The academy courtyard rang with blows.
Fists struck wood. Feet cracked stone tiles. The clang of weapons filled the air like war drums. A new training cycle had begun, and after the mission, Yuan Tian found himself thrown into the fire again.
Old Bai's voice thundered. "Mid-stage body tempering or not, if your footwork is sloppy, you'll die to a pig farmer with a stick!"
Li Yuan Tian exhaled, sweat rolling down his back. His form was tighter now. More grounded. He could feel the difference. His spear moved faster. He didn't second-guess himself. His muscles ached, but the ache was good—it meant progress.
"Next group!"
The crowd parted.
And he stepped into the ring.
Han Jue.
A boulder of a youth, easily a head taller than most. His torso bare, showing old scars like war tattoos. Black gloves wrapped around his fists, stained with dried resin and blood. His eyes were sharp but not cruel—focused. He cracked his knuckles like thunder announcing rain.
"Who's stepping in?" Han Jue asked, voice low and even.
Everyone hesitated.
Someone whispered, "Peak Body Tempering… he fought ten matches yesterday. Didn't lose once."
Old Bai scratched his beard. "Yuan Tian. Let's see how you do."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Yuan Tian stepped forward, spear in hand.
Han Jue gave a nod. "You're the one from the caravan mission?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'd rather fight someone who's killed."
---
The match began.
Yuan Tian struck first—spear flashing, quick as wind.
Han Jue didn't dodge.
He stepped into the strike.
A dull clang—he'd caught the shaft with his forearm, muscles tightening like coiled iron.
Yuan Tian twisted, kicked low.
Han Jue bent, grabbed his leg—and threw him across the courtyard.
Dust rose. Several onlookers gasped.
Yuan Tian rolled, used the spear to break his fall, and launched himself back.
This time, he aimed for the legs, jabbing twice, then feinting for the throat.
Han Jue grinned—and punched.
The air cracked.
Yuan Tian barely spun aside, the shockwave grazing his ribs.
He felt it. The difference.
This wasn't a boy.
This was a mountain wrapped in flesh.
---
Five exchanges later, Yuan Tian's arms trembled. His spear shook.
Han Jue's fists were slower now, but each hit carried enough force to shatter ribs.
Then—
Yuan Tian swept low, kicked a cloud of dust, blinded him for a second—
And thrust his spear toward the gut.
Han Jue stepped into it again—grabbed the shaft—and stopped just short of punching Yuan Tian's neck.
A breath passed.
Then he smiled.
"Good," Han Jue said. "You don't panic. That's rare."
Yuan Tian bowed slightly, chest heaving.
Old Bai gave a rare smirk. "Enough. No injuries today. Save it for enemies, not brothers."
---
Later, while Yuan Tian washed the blood from his arm at the basin near the eastern wall, Han Jue sat beside him, silent at first.
"You've got potential," he said. "But the road's long. You'll need allies."
"I thought you walk alone," Yuan Tian replied.
Han Jue laughed. "I do. But not forever."
He paused, looking out toward the training field where dusk painted the ground orange and gold. "This world is brutal. You'll find that some fights… you can't win alone."
He stood, drying his hands on the cloth tied to his belt. "When the day comes, and you need someone to break through a wall—call me."
Then he walked away, fists loose at his sides, like hammers that hadn't yet fallen.