Lucas wiped the dust from his sleeves and stepped forward, violet sparks dancing around his fists. His breath was steady, eyes locked on Liang Xun, who stood there casually, one hand still tucked in his coat pocket, the other relaxed at his side.
Lucas didn't wait.
With a sharp burst of Wrath energy crackling through his muscles, he launched himself at Liang, the ground beneath him fracturing under the force.
[System Notification: Wrath Enhancement Activated.]
He threw a rapid jab toward Liang's face, electricity surging through his knuckles, but Liang tilted his head just enough for the punch to brush harmlessly past him. Without missing a beat, Lucas pivoted, sending a low sweeping kick toward Liang's legs, violet arcs trailing his movement like a comet's tail.
Liang lifted his leg gracefully over the sweep, as if stepping over a puddle rather than dodging an attack.
Lucas didn't stop. He twisted into a rising uppercut, Wrath-fueled and blisteringly fast. This time, Liang had to lean back slightly — a fraction slower than before.
He's reading my moves... but he's not untouchable.
Sensing an opening, Lucas closed the distance, unleashing a flurry of electrified punches, each strike faster and heavier.
His fists blurred into streaks of violet light, illuminating the battlefield in chaotic flashes.
Liang finally pulled both hands from his pockets.
With surgical precision, he parried Lucas's strikes—one open palm deflecting a punch, the other guiding a kick harmlessly aside. Lucas gritted his teeth. It felt like trying to punch a shadow.
Suddenly, Liang countered — a lightning-fast palm strike aimed straight at Lucas's chest.
Lucas twisted sideways just in time, feeling the shockwave graze his ribs. Even a glancing blow from Liang made his organs tremble inside him.
[System Notification: Successful Dodge! +1 point]
[Current Points: -1]
Lucas smirked. Finally, a small win.
Without letting Liang regain rhythm, Lucas focused his Wrath into his right leg. Electricity crackled violently around his shin as he leapt into a devastating spinning kick.
This time, Liang raised both arms to block.
The impact created a loud crack, like thunder trapped in a bottle. Liang was pushed half a step back—his shoes sliding against the arena floor.
[System Notification: Heavy Hit Landed! +5 points]
[Current Points: +4]
From spectator area, Huang Qi screamed, "Nice one, Lucas!"
Encouraged, Lucas dashed forward again, throwing a straight Wrath-enhanced punch. Liang caught his wrist mid-air like it was nothing.
Without wasting a second, Liang pulled Lucas forward and drove his knee brutally into Lucas's stomach.
The air left Lucas's lungs in a harsh gasp.
[System Notification: Heavy Hit Taken! -4 points]
[Current Points: 0]
Lucas staggered back, coughing, but a savage grin spread on his face.
So what if I get hit? I just have to hit back harder.
Gritting his teeth, he focused all his Wrath into his arms. Small arcs of violet lightning snaked across his shoulders and hands.
He threw a heavy punch straight for Liang's ribs, only to see Liang's body blur and slip past his attack with a smooth side-step. In the same motion, Liang drove two knuckles into Lucas's exposed ribs, causing him to stumble.
[System Notification: Basic Hit Taken! -1 point]
[Current Points: -1]
Damn it...
Before Liang could press the advantage, Lucas pushed Wrath into his legs and boosted backward, putting distance between them.
He took quick, shallow breaths, feeling the dull ache spreading across his torso.
Liang smirked lazily. "You're fun, brat. Try not to break before ten minutes are up."
Lucas narrowed his eyes, electricity intensifying around him.
"No promises," he muttered, then charged again, fists blazing with violet fury.
It was late morning, and the sun had climbed steadily across the vibrant spring sky, casting a soft golden glow over the stadium. The season had painted the world in delicate colors—fresh greens of new leaves, splashes of early-blooming flowers dancing along the outer fields beyond the battle arena. A gentle breeze swept across the grounds, cool and refreshing, carrying with it the faint, sweet fragrance of blooming cherry blossoms.
The temperature hovered at a pleasant 20 degrees Celsius, neither too warm nor too cold—perfect for movement-heavy battles. The air felt light and crisp against the skin, energizing the body rather than weighing it down. Every now and then, a stronger gust of wind would rush through the open stadium, making loose hair flutter and the lightweight banners along the upper walls ripple with a soft rustling sound.
The white bubble-shaped barrier enclosing the battlefield shimmered faintly under the sunlight, like a giant soap bubble frozen in midair. Shadows moved cleanly across the arena floor, sharpened by the bright, clear light. It was the kind of day that carried a strange balance—serene and beautiful on the surface, yet alive with an undercurrent of fierce, competitive energy.
Lucas pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp glint flashing in his violet eyes. The electric sparks crackling across his body gathered into his palms, condensing rapidly. Within seconds, two knives formed—made entirely of crackling violet wrath. Though they looked like slim daggers, their size and balance resembled that of combat knives. Their edges hissed and sizzled against the air, leaving thin trails of static.
The instructor, Mr. Liang, chuckled, cracking his neck casually. "Interesting," he muttered, before slipping both hands out of his pockets for the first time. A visible ripple spread across his body, as he activated his Will, reinforcing every inch of his muscles. His veins bulged slightly, and his posture shifted—from casual to deadly sharp, like a coiled beast ready to strike.
Lucas didn't wait. He dashed forward, knives humming violently.
He slashed diagonally at Mr. Liang's torso. The instructor tilted his body, narrowly avoiding the slash, but Lucas spun mid-air, sending a second blade swipe toward his shoulder.
CLANG!
Mr. Liang blocked the knife with the edge of his reinforced forearm, sending a shockwave across the arena floor.
[You gained 2 points.]
Lucas grinned and pushed harder, launching a furious series of stabs and swipes. Sparks flew as the knives clashed against Will-hardened limbs. Mr. Liang was smiling now, a rare glint of excitement in his eyes. He was no longer dodging effortlessly—he was engaging, parrying every strike with minimal, precise movements.
Lucas flipped backward to create distance, then flicked his wrist, sending one of his knives spinning like a boomerang.
Mr. Liang sidestepped easily and caught the blade between two fingers, electricity crawling up his arm harmlessly.
He threw the blade back—faster than Lucas anticipated.
Lucas barely ducked, the spinning knife grazing his shoulder.
[You lost 2 points.]
Gritting his teeth, Lucas summoned a fresh surge of wrath, regenerating his lost knife instantly. He lunged again, aiming lower this time—toward the legs. Mr. Liang kicked forward, aiming at Lucas's wrist.
Lucas predicted it.
He twisted, slashing upward along Mr. Liang's thigh.
A small, shallow cut appeared.
[You gained 5 points.]
But in that same second, Mr. Liang gripped Lucas's other wrist and hurled him like a ragdoll into the arena floor.
BOOM!
Dust exploded around him.
[You lost 4 points.]
Lucas coughed, forcing himself to stand. His crimson screen flashed:
[Your current number of points: 1 pt]
One point...
He didn't have much time left.
The loudspeaker echoed, "2 minutes remaining!"
Sweat mixed with blood trickled down Lucas's forehead, but his grin widened. This was the fight he had wanted.
He sprinted again, knives flashing like violet meteors.
This time, Mr. Liang met him head-on.
Their clash was brutal—Lucas weaving and slashing with both blades, Mr. Liang parrying, countering with devastating punches enhanced by raw Will.
Lucas managed a heavy downward stab, grazing Mr. Liang's shoulder.
[You gained 5 points.]
But Mr. Liang's counter punch slammed into Lucas's gut, knocking the air out of him.
[You lost 4 points.]
Lucas staggered but didn't fall. His instincts kicked in, and he rolled under Mr. Liang's sweeping kick. As he came up, he stabbed upward with both knives toward Mr. Liang's ribs.
But Mr. Liang anticipated it. He trapped Lucas's wrists in a brutal lock and flipped him once again over his back.
Lucas crashed onto the floor, knives skidding away.
[You lost 2 points.]
Lucas groaned and forced himself onto one knee, his breaths ragged.
The last 10 seconds ticked down.
10... 9... 8...
He summoned a final surge of wrath around his fists, electricity crackling violently.
5... 4...
Lucas leapt toward Mr. Liang one last time, unleashing a desperate heavy punch infused with all his remaining strength.
Mr. Liang caught it mid-air with his palm.
3... 2... 1...
A massive electric shockwave blasted outward from the impact, shaking the entire ground.
Both fighters stood locked for a moment—Lucas's wrath fizzling out... Mr. Liang's Will flaring in dominance.
TIME UP.
Lucas's crimson screen blinked.
[Battle Points Calculation Complete.]
[You gained 2 points.]
[You lost 2 points.]
[Final Score: 0 pts.]
Lucas collapsed backward, arms spread wide, chest heaving. Despite the outcome, a satisfied grin played across his bruised lips.
That... was fun.
Mr. Liang chuckled, walking over and offering a hand to help Lucas up.
"You're rough around the edges, brat. But you've got potential."
Lucas grabbed the hand, smirking.
Lucas stood upright, patting the dust off his clothes with slow, deliberate motions.
Before he could fully recover, Liang Xun's voice cut through the fading echoes of the arena.
"Lucas, tell me something," Liang asked, tilting his head slightly. "Why didn't you use your full strength?"
Lucas froze.
His face stiffened, as if he had just been caught committing a terrible crime.
He hesitated for a moment, then replied, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
"Well... I didn't want to cause you any serious injury."
The moment the words left his mouth, Liang Xun burst into laughter—loud, uncontrollable laughter that echoed across the training grounds.
It wasn't just a chuckle—it was the kind of roaring laugh a man lets out when he hears the most absurd joke of his life.
He laughed so hard that tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.
"You seriously thought you could wound me with those little moves?" Liang gasped between laughs, clutching his stomach.
"Seriously?"
He broke into another fit of laughter, while Lucas stood there, utterly embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
Before the awkwardness could stretch any longer, a calm voice called out from behind Lucas.
"Lucas, it's my turn now."
Lucas turned to see Huang Qi standing a few meters away, his hands folded behind his back, a calm but sharp glint in his youthful eyes.
Lucas smirked, shooting a quick glance back at Liang Xun.
"Next time," he said, voice steady and filled with quiet resolve, "I'll show you my full power. And I'll win."
Without waiting for a reply, Lucas walked past Huang Qi, exchanging a smirk and a brief stare with the young martial prodigy.
He made his way to the spectator stands where Katherine was waiting for him, waving him over with a bright smile.
As Lucas dropped into the seat beside her, Katherine immediately began praising his technique—and just as quickly, pointing out his flaws.
Lucas listened attentively, absorbing every word, his focus unwavering despite the fatigue in his muscles.
Meanwhile, the gate Liang Xun had entered from creaked open once again.
Liang gave Huang Qi a casual wave, murmuring something under his breath before disappearing through the exit, his laughter still faintly audible.
The atmosphere grew heavier.
Huang Qi stood alone in the center of the arena, his small frame radiating an intimidating calmness.
The loudspeakers crackled to life once more.
"And now," the announcer's voice boomed across the grounds, "please welcome our next instructor—Mr. Khalid Al Harbi!"
The gate swung wider open.
From the shadows emerged Khalid Al Harbi—a young man in his mid-20s.
He carried himself with a composed, almost regal aura. His attire immediately stood out: traditional Saudi clothing.
He wore a pristine white thobe, its fabric swaying lightly with each step, paired with a neatly folded red-and-white shemagh wrapped around his head, secured by a black agal.
Golden embroidery lined the edges of his sleeves, a subtle symbol of status and pride.
Despite the traditional garb, Khalid's presence was anything but outdated.
His posture, his quiet confidence, and the barely restrained strength in his movements spoke volumes.
He wasn't just here to show formality—he was here to dominate.
As Khalid strode toward the center, a chilling breeze swept across the arena.
The spectators fell silent, sensing the tension rise once again.
Huang Qi's lips curled into the faintest of smiles.