With practiced ease, Madara slid into a solid, balanced stance—shoulders square, knees bent, and weight perfectly centered. His sword rose into a middle guard, steady and calm as still water.
The first yellowish wooden puppet lunged.
He shifted his weight with a subtle sidestep, letting the strike glide past. His sword flashed—quick and precise—severing the puppet's arm before slicing down diagonally, splitting its torso in two. The puppet collapsed, sparking and twitching.
Another puppet charged from the flank. Madara ducked low, the puppet's strike whistling harmlessly overhead. Spinning on his heel, he rose into a sweeping arc, his blade wreathed in silver Sword Qi. The blow bisected the puppet at the waist; both halves clattered to the ground in ruin.
A third puppet lunged with a spear-like thrust. He leaned back just enough for the wooden tip to graze his robes. Then, with a sharp forward step, he thrust his sword clean through its chest. The blade pierced out its back, glowing with residual energy. A pulse of silver light surged—and the puppet exploded into fragments.
He moved like drifting mist, always just out of reach. When two more puppets tried to flank him from behind, he vanished between them in a blur, reappearing behind them with a gliding step. One rising slash—two heads tumbled to the floor.
Three puppets rushed him at once, aiming to trap him. Calmly, Madara stepped back, then flowed to the side in a circling motion. As their strikes sliced empty air, he unleashed a sweeping slash mid-step. A wave of Sword Qi erupted from his blade, cleaving all three in half.
The tempo surged. Dozens of limbs lashed out, but Madara flowed through them like water over stone—never resisting, always redirecting. One puppet launched a spinning kick. He ducked beneath it and rose with a clean upward slash, severing its leg and torso in a single stroke. Another hurled a blade; he tilted his head and let it pass. In the same breath, he countered with a mid-air Sword Qi slash that annihilated both the thrower and a nearby attacker.
More puppets closed in from every angle. Yet still, he remained untouched. Each evasion was a whisper, each counterstrike, a finishing blow. He pivoted around a sweeping strike, twisted past a stab, then leapt high over a low lunge. From above, he released a wide arc of Sword Qi that tore through five puppets like paper. Shattered forms scattered across the platform.
As the battle reached its crescendo, Madara's silver sword intent grew denser, heavier. The air itself quivered beneath its weight. Each swing cracked the ground; every thrust sent splinters flying like shrapnel. Puppets disintegrated the moment they entered his range, consumed by the storm of his refined, merciless precision.
One final puppet lunged forward, its attack wild with desperation. Madara's gaze sharpened. He sidestepped fluidly, letting it dash past, then turned and thrust clean through its back. A final pulse of Sword Qi exploded from his blade—and the puppet burst into smoldering splinters.
Silence fell. No puppet remained standing—only ruined wood and scorched fragments littered the floor.
The martial sigils on the platform dimmed, their red-and-black glow fading like embers into ash. With a low, breath-like rumble, the heavy stone doors ahead began to open.
Standing untouched at the center, Madara returned his sword to his storage ring in one seamless motion. With a flick of his sleeve, he brushed off a thin layer of dust—the final trace of battle fading with the silver glow still coiling faintly around his fingers.
He stepped forward, calm and unhurried, as the platform behind him began to reset—erasing all signs of the destruction he had wrought.
...
As he stepped outside, dusk had already begun to settle over the horizon. Deciding it was best to rest and recover, he returned to his quarters. There, he ate a yellow apple to replenish his energy and activated his Yin-Yang Qi Absorption technique. In moments, his strength was fully restored. Without delay, he sat down and entered his inner realm, determined to review his performance in the battle.
Once inside his inner realm, Madara assumed a meditative stance. Before him, he visualized a glowing, shimmering sphere. Within seconds, a memory sphere manifested in midair. At a simple mental command, it began to project his recent battle against the eight humanoid, yellowish wooden puppets—playing back the encounter in vivid detail as a three-dimensional hologram from his own perspective.
He spent several hours watching, rewinding, and fast-forwarding through the scenes, analyzing his movements, reactions, and technique. After he had seen enough, Madara waved his hand. The memory sphere dissolved into light and vanished from sight.
"I didn't expect my swordsmanship and execution to have improved this much," he muttered to himself. "But I still need to test my limits. Stronger cultivators await me in the future. I'll have to add new restrictions or challenges to the training stone tablet."
With renewed determination, Madara began refining his techniques and continued his training within the inner realm well into the night.
Even before the first light of dawn touched the peaks, many disciples had already begun their daily training. Wasting no time, Madara sprinted toward the Battle Pagodas. However, when he arrived at the first and second pagodas, he found them completely occupied—from the first to the tenth floor.
Unfazed, he turned toward the final Battle Pagoda located on the distant outer peak.
Upon arrival, he carefully checked each floor in turn, searching for an available room. Finally, on the eighth floor, he spotted a vacant chamber. Without hesitation—and before any fellow disciple could see him—he quickly made his way inside.
Before stepping onto the platform, he inscribed his challenge onto the stone tablet. His rules were simple, yet harsh. "Double the pressure," he whispered as his fingers moved swiftly over the stone, engraving the inscription. A wave of energy spread from the tablet, and he felt an unseen force settle over him. It was as if the very air around him was pressing down, weighing on his body and slowing his movements. The pressure intensified, making his limbs feel heavier and more sluggish than usual.
The challenge was not just for him but for the eight yellowish wooden humanoid puppets that were to face him. Each puppet was equipped with a different weapon, and he knew their varied forms of attack would be a challenge. The battle wouldn't be easy, but that was precisely the point. Once the inscription was complete, the martial sigils etched onto the platform began to rotate clockwise, glowing with alternating red and black light. The sigils spun faster, their radiance intensifying before they finally stopped, signaling the start of the battle.
From the platform emerged the puppets—lifeless at first, but far from harmless. Each puppet wielded a different spiritual weapon, and their movements were fluid, poised, and ready to strike. He took a steady breath, drawing his sword from his storage ring. The blade gleamed faintly, imbued with his silver sword intent—a silent promise of its lethal edge. The added pressure might have slowed him down, but Madara was confident. He knew the key to victory was not brute force but skill, timing, and precision.
Within moments, the battle began. The puppets advanced swiftly, each one moving in perfect coordination to surround him. They didn't hesitate; they came for him from every direction. The first puppet, a sword-wielding adversary, lunged at him with deadly precision. Its blade sliced through the air, aiming for his side.
His footwork remained solid, but the added pressure made his movements feel heavier. Instead of evading with his usual fluidity, he calmly shifted his stance, guiding the incoming blade away with a parry. The strike rang out, but before the puppet could recover, Madara unleashed a sword qi slash. A blade of energy shot forward, slicing through the air and striking another puppet across the chest. It staggered, cracks forming in its wooden frame, but it didn't fall.
Madara's eyes darted across the battlefield. Another puppet, this one wielding a spear, charged at him with terrifying speed. The added weight on his limbs made it harder to evade, but he didn't try to outrun it. Instead, he activated the Mayfly Technique. In an instant, his presence vanished, and the spear passed through the space where he had just been.
The puppet paused, confused. In that moment, Madara reappeared, ghost-like, from behind a burrowed tree root in the arena floor. Wasting no time, he struck with his sword, delivering a clean Chidori Thrust into the puppet's chest. Lightning surged through its wooden frame, and the puppet shattered into pieces.
But the pressure kept mounting. More puppets closed in, each one wielding a different weapon, moving as one, calculating his every move. With every dodge, his footwork was solid, but his body felt the weight of every step, his reactions slower than usual. The battle was relentless, but he remained composed, his mind sharp despite the mounting fatigue.
A massive puppet wielding an axe swung it down with immense force. Madara sidestepped, but the weight of the axe's momentum nearly crushed him. He dropped low, narrowly avoiding the strike. Using the momentum, he twisted and slashed upward, cleaving the puppet in two at the waist. It crumpled to the ground, but there were still too many lefts.
Madara's mind raced. He needed an edge. As he dodged another attack, he summoned his Wooden Clone from his back. The clone leaped into the fray, drawing the attention of two remaining puppets. It fought valiantly, but Madara knew it wouldn't be enough.
With enough space between him and the puppets, he bent down and touched the earth beneath him. He activated the Nativity of a World of Trees Technique, and towering trees erupted from the ground in an instant. A dense forest bloomed around him, its roots and branches ensnaring the remaining puppets, trapping them in a web of wood. Their movements slowed, and the once-fluid combat became a desperate struggle to escape the growing forest.
Madara took a deep breath, still feeling the pressure weighing him down. The puppets were now entangled, but he couldn't waste time. He expelled a massive Great Fireball from his mouth, sending it soaring through the air. The fireball exploded in the center of the trapped puppets, engulfing them in flames. The explosion sent shockwaves through the arena, scattering ash and broken wood. When the smoke cleared, nothing remained but charred remains of the puppets.
But even then, two puppets remained—severely damaged but still functional. The clock sigil's ticking grew louder, signaling the approach of the battle's end. His breath was labored, his body heavy, but he refused to stop now. The fight was nearly over.
Drawing his sword once more, Madara focused all his remaining energy. With the last of his strength, he unleashed one final Sword Qi Slash—sharper and more concentrated than before. The energy blade cleaved through the remaining puppets with surgical precision. One puppet fell, its wooden limbs shattered, and the last one collapsed, split down the center.
He stood among the broken pieces of his enemies, his sword still faintly glowing. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. The battle had been grueling, the restrictions a heavy burden, but he had emerged victorious. Not through speed, not through overwhelming force, but through precision, timing, and absolute control of his techniques.
The clock sigil flickered one last time before its ticking ceased. Madara remained still, though the weight of the battle still lingered. He looked back at the shattered puppets and the remnants of the battlefield—turned both trap and weapon by his hand. His experiment had served its purpose. By binding himself with these restrictions and still prevailing, he had proven that raw speed and strength were not what defined a true cultivator—it was how one fought when stripped of advantage.
From that day forward, this would become the foundation of his daily combat training until the sparring sessions began.