Chapter44-Beauty Club
"You said what?! Did I hear you correctly?"
Upon hearing the bard's excited words, the many townsfolk already gathered around him in curiosity now surged forward, their faces filled with disbelief.
After all, it was the Nascent Duchy's mighty army—one hundred thousand soldiers—the very force that had long filled their hearts with dread.
How could it possibly be that after breaking through the border, they were suddenly... wiped out?
Even Old Jaque and Celia looked at each other, their hearts pounding.
Was this a rumor? A joke? Had they heard wrong?
"You can doubt me all you want,"
the bard said confidently, his chest puffed out.
"But that mysterious powerhouse only swung his sword once—
and the entire army was cursed.
They all lost control of their bowels!"
"And then!"
The bard's eyes widened for dramatic effect.
"With just another casual wave of his hand—can you guess?—
the skies turned black, the sun and moon vanished,
and thunderous explosions erupted across the entire battlefield!"
"The army suffered devastating losses—
and in their desperate retreat,
even more soldiers died!"
Hearing this, many villagers simply shook their heads, convinced it was nonsense.
Sure, top-level Awakeners were powerful…
but affecting a hundred thousand soldiers at once?
That was simply impossible!
However, Old Jaque and Celia's hearts were filled with astonishment.
Could it be...
that John had really succeeded?
They both knew the bizarre methods John possessed—
especially that strange sword art that could induce uncontrollable diarrhea.
It had left a deep impression on them both.
But neither had expected John to be capable of making an entire army soil itself mid-charge!
The mental image of thousands of fierce warriors suddenly struck by intestinal disaster made their expressions turn strange.
As for the thunderous explosions...
they knew John had other, equally bizarre tricks,
such as his so-called "gas tank bombs."
They didn't know why he called them that,
but the destructive power was undeniable.
"John... that guy never does anything without absolute confidence,"
Old Jaque muttered, eyes gleaming.
"I must convince him to teach me that diarrhea sword art!"
—
At the Punching Feminists headquarters,
the moonlight poured down like silver across the open courtyard.
Chief Sybil had gone hunting earlier in the day,
capturing several wild boars and roasting them into a grand outdoor feast.
As they sat around the roaring fire,
Sybil kept piling roast meat onto John's plate,
her intentions clear as day—
she was trying her best to curry favor with him.
John, of course, saw right through her.
Sybil's attitude practically screamed: "Please, join our Association!"
John's physique was exceptional, even by her lofty standards.
As someone who had lived over a century and seen countless geniuses,
Sybil was genuinely astonished by John's physical strength and potential.
If she could recruit him,
Punching Feminists would rise to unprecedented glory!
Yet John had no intention of joining.
He was here mainly to help Barton and Stanley find a foothold.
So, he coughed lightly and said,
"Chief Sybil, thank you for your warm hospitality.
May I ask—what are your Association's recruitment requirements?"
Sybil's eyes lit up.
"If every recruit were like you,
we'd take as many as we could!
Even if they only had half your physique and good looks,
we'd take them by the dozens!"
She smiled sweetly, practically batting her eyelashes.
John's strength aside,
his appearance was no less captivating.
Even Sybil, despite her true age,
found herself tempted.
Training alongside such a "living work of art" would surely improve the girls' morale—and maybe their punching technique too!
Beside her, the twin sisters Jennie and Fanny eagerly nodded.
Punching Feminists had always been an all-female group.
They had long dreamed of having handsome men join—
but sadly, most men ran away just at the sight of the Association's name.
Hearing Sybil's enthusiastic response,
Barton and Stanley—standing nearby—felt deeply insulted.
Their physiques and faces clearly didn't meet the "standard" she was describing!
Sybil quickly added,
"Of course, we're not that strict.
As long as someone has decent physical ability, we'll take them.
After all, our real pride is in our martial arts!"
Hearing this, John nodded thoughtfully.
Then he said seriously,
"Chief Sybil, have you ever considered changing the name of your Association—or at least adjusting its image a little?"
"Change the name? Adjust the image?"
Sybil blinked in confusion.
John looked around at all of them—Sybil, Jennie, Fanny, Monica—and said earnestly:
"Don't you realize?
You're all extremely good-looking!
That's a massive advantage!
If you polished your appearances a bit,
you could attract crowds of new recruits.
Punching Feminists would flourish like never before!"
Sybil frowned.
"But... we're a martial arts Association, not some flashy street performers.
Prettying ourselves up sounds frivolous."
John chuckled.
"If you keep looking sloppy and disheveled,
even street performers would look down on you!"
At that, Sybil's face flushed bright red.
She glared at John angrily.
Punching Feminists had once been a prestigious force in the world of martial arts!
How dare he insult them like this?!
Sensing she was wavering, John struck again:
"Chief Sybil,
think about the future of the Association!
Isn't ensuring its survival worth a little sacrifice?"
Sybil hesitated.
John pressed on:
"I promise you—this isn't normal dressing up.
I have a unique style!
No one else has seen it before!
No one will be able to resist the charm!"
Seeing his confident grin,
Sybil finally showed a glimmer of interest.
"Fine," she said.
"Show us first."
"Gladly!" John replied with a mischievous smile.
He extended a single finger and began drawing in the air,
activating his Concept-Level Skill: Wardrobe Artisan.
Whatever he imagined would instantly materialize into actual outfits.
He started with Sybil—
weaving a flowing, adorable Lolita Princess Dress around her,
and neatening her messy hair into an elegant style.
As the transformation completed,
everyone gasped in amazement.
Sybil, now clad in soft pastels,
looked like she had stepped straight out of a fairytale—
pure, vibrant, and radiant,
yet somehow exuding an irresistible noble allure.
"Wow!"
"Wow!"
The others couldn't help but exclaim.
Even Sybil stared down at herself in wonder.
"This... this outfit…
What is this style?
What kind of hair tie is this?
It's incredible!"
Though she couldn't quite grasp the style's origins,
she could feel her charm had multiplied tenfold!
"I want one too!"
Monica, Jennie, and Fanny quickly chimed in.
"Don't rush!" John chuckled.
"One at a time!"
He gave Monica—who had sun-kissed bronze skin—
a set of tight leather shorts, high boots, and a whip in hand,
creating a fierce, wild dominatrix vibe.
For Jennie and Fanny, he crafted matching business suits—one in black, one in white—
paired with sheer stockings and golden-rimmed glasses,
turning the twin sisters into the ultimate seductive office ladies.
The transformation left even the girls themselves stunned.
"You—John—you have an amazing sense of style!"
they blurted out together.
John grinned slyly.
"Don't thank me—
you all had the perfect foundation already."
Then he outlined his recruitment plan:
"We'll hold tournaments where challengers must fight to win a date with you.
If they lose, they pay tuition and become regular students.
If they can't endure the intense training,
they must recruit five more people before quitting!"
Sybil's jaw dropped.
This idea—
it was sheer madness!
But the more she thought about it,
the more she realized...
it might just work.
"But isn't this... kind of like a scam?"
she asked, still hesitant.
John winked.
"How can it be a scam if everything's voluntary?
We're just encouraging people to pursue martial arts passionately!"
"Well said!"
Sybil clapped her hands, eyes shining.
"For the glory of Punching Feminists, a little sacrifice is nothing!"
"Alright then!"
She pointed at Jennie and Fanny.
"You two—go into town and start the campaign immediately!"