Sunshi Hua lunged forward with his blade raised high, and Ryker's brain had approximately zero seconds to process Zyx's insane advice before real steel was coming at his face.
He blocked on instinct—or rather, on the muscle memory Elio had beaten into him this morning during their forest training. Thank the elf. The impact jarred through his arms like he'd caught a falling tree branch, his sword screaming in protest against actual metal. Ryker stumbled back three steps, his boots scraping against marketplace cobblestones.
Foundation Establishment versus Qi Condensation. This wasn't a fight, this was a public execution.
"Pathetic!" Sunshi Hua pressed his advantage, blade flashing in the afternoon light as he closed the distance again. "Is this the Ashford family's standard? No wonder everyone calls you trash! You can barely hold a sword properly!"
Ryker blocked again, barely getting his wooden blade up in time. The crack that echoed through the marketplace was definitely coming from his weapon and not his bones, but it was a close thing. The crowd around them had swelled to maybe fifty people now—merchants abandoning their stalls, customers forgetting their shopping, everyone shoving for a better view of the young masters giving them a show.
Someone in the crowd shouted, "Ten silver says the Ashford boy doesn't last thirty seconds!"
"You're on!" another voice answered. "Twenty says Sunshi breaks his sword in the next exchange!"
Great. People were betting on his impending doom. This was going fantastic.
"COMPLIMENT HIM!" Zyx's voice screamed directly into Ryker's ear loud enough to make his skull vibrate. "RIGHT NOW! TRUST THE PROCESS!"
"What the hell am I supposed to compliment?!" Ryker hissed under his breath, dodging another slash that would have taken his head off if he'd been half a second slower.
"ANYTHING! HIS STANCE! HIS FORM! HIS STUPID HAIRCUT! JUST SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT!"
Sunshi pivoted smoothly into a follow-up slash aimed at Ryker's ribs, and Ryker's mouth opened before his brain could participate in the decision-making process.
"Your footwork is incredible!" The words burst out louder than intended, echoing across the suddenly quiet marketplace like he'd just announced the Second Coming. "The way you transition from overhead to lateral strikes without effort—that's blah blah blah technique, isn't it? The advanced forms?"
Sunshi Hua froze mid-swing, his blade stopping six inches from Ryker's torso, his expression cycling through confusion, suspicion, and something that looked disturbingly like a puppy hearing its name for the first time.
The entire marketplace went dead silent. Even the betting stopped.
"What?" Sunshi lowered his sword slightly, his aggressive stance melting like candle wax. "You... you recognized the blah blah blah forms?"
"The pivot from your center of gravity instead of your shoulders—that's Master npc no. 12302 signature teaching, right?" Ryker was talking completely out of his ass now, stringing together every scrap of knowledge the previous owner of this body and Elio had babbled about this morning plus approximately five hundred cultivation novels worth of educated guessing. "Most people just see sword swinging, but the foundation is everything. Your transitions are clean, your weight distribution is textbook perfect. That takes years of dedicated practice."
Something shifted in the air between them, and Ryker felt his meridians do that weird humming thing again, his qi circulation speeding up like his body had decided this counted as cultivation somehow. This was not following the dao!!
Sunshi's hostile aura flickered and dimmed like someone had turned down the spiritual pressure. "You can actually tell the difference?" His entire posture had changed—shoulders relaxing, grip loosening, the murderous intent draining from his face and being replaced by something that looked almost vulnerable. "I spent eight months perfecting those transitions! Master npc no. 12302 said they were the foundation of understanding true swordsmanship, but most cultivators can't even—"
He stepped forward enthusiastically, his foot catching on the exact groove his own sword had carved into the cobblestones thirty seconds earlier.
Time slowed down in that special way it does right before something hilarious and terrible happens simultaneously.
Sunshi Hua, Foundation Establishment Rank Two cultivator, trained at the prestigious blah blah Academy under Master npc no. 12302 himself, stumbled forward with his arms windmilling for balance. His sword flew from his grip, spinning through the air in a graceful arc that would've been beautiful if it wasn't so catastrophically embarrassing. He crashed face-first into the marketplace cobblestones with a meaty thud that made everyone in the crowd wince in sympathy, his forehead bouncing once against stone before he went completely limp.
The sword clattered to rest three feet away, still vibrating from impact.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Ryker stood frozen with his cracked wooden sword still raised in a defensive stance that was no longer needed, staring down at the unconscious cultivator who'd just knocked himself out on his own, his brain completely offline and his mouth hanging open in shock.
"Oh my gods," someone in the crowd whispered.
"Did you see that?"
"The Ashford heir didn't even move—"
"He just stood there and Sunshi Hua fell—"
"What kind of technique is that?!"
Zyx materialized on Ryker's shoulder, his shell pulsing urgent magenta. "Listen to me very carefully," the beetle hissed. "You have approximately three seconds before someone realizes he tripped on his own damage. Act like you did this on purpose. RIGHT NOW."
"But I didn't—"
"DO THE CONSTIPATED FACE! SAY SOMETHING PROFOUND! WALK AWAY LIKE YOU'RE DISAPPOINTED! GO!"
Ryker's mouth moved before his brain could catch up, operating on pure panic and Zyx's increasingly insane guidance. He lowered his sword slowly, arranged his face into what he hoped was cold clarity but probably looked like severe indigestion, and let out a long breath that could've been interpreted as either disappointment or spiritual exertion.
"A blade is merely an extension of the self," he said, and his voice came out deeper than normal because his throat was tight with stress. The words sounded profound in the absolute silence of sixty people holding their breath. "When the foundation is unstable, the sword falls. When the heart is uncentered, the warrior follows."
He turned and started walking toward the marketplace exit, his legs shaking slightly but hidden by his robes, every step measured and deliberate like he'd just made a conscious choice to spare his opponent.
Behind him, the crowd exploded.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"
"He didn't even touch him!"
"Sunshi Hua just collapsed!"
"What was that technique called?!"
"He said something about the blade being an extension—is that the name? The Extension Method?"
"No, no, I heard 'unstable foundation'—it's the Foundation Crumbling Technique!"
"My grandfather told me about something similar once! Ancient masters who could defeat opponents by exposing the flaws in their cultivation! One word and their qi circulation collapses!"
"The Ashford heir is a master?!"
"Someone get a physician! Sunshi's bleeding from his forehead!"
"Is he even breathing?!"
Ryker kept walking, his back straight and his expression schooled into neutral calm. His heart hammered against his ribs hard enough that he was pretty sure people could see it through his robes, but he didn't look back, didn't break stride, just kept moving like this was exactly what he'd planned.
"I cannot believe that just worked," Zyx whispered, his shell vibrating with barely suppressed laughter. "I literally cannot believe it! That was the most ridiculous sequence of events I've witnessed in at least a thousand years and I watched the Demon Emperor try to ride a dragon while drunk."
"He knocked himself out," Ryker hissed under his breath, his lips barely moving. "I didn't do anything. He literally just tripped and fell."
Sixty people just watched him stand there looking mysterious while a superior cultivator collapsed at his feet after he said something profound about swords. He unknowingly created a city-wide legend about a combat technique that doesn't exist. "This is art!"
Behind them, the marketplace was absolute chaos. Ryker could hear fragments of increasingly creative interpretations:
"—exposed the flaw in his foundation with just words—"
"—didn't even need to strike, just stood there radiating spiritual pressure—"
"—Master npc no. 12302 at blah blah is going to hear about this—"
"—the Ashford heir is a genius who defeats opponents by spiritual qi!!—"
Two merchants near the edge of the crowd were already pulling out communication talismans, their fingers flying through hand signs while dictating: "Young Master Ryker Ashford just defeated Foundation Establishment Rank Two using verbal an unknown technique and spiritual pressure without drawing blood—no I'm not joking, fifty witnesses—spread this to every Academy candidate immediately—"
Ryker made it around the corner of a building before his legs gave out and he had to lean against the wall, his sword clattering from nerveless fingers. His whole body was shaking now that the adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by the creeping realization that he'd just accidentally created the most absurd reputation.
"I didn't do anything," he repeated numbly. "He tripped. On his own sword damnit!! That's all that happened."
"That's all that happened physically," Zyx corrected, materializing fully on his shoulder now that they were out of sight. "Spiritually, he was suppressed by you right? You just became a legend. By tomorrow morning, half the cultivation families in this city will think you've mastered some ancient combat philosophy that defeats opponents through psychological warfare and qi disruption. The other half will think you're some kind of pacifist sword saint reborn."
"But I didn't—"
"Doesn't matter! Results are what matter! Sunshi Hua challenged you publicly, you said some profound nonsense about sword, and he collapsed! Cause and effect! The crowd connected the dots!"
Ryker slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, his head in his hands. His meridians were still humming with that spiritual warmth, his qi circulation more active than before even though he was still solidly at Rank Four.
"Wei Jian is going to hear about this," Ryker said into his palms.
"Oh absolutely! His cousin's friend just got hospitalized by your aura!" Zyx sounded delighted by this prospect. "Can you imagine his face when the report comes in? 'Young Master Wei, we have concerning news—Ryker Ashford has apparently rizzed up your cousin!"
"This is a nightmare."
"This is the best thing that's ever happened to your reputation! Ten days ago you were trash. Yesterday you were suspicious. Today you're a mysterious genius!"
Ryker looked up at the sky, watching clouds drift past overhead with the kind of peaceful indifference that he desperately wished he could feel. Somewhere in this city, Lian was probably closing up his stall, completely unaware that Ryker's life had just become an elaborate cosmic joke. Somewhere else, his father was about to receive multiple reports about his son.
Ten days until the Royal Academy trials.
His dignity was scattered across that marketplace along with Sunshi Hua's consciousness and several of his teeth probably.
But apparently he was now famous for a combat method he'd invented completely by accident through the combined powers of panic, a perverted beetle's advice, and his opponent's catastrophic lack of spatial awareness.
Ryker genuinely didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He settled on sitting against this wall until his legs remembered how to function and his heart rate returned to normal.
"We should go home," Zyx said after a moment. "Before someone comes looking for you"
"Yeah," Ryker said weakly. "Home sounds good."
He levered himself up on shaking legs, retrieved his cracked sword, and started the long walk back to the Ashford estate while trying very hard not to think about anything.
He should not be bothered this much by it, but how will he gain the reputation of a demon now? His life was officially insane.
And somehow, he suspected it was only going to get worse.
—-------------------------------------------------
Dinner was so awkward it had transcended mere social discomfort and achieved something approaching a spiritual experience in terrible.
Father sat at the head of the table in his formal evening robes, eating in pointed silence while Mother made cheerful small talk about absolutely nothing important. Ryker pushed rice around his bowl with chopsticks, trying to become invisible through sheer force of will and failing spectacularly, Father kept glancing at him with an expression that could only be described as "trying very hard not to say something."
The marketplace incident had definitely reached his parents' ears—probably multiple versions of it, growing more elaborate with each retelling. Servants gossiped faster than communication talismans, and there had been at least sixty witnesses with functioning mouths and a burning desire to spread the most interesting thing that had happened this month.
The only question was which version Father had heard, and whether Ryker was about to be praised, lectured, or subjected to a very uncomfortable conversation about whatever "technique" he'd supposedly used.
"So," the Baron said eventually, setting down his chopsticks with a deliberate click that made Ryker's shoulders tense involuntarily. "I received several interesting reports this afternoon."
Here it comes. Ryker braced for impact.
"Multiple reports, actually," Father continued, his voice carefully neutral "All saying approximately the same thing with varying degrees of exaggeration."
"Oh?" Ryker said, aiming for innocent curiosity.
"You were publicly challenged to a duel in the main marketplace by Sunshi Hua of the Hao family, he is at foundation Establishment Rank Two, who accused you of using forbidden cultivation methods." Father's eyes were sharp now, assessing. "And you accepted the challenge instead of declining, which would have been the smart move for someone in your position."
"He didn't really give me a choice," Ryker offered weakly. "Backing down in front of that many people would've been worse."
"Mm." The Baron picked up his tea cup, took a deliberate sip, and set it down "And then, according to multiple witnesses including three separate cultivators I trust to give accurate reports, something very strange happened."
Ryker's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth.
"You exchanged a few words with Sunshi Hua," Father said slowly, like he was reading from a report and still trying to process the information himself. "Complimented his swordsmanship technique. Commented on his training. And then—and this is where all the reports become remarkably consistent—you said something profound about blades being extensions of the self and unstable foundations causing warriors to fall."
"I may have said something like that," Ryker admitted, because lying at this point would be both stupid and pointless.
"And immediately after you spoke," Father continued, his expression completely unreadable now, "Sunshi Hua collapsed. Face-first into the cobblestones. Knocked unconscious. Required a physician's attention for facial lacerations and what the medical report calls 'severe qi deviation.'"
Mother's tea cup paused halfway to her lips, her eyes widening slightly.
"The marketplace," Father said, and there was something in his voice that Ryker couldn't quite identify, "is calling it the Foundation Crumbling Technique. Some kind of ancient combat method that exposes flaws in an opponent's cultivation and causes their qi circulation to collapse. Others are calling it the Extension Method—something about revealing the disconnect between warrior and weapon. There are at least six different names circulating right now, and all of them make you sound like you've mastered some legendary combat philosophy."
Silence stretched across the dinner table like a physical presence.
"Did you," Father asked carefully, "actually cause Sunshi Hua to collapse through some form of spiritual technique I'm unaware of?"
Ryker felt Zyx vibrate urgently in his collar—a clear warning to tread very, very carefully here.
"I observed a flaw in his foundation," Ryker said slowly, picking each word with precision. Which was technically true—he'd watched Sunshi carve that groove into the cobblestones, had seen him step toward it enthusiastically, had observed the exact moment the flaw in his spatial awareness became critical. "And I... made an observation about it."
Father's eyes narrowed. "What kind of observation?"
"The kind that caused him to reconsider his footing." Also technically true. Sunshi had definitely reconsidered his footing in the half-second before his face met stone.
"Ryker." Father's voice had taken on that tone that meant he wanted a real answer. "Did you learn some technique during your recent... breakthroughs? Something unconventional?"
"I've been studying unconventional methods," Ryker said carefully, which was the understatement of the century. "The traditional cultivation paths weren't working for my condition, so I had to find alternatives."
"Alternatives that let you defeat Foundation Establishment cultivators without drawing your weapon?" Mother's curiosity was genuine, her eyes bright with interest rather than suspicion.
"I didn't draw it for the finishing move, no." Because he hadn't needed to draw it when Sunshi had already knocked himself out. Technically accurate.
Father studied him for a long moment, his expression cycling through several emotions before settling on something that looked like reluctant pride mixed with frustrated curiosity. "You're not going to tell us what you did, are you?"
"A master doesn't reveal his techniques to casual observers," Ryker quoted, using Sunshi's own words from the marketplace against his father. "Even family."
"Casual observers?" Father's eyebrow rose, but there was amusement in his voice now. "I'm your father."
"And I respect you too much to give away something I've worked hard to develop." Ryker met his father's eyes steadily, channeling every ounce of mysterious protagonist energy he'd accidentally cultivated. "Would you share the Ashford family's secret techniques with your son before he'd proven himself worthy?"
That landed. Father leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, but the pride on his face was unmistakable now. "So you have developed something. Something you consider valuable enough to keep secret."
"No comment," Ryker said, taking a deliberately casual sip of tea.
"No comment," Father repeated, and suddenly he was grinning. "You sound like a real cultivator now. Mysterious, evasive, protecting your methods." He shook his head in apparent wonder. "Two weeks ago you could barely circulate qi. Now you're defeating superior opponents and refusing to explain your techniques. What changed?"
"I got tired of being trash," Ryker said simply, and that at least was completely honest. "So I found a different path."
"And this path," Mother interjected gently, "it's not forbidden? Not dangerous?"
Ryker thought about Zyx, about the social cultivation method "It's unconventional," he admitted. "But it's not forbidden. And the only danger is to my mind."
That made Father laugh—a genuine bark of amusement. "Your mind is already a casualty of your previous reputation. If this new method works, I don't care if it's unconventional." He paused, his expression turning more serious. "But you need to be careful. Whatever you did to Sunshi Hua—whether it was technique or luck or some combination—people are going to be watching you now. Expecting you to repeat it. Some will want to learn from you. Others will want to prove you're a fraud."
"I know," Ryker said quietly, because he did know. The weight of his accidental reputation was already settling on his shoulders like a physical thing.
"Can you do it again?" Father asked bluntly. "Whatever happened today—is it repeatable?"
Ryker considered the question carefully. Could he accidentally inspire another cultivator to knock themselves unconscious through a combination of sincere compliments and terrible spatial awareness? Probably not reliably. But could he use Zyx's social cultivation method to diffuse hostile situations and convert enemies into allies? That seemed to be working disturbingly well.
"The principles are sound," he said finally. "The execution varies depending on the opponent."
"That's not an answer."
"That's the only answer I'm giving."
Father and son stared at each other across the dinner table for a long moment, both stubborn, both unwilling to budge. Finally, the Baron shook his head with a rueful smile. "You've definitely changed. The old Ryker would've been eager to prove himself, to explain everything in detail." He picked up his chopsticks again. "This version knows when to keep his mouth shut. That's growth."
"Thank you?" Ryker wasn't entirely sure if that was a compliment or not.
"It is a compliment." Father returned to his meal, but there was satisfaction in his voice now. " The Sunshi family has issued a formal apology to our house for their son's baseless accusations—apparently he regained consciousness long enough to be mortified by his behavior"
Mother reached over to pat Ryker's hand encouragingly. "I'm proud of you. finding your own path, refusing to give up despite your condition—that takes real courage."
Guilt twisted in Ryker's stomach, because Mother's pride was based on a version of events that involved dedication and hard work. But he couldn't exactly explain the truth without sounding completely insane.
"I'm doing my best," he said instead, which was at least honest.
"That's all we can ask." Father's tone had shifted to something warmer now, the interrogation apparently over. "Ten days until the Academy trials. Whatever technique you've developed, whatever methods you're using—make sure you're ready to prove yourself there. The Academy instructors won't be as easy to impress"
"I'll be ready," Ryker promised, hoping it was true.
Dinner continued in considerably lighter spirits, though Ryker couldn't quite shake the weight of his parents' expectations now.
Somewhere in his collar, Zyx whispered, "That was perfect. You gave them just enough truth to make the lies believable. Our treacherous master"
"I feel terrible," Ryker muttered under his breath.
"Does it matter that the method is unconventional if the results are real?"
That was the question, wasn't it? His cultivation was advancing. His reputation was improving. His father was proud instead of disappointed.
Did it matter that the path was completely insane?
Ryker ate his rice and tried to convince himself that the answer was no.
He wasn't entirely successful.