The third elder stepped forward.
He was leaner than the others, his face narrow, his smile thin and cruel. Unlike his companions, he did not roar or waste his breath on anger. He simply cracked his knuckles and studied Shen Hao with a predator's patience.
His voice was low, measured.
"You rely too much on your strength. Let's see how you fare against precision."
He didn't charge.
Instead, his feet slid lightly across the dirt, almost without sound, and his hands traced subtle, fluid motions in the air. Symbols flickered around his wrists, faint, shifting, hard to track.
Mo Han's voice echoed inside Shen Hao's mind, calm but alert:
"Formation arts. He seeks to bind your movement."
Lingfeng (grinning):
"Oh, finally! Someone bringing a puzzle instead of a hammer."
Shen Hao's smile tilted. "Let him try."
The elder snapped his hands forward.
A dozen thin lines of glowing Qi burst from the ground, snapping upright like bars of a cage. They closed in around Shen Hao, forming a square prison, humming with power.
The elder's eyes gleamed. "Let's see you slip away from this."
The villagers gasped. Many had seen these cages before. Once trapped, a man's Qi would drain away, body locked, spirit crushed.
Shen Hao glanced at the glowing bars.
He reached out with one finger.
Tapped.
The entire cage shattered like glass struck by a hammer.
The elder froze, his face draining of color.
Before he could react, Shen Hao stepped forward once, closing the distance in less than a breath. He appeared in front of the elder, close enough to touch.
Shen Hao leaned down slightly, speaking almost kindly:
"Precision is only useful… if your opponent can't see every stitch of your thread."
The elder tried to retreat, but Shen Hao's palm pressed lightly against his chest.
A pulse.
Not violent. Not flashy. Just controlled power, released in perfect measure.
The elder's body convulsed, his knees buckling. His symbols fizzled and died. His breath left him in a single ragged cough.
He collapsed onto his back, eyes wide, staring at the night sky, his body unable to move.
Three down.
The last elder's jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened.
Shen Hao turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting the final elder's.
"Your turn."
The last elder did not rush.
He stood tall, broader than the others, his shoulders heavy with years of training. A scar ran across his cheek, and his hands were thick, calloused like stone. His silence weighed heavier than all the shouting that had come before.
He removed the iron rings from his wrists, letting them drop to the ground with a dull clang. The dirt trembled slightly beneath the weight.
Then he rolled his shoulders and spoke in a deep, steady voice.
"I've buried men stronger than you."
The villagers shuddered. They knew this elder. He was not just a bully or a brute. He had killed here before.
Mo Han (in Shen Hao's mind, calm but firm):
"Be wary. His strength lies in discipline. He will not waste his movements."
Lingfeng (snorting):
"Big man. Big words. Big fall incoming."
Shen Hao only gave a small smile and adjusted the cuff of his robe.
"Alright. Show me."
The elder lowered his stance, fists tightening. His aura surged outward, heavy, dense, like a wall pressing down on the chest of everyone present.
Then he charged.
The ground cracked under his steps. His fist flew forward like a hammer.
BOOOOM!
Shen Hao caught it with one hand.
But this time, unlike before, the ground beneath his feet split.
The villagers gasped. The first time tonight, Shen Hao's footing shifted.
The elder's eyes gleamed. He pressed harder, his other fist swinging around. Shen Hao twisted away, but the blow brushed his shoulder, sending a shock through the air.
A solid hit.
Lingfeng (surprised):
"Ohhh, he actually landed something. This one's not completely useless."
The elder didn't let up. His fists moved in brutal rhythm, no wasted swings, no wild slashes, just pure, crushing power. Every strike came with the weight of years, with the certainty of a man who had ended countless lives with his hands.
Shen Hao gave ground slowly, stepping back, weaving, blocking just enough to avoid the worst of the blows.
For the villagers, it looked as though the tide had shifted. For the first time, someone was forcing him back.
Dust rose. The clang of fist against palm echoed like iron on iron.
Then. Shen Hao exhaled, his eyes sharpening.
"Not bad."
His hand snapped forward, faster than before, catching the elder's wrist mid-swing. He twisted, pulling the larger man off-balance, and drove his knee upward into the elder's ribs.
CRACK!
The elder grunted but didn't fall. He slammed his forehead forward like a ram. Shen Hao tilted his head, the strike grazing his ear, and answered with a sharp elbow to the jaw.
The fight grew close, violent, no space for tricks. Two bodies clashing in raw strength and precision.
Finally, Shen Hao's voice cut through the noise, steady and final:
"You endure well. But you're still looking up at a mountain you can't climb."
His palm rose.
A surge of Qi burst from it, not wide, not chaotic, but focused like a spear.
It struck the elder square in the chest.
The man was lifted from his feet, slammed into the ground with a thunder that shook the courtyard. Dust exploded outward.
When it settled, the elder lay on his back, coughing, his chest heaving, unable to rise.
Four elders.
All down.
Shen Hao stood, unshaken, brushing the dust from his sleeve.
And across the courtyard, Vurek finally lifted his eyes.
The courtyard had fallen silent.
Four elders, men the villagers had feared for generations, now lay broken in the dirt. Some groaned weakly, others lay too stunned to move, their pride shattered along with their bones.
The villagers who watched from doorways and rooftops could hardly believe it. Whispers rippled through the air.
"He dropped them all…"
"Not even Vurek could do it so quickly…"
"Is this real? Are we dreaming?"
Shen Hao didn't gloat. He didn't roar or taunt. He simply exhaled, the faintest mist of breath curling in the night air, and lowered his hand. His posture was calm, controlled, as though he had done nothing more than swat away dust.
Inside him, Lingfeng chuckled.
"That's four stones cleared from the path. Only the boulder remains."
Mo Han's voice was quieter, more cautious.
"Do not mistake silence for safety. The real test begins now."
The villagers began edging forward, some daring to peek at the defeated elders sprawled across the ground. Hope flickered in their eyes, fragile, like a candle in the wind.
And yet none of them dared to speak too loudly. Not while he still sat there.
At the far end of the courtyard, Vurek remained in his chair, his body still, his chin resting against his hand. The firelight from the braziers cast sharp shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.
Only his eyes moved, fixed on Shen Hao, unblinking.
The silence grew heavier with each passing breath. Even the wind outside seemed to still, as though the night itself waited for him to rise.
One of the villagers trembled and whispered, barely audible:
"If the four elders fell… what will Vurek do?"
Shen Hao turned his head slightly toward the voice, then back again, his gaze steady on the man who had yet to stand. His knuckles flexed once, a small sound breaking the quiet like a spark in dry grass.
Vurek's fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair. Slow. Measured. Each strike like a drumbeat echoing in the villagers' chests.
Finally, he shifted.
The wood creaked as he rose to his feet.
He did not rush. He did not roar. He simply stood, and yet in that simple act, the entire courtyard seemed to shrink.
The villagers flinched as though the air itself had thickened. Children ducked behind their mothers. Even the defeated elders turned their heads toward him, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
For years, they had only known one truth: when Vurek moved, someone died.
Now, all eyes turned to Shen Hao.
Would this stranger, this calm man who had walked into their suffering, still stand firm?
Shen Hao lifted his chin slightly, meeting Vurek's gaze without a flicker of doubt.
The night had finally reached its edge.