Echoes of Legends
The disorientation of spatial transit faded, leaving Yao Xuan standing on a floor of seamless, pale white. The space stretched into a featureless horizon, devoid of sky, sun, or shadow—a blank canvas awaiting the brushstroke of combat. The air hummed with a sterile, anticipatory energy.
'A dedicated simulation chamber. The Tang Sect's technology is indeed a step beyond the Spirit Ascension Platform's environmental builds. This is pure combat focus.'
A mechanical voice, genderless and precise, echoed around him.
<"Tester confirmed. Name: Yao Xuan. Age: Ten. Soul Power: Rank 23, Great Soul Master. Martial Soul: Dragon? (No precise match in database). Classification: Power-Attack System. Initial Trial: Medium Difficulty. First Round Objective: Endure for thirty seconds.">
'Endure? An interesting choice of word.' Yao Xuan's lips curved into a faint, focused smile. It suggested the opponent would be on the offensive from the start. His blood energy stirred quietly, the second layer of circulation a dormant sun within him. 'Who will it be?'
Light coalesced opposite him. A figure resolved—tall, broad-shouldered, radiating a palpable, domineering physicality even in stillness. Blond hair, a powerfully built frame, and most striking, eyes that glowed with a deep, fierce blue, hinting at a double-pupiled, bestial intensity.
'Dai Mubai. The White Tiger. One of the founding Shrek Seven Monsters.' Yao Xuan's transmigrator's knowledge provided the name and a flood of context: peerless talent, ferocious strength, a soul of unwavering loyalty and pride. The system was matching him against a legend of the power-attack type. A thrill, clean and sharp, ran through him. This was a measure against history itself.
<"Battle begins.">
The illusion's eyes snapped open. Its aura exploded.
A pale white light erupted from its feet, racing upwards. Muscles bulged, fibers rewriting themselves in real-time. Hair morphed from gold to a wild, dominant mix of black and white. A stark, king character (王) blazed on its forehead. Its hands expanded, becoming massive paws sheathed in white fur and tipped with claws like polished daggers. Two brilliant yellow soul rings rose behind it, and the air grew heavy with predatory pressure.
Yao Xuan moved simultaneously. There was no flamboyant transformation. He simply pushed off the ground, activating the Ancestral Dragon Shattering Void Step. Spatial power whispered around his feet, and he became a blur, a nine-colored streak closing the distance with terrifying efficiency. He didn't activate a soul skill. He wanted to feel the legend's foundation, to measure his refined physique against the famed White Tiger's might.
Across from him, the Dai Mubai illusion met his charge without hesitation. It didn't roar. It simply shot forward, its movement a testament to explosive power rather than ethereal grace. Its right paw drew back, the gleaming claws leaving faint, tearing marks in the simulated air itself.
Mid-air, they converged.
Yao Xuan's right arm, though not fully transformed, was sheathed in faintly shimmering dragon scales. He executed a simple, devastating straight punch, channeling the monstrous 15,000 kilograms of force honed by his intermediate Ancestral Dragon Body—a force amplified further by the inherent might of his martial soul.
The White Tiger illusion's claw met it in a diagonal slash, aiming to tear through the fist and find the heart. Its technique was brutally efficient, born of instinct and countless real battles.
BOOM!
The collision was a concussive detonation of pure physical force. A visible shockwave, distorting the pale light of the arena, rippled outwards.
Yao Xuan felt the impact travel up his arm—a solid, jarring force that spoke of tremendous density and power. 'Strong! For a two-ringed Soul Grandmaster, this physical strength is top-tier, maybe 4,000 kilograms. Impressive.'
But impressive was not enough.
Against Yao Xuan's overwhelming, dragon-forged might, the illusion's claw strike was halted dead. The terrifying claws scraped against his scaled fist with a shriek of metal on stone, failing to pierce. Then, Yao Xuan's force, relentless and supreme, plowed through.
The White Tiger illusion's arm was violently forced backwards. Its entire body shuddered, destabilized by the raw power differential. It was driven back two full meters, its feet skidding against the white floor.
In that moment of imbalance, Yao Xuan pressed. His left hand shot out, not with a punch, but an open-palmed thrust aimed at the illusion's center of mass, a move designed to disrupt and control rather than obliterate. He was here to endure the thirty seconds, but also to learn the rhythm of this legendary fighter.
The illusion, displaying impeccable combat instincts, twisted its torso in mid-air, accepting the shove to its shoulder to spin away and create distance. It landed in a low crouch, its four pupils fixed on Yao Xuan with renewed, calculating intensity. The initial exchange had told it this was no ordinary opponent.
The mechanical voice was a silent tick in Yao Xuan's mind. He didn't wait. He advanced again, this time with purpose. The White Tiger illusion rose to meet him, its movements becoming more fluid, more adaptive. It began to utilize its superior reach and those devastating claws in clever feints and rapid, slashing combinations, forcing Yao Xuan to deflect and weave.
Yao Xuan responded not with brute force alone, but with the heightened spatial awareness from his Shattering Void Step. He weaved through claw strikes that could shred steel, his movements economical and precise. He parried a downward smash with his forearm, the scales absorbing the shock, and countered with a sharp jab to the illusion's ribs, feeling the simulated solidity of its form.
'His fighting style is direct, aggressive, but not reckless. Every move is centered on maximizing his physical advantages. There's a predator's intelligence here.'
As the seconds ticked down—15, 20—the battle settled into a brutal, captivating dance. The White Tiger illusion, pushed beyond its data parameters by Yao Xuan's abnormal strength, began to improvise. It used feints more cleverly, tried to grapple, to use its weight. Yao Xuan respected the challenge. He met strength with greater strength, technique with refined instinct, occasionally allowing a claw to graze his scales to test their enhanced resilience (they held, leaving only faint white marks).
Almost there. The illusion, as if sensing the timer, gathered itself for a final, desperate lunge. It glowed faintly, the first soul ring flashing—White Tiger's Light Shield? No, it was an amplification of its next attack. It abandoned all defense, becoming a single, concentrated spear of bestial fury aimed at Yao Xuan's chest.
Yao Xuan's eyes narrowed. This was the moment to truly endure. He planted his feet, didn't dodge. He crossed his arms before him, the nine-colored light within his scales glowing brighter. He wouldn't use Chaos Qi, not for this. He would meet legend with the foundation of his own legacy.
CRACK—THUD!
The illusion's full-force strike hammered into his guard. The sound was immense. Yao Xuan's feet slid back a meter, grinding against the floor. A numbing sensation spread through his arms, and his chest compressed briefly. But his stance held. The Ancestral Dragon's defense, layered and profound, did not break.
The force of its own attack left the illusion momentarily overextended, wide open.
The mechanical voice rang out. The White Tiger illusion froze mid-motion, then dissolved into particles of blue light that scattered like fading stars.
Yao Xuan lowered his arms, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. His blood sang with the exhilaration of a clean, hard-fought test. It hadn't required his soul skills or his trump cards, but it had demanded respect, focus, and the full application of his enhanced physique.
'Fifty points for a warm-up. Not bad.' The reward was a pleasant bonus, but the real value was in the calibration. He had measured himself against a distilled echo of one of history's finest brawlers and found his foundation not just solid, but superior.
As the space began to shimmer, preparing the next challenge, a single, unbidden thought flickered through Yao Xuan's mind, swift and warm as a shooting star: 'I wonder how Gu Yue is faring against her own legend.'
The concern was fleeting, instantly folded back into his combat focus. But its presence was a testament to the bond that now ran deeper than any trial, a quiet certainty that somewhere in a similar pale space, a silver dragon was weaving her own dance of victory.