As soon as Ko Pao entered and stepped onto matted portion of the floor which took up everything but a small portion near the entrance, all the men stopped fighting.

Even those in the middle of a punch arrested their movement mid-air, dropping their arms to their sides with complete sincerity and respect.

“Excuse me?” Oliver asked. “Challenged?”

“Yes. I will find an appropriate fighter for you. Naturally, you are not required to win your bout, but you must show proper respect for your opponent.”

Oliver gulped and looked at Alistair, who shrugged. When in Rome, do as the Romans. Oliver returned an exasperated look.

“Who wishes to go first?” Ko Pao asked.

“May as we well get this over with,” Oliver said. “I’ll go.”

Ko Pao took out his cane and started prodding Oliver, who winced in pain as the old man jabbed his stomach.

“Hmm,” the master said, stroking his long, triangular beard. “Jaron, come forward.”

Alistair heard Jaron’s light footsteps before he saw him. A boy no older than eight, reaching just above Oliver’s waist. Alistair almost chuckled. Even Oliver, who knew that he was no hand-to-hand fighter, would have his pride wounded by that.

“This is my opponent?” Oliver asked, clearly a little miffed, as Alistair expected.

Dev’rox laughed, the first time he had spoken in a while. Alistair believed his consciousness was dampened by the suppression field, so even the act of internal thought transfer took effort. “I can’t wait to see this.”

“Do not underestimate him,” Ko Pao replied. “He has been training since birth.”

“So what, I have to fight him? What’s allowed?”

“Anything is allowed except for weapons. Though, I wouldn’t recommend trying to gouge out his eyes. He might really kill you then, though I would then have to kill him for breaking guest right.”

“Okay,” Oliver gulped. He jumped up and down a few times. Alistair thought that the Necromancer would have resisted this extremely peculiar scenario more, but he appreciated that Oliver was on his best behavior. Plus, it wasn’t like this kid could actually hurt Oliver, right?

The crowd of sect members dispersed, creating a circular ring. The little boy did his best to look menacing with his shaved head and stern expression, but it only ended up looking cute.

Meanwhile, Alistair was doing his best to hype Oliver up, but it wasn’t working well.

“You got this man,” Alistair said, patting him on the back.

“Shut up,” Oliver whispered back. “I’m fighting a goddamn little kid.”

“That’s why it will look really bad when you get your ass beat.”

“Nah, I totally got this, dude,” Oliver said. “I’ve watched your fights before. Lemme show you my moves.”

Oliver did a series of shadow boxing moves. It didn’t look half-bad—if you were a beginner, that was. While he was fluid in his jabs and straights, he didn’t shift his weight properly. Not that it should have mattered fighting a little boy.

Alistair was happy to see that the suppression field didn’t take away everything. His knowledge of martial arts was baked into his muscle memory. While he wouldn’t be as fluid and certain connections to the Dao were severed, he could still throw hands.

Ko Pao took center stage, lifting his cane into the air. “Our first guest, citizen of Earth, Oliver Cambry! And our white rank apostle, Jaron Silvus. May the blessed Mother of War grant a fair and beneficial match. The winner shall be the one to get the first knockdown. All techniques are permitted.”

“Apologies if I injure you, honored guest,” the boy said without a hint of sarcasm. In fact, Alistair would have sworn the look on his face was that of a heavyweight boxer sparring against a middleweight in training camp—he was afraid of hurting his opponent.

“There’s no need for that,” Oliver replied, putting up his dukes. His uneasy glance back at Alistair suggested he was both afraid of losing, but also curious how on Earth a 140 centimeter tall child could defeat him. Back before the initiation, Alistair would say there was literally a zero percent chance Jaron could beat Oliver in a fist-fight. The young man had a solid physique and, as he said, he had picked up some moves from Alistair over time. And right now they were in a region without Mana, and with either trace amounts or no amount of the Dao.

A hunch told Alistair to not count out this Jaron.

Ko Pao raised his hands and brought them down in a chopping motion. “Begin!”

Oliver circled around Jaron, slowly approaching the boy. Alistair could tell that he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of fighting a kid, so Jaron was going to have to make the first move. But like a sage-like master, he simply walked forward with his hands at his sides.

Then he struck. Jaron threw a perfectly executed right straight, aiming up at Oliver’s solar plexus. But the Necromancer caught the punch easily, as was expected. Oliver unleashed an open palm strike that was more of a slap, intending to finish the match in one blow and also not injure the boy too much.

In a split second, Oliver’s face was on the ground.

Without his improved eyesight and visual dynamic acuity, Alistair had almost missed what happened. Jaron had moved with supernatural agility, performing a leg sweep at the exact fulcrum point of Oliver’s weight, which had shifted due to his slap. Oliver became the slightest amount unbalanced, shifting slightly too far forward.

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As a result, Jaron had found that exact point, reaping Oliver’s leg and punching him in the nose with blinding speed. Oliver faceplanted from both the reap and the punch.

“Victory to Jaron Silvus!” Ko Pao declared, issuing a hearty laugh, though the fellow pupils in the crowd remained stone-faced.

Alistair could hardly believe what he saw. For that kid to see all of that in such a short amount of time and execute those techniques with the speed he did—it didn’t seem possible. Was Jaron just a prodigy of prodigies? Alistair could have sworn that Jaron touched upon the Dao, despite it feeling so far away for himself.

Oliver pulled himself up to his knees, drops of blood dripping out of his nose. Alistair worried that he would be a little hot-headed and mad that a child beat him up, but he seemed in good spirits.

“Good job,” Oliver said, bowing to his opponent, perhaps thinking it was the proper custom from reading a ton of martial arts manhwa.

Luckily, Oliver was correct with his assumption, and Jaron bowed back. “Well met. Thank you for your fists.”

Ko Pao offered a hand to Oliver and pulled him with a mysterious amount of strength coming from his tiny body. The Necromancer returned to Alistair’s side, giving him a sheepish look. “Hope you do better, or I’ll be reminding you of that grin you have on your face.”

Both participants made a handshake in the traditional style of the Holy Ravine, clasping each other by what was supposed to be the elbow. Because of the massive size difference, Jaron could not fully reach the elbow of his former opponent, though he tried valiantly.

Alistair could feel the tension in the room rise. It was obvious even from the way that he walked Oliver was no martial artist. But that wasn’t the case for himself. Every seeker wanted to test their mettle.

It had to be said that Alistair had never fought someone with only hand-to-hand combat. He was always using his powers in some way or another. The closest was against Red, the mysterious Cabal recruit he encountered during his time in Felons vs. Fellows. That, of course, had ended in an embarrassing loss, Alistair unable to lay even one finger on the red-haired man.

I could use that style though, he absently thought to himself, remembering Red’s suave all-white outfit. A bone-chilling feeling snapped him out of his reverie, Alistair immediately looking toward the source. It was his opponent.

Alistair couldn’t deny he was pleased that the man who stood in front of him was a man, and not a child. He was muscular, like all the other members of the sect. His hair was longer than most of his compatriots, though no more than a centimeter, his hairline covered by an orange Mongkhon-style headband. Because of his plain white robes and harmonious facial features, Alistair thought that he would do a good job standing in for Red. Because if he imagined someone as Red, he wouldn’t feel bad for beating them up.

Ko Pao introduced the man, who gazed at him with pure focus. He stood half a head shorter than Alistair, but his stance was completely sturdy, like the world was attached to him rather than him standing on the world.

“This is Apol-Xin, recently promoted to orange rank apostle. He shall be a good match for you, Alistair Tan of Earth. For this higher level duel, the winner will be to surrender or incapacitation. Do not fret, I will prevent any serious injuries. Once more, I beseech the Mother of War for a fair and beneficial match. Begin!”

The other apostles widened the circle this time, stepping back in unison, with Oliver slightly delayed. They formed a ring twice the size of a UFC octagon, giving more than ample room for movement.

Alistair stared at his opponent, taking a deep breath and focusing. While he couldn’t enter the Kai’tazake Mutra, he still remembered the deep feeling of calm, the flow of heightened concentration. While his Skills had been severed, he had been living the movements of {Assassin Fist} and {Psychopomp’s Discipline} for months. While he couldn’t execute the moves as perfectly as before without the closeness of the Dao, he still had the principles in mind.

Fluid, then still. Soft, then hard. The Kiss of Death. Alistair repeated the mantra of the World Titan Zenaitsu Morogoni, and raised his hands in preparation for the bout. Apol-Xin, however, kept his hands at his sides, like he was some kind of unbothered master.

Well, I’ll show him that he’s underestimating me, Alistair thought. Let’s start with a jab.

Alistair unleashed his fastest attack, a left jab straight at his opponent’s nose. He could see the path of his arm, the exact way it would connect with his opponent’s face. And it looked like it did. Yet he touched only air.

Alistair didn’t make the same mistake of overextending and losing his balance like Oliver did. His balance was stable and his movements were solid. Missing that blow didn’t throw him out of sync and he felt Apol-Xin out with a series of jabs.

None of them landed. Alistair paid attention to Apol-Xin’s feet, which barely moved as he dodged each jab with the most subtle of movements. Alistair gritted his teeth, remembering how Red did the same. This time would be different.

All of his limbs became whips of water as he embodied the mantra of {Psychopomp’s Discipline}. There was no doubt that Apol-Xin was superior in experience, so Alistair had to implement the unorthodox.

He threw an arcing haymaker that was full of inefficiencies, in an apparent attempt to knock his opponent out in one blow. Apol-Xin easily backstepped and avoided it, but Alistair was expecting that. He lunged forward with all the speed his body would give him, going for a flying knee straight toward Apol-Xin’s chest.

The orange rank apostle caught the knee with both hands. This was Alistair’s second ruse. He grabbed onto the left sleeve of his opponent’s robe with his own left hand and the collar with his right hand, performing what a judoka would call a harai goshi, a sweeping hip toss. Apol-Xin landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

Alistair followed his opponent to the ground and brought his fist up to ground and pound, but when he looked down, a seed of doubt grew in his mind.

Why does he look so nonplussed? Alistair would have expected some emotion on his face—he had just been thrown hard onto the matted floor. But Apol-Xin’s face was completely blank, like a statue carved out of granite.

That moment of hesitation was all that the apostle needed. The heat of the training room on top of the exertion had caused a large amount of sweat to collect in Alistair’s hair. Unlike the members of the Silver Comet Sect, he lacked a headband and had a large mass of fashionable hair.

Finding the exact focus point of weight, Apol-Xin hip-bridged with a surprising amount of force. Alistair’s vision suffered, and he didn’t see it coming, though there was no guarantee he would have anticipated it under any conditions. Alistair tried to adjust his weight and stay mounted, but the sweat in his eyes distracted him enough that he misjudged the distance.

He fell off on Apol-Xin’s right hip, who immediately followed up with a capoeria-style kick, spinning upward off of his palm and slamming his heel into Alistair’s face.

Shooting pain spiked through the nerves of his face, and his brain ricocheted in his skull. The metallic taste of blood felt like the bitter throes of defeat. Alistair gathered all of his willpower and charged Apol-Xin, delivering an uppercut straight into Apol-Xin’s stomach.

Thud. Alistair’s fist met abs of unthinkable toughness. What’s with this body?

Those were Alistair’s last thoughts before he went lights out.

Apol-Xin tried a blindingly fast elbow strike, aiming right for where he kicked Alistair to deal the most damage. Alistair somehow partially parried the blow despite his condition, even managing to land a hook to his opponent’s liver, but it was too weak to do anything.

That elbow struck outside of his perception. That Alistair managed to block it even a little bit was a testament to Alistair’s battle-tested instincts and innate talent, the movements of {Psychopomp’s Discipline} baked into his DNA.

The Silver Comet Sect apprentice unleashed a burst of air in preparation for an arcing punch. Alistair fell unconscious with a smile on his face.