbrow Baskerville, and great assists from Middlebrow Baskerville and Lowbrow Baskerville, Class B won.

It was the Baskerville triplets who got the cheers.


The B students are laughing and splashing soda on their heads.

Meanwhile, Vikir was a little farther away from everyone’s hugging and jumping around.



Something spilled over Vikir’s head.

It turned out to be a soda.


Vikir looked up to see Tudor and Sancho standing there, equally covered in soda, laughing.

“You’re the one who won Class B, and you’re not going to get away with it.”

“You should be more excited. Your buzzer-beating goal is the reason they won.”

Tudor, covered in soda, smirked and shouldered Vikir.

“Honestly, I was a little jealous that you were so good at answering questions on your own in that last lecture. I wanted to give you a hard time in gym class.”


“But I was the one who got humiliated, and I knew it when I saw it. I realized how sleepy I was. Ugh, I’m sorry.”

Tudor apologized honestly.

Vikir simply nodded in agreement.

Don Quixote Tudor, hero of the spear family.

He would later go on to hunt countless demons in the endless wars of destruction that followed the dawn of the Age of Destruction.

The hero who saved countless human beings, closed the gate, and died a spectacular death. He was Tudor.

Vikir nodded, remembering Tudor’s heroic traits from his previous life.

Just then, Sancho, the man next to him, asked Vikir.

“By the way, what kind of exercise have you been doing? You’re so out of shape, I thought you were using mana.”

Sancho reached out and rubbed Vikir’s chest, shoulders, and back.

Vikir smiled weakly.

“If I had used mana, I wouldn’t have been able to defeat you. “I have a terrible amount of mana.”

“It’s a shame, you blessed with a great skeleton. With an early education, you would surely have become an exponent like me. It’s not too late for you to start taking lessons in mana breathing at the Academy.”

Tudor sounded genuinely sorry.

But Vikir only smiled.

Tudor felt the tip of his nose twitch once more at her nonchalance.

Meanwhile, Sancho chuckled as if he liked Vikir’s hard body.

“By the way, what size are you in the 3rd generation? Without mana. Would you like to go to the weight room later and work on ironing together?”

“Dude, what are you talking about working out again, drink this, I don’t have any alcohol, it’s soda!”

“Ugh! Yuck! Don’t feed me this stuff, I’ll lose muscle!”

Tudor and Sancho playfully splash their drinks at each other.

Vikir laughed softly and turned away.

Soon, students from other classes who were watching passed bottles of water to the lead runners from Class A and Class B.

“Tudor, here, drink this water!”

“Wash your sweat off with this …….”

“And here’s a towel!”

The idea was to wash the sweat and drink from their bodies.

A crowd of girls crowded around Tudor, offering him water and towels.

“Haha, thanks girls, it’s only classmates after all~”

Tudor smiled warmly and accepted the water and towels.

The Sancho and Baskerville triplets also grabbed bottles of water to wash their hair and faces.

……and Vikir did the same.

You have to take off your glasses to wash your face, which is sticky with sweat, dirt, and drink.

Vikir took off his glasses and slicked back his bangs. Then he rinsed his face with clear water.

Beneath the hair that covered his face, his bare face is revealed.

Vikir looked up, dried his face, and walked back to the stand, dripping with water.

And a moment.


The gymnasium is suddenly silent.