The dust of their latest exchange still hung in the air, motes dancing in the afternoon sun, when Jin straightened, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His jaw ached from the clean strike Shenlu Feng had landed, but he didn't wince. He only smirked faintly, though his chest rose and fell faster than before.
Across from him, Shenlu Feng stood tall, breathing controlled but his own lip split, a thin crimson line trailing down his chin. His robes bore marks of the exchange, fabric torn, skin bruised. And yet, his eyes once cold and unyielding , now burned with something different.
The crowd had gone silent, awestruck. The prodigy of their Clan, the youngest Master across the southern continent, was bleeding. And his opponent, this nameless clown who mocked, jeered, and fought like no one they'd ever seen, stood even with him.
Whispers turned into shouts, nobles leaning forward from their pavilions, generals muttering of recruitment.
"Who is this Jin?"
"Impossible. A man like him should be known across every region."
"No record, no clan, no master and yet he matches Shenlu Feng blow for blow?"
Among them, Ruan trembled. She had always seen Jin as ridiculous, unserious, childlike in his tantrums and antics. But now… now his face was still, empty, his aura sharp as a blade. This Jin was unfamiliar, terrifying, and yet she could not look away.
Jin himself didn't fully understand. His body moved on its own, adapting to Shenlu Feng's movements, finding rhythm in his speed and grappling counters. He flowed like a tide, reflex sharpening without conscious thought. And it scared him.
They both surged forward again.
Crack
Both fists collided with jaws, heads snapping back in mirrored brutality. They staggered, but neither fell.
Instead, they breathed, locked eyes across the small space between them. And then something happened.
For the first time, Shenlu Feng smiled.
Not a smirk of superiority. Not the detached calm of a prodigy untouched by the world. A true smile, raw and alive, lips curving as though he had been waiting his entire life for this.
And then, in words that stunned even Jin, Shenlu Feng spoke.
"You… Jin," his voice came rough but steady, carrying over the arena. "You're the first to make me move. The first to make me feel effort burn through my bones."
Jin blinked, stunned.
"…You can speak like me?"
Shenlu Feng's smile widened. "Not perfectly. But I learn. You forced me. I wanted to understand you… because you're worth understanding."
The crowd murmured few could grasp the meaning, but they could sense the weight in Feng's tone.
Jin tilted his head, suspicious. "…And what are you saying, prodigy boy?"
Shenlu Feng's eyes sharpened, his voice low, intimate, dangerous.
"I know you're not giving your all. Just as I haven't. You could climb higher… if you let yourself. I want you to push me. I want you to show me that aura. That killing intent I glimpsed. Make me awaken."
The words sent a ripple through the air. Even the clan leader's expression tightened, though his lips still carried that faint smile.
Jin was quiet. Then a low chuckle escaped him.
"…So you love fighting that much? You want me to be your stepping stone?"
His gaze turned cold.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
Shenlu Feng raised his hands again, smirk intact. "Then show me."
---
They moved.
Feng shot forward like a blur, his leg hooking for a sweep, hands already reaching to grapple Jin's arm. Jin twisted, using his robe to break the grip, countering with a sharp elbow to Feng's ribs. Thud!
Feng grunted but didn't flinch he spun, catching Jin's wrist and slamming his shoulder down. Crash! Jin hit the ground, dust rising, the crowd roaring.
But Jin rolled, twisting his leg around Feng's, pulling him down in return. They hit the dirt together, fists flying in brutal close combat.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Knuckles split. Cheeks swelled. Blood sprayed.
Shenlu Feng drove a knee into Jin's chest, pinning him, his hand clawing for a chokehold. Jin gritted his teeth, twisting, his fingers digging into Feng's side before ramming a headbutt into his nose. Smash!
Blood burst, Feng staggered back, wiping crimson from his face and laughed.
Jin stood, face smeared, breathing ragged, eyes empty. His killing aura surged for a heartbeat cold, suffocating before he forced it down, reshaping it into pure intent. The crowd shivered as if winter had descended.
Feng's grin only grew. "Yes. That. More!"
They clashed again.
Jin's fists snapped like pistons, each strike precise, clinical, cutting for joints and ribs. Feng's counters were savage, grappling grips tearing skin, throws that shook the ring. Jin bled from his temple, ribs screamed, but he adapted each failed counter teaching him, refining him.
At one point, Feng locked him into an armbar, his shoulder nearly wrenched from its socket. Jin's face twisted not in pain, but in concentration. He bent, twisted, copied, and in the next exchange nearly trapped Feng in the same hold. The crowd gasped at the impossible mimicry.
Lord Bi'an's eyes narrowed. "He's learning mid-battle. That fool… he's adapting."
The Clan Leader sipped his tea, smile faint. "And Feng… is awakening."
---
Both men staggered apart again, their bodies wrecked, bloodied, but eyes locked.
The crowd held their breath.
For Jin's expression was dead calm, cold as the void. And across from him, Shenlu Feng no longer hid behind a mask of detachment. He grinned wide, teeth bared, eyes wild, alive for the first time in his life.
The fight had become more than a clash of fists.
It was the birth of something terrifying.
And everyone watching knew whether prodigy or mystery man this battle was no longer about victory.
It was about who would survive the awakening.
---
The clash of fists and the roar of the crowd rolled through the arena like thunder, but in the higher seats, silence gripped those who mattered most.
Lord Bi'an leaned forward, knuckles white around his armrest, his eyes narrowing on the two bloodied figures trading blows below. He whispered low, words sharp with desperation.
"No… it cannot be. I've seen every style, every school, every rogue master across three continents. But this… this way of moving, of adapting mid-battle, it doesn't belong to anyone I know."
He clenched his jaw, sifting through fragments of memory, tournaments, duels, whispered legends of nameless warriors. None matched this fool in the ring. None laughed like a child, yet struck like a specter.
Beside him, Shen could not sit still. His heart raced as he recalled that fateful day on the road.
"This isn't the same man… The one who saved me from the bandits, he was playful, lazy, even careless. But now… now he fights like a man born to kill. How? Which one is the real Jin?"
His voice shook, his disbelief growing. "Or… are they both him?"
Lord Bi'an didn't answer. His silence was heavier than words.
In the disciple's stands, Xiǎoyè gripped the railing, eyes wide with awe and terror. To him, this was not the fool who mocked names or whined like a child. This was his master.
"Master…" he whispered, voice reverent, trembling. "So this… is you at your best."
His sharp eyes tracked every exchange, every subtle shift.
"He copies Feng's grappling mid-fight… no hesitation, no wasted motion. He takes damage, but with each blow he learns. He… he doesn't even need a style. His body itself is the style."
Xiǎoyè's admiration burned, but fear wormed inside him. "If he can do this while holding back… what would happen if he let go?"
Down by the floor, chained and wounded, Ruan trembled, her nails biting into her palms.
"Why?" her thoughts screamed. "Why is he doing all this… for me?"
She watched Jin's empty face, his body absorbing punishment, his fists carving through the air like a storm. He never complained, never faltered, only pressed forward. For her.
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I thought he was a fool. I thought he was weak, a child in a man's body. And yet… he fights, bleeds, suffers… all to protect me."
Her chest ached. "If only I were stronger… If only I wasn't so useless. Then he wouldn't have to do this. Then he wouldn't… need to be scary."
The memory of Jin's cold, emotionless aura returned, sending shivers down her spine. That gaze it hadn't belonged to the Jin she knew. It was like staring into death itself.
Yet even knowing that, she couldn't look away.
---
Above all of them, in his throne-like seat, the Clan Leader sat utterly still, save for the faintest curve of his lips.
While others gasped at the battle, he had already set his pieces in motion. Orders had been sent quietly through the shadows of the clan every informant, every contact scouring archives and old records. Somewhere, someone would know the truth. A man like Jin could not exist without a past.
His voice was soft, almost to himself.
"This is no fool. No wanderer. No nameless drifter."
He lifted his teacup, though his eyes never left Jin.
"No… this is a genius of martial arts itself. A man who fights not with everything he has, but with only fragments. He is holding back."
The thought both thrilled and unsettled him.
If this was Jin restrained, then what was Jin unleashed?
The crowd roared again as Jin and Shenlu Feng clashed in the ring, fists meeting, blood spraying, every strike carrying weight beyond itself.
But in the shadows of the watching hearts, suspicion, awe, and fear grew.
For all of them, one question now burned brighter than the fight itself:
Who....truly...is Jin?