Chapter Seven – Fangs of the Proud
The arena floor was still cracked and littered with dust from Jesse's last fight when the elder's voice cut through the noise.
"Next match! Jesse Jordan… versus Ken Miles!"
The crowd erupted like a storm. Cheers, laughter, and jeers tangled together, the atmosphere trembling with anticipation. Everyone knew this fight would decide whether Jesse's earlier victories were a fluke—or whether he truly carried something more.
Ken Miles rose from his seat with the confidence of a lion among sheep. His robes shimmered faintly with defensive qi, his steps measured, proud. His lips curved in a mocking smile as he glanced at Jesse across the arena.
"Well, well," Ken's voice carried easily over the crowd, "the orphan trash has learned a few tricks. But tricks are still tricks. Let's show them the difference between heaven and dirt."
Laughter followed his words, the disciples eager to watch Jesse's downfall.
From the stands, Daisy Mellon's eyes narrowed slightly. She said nothing, but her gaze lingered on Jesse—unblinking, sharp. Ken noticed, and his smirk darkened.
Jesse stepped into the center, his cracked sword at his side. His body was weary, bruised, but his stance was steady. His cold eyes never left Ken.
"Begin!"
The gong thundered.
Ken didn't waste a breath. Qi surged through his body as he launched forward, fist cocked like a falling boulder. Jesse braced his cracked sword, meeting the blow head-on.
BOOM!
The impact sent shockwaves rippling across the arena, dust spraying outward. Jesse slid back several steps, his arms trembling, but he did not fall. The cracked sword shuddered, faint light pulsing along its length.
Ken sneered. "So it's true. That broken toy of yours has some secrets. No matter. I'll break it… and you."
He attacked again, each strike faster, heavier, fueled by qi. Jesse's blade intercepted, deflecting, absorbing, redirecting. His body screamed in protest, but the Ninefold Void Sutra steadied his breath, anchoring him against the storm.
The crowd roared with every clash.
"He's standing against Ken?!"
"Impossible!"
"Ken hasn't even shown half his strength yet!"
Daisy's hands tightened on the railing in front of her. Her heart pounded, though her face remained calm.
Ken's fist finally broke through Jesse's defense, slamming into his chest. Jesse flew backward, skidding across the cracked stone, blood splattering from his lips.
The crowd howled with approval.
"Finally! That's the end of him!"
"Back to the dirt where he belongs!"
Ken raised his chin proudly, voice carrying. "This is the fate of trash. No matter what scraps of strength you find, you'll never rise above me."
Jesse staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. His gaze remained cold, unshaken.
"I don't need to rise above you," he said softly, his words cutting sharper than steel. "I only need to keep moving forward."
Ken's smirk faltered.
They clashed again. This time, Jesse pressed forward, the cracked sword resonating with his qi in faint pulses. Each strike of Ken's fists met a sharper counter, sparks flying, shockwaves rattling the arena walls.
The elders leaned forward in their seats. Elder Morris's eyes glowed with interest. "The sword feeds on his determination. It is incomplete, but dangerous. If left unchecked…"
Another elder murmured, "…he could become a threat."
Ken snarled, his pride burning. Each time Jesse stood after his blows, the crowd's awe shifted ever so slightly. Daisy's gaze never left Jesse, and Ken felt it like a knife twisting in his chest.
"No more games," Ken spat. Qi burst from his body, a visible aura of crushing pressure. He formed a complex hand seal, his voice booming.
"Forbidden Art—Iron Fang Breaker!"
The air shivered. His qi condensed into spectral fangs of iron, snapping and gnashing around his fists. The arena itself groaned under the oppressive force.
Gasps tore from the crowd.
"He's using the Miles family's forbidden technique!"
"But that's banned in trials—he'll kill him!"
Elders stirred uneasily but did not intervene. Their eyes gleamed with curiosity, watching what Jesse would do.
Ken charged, fists now sheathed in snarling iron fangs, each strike promising death.
Jesse raised his cracked sword. Its faint glow pulsed erratically, as if awakening, as if whispering—but his qi was nearly drained, his body battered.
The first strike landed. Jesse's blade barely held. Sparks flew, the ground splitting beneath his feet. The second strike came, heavier, faster. His arms quaked, his vision blurred.
Ken's laughter boomed. "This is the end! Die, orphan!"
The third strike descended, an avalanche of killing intent.
The cracked sword shrieked in Jesse's hands, its faint light flaring brighter, as though something within strained against invisible chains.
And then—
CRACK!
A fracture split across the sword's dull surface, glowing with blinding jade light.
The crowd fell silent.
"What is that?!"
"The sword—it's changing!"
Ken's fist met the glowing fracture. A shockwave ripped across the arena, dust and stone exploding outward.
When the haze cleared, Jesse still stood, sword trembling in his grip, its fracture burning with jade fire.
Ken's face twisted in disbelief.
"What… what are you?!"
And Jesse, his chest heaving, eyes cold as void, whispered only one word—
"Forward."
The jade light pulsed again