The strike descended like a hammer straight toward his head.
Jin stepped aside with a minimal, almost lazy motion. The fist passed through empty air, and the follower leaned forward, momentarily losing balance under the force he himself had thrown. Jin didn't counterattack—not yet. He slid back a step, eyes fixed on his opponent, calmly observing.
The boy wasn't slow. His stance was rough but solid, back broad, shoulders tense, breathing controlled and practiced. He pressed forward with a sequence of short strikes—one aimed at Jin's face, another at his torso, followed by a low kick meant to disrupt his balance. Jin avoided the kick by barely lifting his heel and twisting his body, his movements guided entirely by instinct. He didn't block, and he didn't strike back; he simply read the flow of attacks as they came.
The combinations kept coming, one after another, faster and heavier than the last, until murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Tch…" The follower clicked his tongue, irritation seeping into his voice. "Are you just going to run?"
Jin raised an eyebrow, a faint flicker of disappointment crossing his face."It's not running," he replied evenly. "I'm deciding what to do with you."
The boy snorted and charged again like a caged bull.
Jin dodged once more… and then, visibly, he grew tired of it.
He let out a slow sigh, as if the exchange were more tedious than dangerous."Alright, alright," he said, flicking his wrist as though brushing dust from his fingers. "I thought you'd be more interesting."
A sharp intake of breath spread among the surrounding disciples. The provocation was obvious.
The follower growled and threw a punch straight at Jin's face. Jin twisted his feet, brought one knee forward, and rotated his hips in a clean, efficient motion. His palm struck the solar plexus, followed immediately by a low sweep.
It was an earthly style—mundane techniques, no Qi involved.
The opponent was dragged nearly half a meter back before he managed to steady himself. He hunched over for a moment, hissed in pain, then straightened with a crooked, amused smile.
"Heh…" He wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Not bad. Quick and clean. But—"
He struck his own abdomen with a dull thud."Even without Qi, the body technique I practice reinforces my muscles. Do you really think a couple of blows like that will do anything?"
Confidence returned to his posture as he charged again, already convinced he knew how this would end.
Jin's eyes narrowed. He dropped his shoulders and drew a deep breath, as if making a quiet decision. Sunlight washed over the platform, casting sharp shadows across the stone.
"So that's how it is," he murmured, watching the boy settle back into his stance. "If I don't use Qi, and you harden your body with your technique… that's what you call a fair fight."
The follower smiled smugly, rubbing the forearm Jin had struck earlier."Of course. This isn't the village you crawled out of. Real disciples train their spiritual bodies here. What did you expect—that peasant stances would affect me?"
Jin watched silently. The patience in his eyes faded, replaced by something colder, sharper. He remembered the training from his past life. Some martial arts existed for sport, for competition and discipline. Others, however, were created to break bones, crush joints, and leave an enemy unable to lift an arm for weeks.
They weren't heroic or refined.They were tools—practical, cruel, efficient.
Without warning, Jin stepped forward. He didn't change his stance; he simply shifted his center of gravity.
The disciple smiled, confused by the apparent recklessness."Already given up?" he mocked. "Don't worry, I'll hold back. I won't bre—"
He never finished the sentence.
Jin closed the distance in a single sharp movement. He wasn't as fast as an expert cultivator, but he wasn't slow either—every motion precise. His foot drove into the ground, weight flowing into his hips as his shoulder rotated like a released spring.
The strike wasn't a punch. It was a vertical palm aimed just beneath the sternum, where the rib cage weakened.
The air snapped.
The boy gasped as his body curled by reflex, stumbling two steps back with wide eyes. Jin didn't pursue him. He simply adjusted his stance, ready to follow up if the idiot insisted on staying upright.
Only one thought crossed his mind.
I didn't want to do this… but here we are.
The murmur around the platform thickened into a buzzing haze. Several disciples swallowed hard, uncertain whether they had truly seen what had just happened. Even the senior brother's smile vanished.
The follower steadied himself with visible effort, neck muscles tightening, breath ragged. Lian Xuan stepped half a pace forward as if to intervene, but Jin raised a hand without looking back.
"I'm fine," he said quietly.
The opponent lifted his head, and for an instant the arrogance drained from his face, replaced by something raw and primal—shame. The gazes of nearby disciples pressed in from all sides, some whispering, others barely holding back laughter.
That murmur became the spark.
The follower clicked his tongue, swallowing both saliva and pride."Bastard…" he spat.
He lunged at Jin without stance or technique, a reckless avalanche driven by wounded ego. Jin didn't retreat; he met him head-on. His left arm deflected the forearm, his right slammed into the ribs, driving the air from the boy's lungs. Jin rotated his hips and crashed his shoulder into the torso, forcing him to stagger.
He didn't stop.
A stomp crushed the instep. A knee drove into the inner thigh. An upward strike slammed into the diaphragm. Every motion clean, efficient, like choreography he had practiced countless times back on Earth—techniques meant to incapacitate, not impress.
The follower collapsed to his knees. His mouth trembled, and when he spat, a thin line of red splashed onto the stone.
Some disciples gasped. Others looked away, uncomfortable. The senior brother merely narrowed his eyes, assessing.
Jin noticed something else.
The follower's gaze was no longer wounded pride—it was rage, blind and irrational, mixed with humiliation and despair.
"No…!" he growled. "You're not humiliating me in front of everyone!"
Then Jin felt it.
Qi.
A clumsy, surging pulse ran through the boy's meridians, lighting them from within like an uncontrolled torrent."I'm going to tear you in half!" he roared.
His speed exploded.
Jin barely had time to react before a Qi-charged fist slammed into his stomach. The impact ripped the air from his lungs, folding his body as he was lifted slightly before crashing onto his back.
"Senior Brother Jin!" Lian Xuan shouted.
The crowd erupted.
Jin stared up at the summer-blue sky, breath frozen as pain flared through his abdomen.
…Qi.So the idiot had used it.
He struggled to breathe, then slowly smiled. Rising unsteadily, he wondered why it hurt less than expected—but there was no time to think.
The follower charged again, eyes bloodshot, body vibrating as faint lines of bluish Qi crawled across his skin. It wasn't refined—just brute reinforcement.
A punch grazed Jin's cheek, burning like iron wrapped in stone. Another blow crashed into his ribs, punching through his guard and driving him back.
"HAHA!" the follower laughed wildly. "Where's your arrogance now?"
More strikes came. One caught Jin's collarbone, pain flashing through his arm.
Annoying. Painful. But not unbearable.
Jin exhaled sharply. He had avoided circulating Qi through his muscles until now—forcing it too fast risked injury. Continuing like this wasn't an option.
When the knee strike came, Jin stepped forward instead of back.
The air trembled.
No technique. No seals. Just will.
Qi surged through his meridians, clumsy and violent. His arms trembled, then hardened as muscles compacted. The knee collided with his raised forearms, stone striking stone.
The follower blinked in disbelief.
Jin used the contact, rotating his hips and bringing his arm down in a hammering arc onto the man's shoulder. The grunt that followed was raw and real.
"You're not the only one who can reinforce himself," Jin said calmly.
Rage exploded in the follower's eyes.
And then he changed.
His muscles tightened like iron, posture shifting as his feet rooted into the stone. This wasn't a simple blow—it was a technique.
"Hammer Strike!" he roared.
The punch came with terrifying structure and intent.
Jin had no time for hesitation.
If he's putting everything into one strike… then so will I.
Qi flooded his arm in layers, burning and vibrating, crude but his own. He leaned forward slightly, almost inviting the impact.
"Come."
The fists collided.
CRACK—
The sound echoed across the platform like stone breaking under a hammer.
The follower was thrown backward, crashing onto the stone as his arm twisted at an impossible angle. Jin remained standing, staggering, his own arm trembling violently as pain roared through every nerve.
Silence swallowed the arena.
Jin grit his teeth. "…I overdid it."
His knees gave out.
Lian Xuan caught him just in time.
The platform remained frozen.