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“What on earth happened…”

In his youth, he had black hair and black eyes, bearing a cold demeanor. He was also a pretty boy, growing into a man of distinguished charm in his older years, his romantic gray hair enchanting numerous elven beauties. Never had he ever possessed such a foolish face, not in his youth nor in his elder years!

Well, upon closer inspection, the boy in the mirror wasn’t exactly ugly. He was not the handsome type but rather ruggedly attractive. However, to Repenhardt, who had always been praised for his beauty, the reflection seemed no better than a common laborer.

Tugging at his hair, Repenhardt was deep in thought.

What in the world happened? Could the time regression spell have failed? Had he entered the body of some random person instead of his younger self? Or perhaps, this wasn’t the past at all; could his soul have been transferred to someone in the future?

No matter how much he pondered, without any clues, he could not find an answer. As he was agonizing over this, his eyes suddenly took on a peculiar shade.

“Now that I think about it, this face does seem somewhat familiar…”

It was odd. The face seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time, with certain features feeling strangely recognizable.

Those deep brown eyebrows, the determined look in his eyes, the stubbornly closed mouth.

Yes, if that body grew larger, the muscles more defined, and if a wire-like beard covered the chin…

“Fist King, Teslon?”

It was then. The door swung open, and a majestic voice solidly backed his reasoning.

“Teslon, you rascal! The sun is high in the sky! What are you doing, not coming out!”

The moment he turned his head, Repenhardt froze on the spot.

“Gasp!”

The one who shouted was an old man he had never seen before in his life. Standing at 2.5 meters tall, with muscles that seemed about to burst covering his entire body, it was hard to distinguish whether this monster was a person or a statue painted in flesh color, if one could even call this creature an old man.

The old man strode towards him. Repenhardt was horrified by the muscle cloud looming over him. Although he had handled giant monsters like ogres and minotaurs with relative ease, this old man seemed to be on a different level. The monsters, despite their size, had a certain humanity to them with their adequate fat and pot-bellies. In contrast, this old man was truly all square and muscle, with not an inch of unnecessary fat, sharp muscle lines throughout. If those monsters were like porous sandstone, this one was like solid granite. Repenhardt’s physique, which seemed so robust and strong, appeared scrawny and gaunt in comparison to the old man, even young Teslon. This is why comparative evaluation is frightening.

With dazzling white hair and a silver beard fluttering, the old man laughed heartily.

“Come on, let’s start the day with joy, hahaha!”

Once the terror that dyed the continent in blood, the Demon King Repenhardt, turned into a mouse in front of a cat, asked in a trembling voice.

“Who, who are you?”

Unbeknownst to him, the identity of the old man was Teslon’s master and the greatest martial artist of the continent, the reigning Fist King, Gerard Chrome Proteis.

* * *

Gerard was preparing for another day of training Teslon, just like any other day. However, unlike usual, Teslon did not crawl out to the training ground. Infuriated, Gerard immediately ran to catch this unruly disciple. How could even a second be wasted when time is of the essence?

Upon flinging open his disciple’s door and entering, Gerard saw his disciple examining his body in front of a mirror. Gerard’s mood instantly improved. It was truly delightful to see him inspecting his muscles so thoroughly first thing in the morning. The dedication to sculpting a more beautiful physique was commendable. Therefore, he cheerfully shouted.

“Let’s start the day off with joy, haha!”

But there was something odd about his disciple’s expression. It wasn’t the usual grinding teeth and fierce, fiery eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Hm? You’re looking at me as if you don’t know me today?”

Gerard tilted his head. His disciple spoke again.

“I’m asking because I really don’t know…”

Gerard nodded as if he understood. Then he spoke kindly.

“Teslon, Teslon. Haven’t you already used the amnesia excuse twice? You should know by now that it won’t work. Tsk tsk.”

His disciple’s mouth dropped open, seemingly astounded. The expression seemed quite vivid this time, as if his acting had improved significantly.

Gerard clicked his tongue. However, he didn’t want to blame his disciple.

He fully understood that the training method of their martial school, Gym Unbreakable, was harsh. He himself had tried every possible means to run away when he was vigorously training under his master.

But ultimately, reaching the peak would one feel the effects of this training method firsthand, and one would be moved by the master’s profound intentions. Until then, it was the master’s responsibility to forcibly guide his disciple to a higher state!

Gerard immediately reached out and grabbed his disciple by the nape. Though his disciple had already grown to surpass the size of an adult man, to Gerard, who stood at 2.5 meters (8’2”) tall, he was still a small boy. Easily holding the back of his neck with one huge hand, Gerard said cheerfully,

“Let’s go to the training ground!”

* * *

Deep in the mountains, amidst a dense forest of broadleaf trees, lies a clearing with two log cabins. This secluded spot is home to the Gym Unbreakable, a martial arts sect that has produced the continent’s strongest fighters for generations, though it remains largely unknown to the public.

Repenhardt found himself dangling in midair, his neck gripped by an elderly man, Gerard, as if he were a kitten being carried by its mother. Despite his struggles, Gerard’s muscular grip easily subdued all attempts at resistance.

As a mage, Repenhardt was not one to remain silent, even in such dire circumstances. He pleaded with the old man to listen, but his pleas fell on deaf ears, Gerard’s indifference as apparent as if it were the most natural response in the world.

Upon reaching the clearing, Gerard set Repenhardt down and tied him to a large wooden stake in the center of the area without a word. This position, reminiscent of how prisoners are executed, filled Repenhardt with alarm.

Before Repenhardt could voice his panic, Gerard gagged him with a simple, efficient motion.

Looking at the terrified Repenhardt, Gerard smiled warmly and then fetched a large bamboo pole. As he prepared himself, Repenhardt’s fear intensified.

With a swift motion, Gerard struck Repenhardt’s abdomen with the bamboo, eliciting an agonized response from Repenhardt, who couldn’t scream due to the gag. The pain seemed magnified by his inability to vocalize it, leaving him shaking and looking at Gerard with wide, fearful eyes.

‘What on earth is happening!’

He couldn’t grasp the situation at all. And there was no time given to understand. Immediately, the whipping continued. The bamboo struck his thighs. It hurt to death, as expected. This time, it hit his side. The pain was so intense that tears formed. The bamboo from southern Hallein is renowned for combining the strength of steel with the elasticity of rubber. Gerard began mercilessly beating Repenhardt’s entire body with that brutal object.

Puff puff puff!

“…… Aaaahaaahaaah!”

Gagged, Repenhardt screamed repeatedly. The beating was truly relentless, intensely covering every part of the body evenly, thoroughly, and cruelly. The pain was so intense that any thoughts of injustice or questions about how this situation came to be flew out of his mind.

Siris. It looks like this is it for me……’

For a moment, he saw Siris beckoning him from beyond the blue sky, a mirage in full view. But Repenhardt clenched his teeth. The thought of dying after barely obtaining a second life felt too empty. Clinging onto a sticky attachment to life, he tried hard to clear his fading consciousness.

‘I can’t die! I absolutely can’t die like this!’

Meanwhile, Gerard was puzzled. The feel of beating his disciple was a bit different from usual. Could it be described as a bit more chewy? This shouldn’t be happening if he was undergoing his usual physical training through mental imagery.

‘Is it really amnesia?’

It wasn’t particularly surprising. The training method of Gym Unbreakable was so simple, brutish, and violent that it often led to short-term amnesia. Gerard himself had lost his memory a couple of times when he was undergoing training.

And, like someone experienced, he knew the solution well.

‘Beating will eventually cure it.’

The best way to restore memory was to recreate the experience from when the memory was lost. Gerard’s hands became even more ferocious.

Thud thud thud thud thud!

The sound of beating under the clear sky resonated loudly. It was a soul-stirring, soul-filled sound of drumming. Naturally, since the drum was filled with a soul.

‘Save meeeeeee!’