In the center of the training field, the two Vesper soldiers escorting the prisoner cultivator saw the ring of troops part to let a towering figure through. Standing over two meters tall, with intense red eyes and a commanding presence, Hu Zhan silently advanced toward the field.
The Vespers reacted instantly, lifting the prisoner by his arms. Under the cultivator's confused gaze, one of the Vespers moved behind him and spoke in a cold tone.
"The commander has given orders. You will face the man in front of you. You may use all your strength and techniques without restriction. If you defeat him, your life will be spared. Not only that, you will be allowed to live out the rest of your days in comfort. But if you fail..." he paused for a second as he unlocked the shackles, "you will be executed on the spot."
Without another word, he threw a sword at the prisoner's feet and stepped back with his companion, rejoining the encirclement.
The cultivator remained still for a few seconds. Then, seeing his freed wrists and hearing those words, a spark of hope and scorn flashed in his eyes. One opponent?
The man across the field was no ordinary mortal. His height was intimidating, his physique robust, and he wore the signature black armor of the Vespers, with reinforced leather underneath. His eyes glowed red.
But... as tall or strange as he might be, the cultivator felt no spiritual pressure or trace of Qi from him. Clearly, he was a mere mortal without cultivation. He just had to avoid those strange weapons... If the fight stayed close-quarters, victory was certain.
With that conviction, he picked up the sword from the ground and stretched muscles stiffened by days of captivity.
Surrounded by soldiers, with no chance of escape, he knew he had no other choice. If he wanted to survive, he had to defeat his opponent. So he adjusted his breathing, took his combat stance, and channeled his Qi, preparing.
On the other side, Hu Zhan was already ready.
He carried no rifle or pistol. Only a sheathed bayonet at his waist. But he had no intention of using it. He merely rolled his neck, flexed his shoulders, and tensed the muscles in his legs like an animal preparing to charge. He had warmed up enough.
When he was ready, he turned his head toward the Vesper captain and gave a single nod.
"Ready. Begin!" shouted the captain loudly, slicing through the air like a gunshot.
As soon as the signal sounded, both charged toward each other without hesitation, the same objective burned into their minds: close the distance and secure a quick victory.
To the cultivator, those strange weapons mortals carried were the only real threat. He saw none in plain sight, but he knew they could hide smaller versions in their clothes or even on their bodies. If he got close first, he could neutralize that danger.
To Hu Zhan, if he allowed his opponent to create distance, he would launch techniques from afar—fireballs or some other kind of immortal spell. The only way to win... was to crush him before he could use them.
Both thoughts.
The cultivator activated a movement technique. His body glided across the field as if pushed by the wind, the soles of his boots barely touching the ground. A faint glow trailed each step.
In front of him, Hu Zhan planted both feet firmly, cracking the ground with a dry crunch. The earth trembled. An instant later, he shot forward like a projectile. No spiritual techniques powered his movement, only raw, brutal strength generated by muscles that shouldn't belong to a normal human.
An instinctive alarm exploded in the cultivator's mind. His combat senses, sharpened by years of battle, screamed that this thing rushing toward him was not normal. His skin bristled. The feeling of death wrapped around him.
Without hesitation, he unsheathed his sword with a flash. He channeled spiritual energy into it, and the blade hummed with a sharp buzz. He executed a cutting technique—the sword's trajectory formed a perfect arc, and the air around it trembled as if sliced by an invisible wave. It shot straight toward Hu Zhan's chest, closing the distance in a fraction of a second.
But Hu Zhan, despite the sword's speed, saw it.
He ducked and rolled to the side with surprising agility. The blade passed centimeters from his ear. In the next moment, he was beside the cultivator and threw a punch at his side, aiming straight for the blind spot in his opponent's stance.
Sensing the danger, the cultivator barely managed to channel his spiritual energy, activating a defensive technique. A layer of brown light enveloped his body like a stone shield.
Hu Zhan's fist landed with a dry crack.
The shield vibrated. Cracks appeared on its surface like glass under pressure.
The sound of fracturing echoed throughout the area.
The cultivator was dragged three meters backward, his feet plowing the ground. He wasn't bleeding, he had no visible wounds, but his body trembled and his numb side barely responded. In his mind, one word echoed violently: What the hell...?
Before he could form a single thought, Hu Zhan was in front of him again.
A second blow landed.
Then a third.
The brown shield, barely holding together, began to crack with every impact. It felt as if the sky were falling on him in the form of meteors. There was no time to recite spells or form seals. He could only defend.
Each punch was like a siege hammer. The spiritual shield, designed to withstand spiritual attacks, twisted under physical blows of a force no human should possess.
Sensing the shield wouldn't withstand another hit, the cultivator reacted purely on instinct. He jumped backward just as Hu Zhan's fist tore through the air, shattering the final fragments of the spiritual shield and heading straight for his face.
The attack missed his jaw by mere centimeters.
With his fingers barely touching the ground, he pushed his body back and rolled, desperately gaining distance. His breathing was ragged. A trail of cold sweat ran down his forehead.
He had nearly died.
There was no doubt. If that last blow had landed, his skull would have burst like a rotten fruit.
Now, seeing him more clearly from a distance, he began to understand. The figure before him had no spiritual fluctuations. No technique, no aura. And yet...
His body seemed to contain the strength of a demonic beast.
"Are you a body cultivator?" he shouted in surprise, keeping himself in motion.
Hu Zhan didn't answer. He had no reason to. He merely bent his legs and launched forward again like an artillery shell.
The cultivator gritted his teeth, retreating further.
He had heard of body cultivators who tempered their bodies into weapons. He had never faced one before, but if the man before him was one of them... then fighting in close quarters was suicide.
He decided to change tactics.
He quickly activated a technique. A fireball began to form in his palm, sparking and spinning intensely. Within seconds, he hurled it forcefully at his opponent.
Hu Zhan was ready. He knew cultivators relied on long-range spells.
Seeing the high-speed projectile, his body reacted instinctively.
He leapt to the side.
BOOM!
The fireball hit the ground, raising flames, dust, and chunks of scorched earth. A wave of heat swept the area. But Hu Zhan was no longer there.
Slower than a bullet. Evadable.
That was his only thought.
But where there was one, a second came.
Then a third.
The second was dodged with a lateral stride. But the third... wasn't random. The cultivator had predicted his movement. It was fired directly toward his evasion path.
With no option to dodge, Hu Zhan planted his feet. He clenched his teeth and raised one armored arm while the other shielded his face.
BOOM!
The explosion launched him backward. His body spun through the air and rolled along the ground several times before stopping. He felt the impact in his chest, the brutal force, the searing heat. But... there was no extreme pain.
Only disorientation.
The reinforced armor absorbed the blow. The leather treated from demonic beasts resisted the fire. His body, tempered beyond human limits, endured without fractures or internal damage.
He stood up, dazed but unharmed.
Meanwhile, the cultivator watched the cloud of dust where his enemy had fallen. He breathed heavily. He couldn't see clearly. He didn't yet know if he had taken him out. But just in case...
A fourth fireball began to spin in his palm. He didn't wait to confirm the previous attack's result. As soon as the dust started to clear, he launched the fireball—and a fifth one followed, giving no respite.
BOOM!
BOOM!
Both explosions hit directly in the area where Hu Zhan had landed. Dirt fragments flew, and the heat became suffocating. This time, Hu Zhan was not unharmed.
The second blast struck him as he was rising, knocking the air from his lungs and forcing him back several steps. The shockwave shook him internally. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and a thin line of blood slipped from the corner of his lips.
Internal damage.
Not severe, but it was the first sign that, although his body was strong, it still had limits.
But more than pain, he felt fury.
His breathing grew heavier. His red eyes glowed intensely, ignited by a burning will. In his chest, he felt as if his blood were boiling.
He couldn't let it go on.
He had to end it. Now.
With a fierce burst of momentum, he launched forward. A sixth fireball was fired, but this time, Hu Zhan reacted before it reached him.
He spun on one foot, ducked low, and the burning sphere whooshed past.
In an instant, he was already on top of the cultivator.
The enemy had no time to cast another technique. He gripped the hilt of his sword and went on the defensive.
The blade drew a horizontal arc, aiming for Hu Zhan's abdomen. Hu Zhan raised his forearm, and though the blade scraped the armor, it failed to pierce it—only caused some numbness.
He countered with a hook to the torso. The cultivator activated a spiritual shield just in time. The impact landed with a dry thud. The shield cracked.
The sword came down in a vertical slash. Hu Zhan sidestepped and landed an elbow to the shoulder.
The shield absorbed the blow again, but cracked even further.
The cultivator kept retreating, gasping for air. Each blow forced him to reinforce his defenses, and his spiritual energy was beginning to run dry. The cracks on his shield no longer sealed. His movement technique failed. He tried to activate it… but nothing happened.
He was running out of energy.
Desperate, he lunged with one final thrust of the sword, aiming for Hu Zhan's neck. But his movements were slow, erratic. Hu Zhan dodged it effortlessly and countered with a flurry of blows.
One.
Two.
Three.
The spiritual shield shattered like glass. The defenses were gone.
The cultivator could barely remain standing. Confusion clouded his mind. He could no longer defend. He could no longer escape.
The last thing he saw was a fist.
Large, heavy, like an iron mountain. Coming straight for his face. In his mind, a single phrase emerged:
"I'm dead."
CRACK!
The fist struck squarely.
The cultivator's skull caved under the force of the blow. His face distorted grotesquely, and a burst of blood and bone fragments sprayed into the air. His body collapsed like an empty sack, without a sound.
Silence.
On the training field, no one spoke. The body lay motionless on the ground, while Hu Zhan stood still, fist clenched, chest heaving with breath.
It was over.