“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bin asked, his voice tight with worry.

  Ishin continued moving through the nine basic spear stances with a real spear, his muscles warming with each practiced motion. “I’m sure.”

  “He has little choice,” Na said, arms folded. “Pan Fang went too far.”

  “See?” Ishin said as he transitioned into the next stance. “Sister Na understands.”

  The three of them stood on one end of a wide Martial Hall sparring room. On the opposite side, Pan Fang, Jun Wu, and the rest of their friend group waited. Word of the duel had spread quickly overnight. Now dozens of disciples filled the room, eager to watch the confrontation. More importantly, among the spectators were Elder Fa and Ro Akira.

  When Ishin had informed his mother of the challenge the night before, she’d merely replied, “Good.”

  He hadn’t expected the tribe’s First Warrior to take time to attend the duel—yet here she was.

  Arranging the duel had been simple. As an official challenge between two members of the Martial Hall, it had to be registered beforehand. Once approved, a room was scheduled and the duel time set. And now, the moment had come.

  “I heard his chakra is earth-aspected,” Bin offered. “And he’s supposedly decent with the battle axe.”

  Ishin’s eyes drifted toward the heavy weapon resting near Pan Fang’s feet—a large, two-handed axe with a single broad blade. Like his own spear, the weapon was real, though its edge had been dulled. “Good to know.”

  Na rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Brother Ishin. Pan Fang likely knows body enhancement techniques. Even if that axe won’t split you in half, it could easily break your bones.”

  “I’ll just avoid getting hit, then.”

  Ishin knew exactly how dangerous the axe could be. His hope—his plan—was that his superior skill would let him evade any strikes, even if Pan Fang could enhance his strength and speed with qi.

  “Maybe you can still get out of this,” Bin tried once more. “Or I could request to take your place since your chakra is still dormant.”

  “Brother Bin, that’s enough.” Ishin appreciated his friend’s concern—he really did. But he was tired of being coddled. He met Bin’s gaze, unwavering. “I know I can’t cultivate, but I’m not helpless. I’m the better fighter, and in the end, skill will decide the outcome.”

  “I fear you’re underestimating him,” Na said quietly. Her words surprised him.

  “We know you’re more skilled than he is, Brother Ishin,” she continued. “Everyone knows that. But he’s still a cultivator. He has qi and you don’t.”

  Ishin paused, lowering his spear mid-form. “You don’t think I can win?”

  “I’m not certain.” Her tone carried no malice—only honesty.

  “She’s right,” Bin added. “You haven’t fought a cultivator in a year. And remember how that went?”

  Ishin leaned back against the wall, thinking. They’re right. As much as he hated to admit it, they were right.

  The last, and only time he’d fought a cultivator before was when he’d been sixteen and tried training with the senior disciples. Elder Fa had allowed it after Ishin had begged for months. The outcome had been brutal. One of Ishin’s arms had been broken and his pride battered.

  But now he was different. He was far more skilled than before after a year of intensive training. Furthermore, Pan Feng was not as skilled as the cultivator Ishin lost too. Yes, Ishin knew that as a cultivator Pan Feng could use qi to move faster and enhance his strength. He also knew that Pan Feng would surely have techniques that he’d employ in battle.

  All of that was common knowledge. However, Ishin was physically and athletically superior to the heavy set Pan Feng. Surely that wasn’t worthless. Especially not when Pan Feng was only at the early layers of the Initial Realm.

  His mother had even told him that those at the Initial Realm, while they had access to qi, were not naturally physically superior to non-cultivators like himself. It was only at the Adept Realm and above that the base physical traits of a cultivator improved. Until then, Pan Feng would have to cycle his qi to make up the disparity in their physical talents. If Ishin could exhaust his qi, he might have a chance.

  “What layer is he at?” Ishin asked.

  Na turned to Bin. “He’s only at the second layer, right?”

  Bin nodded. “I checked last night. He has one additional layer around his chakra. He hasn’t reached the third.”

  Na let out a sigh. “That’s a relief.”

  “How long do you think he can use his qi to enhance his body before he runs out?” Ishin asked.

  “My guess is five minutes,” Bin answered. “That was my limit at the second layer. But that’s still a long time, Ishin.”

  “But if he lasts through it then Pan Feng will lose his advantage,” Na remarked. To Ishin, she asked, “Can you make it that long?”

  Ishin squeezed the shaft of his spear. Five minutes was a long time, but Ishin knew he could. He was the better fighter. And he would prove it—to Pan Fang, to the Martial Hall, and to himself. Elder Fa hadn’t made a mistake. All he had to do was last five minutes and then victory would be his.

  “Five minutes won’t be a problem,” Ishin answered confidently.

  He pushed off from the wall and stepped past his friends to greet the approaching Elder Fa.

  “Greetings, Elder,” Ishin said with a bow.

  Bin and Na followed his lead. “Greetings, Elder.”

  “Assistant Instructor. Senior Disciples,” Elder Fa said with a nod. He waited for them to rise before continuing. “Assistant Instructor Ro Ishin, may I speak with you in private?”

  “I trust my friends, Elder,” Ishin said. “If it’s acceptable, I’d like them to hear your words as well.”

  Elder Fa sighed. “Very well. Assistant Instructor Ro Ishin, I trust you understand the risks of this challenge. What drove you to pursue it?”

  “He insulted you and my mother, Elder. Senior Disciple Pan Fang claimed I only received my title because I was the First Warrior’s son.”

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  “I gave you that position because it would’ve been a loss to the tribe to waste such martial talent. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Elder.” A warmth filled Ishin’s chest at the Elder’s validation.

  “Then why challenge him if you know his words are false? Was it your pride?”

  “With respect, Elder—would you let someone claim you were unworthy of your own station?”

  Elder Fa studied him for a long moment. “No, I would not. In truth, you’ve done what honor demands.”

  He paused.

  “The difference between you and me, though… is that only one of us is a cultivator.”

  “I can beat him, Elder,” Ishin said quietly.

  “Apologies, Elder,” Bin interrupted. “Can’t you stop this?”

  Elder Fa shook his head. “The challenge was registered and witnessed by members of our tribe. I can’t cancel it without cause.”

  He looked at Ishin. “However, as a faculty member, I could argue your status makes the duel inappropriate.”

  Ishin recognized the offer—and rejected it.

  “No, Elder,” he said firmly. “Everyone would think it was canceled because I was afraid. I’m not. I need to do this. I need to know what I’m capable of.”

  “Brother Ishin…” Na muttered.

  Bin simply shook his head.

  “Spoken like a cultivator,” Elder Fa said, stroking his beard. “Very well.”

  He moved to the center of the room. Pan Fang stepped forward, weapon in hand. Ishin mirrored him.

  The two combatants stood twenty feet apart, Elder Fa between them. Ishin saw his mother step to the front of the crowd. Na and Bin took their places at the edge.

  Ishin studied his opponent. Pan Fang’s stocky build would normally suggest slower movement, but he was no junior disciple. He was a cultivator. He could be just as fast as me—maybe faster.

  “Assistant Instructor Ro Ishin. Senior Disciple Pan Fang,” Elder Fa began. “This is an official duel. You may use your true weapons and any techniques you possess. Remember—lethal attacks are forbidden.”

  Ishin glanced at the blunted spear tip.

  “The match ends only when one surrenders or falls unconscious. The result will be recorded and will affect your ranking. Any questions?”

  “No, Elder,” Pan Fang answered.

  “None from me, Elder,” Ishin said.

  “Very well. Bow to your opponent.”

  They bowed.

  “Take four paces back. I’ll call the start.”

  They obeyed. Ishin raised his spear, aiming the steel tip at Pan Fang’s forehead. The cultivator didn’t even lift his axe—just leaned lazily on it.

  Is he that arrogant—or just that confident?

  “Begin!” Elder Fa called.

  Ishin didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, aiming to strike before Pan Fang could ready himself. The reach of his spear brought him in range quickly. Still, Pan Fang didn’t move.

  The spear shot toward his throat.

  A flicker—then the spear stopped.

  Ishin blinked. What?

  A stone hand gripped the spear. No—it was Pan Fang’s own hand, transformed into solid rock. A body enhancement technique.

  Ishin struggled to pull the weapon free—but it wouldn’t budge.

  Pan Fang grinned. “That’s the best you can do?”

  He flung the spear aside, forcing Ishin to stumble several steps back.

  He’s so strong. And fast! Ishin looked at the spearhead. The steel tip was crumpled.

  “Pathetic,” Pan Fang said, hefting his axe. “Now I’ll show you what a real cultivator can do.”

  Ishin dropped into a defensive stance, adjusting his grip and footwork. I’ll wait for an opening when he charges.

  Pan Fang moved with shocking speed. The distance closed instantly. His axe swung down from above.

  Too fast!

  Ishin dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. The axe struck the mat with a dull thud that reverberated up through the floor.

  The floor hadn’t broken.

  Sun Tiger hide, Ishin realized. Now I understand.

  Pan Fang pulled his weapon free and rested it on his shoulder. “Is that the best you can do? Run?”

  A single hit from that could shatter my ribs. I need to be careful. Ishin noted the stone-like scales covering both of Pan Fang’s forearms.

  He began circling, keeping his distance. Pan Fang watched him with a sneer.

  His movements are fast—but I can track them. No feints, no deception. He’s relying on brute strength and speed. Overconfident. Predictable.

  Ishin came to a stop.

  “Is that all a second-layer cultivator can do?” he called out. “I thought you said this would end in one blow.”

  Pan Fang’s face darkened. “You just got lucky.”

  He raised his axe. “You won’t survive the next one.”

  Without replying, Ishin darted forward. He held the spear in one hand, pretending to rush in recklessly.

  Pan Fang’s eyes lit up. He stepped into Ishin’s charge and swung his axe again—right as Ishin reached his range.

  He’s not even masking his attacks.

  At the last second, Ishin pivoted, dodging the swing and spinning around Pan Fang’s left side. His spear lashed out, cracking against the back of Pan Fang’s skull.

  Pan Fang gasped, falling to one knee. He used his axe to keep upright.

  He’s still conscious? Ishin stared, stunned.

  “You. Cursed. Cripple!” Pan Fang snarled, blood on his lips. “I’ll kill you!”

  Ishin’s heart raced. That should’ve ended it. That would’ve dropped any junior disciple.

  The crowd murmured. Ishin couldn’t make out the words—but he could guess.

  What can I do if one of my best techniques barely fazes him?

  Pan Fang charged.

  Ishin tried to sidestep—but a crushing elbow struck his ribs. He hit the ground hard, gasping in pain.

  Ribs… bruised or cracked. He elbowed me after the swing!

  Pan Fang advanced, axe raised.

  Ishin thrust his spear into Pan Fang’s chest. It barely made him stumble.

  Still, Ishin used the momentum to roll away. The axe clipped his shoulder.

  Too close.

  He scrambled to his feet and darted away.

  A gust of wind told him just how narrowly he’d avoided the next strike.

  “You’re out of places to run,” Pan Fang sneered.

  Ishin backed into the wall.

  Left or right? Left leads to the corner. Right puts me against the crowd. I’m boxed in.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears. I always wanted to fight a real cultivator. Well, here it is.

  If I’m going to lose—I’ll make him bleed for it.

  Then Pan Fang did something unexpected. He dropped his axe.

  Stone spikes grew from his knuckles.

  He’ll be faster now. And those aren’t blunted.

  Remarkably, Ishin’s excitement grew.

  Who is he to challenge me? I’m the better fighter. No technique will save him.

  He grinned.

  “What are you smiling at?” Pan Fang scowled. “You’re about to be crippled for real.”

  Ishin twirled his spear. “If you’re so confident—then come.”

  Pan Fang rushed in.

  He slipped inside Ishin’s reach and punched.

  Ishin lunged forward and slammed his forehead into Pan Fang’s nose.

  His skull rang with pain—but he heard the crunch of broken bone.

  Worth it.

  He followed up with a knee to the gut—then another.

  The third knee struck stone. Ishin cried out, falling.

  Before he could recover, a kick slammed into his stomach. Blood sprayed from his lips as he hit the mat.

  Ribs… definitely broken this time.

  He looked up just in time to see a boot descend toward his face—

  —and then there was nothing.