"I've always known Wei Wen and Luo Feng had potential," Zhou Zhengyong said, watching the footage with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "They're prodigies who grasped the Subtle Movement Technique at just 18. The Dojo of Limits brought them in early for good reason."
"Sure, mastering that technique so young is impressive, but what really caught me off guard wasn't their movement," he paused, brows furrowing, "It was their progress with the Ninefold Thunder Blade technique."
He turned to Lu Gang. "Tell me—when did you start training at such an advanced level?"
Even Zhou Zhengyong, with his experience, found it difficult to believe. But after the initial shock passed, he couldn't hide the excitement growing in his chest. This was good news—exceptional news.
Both Wei Wen and Luo Feng were monsters in the best sense—once-in-a-generation talents. Geniuses of this caliber are rare not just in China, but across the entire world.
With the level of mastery they were displaying, getting them into the Elite Training Camp would be a walk in the park. In fact, he could recommend them right now and headquarters would almost certainly approve.
The Elite Training Camp—also known in martial circles as the God of War Reserve—was the gateway to becoming a top-tier martial warrior. Anyone who made it through was virtually guaranteed to become a War God, and not just an average one.
Of course, the camp had its own admission tests. Nothing was automatic. But with these two, he was confident.
"I didn't do much," Lu Gang said, half-smiling, half-defeated. "I barely had time to teach them the basics of actual combat. Before I even got to the Ninefold Thunder Blade, they'd already broken through a new threshold on their own."
He sighed. "Honestly, I feel a little useless as their instructor."
"What do you mean?"
Lu Gang leaned in, voice low. "I have this sense their blade work is hiding something—something deeper. It's like they're not even showing their true capabilities."
He shook his head. "If I could just figure it out, maybe I could improve my own blade technique significantly. But I can't quite grasp what they're doing."
Zhou Zhengyong frowned, then nodded. "Don't worry about that. Just record them. I'll take it from there and push their applications to the Elite Camp."
In Zhou Zhengyong's mind, there were only two men in the world standing at the top: Hong, the invincible founder of the Dojo of Limits, and Thunder God, second only to him.
Wei Wen and Luo Feng were still rookies. Even if their execution of the Ninefold Thunder Blade felt otherworldly, Thunder God had practiced the same technique for decades. There was no way they could have surpassed him—right?
Even so, if they made it into the Elite Camp, it would reflect well on Zhou Zhengyong. He'd be credited with discovering and nurturing top-tier talent. That mattered.
Wilderness Training Zone
"Zhou's planning to recommend you both for the Elite Training Camp," Lu Gang told them, voice steady. "I need a recording of your punches for verification."
It was a formality. With his and Zhou Zhengyong's experience, they could easily evaluate a martial artist's Ninefold Thunder Blade level just by observing the compression and explosive force in their strike—particularly the number of acceleration layers stacked during the motion.
Speed and neural reaction weren't even worth testing. Their insane progress with the Thunder Blade spoke volumes already.
Wei Wen stepped up and threw a punch, channeling the force of the second layer of the Ninefold Thunder Blade.
Luo Feng followed, demonstrating the first layer.
Lu Gang captured it all on video and immediately forwarded it to Zhou Zhengyong.
At the Jiangnan Dojo of Limits Headquarters
Zhou Zhengyong didn't waste time. As soon as the video landed in his inbox, he called Yang Hui.
"Old Iron Hand! Didn't expect another call from you today," Yang Hui answered with a laugh. "Let me guess—this is about Wei Wen again?"
"Sort of," Zhou Zhengyong said, expression serious. "Listen, I'm sending you a video. Watch it closely."
Yang Hui raised an eyebrow but clicked play.
Seconds later, his jaw dropped. "You didn't fake this, did you?"
"Come on, Yang. No one 'Photoshops' kinetic force acceleration. It's real," Zhou replied, grinning. "And get this—they only just reached this level. As in, ten minutes ago."
"Damn," Yang Hui muttered. "So you're not just recommending Wei Wen anymore?"
"Correct. I want to put both of them—Wei Wen and Luo Feng—forward for the Elite Training Camp."
"With what I just saw? No objection here," Yang Hui said, nodding. "But you know how tight the slots are. I can't approve it myself."
He straightened. "I'll report this to Inspector Wang. He oversees the entire training camp structure. If anyone can green-light this, it's him."
"Much appreciated," Zhou replied. "I'll wait for your update."
Moments later…
"Connect me to Inspector Wang," Yang Hui ordered his smartband.
Beep. Beep. Click.
A deep, gravelly voice answered. "Go ahead."
"Greetings, Inspector," Yang Hui stood automatically, posture straight and respectful. The title Inspector wasn't just ceremonial—it meant this man had surpassed the God of War level.
In the Dojo of Limits' hierarchy, becoming an Inspector required breaking through to Planetary Level strength—power beyond what most martial artists could dream of.
Yang Hui didn't waste time. "Sir, the Jiangnan Base City branch has just identified two extraordinary talents. Zhou Zhengyong sent me their file and footage."
"They've been cultivating the Ninefold Thunder Blade technique for less than ten days… and already hit the first and second levels."
Silence.
Then: Hiss...
Even Inspector Wang was stunned. "The Ninefold Thunder Blade? That fast?"
He didn't train in it himself, but he knew its difficulty. It was a high-tier combat technique that took most elite martial artists weeks—months even—to get a feel for. Ten days? That bordered on absurd.
"If Thunder God hears about this, he might try to poach them for himself," Inspector Wang muttered. "Their potential… it's ridiculous."
He paused.
"Officially, this year's slots are full. China already requested an extra one. If I grant two more, the other nations will scream bias."
Yang Hui tensed.
"…However," Inspector Wang continued, "there's a way. Put them through the B-Rank Assessment at the end of August."
"If they can pass that? No one will say a word. That test's brutal—many of our so-called 'geniuses' can't clear it within a year."
He paused, tone decisive.
"If Luo Feng and Wei Wen pass the B-Rank test, their spots are secured."
In all of China's six base cities, only one young martial artist typically earned a slot per year. Even requesting extra spots was rare. Granting two? Almost unheard of.
But with this route—proving themselves in combat—the talent would speak for itself.
And any nation complaining?
Well, unless they had someone who could break into the Trial Tower and pass B-Rank within weeks, they had no right to complain.
Inspector Wang's voice dropped. "Let's see if they're truly as monstrous as they look."