Tang Wulin's fingers tightened around his sleeves as he stepped toward the center of the ring.
His heart pounded—not from fear, but something sharper. A tension that lived in his chest, building with every step closer to the hammer-wielding boy across from him.
Qiang Ming.
Two yellow rings.
A Martial Soul unlike any he'd ever seen.
And he hadn't even used a single ability yet.
What was that thing? Wulin thought about Qiang Ming's Hammer. It radiated a dense pressure, not of overwhelming power, but of something older—something deep. Like it didn't simply exist to smash things, but to test the world's very limits.
Their eyes met.
Qiang Ming stood quietly, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable. He didn't smile. He didn't show contempt or arrogance. Just… observation.
As if he were already seeing through Wulin's entire approach before the match had even begun.
"Take your positions," Wu Zhangkong said. "Final duel."
He glanced at both boys.
Tang Wulin took a long breath. His hand rose.
"Blue Silver Grass!"
His single yellow soul ring ignited, and tendrils of glowing vine burst from his palm, writhing and snapping to life like serpents of light. They moved around him, weaving into a low defense posture.
Across from him, Qiang Ming nodded once and raised a single hand.
The Blackstone Abyss Hammer emerged in a swirl of amethyst mist—massive, silent, and impossibly heavy-looking.
His two yellow rings began to glow.
Wulin swallowed hard.
I can't win this by trading blows...
"Begin."
Wulin moved first.
He launched a bundle of Blue Silver Grass tendrils toward Qiang Ming, aiming to bind his arms. At the same time, he circled to the left, hoping to close distance from an angle.
But Qiang Ming didn't react.
He didn't flinch.
He simply stepped forward.
The hammer moved with him—low and sweeping.
WHOOOSH.
Wulin's vines were torn apart mid-air, shredded by the raw pressure of the swing before the weapon even touched them. It wasn't just the weight—it was spirit density. The air rippled, and Wulin was forced to dodge back to avoid the hammer's path.
"Too slow," Qiang Ming said softly.
Wulin ground his teeth and redoubled his effort. He fired another wave of vines, this time from multiple angles, launching them to wrap around Qiang Ming's legs and waist. While doing so, he dropped low and sprinted in from the opposite side.
The vines caught.
But—
CRACK.
The hammer slammed down into the ground, and a small shockwave pulsed outward, shaking Wulin off balance. The vines unraveled instantly, crushed under the weight of the strike.
Qiang Ming turned, pivoting the hammer around his back and swinging it overhead.
Wulin rolled beneath it—barely—feeling the gust of air slice across his hair.
He came up behind Qiang Ming, hurling the remaining Blue Silver Grass to ensnare the boy's back foot.
This time, it landed.
But as soon as it wrapped—
Qiang Ming dragged his foot forward, snapping the vines like threads.
"You're trying to bind me with grass, Tang Wulin."
His tone wasn't mocking. It was just… factual.
But that made it worse.
Wulin jumped back, sweat breaking across his forehead.
I can't keep up.
He looked at his vines, some withered, others still pulsing with life.
Then at Qiang Ming—who hadn't even activated his first soul skill.
He grit his teeth.
He had to do something different.
If his Martial Soul couldn't overpower Qiang Ming's hammer, he had to think. He needed to adapt.
He closed his eyes briefly. Then exhaled.
When he moved next, it wasn't an attack—it was a trap.
He threw a wide arc of Blue Silver Grass around Qiang Ming's position, not to bind him, but to map his movements.
If I can't restrict him, I'll guide him.
He feinted left.
Qiang Ming stepped right to meet him.
Exactly where Wulin had planned.
From the ground, the vine trap snapped shut, curling upward and coiling around Qiang Ming's ankle and lower leg.
The first time the binding held.
In that instant, Wulin dashed forward.
He closed the distance and lashed out with a punch enhanced by raw physical force—years of training with his own hammers had built a surprising level of body strength.
He struck Qiang Ming in the chest.
The impact barely moved the boy.
But it surprised him.
"Hmm," Qiang Ming muttered.
Then he lifted his leg—and the vines snapped like glass.
Wulin backed off again, panting now.
"You're adapting," Qiang Ming said.
"But it won't be enough."
Wulin felt it before he saw it.
Qiang Ming stepped forward—not running, but advancing. The hammer dragged behind him for one heartbeat, then spun forward in a rising arc.
Wulin used every ounce of his speed to dodge to the side.
BOOM.
The floor cracked.
He dove under the second swing and tried to loop another vine—
But Qiang Ming caught the motion.
He stepped into Wulin's zone, hammer reversing direction in a backhanded sweep.
Wulin jumped—and landed on the back edge of Qiang Ming's hammer.
For a heartbeat, the crowd gasped.
Then Wulin launched himself upward, twisting in mid-air, vines lashing down in every direction.
They tangled, then tightened, pulling at Qiang Ming's arms.
This time, the binding held—for just long enough.
Wulin landed and surged forward.
"Let's see how you like hammers!"
His Heavy Silver Hammers appeared in both hands, shimmering silver and ready.
The crowd audibly gasped.
Even Wu Zhangkong's eyes narrowed.
"You brought hammers?" Qiang Ming said, voice low, eyes sharpening.
He twisted his wrist, breaking free of the vines with a slow, grinding motion.
"You brought hammers... against me?"
The ground shook with his next step.
His expression darkened. The calm mask began to crack.
"You think those lumps of metal are hammers?"
Now, for the first time, Qiang Ming's soul ring ignited.
First Ring – SoulQuake Blow.
Purple energy began to leak from the Abyss Hammer's surface, condensing, then spiraling around the weapon's core. The atmosphere shrank. The entire field dimmed slightly, like light itself was being pulled toward the weapon.
Tang Wulin's face drained of color.
He raised his own hammers in an X to block.
Vines wrapped around his arms and chest, reinforcing the position.
Qiang Ming swung.
The air split.
A shockwave burst outward from the impact site as the hammer collided with Wulin's defense.
CRACK.
Wulin was thrown backward like a missile, crashing into the barrier wall at the edge of the arena. His vines snapped. One of his silver hammers was flung across the floor. He landed in a crouch, chest heaving.
His arms shook violently. His vision blurred.
But he was still standing.
Barely.
Qiang Ming lowered his hammer, breathing harder now, though his stance remained solid.
He hadn't used his second ring.
Not yet.
But he had been serious—truly serious—for the first time.
And Tang Wulin had blocked it.
Sort of.
The crowd was dead silent.
Until—
Wu Zhangkong moved.
In the blink of an eye, he was between them. One hand raised toward Qiang Ming. The other toward Wulin.
"That's enough."
Both students froze.
Qiang Ming's brows furrowed.
"I said I'd restrain myself—"
"And you lied," Wu Zhangkong said coldly. "You both did."
He turned toward Wulin, whose arms were still trembling.
"You pushed beyond your limits."
Then to Qiang Ming.
"You lost control."
The room remained utterly still.
Wu Zhangkong's next words came with authority:
"Draw."
No one dared object.
He turned, his long hair drifting behind him.
"Ming. Wulin. Xie Xie. My office. Now."
As the other students resumed practice in stunned silence, the three boys followed their teacher out.
Qiang Ming's expression was stormy.
His steps were slow. Deliberate.
Wulin walked beside him, breathing shallow, every muscle burning.
Xie Xie, tailing just behind, stayed quiet for once.
Inside Qiang Ming, frustration simmered. His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from something harder to name.
How?
How did he block it?
How did someone like him—with one ring and grass—make me feel challenged?*
For the first time in years, Qiang Ming had swung with full intent.
And still, he hadn't won.
He clenched his fists, purple eyes glowing faintly as his hammer dissolved beside him.
I'm not done.