The moment the signal was given, the space between them ceased to exist as distance and became intent.
Kuan advanced with deliberate confidence, his steps heavy and grounded, each footfall sinking slightly into the reinforced earth as qi flowed through his legs and into his skeletal frame. Bone Tempering lent his movements a density that was difficult to ignore, not explosive but inexorable, as though each motion carried the weight of certainty behind it. He did not rush. He closed the distance with the patience of someone accustomed to weathering resistance rather than avoiding it.
Lin adjusted instinctively, shifting his stance as the scythe came into motion. He did not attack immediately. Instead, he let the blade trace a wide, measured arc through the air, claiming space rather than striking, forcing Kuan to acknowledge the reach before committing further. The crowd murmured softly, interest sharpening as the unfamiliar weapon dictated the flow of the opening exchange.
Kuan's eyes flicked briefly to the blade before returning to Lin's masked face. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only assessment.
He struck without warning.
The first blow was a straight punch aimed at Lin's chest, reinforced by qi that flowed into bone and joint alike, turning the limb into a dense, unyielding mass. Lin moved to intercept, angling the shaft of the scythe across his body, but the impact still carried through.
The force drove him back.
His boots skidded across the packed earth as vibration rippled up his arms and into his shoulders, rattling through reinforced skin and muscle before dispersing. The pain was contained, muted by his cultivation, but the weight behind the strike was undeniable.
"So that is Bone Tempering," the Sword God observed quietly. "He does not need speed. His structure does the work for him."
Lin exhaled as he steadied himself, heart rate elevated but controlled. The exchange had been brief, but it had revealed the gap clearly. Kuan's qi did not merely enhance muscle. It fortified the frame itself, allowing him to commit to strikes without concern for recoil or structural strain.
Kuan did not press immediately. He advanced again, slower this time, circling slightly as he tested Lin's recovery.
"You absorb force well," he said evenly. "Better than most who stop at Skin Tempering."
Lin did not answer. His grip tightened, awareness settling deeper into his stance.
Kuan moved again, this time with a low, sweeping kick reinforced through the shin and foot. The qi flowed visibly now, not flaring but condensing, lending density to bone and tendon alike. Lin reacted a fraction too late.
The kick connected with his thigh.
The impact sent him stumbling sideways, momentum carrying him several steps before he managed to regain balance. The reinforced skin dispersed much of the force, but the blow still bit deep enough to draw a sharp breath from his chest.
The crowd reacted audibly.
Lin felt it then, the edge of nervousness creeping in. Not fear, but awareness of margin. Kuan's strikes were not wild. They were measured, efficient, and supported by a cultivation that allowed him to trade blows without concern for immediate consequence.
"Do not meet him directly," the Sword God warned. "You will lose that exchange every time."
Lin adjusted his footing as Kuan closed in again.
This time, Lin moved first.
The scythe came around in a broad arc, not aimed to strike but to force Kuan to shift. The blade passed close enough to draw attention, its weight carrying through the motion smoothly as Lin guided rather than forced it. Kuan stepped back instinctively, his balance adjusting as the space between them widened.
Lin followed through.
He stepped inside the reach of the scythe's arc, redirecting momentum and shifting his grip mid-motion. The shaft snapped forward in a controlled thrust aimed at Kuan's midsection, not fast but precise.
Kuan brought his forearm down to intercept.
The collision rang out sharply.
Qi flared briefly along Kuan's arm as bone met reinforced wood. The impact drove him back a single step, his expression tightening as he absorbed the force. Lin felt the vibration travel back through the scythe, but his reinforced skin and controlled grip prevented it from disrupting his balance.
"That is better," the Sword God murmured. "You are learning where to press."
Kuan did not retreat further. Instead, he stepped in again, closing the distance with a short, powerful shoulder check reinforced through his frame. Lin tried to pivot away, but the blow clipped him regardless, sending him skidding back several paces before he managed to halt his momentum.
His breath came heavier now, chest rising and falling more noticeably.
For a moment, the pressure mounted.
Kuan advanced, sensing advantage. His qi flowed steadily, reinforcing bone and muscle alike as he pressed forward with a series of measured strikes, each one aimed to test, to wear down, to force Lin into a mistake. Lin retreated under the assault, blocking and redirecting where he could, absorbing what he could not avoid. His breathing hastened as nervousness and panic was setting in, threatening to overwhelm him.
Then, slowly, something shifted.
Lin's breathing steadied as he let the pressure wash over him instead of resisting it.
The initial edge of unease dulled, not because the danger had passed, but because it had become familiar. Each exchange, each impact, had etched a clearer understanding into his awareness. Kuan's movements were no longer a blur of force. They resolved into patterns. The weight shift before a committed strike. The slight tightening of the shoulders when qi was driven deeper into bone. The half-beat pause that followed every heavy blow, when recovery lagged behind intent.
Lin began to see the fight not as a series of clashes, but as intervals and patterns.
And patterns could be exploited.
He adjusted his footing, shortening his steps and lowering his center of gravity. Instead of retreating in straight lines, he began to angle off, letting Kuan's forward momentum stretch just a little too far before answering. The scythe followed that change, its arcs tightening, its path no longer wide and declarative but precise and economical. Each swing claimed space with purpose, guiding rather than threatening, subtly steering Kuan's approach into narrower lanes.
Kuan advanced again, confidence undiminished, and drove a reinforced elbow toward Lin's chest. Qi surged through his arm, compact and heavy, turning the strike into something closer to a battering ram than a limb. Lin did not block directly. He shifted inside the line of attack, the shaft of the scythe rotating as he redirected the force across his body.
The impact glanced off, but not cleanly.
The residual force slammed into Lin's shoulder, sending a jolt through reinforced skin and muscle. He slid back several steps, boots scraping against the packed earth, the vibration lingering in his bones before dissipating. The pain was muted, controlled, but it carried weight.
Kuan followed immediately, pressing the advantage with a low kick reinforced through shin and knee. Lin raised the scythe's shaft to intercept, but the strike still drove him off balance, forcing him to twist and roll the momentum away before he could recover.
The crowd reacted audibly now, sensing the tension shift back toward Kuan.
"You cannot afford to keep receiving those," the Sword God said calmly. "Your body can endure them for now. Your footing cannot."
Lin exhaled through his nose and reset.
When Kuan struck again, Lin did not retreat.
He stepped in.
The punch passed close enough that Lin felt the displacement of air as qi condensed around Kuan's fist. Lin pivoted sharply, letting the strike slide past his ribs, and in the same motion snapped the scythe's shaft sideways. The blow landed against Kuan's flank with a dull, resonant impact, qi reinforced wood meeting qi reinforced bone.
Kuan grunted and staggered back several steps, boots digging into the earth as he absorbed the force. Surprise flickered briefly across his face before he recovered his stance.
The crowd's murmur rose, no longer uncertain.
"You are adapting," the Sword God said, satisfaction threading his voice. "Good. Now press. Do not give him time to settle."
Lin advanced.
For the first time, he dictated the exchange. His steps were measured, neither rushed nor hesitant, each movement calculated to maintain optimal distance. The scythe flowed smoothly through his hands, its reach forcing Kuan to adjust repeatedly, denying him the solid footing he favored.
Kuan met the advance head-on, driving qi deeper into his frame as he committed to heavier strikes. Each blow carried formidable force, but Lin no longer met them directly. He redirected, deflected, and disrupted, allowing strength to pass where it could not harm him while answering with precise counterblows aimed at joints, ribs, and balance points.
A reinforced punch clipped Lin's side and sent him skidding back several paces, breath knocked from his lungs. Before Kuan could capitalize, the scythe lashed out in a low arc, forcing him to halt and reset. Lin used the moment to regain footing, awareness sharpening rather than fracturing.
Kuan's movements grew heavier.
Not slower, but less efficient. Each committed strike demanded more recovery. Each missed blow pulled his balance just slightly off center. Lin exploited those moments relentlessly, stepping inside arcs, striking where bone reinforcement could absorb but not ignore, accumulating disruption rather than damage.
The rhythm had fully shifted.
Kuan attempted to break it with force, gathering qi and driving forward with a powerful straight aimed at Lin's torso. Lin stepped inside the arc at the last moment, rotating his hips as he redirected the strike past his shoulder. In the same motion, he brought the butt of the scythe's shaft down toward Kuan's knee.
The impact was sharp and exact.
Bone held, reinforced and resilient, but balance did not.
Kuan stumbled forward, momentum collapsing as his stance failed him. Lin followed through without hesitation, the scythe's blade sweeping up and halting a breath from Kuan's throat.
The arena fell silent.
Kuan froze, chest heaving, eyes locked on the blade's edge. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand.
"I yield," he said.
The host's voice rang out clearly across the grounds.
"Victory goes to Feng Yuan."
Lin stepped back and lowered the scythe, breathing steady once more. Beneath his skin, qi stirred faintly, pressing against a threshold he had deliberately avoided, eager but contained.
The Sword God watched in silence, approval unmistakable in his presence.
"Well done," he said at last.
Lin inclined his head slightly as the noise of the crowd surged back into existence around him, satisfaction and pride settling quietly in his chest.
As he stared off into the crowd he felt something shift in his very being. His body had finally accepted Skin Tempering as it's own.
The path to Bone Tempering had opened up.