As it so happened, the trainees who had recently made contact with their Chi were now precisely such people. Their nascent connection to Chi allowed them to notice their own body states with greater clarity, feeling how profoundly draining the serene state was to their newly awakened internal energy. Instinctively, they were pushing back against its imposition, unconsciously resisting the manipulation to protect their vital Chi. This very resistance, in turn, was proving to be a potent new source of mental strain for John.
John was ecstatic at this development. He had found another way to put significant stress on his mind, pushing his unique ability to new limits. He immediately added this new challenge to their nightly training sessions, requiring them not just to enter the serene state, but to actively try and maintain their own internal equilibrium against his will.
The morning of the assessment dawned, crisp and cool in the training yard. John walked to the familiar space with a quiet, almost serene confidence. His mentor was already there.
John opened with a dizzying display of The Broken Step. His footwork was a tempest, not merely disruptive but outright aggressive. He wasn't just trying to throw his mentor off balance; he was creating openings, forcing reactions, and then exploiting the resulting micro-hesitations. He moved like a shadow, feinting a low sweep only to pivot and deliver a lightning-fast kick to where his mentor would be if he reacted predictably. For the first time, the mentor found himself actively retreating, his renowned equilibrium truly challenged.
As John pressed, the mentor instinctively began to deepen his breathing, engaging the Iron Flow Method. But John anticipated this. He didn't just meet the surge of internal power; he aimed to disrupt it. Instead of direct strikes, John targeted pressure points and nerve clusters with precise, almost surgical jabs, each one designed to ripple through the mentor's carefully constructed internal defenses. He was using the Iron Flow Method's principles of tension and release against its master, finding the momentary vulnerabilities in the mentor's own cycle of internal strengthening. The mentor grunted, a rare sound of discomfort escaping him as a particularly well-placed strike momentarily unraveled his focus.
Seeing his advantage, John dove into the Dog Fang Grapple. This wasn't the raw, desperate grappling of old. This was precise, almost elegant in its brutality. He didn't just grab; he flowed, using his mentor's own attempts at defense as leverage. As the mentor attempted a familiar counter-grip, John twisted his wrist with a sudden, sharp motion, momentarily locking the joint. He then used the mentor's struggle against the lock to shift his weight, forcing the mentor into a compromised position.
The mentor recovered swiftly, though. His brief discomposure vanished, replaced by a renewed, almost fierce intensity. He retaliated with a brutal, heavy-handed flurry, his blows delivered with an almost dismissive authority, a stark reminder of the chasm in their experience. Each block was an impact, each evasion a near miss that whispered of broken bones.
John, however, matched him blow for blow, not with equal power, but with superior evasion and frustrating counter-angles from The Broken Step. He weaved, ducked, and parried, constantly disrupting the mentor's rhythm, making it impossible for him to land a clean, decisive strike. He was a shadow, a moving target that anticipated and shifted, making the mentor work for every inch.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of John frustrating his every move, a subtle tension flared around the mentor. A faint, almost imperceptible aura seemed to tighten around his form, and his movements gained an unnatural, blurring speed.
John's enhanced senses immediately registered the shift. A subtle, almost imperceptible hum permeated the air around his mentor, a tightening of his form, a blurring of motion that went beyond mere human speed. Chi. He was using Chi. John was briefly thrown off, mentally cursing himself. It was only logical. He had pushed his martial arts to a level where raw, unaugmented skill was no longer enough to contain him. His progress, achieved without overtly displaying his own Chi mastery, had forced his mentor to cross that threshold.
His immediate problem: how to respond? Should he react accordingly, showcasing his own understanding of Chi and escalating the fight? Or should he feign ignorance, act like he hadn't fully grasped the nature of this new power, or simply hadn't cultivated it himself? The latter felt safer, less likely to reveal the full extent of his capabilities too soon.
Meanwhile, for his mentor, a cold, clipped voice echoed in a hidden earpiece, an order from an unseen observer. "Let the boy know his progress is fully noted. If he plays dumb this time, he will be pummeled to death by you. You won't stop."
The mentor relayed the exact words to John as his eyes widened, the mentor became a blur, a whirlwind of motion. His first strike, a Chi-augmented fist, slammed into John's guard. The impact resonated through his bones, not just jarring, but vibrating with an internal force that threatened to buckle his knees. John instinctively tried to channel his own Chi, to harden his defense or inject power into a counter, but the stress of combat, the sheer, overwhelming speed of his opponent, made it impossible. His control, so precise in quiet meditation, fractured under pressure. He was in the Master stage, yes, but only a beginner at the Master stage, especially in a live, lethal exchange.
He was back to where he started: reacting sluggishly, barely able to keep up. Blows rained down on him heavy, precise, and now imbued with a terrifying power. A kick to his midsection sent him stumbling, gasping for air that wouldn't come. A follow-up strike to his arm felt like a club, and a searing pain erupted as he heard a sickening crack. His forearm snapped, hanging at an unnatural angle. John cried out, a raw, involuntary sound of pain.
"Do you understand now, boy?" the mentor's voice was a low growl, devoid of his previous calm. Each word was punctuated by another punishing blow. "Do you understand what you face? Do you comprehend the depth of what is truly required?"
John tried to roll, to escape, but the mentor was relentless. His movements were fluid, effortless, each strike delivered with cold, surgical precision designed to break, not just injure. John's head snapped back from a vicious open-palmed strike, his nose exploding with pain as warm blood gushed down his face. He tasted iron. He tried to push himself up, to fight back, but his body wouldn't obey. His Chi, which had felt so potent moments ago, now seemed to refuse to respond, locked away by the sheer trauma and the overwhelming presence of his mentor's power.
The world tilted. He could feel his ribs protesting, one or more likely cracked. His vision swam. He dimly registered a final, brutal kick to his side, and then he was on the ground, a crumpled heap of pain and broken bones, the taste of blood thick in his mouth. The mentor stood over him, breathing heavily, but his stance was straight.
With a heavy breath, the mentor's voice cut through the ringing in John's ears, strained but firm. "You passed. Next month will be your last assessment." With that, the mentor turned and walked away. His movements, though still controlled, betrayed a subtle stiffness, a tell-tale sign that John's earlier, well-placed strikes had indeed found their mark.
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