Legend of the Cyber Heroes
Chapter 214 - 214 134 The Peddler

214: Chapter 134 The Peddler 214: Chapter 134 The Peddler An apprentice grasped the end of a metal rod, spun his body around, and swung the rod high, simultaneously spreading his legs to lower his center of gravity.

Hiroshi Matsushima sighed, then stepped forward and lightly tapped the apprentice’s striding foot with the tip of his own.

The lad was just releasing one hand from the rod to adjust his center, trying to maintain balance amid the fierce attack.

However, Hiroshi’s tap precisely disrupted the balance of the stance.

The apprentice fell to the ground, and the metal rod flew far away.

“Luo Bai, I can understand the feeling of wanting to use a move you’ve figured out on your own,” Hiroshi said.

“For a martial artist, this is a natural thing.

But you’ve repeated this move too many times—besides, don’t you feel that this stance has a big flaw?”

The apprentice picked up his training weapon and lowered his head, not daring to speak.

“Moreover, losing your weapon at the end, that’s a serious deduction,” Hiroshi continued.

The apprentice’s head hung even lower.

“If this continues, then find your own way in the competition next month.

Our martial arts school doesn’t have that many free spots for you,” Hiroshi said, realizing he might have spoken too harshly, and patted the young man’s shoulder.

“However, if you can get rid of this bad habit in the next training session, you’ll have a chance to debut next season.”

The young man was slightly cheered by this.

Sports competitions were among the rare large-scale events in this part of the world, encompassing both official and unofficial events.

The Paralympics, one of the few large-scale activities passed down from ancient times.

For the Protectors, this mechanism was almost a no-cost external strength experiment project, and it also quickly pinpointed talents worth absorbing from among the masses.

Moreover, its existence somewhat satisfied the spiritual needs of a minor segment of the lower class population.

Occasionally, some Protectors felt that such major sports events contradicted the spirit of Dyson’s principles, but no one has genuinely tried to stop them over the years.

In truth, the global popularity of the Paralympics was also driven by the World Openers, including the Martial Ancestor.

Without higher-level objections, they chose to maintain the status quo.

These various competitions were also quite particular.

The ultimate pursuit for a martial artist was to receive an invitation to the Paralympics.

Invitations to these mid to large-scale events were distributed based on a scoring system that calculated one’s past martial arts achievements and popularity.

In simple terms, you need to fight beautifully and be famous.

The normal advancement path for a martial artist was to first make a name in small local competitions held by private lords or Protectors, until being recognized by the network system, and then being invited to larger events.

For a martial arts school, having disciples qualify for the Paralympics or other major events represented the highest honor—as well as a guarantee of income.

For the lower-class people, sports competitions were one of the few transparent channels for advancement, and the actual number of applicants was much larger than the capacity of the competition.

The organizers of these local small-scale competitions also had some understanding with the martial arts schools.

They arranged the school’s recommended gifted students in matches with high exposure and more accumulation of points.

Of course, there were always individuals who entered on their own.

These naive newcomers typically became stepping stones in team sports or got thrashed by far superior athletes in the “warm-up” matches meant to stir up the atmosphere.

Sports competitions certainly prohibited killing.

However, understanding the fate of athletes whose prosthetic bodies were damaged or whose biological brains were injured without resources for recuperation was not difficult.

“Individuals” had no great prospects.

A person betting his life in a circle was either naive or had no other options.

A recommendation from a martial arts school was crucial for an athlete.

After receiving approval from Hiroshi Matsushima, the young martial artist left with trepidation.

Hiroshi Matsushima sighed again.

Another batch.

Another batch of his apprentices was going to the sports competitions.

Hiroshi Matsushima was not a man given to sentimentality.

Such things normally did not stir his thoughts.

Decades after he had stopped competing, he had been teaching martial studies at the martial arts school, seeing off one batch of disciples after another.

Among these disciples, some had made achievements, others had been injured and became destitute; some were recruited by the Protectors, others went to Jianghu.

Of course, numerically speaking, there were quite a few who mixed with gangs.

He had long been accustomed to these events.

This apprentice was slightly different because some of his habits strongly resembled those of Jader, from over seventy years ago.

Having sent Jader out of the city just two days earlier, Hiroshi unavoidably made some associations.

“That fool, I wonder if he has escaped yet,” he thought.

“After all, I hope he has managed to escape.”

According to his understanding of Jader, if that fool hadn’t escaped, a ninety-nine percent chance was that he was dead.

Although a biological brain cannot be hacked directly like a computer, there are still ways to extract intelligence from it.

Jader knew his affairs.

When he deemed escape hopeless, Jader would surely destroy his own biological brain to keep this secret for Hiroshi Matsushima.

There was still a one percent chance that Jader was captured before he could commit suicide.

Hiroshi Matsushima thought it would be better for that fool to enjoy a few more years of the Arctic wind.

As for himself…

Heh.

Hiroshi Matsushima clasped his hands behind his back.

He couldn’t help but examine himself again.

“What am I doing here?” The thought hazily surfaced in his mind once more.

Although he had shared many experiences through a “friend,” the only non-human creature Hiroshi Matsushima had actually seen was moss— an uncharming little thing that thrives in dark, damp places.

Hiroshi Matsushima felt that he was quite like moss.

He just existed in a dark place, remaining ordinary, without anything spectacular, merely living here.

He indeed participated in a bit of adventure, but that was mainly his friend’s doing.

He just “lent” his body and part of his brain.

The truly great deeds were done by that friend.

Most of the time, he just watched, or played a minor role when his innate bravery could be of use.

His martial arts were perhaps like the moss…

no, more like the rust that clung to a prosthetic body.

This rust would hinder joint movement and reduce the efficiency of the prosthetic body.

But, it seems these rust marks were the only proof of a prosthetic body’s history.

Mastery of superior internal power surely required the use of the Restoring Enzyme.

The Restoring Enzyme inevitably caused existing skills to deteriorate.

He dared not gamble that he could cultivate his external strength to the same level again.

“That’s right, with my cautious nature, this is where it ends,” Hiroshi Matsushima thought as he returned to his room with his hands behind his back, sat cross-legged for meditation, and gathered his thoughts.

Afterward, he replaced parts of his prosthetic body and took off his training gear before heading to the streets.

The career of “Hiroshi Matsushima” might just be that, living here quietly, passing on the “Martial” torch.

As for “Roaming the Jianghu with a Sword,” that was just a fleeting thought.

His “friend” had powerful inner strength and left no trace—and it seemed he had also achieved what he wanted.

If the Mona Knight Order didn’t have other important projects, he would reduce his activities.

Thinking this way, Hiroshi Matsushima would return to a life dedicated solely to the study of martial techniques for at least a few years.

Not bad at all.

Walking the path home, Hiroshi Matsushima thought so.

The streets were as crowded as ever.

In the martial arts school district, there were some shops providing food for the minimally modified population, and people hawked spare parts along the way—these parts were dubious, either scavenged from junk or from dubious origins.

However, compared to the limited quantities of free parts distributed by the government, their availability was substantial, catering to emergencies.

“Look and see!

Don’t miss out as you pass by!”

The closest peddler to Hiroshi Matsushima looked like a stunted dwarf.

He was draped in a piece of earthy yellow textile, with an alloy plate hanging on his chest, hung by a scrapped electric wire around his neck.

Hiroshi Matsushima found the peddler’s voice somewhat familiar, but he didn’t dwell on it.

In this era, many people used voice packs, and the spectrum of “pleasant” voices was limited, especially in the free domain.

There were simply too many people with similar voices.

However, the peddler came closer, grinning widely, “Old master, what a refreshing breeze, eh…

take a look at these parts!”

Hiroshi Matsushima looked at the peddler, but his arm trembled slightly.

The peddler exaggeratedly stepped back two paces, then screamed, “Hey, hey, don’t get angry if you’re not buying!

Are you going to hit me?”

If Hiroshi Matsushima still had eyelids, they would have been twitching uncontrollably.

This peddler was a completely cyberized martial artist.

Although he had changed his limbs, making him appear much shorter…

but judging just by his head, neck, and shoulders…

—This guy, he didn’t leave the city?

Hiroshi Matsushima thought this Knight from the Assassination Knights, following the assassination incident, would have definitely fled Pine Eagle City first since the surveillance in the city had intensified.

Such audacity?

After all, hadn’t it been agreed to distance oneself from the Jianghu?

The very reason this Hero had stepped back just now was because Hiroshi Matsushima had instinctively assumed a minimal Mech Armor Iron Fist stance.

He had to back off, or else he would have exposed himself to the old boxer’s attack.

But, to avoid suspicion, he immediately covered it up with a jest.

Hiroshi Matsushima lowered his fist, suppressing his anger, “Sorry for scaring you.

To apologize, I will buy one of your items.

Just make sure it’s not too expensive.”