The sight of the Young Master shaking his hand in pain, his face a mask of stunned confusion, was the most beautiful thing Aarav had seen since... well, ever. It was even better than winning that last online argument.
Feng's confusion quickly curdled into pure, unadulterated rage. His face flushed a spectacular shade of puce. "You… you dare use some demonic trick on me?! I'll wipe that smirk off your face!"
What followed was less a cultivation battle and more a toddler's tantrum against a mountain.
Feng unleashed a flurry of attacks. He kicked at Aarav's shins. Thud. The impact was hollow, and Feng hopped back, clutching his foot. He threw a punch at his stomach. Smack. The same faint golden hexagon shimmered, and Feng's knuckles came away red and swollen.
"Agh! You vile worm!" Feng shrieked, stepping back and forming a series of hand seals. The air around his hands shimmered with heat. "Eat this! [Flaming Sparrow Technique]!"
A small, poorly defined bird made of flickering orange flames shot from his palms and slammed directly into Aarav's chest. There was a faint fwoomp, a puff of smoke, and then nothing. The flame sparrow dissipated as if it had never existed. A single, tiny black smudge marred Aarav's t-shirt.
Aarav looked down at the smudge. He sighed, a long-suffering sound of profound disappointment. He reached up and began to meticulously brush imaginary dust off his now-tattered shirt.
"Are you quite done?" Aarav asked, his voice flat. "My grandmother hit harder, and she's been dead for six years. Rest her soul, but it's true."
Feng's lackeys, who had been cheering him on moments before, had fallen silent, their eyes wide.
"All that glowing, all that shouting," Aarav continued, tilting his head. "Is this the famous 'cultivation' I've heard so much about? Because from where I'm standing, it looks more like interpretive dance. A very bad, very angry one. Did you learn that flourish from a peacock? It's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Feng was left panting, sweat pouring down his face. His robes were disheveled, his fists were a mess, and his ego wasn't just shattered—it had been pulverized, mixed with water, and used to make a truly pathetic mud pie. The sheer, infuriating nonchalance of his target was a weapon far more effective than any technique.
"You… you…" Feng sputtered, his body trembling with humiliation and fury. There was only one thing left. The final resort. With a scream of rage, he reached to his waist and drew a sword.
The blade was beautiful, gleaming with a cold, blue light. Intricate patterns swirled along its length, and it hummed with palpable energy. This was no ordinary weapon; this was a spirit sword.
"I will end you!" Feng shrieked, channeling every last drop of his Qi into the blade. It flared with a blinding, azure light, the hum rising to a high-pitched whine. "DIE!"
He lunged forward, the point of the spirit sword aimed directly at Aarav's heart. The attack was faster, stronger, more focused than anything before. It was a killing blow.
Aarav's eyes widened. The Kavach would probably stop it, but old instincts died hard. On pure reflex, he yanked the simple, unadorned wooden bow from his back. It felt… ordinary. Dumb. He couldn't nock an arrow—there weren't any. So he just held it up in front of him like a clumsy staff, a pathetic shield against a magical blade.
Feng's face was a rictus of triumphant hatred. He could already picture this infuriating mortal split in two.
The blazing spirit sword struck the simple wood of the bow.
CLAAAAANG!
The sound wasn't of wood splitting. It was the sound of a church bell being struck by a meteorite—a deafening, metallic shriek of utter defeat.
The spirit sword didn't cut. It didn't even scratch the bow. Instead, the second the energized blade touched the unassuming wood, the sword's own immense energy rebounded upon itself catastrophically.
The beautiful blade exploded. It shattered into a thousand, glittering pieces of lifeless metal that rained down around them like sad, blue confetti.
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
The humming was gone. The only sound was the gentle rustle of the shimmering leaves and Feng's ragged, disbelieving breaths.
Feng stood frozen, staring dumbly at the plain, wooden hilt still clutched in his hand. His prized spirit sword, a treasure his father had gifted him, was gone. Reduced to scraps. And the thing that had destroyed it… was a piece of firewood this mortal was holding.
His brain, already battered by the impossibility of an unkillable mortal, short-circuited completely. The sheer, unfathomable absurdity of it all finally broke him. This wasn't a demonic trick. This was something else. Something ancient, something terrifyingly powerful masquerading as a weakling.
Fear, cold and absolute, washed over him, extinguishing the last embers of his rage. His eyes met Aarav's—those eyes that held not fear, not triumph, but only a kind of bored, analytical curiosity.
With a strangled gasp that was half sob, half scream, Young Master Feng turned on his heel and fled. He didn't look back. He just ran, scrambling up the path away from the glowing pond as if all the demons of hell were on his heels.
His lackeys, after a moment of stunned paralysis, scrambled after him, their faces pale with terror. Within seconds, Aarav was alone.
The silence returned, now profound.
Aarav slowly lowered the bow. He turned it over in his hands, examining it. Not a scratch. Not a splinter. It was just a bow.
"Well," he said to himself, a slow, sly grin spreading across his face. He looked at the retreating figures, then down at the shards of the spirit sword littering the grass. "This is an interesting development."
He knelt and picked up a piece of the broken blade. It was cool to the touch now, its magic gone. It was just a pretty piece of metal.
"Unbreakable body," he mused, tapping the shard against his palm. "A stick that breaks magic swords without even trying… and I can't get hurt." He tossed the metal fragment away. "This… this has potential."
A plan, audacious and born entirely from his brilliantly sarcastic mind, began to form. This world operated on rules of strength and face. He had just demonstrated a strength so absolute it was incomprehensible. Time to leverage that.
He slung the bow back over his shoulder and straightened his tattered shirt.
"Right then," Aarav said, brushing off his hands. "Time to see what other 'gifts' this world has for me. And maybe," he added with a sigh, his stomach rumbling, "find some decent vegetarian food. I've had enough drama for one day."