Year 658 of the Stable Era,
Fourteenth day of the tenth month
1st Inner Hour
“I can’t believe you’re going through with this,” Lan Yun said, as Yeung Lin pulled an increasingly numerous series of items from his storage ring. She turned away as he removed his robes to don a shirt of thin golden mail, turning back only after she heard him retie the sash of his inner robes.
She was just in time to see his teal Instructor’s robes disappear into the ring, replaced by a white robe so over-embroidered with thin golden sigils and formations that it almost appeared yellow at first glance. He began filling its pockets with the previous robe’s content, from silver mirrors to extra stone anchors. Belts of anchor spikes and talisman pouches followed, as well as a pair of wrist sheaths of pale white leather that disappeared up his sleeves.
Lin was checking each piece of equipment off against a list he’d written on the back of his hand, the narrow patch of characters now almost completely crossed off.
His staff was the last thing to emerge, not the simple pole of polar pine he used for training, but a heavy thing of ancient willow. Centuries old, the pole was stained with a dark lacquer made from the heart of a monstrous python, etchings of power filled with gold and ringed with thick bands of black iron. It was wrapped with a banner as red as the setting sun, and stitched with characters the colors of dawn.
“I have no choice,” Lin replied, crossing the last item off his hand. “With the selection for the next Senior Instructors so close, I must seize every opportunity to prove myself to the selection officials. If I defeat Chun here, it will prove that there is merit to my cultivation method. To refuse would mean my cultivation is a paper tiger. An artful visage incapable of hunting even the smallest rabbit.”
He deposited the pen into his ring, before handing it to Yun for safekeeping. A duel between sect members was seldom to the death, but such niceties could easily slip the participants minds in the heat of the moment. Should it take a dire turn, and the observers were too late to intervene, he would prefer that his notes, his resources, and his favorite pen were left with someone who would truly value them.
She refused to take it at first, but after he took her hand, she reluctantly accepted.
“You better not lose,” Yun said, clenching the ring. “If you do, who will I enjoy my meals with?”
“I won’t,” Lin replied, leaning in to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I could never leave one of my closest companions without anyone to share their insights with.” With that, he stepped out of the waiting room, heading for his confrontation at the arena. Yun let out a sigh of relief as he did, glad that she’d been able to stop her face from matching her hair by more than half a shade.
After a moment, he ducked his head back in.
“Oh, I think I should have some spirit stones in my ring. Could you put half of them on me winning? If would be a waste if I forgot to fully capitalize on this opportunity.”
* * *
In the arena, soon-to-be Senior Instructor Chun Kai clenched his fist as he swallowed a handful of coal and metal pellets. His core blazed hot, the internal furnace that made up the center of his cultivation growing in intensity as he fed the flames. His Metal Striker Arts were not so greedy as to require material fuel for each use, but for an occasion such as this?
Well, he felt like indulging a bit.
It would do to teach his wayward student the difference between heaven and earth. A true cultivator was true to his path. Refining his art over centuries, tempering it with dedication, and quenching it in the wisdom of his predecessors. His technique, the Metal Striker Arts was such a technique.
Passed down from master to students for millennia, it was a technique that had been shaped by generations of practitioners. Every blow, every strike, shaping the core of the technique into a complete shape against the anvil of time and adversity, forging it into what it was, and what it could be. It was nothing like Yeung Lin’s splapdash excuse for a cultivation method, which contented itself with welding scrap together and claiming it was a blade of great renown.
The thought of how such a mockery of cultivation had managed to take in so many of the elders caused a brief flare of anger before he calmed himself, venting the excess heat in a streaming snort.
That wouldn’t do.
An even temper required an even temper, and he had to be sure that the beating was thorough to ensure it held.
As he swallowed another handful of fuel, his opponent finally dared to show himself, slowly making his way onto the ring as the crowd cheered. The Southern Peaks Gambling Hall had caught wind of their duel, and the news of the fight had spread like wildfire across the mountain.
Despite the late notice and odd hour, the stands were half-filled with hundreds of disciples and a handful of Instructors. The former were excitedly making bets and chattering about what techniques they might see, while the latter were calmly observing, waiting to see how their supposed peers measured against them. Chun saw two that were in contention for the Senior Instructor position, but neither were of any concern to him. Let them gawk all they wanted; all they would learn was their own weakness.
Yeung Lin clasped his fist in a martial salute as he took his position, first towards the referee, and then towards his opponent. After a moment, Chun spat a bit of coal dust to the side before responding with his own gesture, the steel on his right palm sparking against the metal of his left fist. Mortals would commonly call such weapons brass knuckles, but his were neither brass nor common. An inch thick and wrought from metals a mortal smith could only dream of, they allowed him to both forge steel and break bones with equal ease.
The referee acknowledged both fighters with a nod before he spoke, the band around his neck carrying his voice across the arena through the arrays set in the stone. “Instructor Chun Kai, the Teal Mountain Sect acknowledges your challenge of Instructor Yeung Lin. Instructor Yeung Lin, do you accept the challenge?”
“I do,” Yeung Lin said with a slight nod of his head.
“Very well,” the referee continued, “And do you acknowledge the terms of the challenge?”
“We shall fight until either of us yields, or the loser is no longer able to fight,” Lin replied, and Chun nodded in agreement.
“The Teal Mountain Sect also recognizes the wager of this duel. Should Instructor Chun Kai be victorious, Instructor Yeung Lin will acknowledge the weakness of his cultivation, and allow Instructor Chun Kai to teach his Body Tempering Guidance class in his stead. Should Instructor Yeung Lin prevail, Instructor Chun Kai will agree to leave both he and his students alone for 30 years, as well as grant him custody of a class of his choosing, to be selected at a later date. Should a student find themselves taking a class from both Instructors in this period of their own volition, Instructor Chun Kai shall remain an impartial instructor, and seek no personal revenge against them. Do you agree to these terms?”
“Yes,” Chun growled.
“I do,” Yeung Lin replied.
“Very well.” The referee produced the dueling coin from a pocket. “When this coin strikes the ground, the duel will commence. In the name of the Teal Mountain Sect, fight with honor, and with no techniques demonic or lethal.”
With a tremendous flick, he launched the coin in the air, sending it soaring into the sky. Yeung Lin drew his staff, giving it a quick twirl as he took a stance. Chun replied in kind, clashing his knuckles together with a spray of sparks together as he crouched into position, left fist extended while his right waited by his chest. The coin tumbled towards the ground as the two fighters waited in anticipation, the disciples screaming their last bets as it dove through the clouds towards the ground.
With a soft ting it hit the smooth stone of the arena floor, the magics of its arrays carrying the sound above all others as Chun leapt forwards. His furnace roared as he stoked the flames with qi and coal, bellows pumping as he bellowed his attack.
“Metal Striker Arts: Quick Strike!”
Steam rushed from his elbow and shoulders as he invoked his technique, sending him flying towards his opponent at blinding speed. The first strike taught to those that walked the path of the Metal Striker Arts, but the most refined of their arsenal, and the blow best suited to close the gap on a foolish opponent ill-suited for the hardships close quarters combat.
However, as he took his last step, the ground gave under him. Chun’s foot sank as all hardness left the stone, and Yeung Lin leaned to the left, dodging his strike by inches. As he did, he stepped forwards and struck out with his staff, a pair of blows hitting Chun on the side, as the third snaked around to strike his left ear. Chun raised his guard in time to block the blow, the thick wood clacking off metal as his opponent retreated from the engagement.
Chun whirled to face Lin, hands darting forwards to deflect a spray of projectiles that his opponent was using to cover his escape. Spikes and needles went flying to the sides, and Chun drew in another breath of qi as he charged in low to the ground, left fist scraping against the stone.
“Metal Striker Arts: Spark Chaser!”
He threw his arm up, metal scraping loose and superheating as it rose towards Lin in a wave of miniature stars. Just as quickly as it rose, it fell, striking down towards his foe like a meteor shower. Lin hurriedly twirled his staff to deflect it, but as he did Chun closed the gap, and he was forced to take the last of the spray on his shoulder as he caught a metal fist with his staff.
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The wood held, its enchantments allowing it to bow with the blow, before flexing back into shape and launching him away from the attack. Lin brushed his qi through it as Chun clashed his fist in frustration, checking to see how the etchings were holding together. For the moment they were fine, but he didn’t want to risk over-exerting them before Chun attempted another big move. His robe was fine, as it was able to withstand stronger attacks head on. He formed a few quick handsigns under his robe, before drawing a trio of talismans from his wrist sheath.
Chun meanwhile, clashed his fist against each other as he approached his foe, sending more sparks flying as his right knuckle began to heat up. As Lin watched, it sucked the sparks into it, growing whiter with each blow. A simple but elegant solution to his staff. Burn the wood, foul the enchantments.
It would be a risky move to try and catch it on the bands. Chun had spent more time refining his martial arts, and it was unlikely Lin could truly surpass him in that particular field. But this fight was about more than just punches and kicks. With a twist of his wrist he unfurled his flag, whirling it above his head as he activated his first talisman in response to Chun’s next charge.
A wall of earth rose up between them, four feet thick and as wide as the arena. With a roar, Chun unleashed another technique.
“Metal Striker Arts: Thousand-fold Strikes!”
Ten strikes, perfected to layer even the most unruly metal, lashed out, shredding the wall like it was made of rice paper. The stone sprayed towards Lin, only to get caught in a wall of water from his second talisman.
With a laugh, Chun launched himself over the second wall, fist raised high as he prepared to deliver a mighty blow. His qi surged, coalescing in preparation for his hammer strike.
“Metal Striker Arts: Finishing Blow!”
His fist descended, a hammer blow that would shatter that shoddy staff if Lin dared to block with it.
However, instead of blocking with it, Lin danced as he twirled his flag, qi swirling into a tail formed from the debris-filled water and striking Chun from behind, knocking him out of the air. Chun hit the ground with a crunch, the armor beneath his robes absorbing the worst of the impact. Across from him, Lin continued to shape the water, drawing it out into a coiling snake as he clenched one last talisman between his lips.
In the audience, Yifan Chang turned to Qiai Mei. “Wait, is that my family’s technique?”
Chun snorted at the obvious ploy, swallowing his last handful of metal.
As if the Metal Striker Arts would kowtow to every water cultivator it encountered.
No elemental technique lasted long without being able to combat its rivals, and while his technique had its roots in fire, its trunk was metal. His qi surged as his fist superheated, and as Lin sent his snake surging forwards, Chun invoked his technique for overcoming the elements.
“Metal Striker Arts: Quenching Strike!”
The snake instantly evaporated in a blast of steam, pushing both cultivators back in an explosion of released force. A piece of wall struck a glancing blow against Chun’s chest, but he pushed forwards, long used to the harsh conditions of the forge. Only a poor cultivator like Lin would be harmed by their own technique. It was easy to spot Yeung Lin’s banner, the bright red cloth a beacon of qi as he punched forwards.
To his surprise, Lin let go of his staff as he struck, allowing it to go flying from the arena as he twisted to the side, spitting a talisman towards Chun as he did. With a burst of light, the steam coalesced into thick vines, wrapping themselves around Chun’s body as Lin struck him across the face, before kicking him across the arena with a qi-enhanced foot.
With a growl, Chun focused his qi through the etchings of his armor, heating the plates to burn through his robes and the vines in an instant. He rose, brushing off ash as his opponent drew more talismans from his sleeves.
“Pathetic,” he spat, full of soot and spite. “Is that all your cultivation amounts to? A few fancy moves, but no follow through. When you have the advantage, you must STRIKE!” He drove his fists together as he said this, metal qi filling them to bursting as he maximized their properties. Steel right met magnesium left as his technique burst forth.
“Metal Strikers Arts: FLASH!!”
Light filled the arena, blinding everyone, save the technique’s wielder. Chun’s mind roared with laughter as he silently approached, watching Yeung Lin bumble around the arena. By incorporating so much of his qi into the reaction, he could blind not only sight, but qi-sense as well, cutting off that essential backup so many pale-faced cultivators relied upon!
Lin threw his talismans wildly, and Chun dodged gouts of fire as he drew closer, readying his strike against his now desperately dodging opponent. He threw his blow bereft of invocation, instead relying on pure technique for his power. Lin swayed slightly to the side, but not enough to stop it from connecting with his chest and launching him across the arena. He hit the wall with a soft fwumph.
Chun laughed again, audibly this time, as his foe slowly rose to his feet, rubbing his eyes with a hand as he reeled from the blow.
“That’s what a real technique looks like! Just in case you want to take notes.” Clashing his fists again, he began charging his right with more sparks as he readied himself to end the duel with his next blow.
“A good technique,” Lin replied, slapping the embers from his robe as he tried not to betray how many of his ribs were broken. “It shows a fine dedication to the fundamentals of your school, and reflects a deep understanding of metal.” He shaped more hand signs beneath his robe as he drew a gong, no larger than a palm, from his belt. “I do wonder though; does its application reflect innovation or imitation.”
“Enough!” Chun roared, charging in. The metal around his right fist warped as he did, narrowing as he concentrated his power into a single point. A technique designed to end a work, finishing it off with the mark of its master. As he closed in, he shouted its name.
“Metal Striker Arts: Signature Strike!!”
The characters of his name blazed in inverse towards Lin, who raised his gong to meet it, hand signs shaping themselves faster and faster as a dozen needles scattered around the arena suddenly drove themselves into the ground. “Oh, barrier, rise to height, deflect might, endure with strength!”
A pure wall of force sprang into existence as the barrier aligned, dormant qi flaring as it answered the call of its maker. The arena was rich with elemental power. Fire, water, earth and water from Lin’s talismans, and the last of the five, metal, from Chun’s own attacks. With it, Lin’s array was drawn to greater heights, and Chun watched in horror as he slowed the closer he drew to Lin, the momentum of his attack being sucked out by the array around him. By the time he was feet away it was like he was moving through a lake of thick mud, and by the time the gap was inches, he was barely moving.
“One good turn must deserve another,” Lin said, as they locked eyes, and with a careful swing, he hit the gong against Chun’s fist.
A deafening GONG tolled as the array released all the kinetic energy it had trapped in a wave of force. Chun was sent flying back, crashing into the walls of the arena with a sound like thunder, cracks spreading from the point of impact. He coughed up blood as he stood, drops raining down alongside shards of his armor.
“Do you yield?” Lin asked, stowing his cracked gong. The metal had barely been able to withstand the force of the blow. For his next one, he would have to use a stronger material.
“Never,” Chun said, his spit now red and black as he cleared his mouth. “I refuse to be bested by the likes of you.” He drew qi into his fists again, bringing them together a second time. “Metal Striker Arts:”
This time, however, Lin was ready. As he saw Chun begin his move, his hands darted into his pockets, pulling forth his modified tea array. Six silver mirror glinted as he channeled his qi into them, amplifying the formation he’d crafted so many years ago. They rose in the air before him, suspended by qi alone rather than wire or metal, and the audience inhaled their breaths as the light in the arena visibly dimmed.
“Flash!”
The mirrors sucked the light in, the force of Chun’s flare barely a candle against light of the star they were designed to face. The light bounced between the mirrors, amplifying itself with the array’s qi before flashing back at Chun in a blinding beam. This time the arrays of the arena glowed as they absorbed the blow, catching the narrow ray of power before it could penetrate the walls and damage ancestors know what.
Chun fell back, a hole the size of a chopstick bored clear through his left clavicle.
“Yield,” Lin said, firmly this time, as his mirrors spun around him. From what he could tell, there was no severe damage to them. The force of Chun’s art had been enough light to activate them, but not enough to overtax his prototype. He’d knew that Chun wouldn’t be able to resist using such an effective move a second time. And it had provided an excellent sample, and proof that there was definitely something worth exploring with his revised mirror array.
“Pah,” Chun spat, rising again. “Again and again, petty trick after petty trick. That’s all your cultivation is. Petty tricks pretending to be true power. There’s no honor, no true refinement to it. Just an endless array of befuddlements, only good for a single surprise before it’s seen through by all. But underneath your borrowed moves, there’s nothing. No technique for you to call your own. A paper tiger playing king of the mountain.” With that he tore his left gauntlet free, ripping off bites of the metal.
“Allow this senior to show you what a true technique is, bereft of your pathetic tricks!” Chun declared, scraps of metal spraying from his mouth as he masticated his gauntlet.
“Pathetic tricks?” Lin repeated, a tic of anger passing through his face. “Pathetic tricks!?” His fingers twitched as words began pouring out of him, emotion heavy with every word.
“Yes, pathetic tricks! That’s all you have. No true path, no moves to your name. Not even a direct disciple! As if even the most inexperienced novice would be taken in by such petty tricks!”
“You dare to call my cultivation petty tricks?!” Yeung Lin roared, emotion surging through his veins as he spoke. “Would you also call the dance of the sun and the moon a petty trick? The heavens above and the earth below nothing but mere trickery? No, my cultivation is deeper than you can possibly understand, Chun Kai. It is an ocean far deeper and far wider than the puddle you are content to splash about in.”
Qi rose around Yeung Lin as he spoke, the swell of a tsunami about to crash upon the shore. “My cultivation is one of true comprehension. To understand the world, and the ties that bind it together. It is of no single cultivation method, for no single method understands the whole truth. Their perspectives are myriad, like the stars in the sky, and I shall find the constellations that connect them all.”
Epiphany swept through Yeung Lin, unlocking something deep inside as he finally put words to the feelings he’d held for so many years. It was more than a declaration of ideals; it was his Dao. The code that he would pursue as a cultivator, the mantra that would bind him to the fate that he would carve for himself. For a moment, he saw the start of his path, and how to bring all he knew together to take that first step.
Chun’s furnace blazed hotter than ever before as he swallowed the last of his gauntlet, white-blue flames pouring from his eyes. He struck a pose as he readied himself to strike, only to cross his arms when he felt the intensity of Yeung Lin’s qi, forcing all of his strength into his defense. “Metal Striker Arts: The Anvil Fears No Hamm-”
Yeung Lin exhaled. His mind stilled, his qi surged, and his body spoke, intoning the name of his cultivation’s technique for the first time:
“Formless Cultivation: A Hundred Lessons, A Single Strike.”
A perfect form, refined from a hundred studied manuals, each with their own insights on how to best throw a punch. Lessons on stance, placement, rotation, and position, all crystallized into a single move that combined the best of each for the strike at hand, eschewing any inefficiency. Ink flowed along his hand, an ancient scholar’s trick for fixing mistakes and embezzling cash reshaping it into thin characters of power, strengthening his qi as it flowed through his body.
He took a step and struck, moving no more than a foot closer to Chun. The force of his blow, however, cared little for such petty things as distance. The air rippled as the blow struck Chun’s guard, iron hard skin cracking as it penetrated his defenses and hit his chest directly. The qi went from his lungs as he slumped over, unable to catch himself. The rest of the arena was still. Not even the barest bit of debris had been touched, as there was not a hint of wasted force in the entire blow.
The referee ran over to Chun, jade talisman in hand aglow as he checked him for signs of life.
“Don’t worry,” Lin coughed out, kicking a pebble over at Chun, “you’ll live. Consider that one of the learnings of my enlightened path.” With that he sank into the ground, thankful that his anklet softened it as much as it did. At least 3 of his ribs were broken, which had likely limited the power he had put into his blow.
It was a blessing in disguise. Had he attempted such an optimal use of his body in as exhausted of a state as he was without having to limit himself, he might have passed out himself, resulting in a win that Chun could contest. He’d used far too much qi in that first attempt. He would have to work to increase its efficiency the next time he used it.
As Lan Yun picked him up and handed him a recovery pill, he smiled to himself. This had been a worthwhile experience. He’d managed to touch the border of the fourth stage, and while there was a ways to go before he could break through it, he’d gained an immense insight on his Dao. There was so much to meditate on later.
After, of course, he finished his last duties of the day.