Returning from the training grounds, Eryndor was in high spirits. The trip had been more fruitful than he expected. As he walked home, his mind replayed the battles he had observed earlier. Each scene unfolded in his head like a vivid movie, playing over and over as he analyzed every move, strategy, and mistake. With his near-perfect memory, Eryndor could easily simulate the fights in his mind, extracting valuable lessons to refine his own techniques.

Lost in thought, he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings. It wasn’t long before—bam!—he collided with someone.

“Ow! Who the hell just ran into me?”

The sudden yelp snapped Eryndor out of his reverie. Looking ahead, he saw a chubby boy about his age sprawled on the ground, clutching his side and groaning dramatically. Around him, a small gang of kids, likely his lackeys, rushed to help him up. They fussed over him as if he were some sort of local boss.

“You idiot!” the chubby boy snarled once he was back on his feet, pointing a pudgy finger at Eryndor.

“Are you blind? Do you know who I am? Apologize now, or I’ll teach you a lesson!”

Eryndor studied the boy for a moment, sizing him up. He was shorter than Eryndor by a full head, with a soft, round face and beady, shifty eyes that darted around constantly. His plump frame suggested he rarely exercised, and likely overindulged at mealtime. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this kid wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue.

Despite the boy’s bluster, Eryndor felt no real anger—just mild amusement.

Eryndor knew he was at fault for bumping into the boy, lost in thought as he walked. But when the other party immediately started yelling insults in an unpleasant tone, Eryndor felt a spark of irritation. Still, he decided to handle the situation calmly and smiled politely.

“Oh, my apologies. I was deep in thought and didn’t see you. What’s your name? I’ll make it up to you by sending you some medicine for your injury.”

The healing salves in his house were plentiful, and minor injuries like this only required a bit of common herbs. His mother wouldn’t even bat an eye if he took some.

The chubby boy squinted at Eryndor, sizing him up. With his golden outfit embroidered with flashy patterns of gold ingots, Eryndor radiated a “new money” vibe that was hard to ignore. The boy’s face twisted in irritation; he’d never seen someone in the outer sect flaunt wealth like this, and it annoyed him. Before he could speak, one of his lackeys jumped in eagerly.

“Our boss is Wei Tun, son of Elder Wei, who oversees all matters in the outer sect. Most things here don’t happen without Elder Wei’s approval. And Wei Tun is his only son! Do you think you can just apologize for hurting him and leave it at that?”

Eryndor silently processed this information. The Skyshade Sanctum had many elders—each managing different responsibilities, like the herbal gardens, crafting halls, punishment halls, and mission halls. Some didn’t have children, but those who did often spoiled them. These “second-generation” brats were infamous for causing trouble and bullying others. Wei Tun clearly fit the mold, flanked by a pack of sycophantic lackeys.

Eryndor raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I already apologize and offer to provide medicine? It was just a little bump—no need to blow this out of proportion.”

The lackey immediately shot back,

“Just a little bump? And you think a bit of medicine will fix this? What if I stabbed you a few times and said sorry? Would that make it okay? Our boss is too important to let this slide!”

Eryndor stared at the lackey, suppressing the urge to laugh.

This guy’s sharp tongue could make him a great lawyer back on Earth. What a waste of talent.

He sighed, exasperated.

“Fine. What do you want, then?”

The lackey, smug with his rhetorical victory, didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Wei Tun for instructions. Wei Tun smirked, clearly pleased with his follower’s performance. Internally, he gave the lackey a mental thumbs-up, though his face remained composed.

Eryndor sized up his opponent, a pudgy kid named Wei Tun, who had clearly been spoiled rotten as the son of an Outer Sect Elder. From the way he strutted about, it was obvious he was used to being the biggest fish in his small pond. Eryndor, on the other hand, was unimpressed but kept his expression calm.

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Wei Tun sneered, his narrow eyes darting over Eryndor’s fine gold-embroidered outfit. His jealousy was almost tangible—how could a kid like this, better dressed and better looking, dare stand up to him? But instead of letting the situation escalate further, Wei Tun’s twisted sense of superiority led him to an idea: why not recruit Eryndor as one of his underlings? He’d look good with someone as polished as Eryndor serving him.

Wei Tun smirked and said, “It’s simple. Kneel down, apologize properly, and we’ll call it even.”

Eryndor’s patience was wearing thin. Though his expression remained composed, there was a spark of fire in his eyes as he replied, “That’s not going to happen.”

Wei Tun’s smirk faltered briefly, but he quickly recovered.

“Fine. A more generous offer then—become my subordinate. Like them.” He gestured to his gang of lackeys.

“From now on, I’ll protect you in the Outer Sect. Do as I say, and you won’t have to worry about anything.”

The sheer audacity of the proposal almost made Eryndor laugh out loud. Be your underling? At your age, you're already talking about protection and running a gang? Why are you even in the Skyshade Sanctum Sect and not leading some street thugs?

Eryndor sighed. “I already offered to compensate for the inconvenience with medicine. Isn’t that enough? Neither of your ‘conditions’ are acceptable. So, what now?”

Wei Tun’s face darkened. “What now? If you won’t comply, then I’ll make you. Monkey, deal with him!”

The lackey known as Monkey—who had been acting as Wei Tun’s most vocal henchman—grinned maliciously. Without hesitation, he charged at Eryndor, arms wide open, clearly intending to tackle him to the ground. His movements were crude and clumsy, nothing more than street brawling.

Eryndor had been expecting this. His body tensed, and his focus sharpened. His mind was clear, his stance solid. As Monkey rushed in, Eryndor made his move.

The moment Monkey entered his striking range, Eryndor dropped his body low and delivered a clean, powerful straight punch to the boy’s gut.

Monkey’s charge came to an abrupt halt as if he’d run into a steel wall. His eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide in shock. Tears, snot, and saliva spilled freely as the pain overwhelmed him. The blow had landed with the force of a runaway ox, and Monkey’s body crumpled. He collapsed to the ground, twitching for a moment before passing out entirely.

Eryndor shook his hand, his eyes glinting with controlled power. Though he had pulled his punch, the impact was enough to render a boy like Monkey—untrained and unconditioned—completely unconscious. If he had hit with his full strength, it wouldn’t have just been a knockout; it could have been fatal.

Looking down at the fallen lackey, Eryndor sigh,

"If you’re going to start fights, at least learn how to take a hit first."

Wei Tun and his gang stood frozen in shock. Their mouths hung open as they realized they'd messed with the wrong person. This seemingly frail boy, Eryndor, packed enough strength to flatten their ally with a single punch. Wei Tun’s mind raced. If he didn’t manage to take Eryndor down, he’d lose face—and worse, his position as the gang leader.

Trying to muster some courage, he shouted, “What are you afraid of? There’s one of him and four of us! All of you, attack him together—he can’t handle all of you at once!”

With that, Wei Tun shoved three of his lackeys forward, leaving only one loyal henchman by his side.

The trio exchanged nervous glances, swallowing hard. They knew they outnumbered Eryndor, and if they fought together, they might win. But if they refused, Wei Tun would surely make their lives miserable later. Resolving to avoid their leader’s wrath, they nodded to each other and charged, though their fighting stance was nothing more than street brawling.

Eryndor immediately spotted the leader of the charge—the closest and fastest of the three. He knew that by engaging one target first, he could disrupt their coordination and prevent them from attacking together. This was basic strategy he’d learned from playing games in his past life.

His first punch hit with precision and power, sending the first lackey flying backward. The boy hit the ground hard, curling up in pain like a shrimp and twitching slightly, completely incapacitated.

The second lackey came at him next, but Eryndor stepped to the side with fluid precision. Grabbing the boy’s wrist, Eryndor yanked him off balance and delivered a sharp kick to the knee. The second lackey crumpled to the ground, crying out in agony as he clutched his leg.

The third lackey hesitated for just a moment but then lunged forward. Eryndor didn’t bother with any fancy moves this time. Using his superior reach, he delivered a straightforward kick to the boy’s stomach. The impact sent the third attacker sprawling, gasping for air and curling up in pain.

Eryndor stood amidst the fallen trio, not even slightly impressed with himself. To him, this was just practical application of his training—a simple exercise to validate his techniques. He turned his gaze to Wei Tun, his voice calm but laced with warning.

“If you’re out of tricks, then prepare yourself.”

Wei Tun’s face turned pale, but he quickly regained some of his bravado, remembering the person he’d kept as his trump card. He pointed at the remaining boy standing beside him and barked,

“Alan, take him down! Defeat him, and I’ll make you my right-hand man. I’ll even talk to my father about getting your parents a comfortable job in the Outer Sect.”

Alan Stormshade stepped forward. He was the son of a pair of Outer Sect cultivators who, due to their limited talent, had reached a bottleneck in their cultivation and eventually settled down to raise a family within the sect. Unlike many others who left to form cultivation clans, Alan’s parents chose the stability of staying within the sect.

Alan was taller and more broadly built than Eryndor, thanks to his natural frame and years of physical training his parents had encouraged to compensate for his lack of cultivation talent. As he stepped into position, his confident stance and focused gaze made it clear that Alan was no ordinary lackey.