The morning sun slipped through the cracks in the wooden shutters, spilling faint lines of gold across the room. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, yet nothing felt calm. Lin Ziao sat silently on the edge of his straw bed, staring at his hands.
They trembled.
Not from weakness, but from that strange pulse inside him. It was faint, like a hidden heartbeat, yet steady. Sometimes it grew warmer, stronger, and he felt like he could crush a stone with his bare fingers. Other times it faded, leaving him only with questions and unease.
He didn't understand it.
And the commander—
His thoughts were cut short by a low groan.
Lin Ziao's head snapped up.
Peng Cheng stirred on the opposite bed. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Slowly, painfully, his eyes opened. At first clouded, then suddenly sharp as steel, they locked on Lin Ziao.
"You…" His voice rasped, but the edge of accusation was clear. "You did this."
Lin Ziao blinked, confused. "What are you—"
The commander's hands gripped the side of the bed. He pushed himself upright, his bandaged body trembling but held together by sheer will. His glare cut into Lin Ziao like a blade.
"I remember," Peng Cheng hissed. "In the forest… in the madness. It was your strike, your power that nearly killed me."
Gasps echoed from the doorway. Villagers who had been hovering nearby stepped in closer. Some pressed hands to their mouths, others whispered in fear.
Lin Ziao's heart tightened. He shook his head quickly. "No… I don't even know what happened! I blacked out. I–
"Lies."
The word cut him off like a whip.
Peng Cheng swung his legs off the bed, his teeth clenched against the pain. His broad frame loomed despite the fresh blood soaking his bandages. "The orb turned red because of you. And now you sit here, pretending innocence? You're dangerous, boy. Too dangerous to keep among us."
The whispers grew louder. Fear spread through the room like smoke. Mothers pulled their children back. Men frowned uneasily, watching Lin Ziao as if he might explode at any moment.
"I didn't choose this!" Lin Ziao shouted suddenly, his fists trembling. His voice cracked, thick with frustration. "You think I wanted this? I don't even understand what it is!"
But it gives me free cultivation techniques
Peng Cheng's face hardened. His steps were heavy but certain as he closed the distance between them. "It doesn't matter what you want. What matters is what you are. If you lose control again, you won't just harm me—you'll destroy everyone here. And I will not allow it."
For a heartbeat, silence ruled.
Then Peng Cheng struck.
His palm lashed out like thunder, aimed straight at Lin Ziao's chest.
Instinct answered before thought. Lin Ziao raised his arm, and the blow landed with a crack, rattling the wooden walls. The impact sent a clay pot tumbling, shattering across the floor in shards.
The villagers screamed.
"Out! Out!" someone yelled, and people stumbled from the room in panic, scattering into the village square.
Peng Cheng's eyes blazed as he pressed forward. "You see? Look at your strength! Look at the destruction you bring!"
How was it me? You are the one who just attacked me.
Lin Ziao's breath caught. The warmth inside him surged, wild and unstable, pouring into his limbs. He pushed back, and to his shock, Peng Cheng staggered.
"I don't want to fight you!" Lin Ziao cried. His voice cracked like a child's plea. "Stop this!"
"Then yield!" Peng Cheng roared, his fists hammering forward. "Yield, or I'll end it before you bring ruin to us all!"
Their clash shook the walls. The wooden beams groaned. Dust poured from the ceiling. Finally, with a heavy crash, the two burst out through the door into the open square.
Villagers stood frozen in a wide circle, watching. Fear and awe tangled in their eyes.
Peng Cheng's bandages were already torn, fresh blood staining his chest. Yet he moved like a storm, each strike sharp and merciless. His pride and duty burned hotter than his wounds.
"You are the reason I bleed, Lin Ziao!" he bellowed. "A cursed child with power he cannot control!"
Yield?? Not possible because a great figure told to never.
He envisioned his brother's figure in his mind, slowly getting control.
Lin Ziao stumbled back, his pulse racing. The hidden heartbeat inside him thundered, answering the commander's rage. His vision blurred at the edges, colors too bright, sounds too sharp. He felt like he was standing at the edge of something vast, something terrifying.
The second stage of his power.
It wanted to break free.
"No…" he muttered, clenching his fists so tight they bled. "Not now. Not here."
But Peng Cheng was relentless. He lunged, fist drawn, ready to crush him with one final blow.
Lin Ziao lifted his hands in defense. The warmth surged again, stronger than before, wrapping him in unseen strength. The ground beneath his feet cracked as energy leaked out, untrained and wild.
The villagers gasped and pulled back, shielding their eyes from the sudden flare.
And there they stood—two figures in the sunlight, one a battered commander, the other a boy caught between fear and awakening.
Neither willing to yield.
The clash had only just begun.