"Earth-Rank, Initial-Level Martial Skill – Tyrant Fist!"
"Earth-Rank, Initial-Level Martial Skill – Wind Devouring Palm!"
With a roar, Lü Zhan and Xing Jue unleashed their attacks. A blinding golden fist the size of a boulder collided with a swirling vortex of golden energy.
"Incredible!" Gasps of awe and wonder rippled through the arena. Even the elders, veterans of countless battles, leaned forward in their seats, their eyes wide with anticipation. They had never witnessed such powerful Martial Skills before, not from disciples so young.
But instead of the earth-shattering boom everyone had been expecting, a high-pitched screeching sound filled the air as the two attacks met. They didn't explode on impact - instead, they seemed to be locked in a deadly embrace, a battle of pure energy that crackled and hissed as it threatened to tear the very fabric of reality apart.
Both young men gritted their teeth, pouring every ounce of their remaining Chi into their attacks. The golden light surrounding their fists grew brighter, more intense, the very air around them distorting under the immense pressure.
Up on the Patriarchs' platform, Elder Feng Jizi suddenly sat up straight, his eyes narrowing as he studied Xing Jue's technique. "That… that boy… " he murmured, his voice a low growl. "That's…"
"Elder? What is it?" the Xing Clan Instructor asked, his voice tight with concern as he watched Xing Jue's struggle.
"That's the Wind Devouring Palm," Elder Feng Jizi said, his voice dangerously soft. "Our Wind Devouring Palm."
A cold dread settled in the pit of the Instructor's stomach. He knew what this meant. The Wind Devouring Palm was a closely guarded secret of the Yu Feng Pavilion, one of their most powerful techniques. It was forbidden for outsiders to learn it—the punishment for stealing their techniques was swift and brutal.
Down in the arena, the screeching sound intensified, grating on their nerves. Lü Zhan, his face flushed with effort, was clearly reaching his limit. The strain on Xing Jue was visible as well, but he… he seemed to be holding his own.
Then, slowly at first, the balance began to shift. Xing Jue's palm began to push forward.
"Elder? What do we do?" Lü Bu, the Lü Clan Patriarch, asked, his voice strained. Lü Zhan might be Elder Feng Jizi's disciple now, but he was still a Lü, and his loss would be a devastating blow to their clan's prestige.
"Patience," Elder Feng Jizi said, his eyes cold and hard as he watched the struggle below. "That brat is strong, I'll give him that, but he won't be able to maintain this for long. I'll intervene at the last moment and put an end to this farce."
"But Elder," Xing Tian, the Xing Clan Patriarch, protested, a hint of unease in his voice, "wouldn't that be… improper?"
"Improper?" Elder Feng Jizi rounded on him, his eyes blazing with fury. "That brat stole from us! From the Yu Feng Pavilion! And you dare lecture me about propriety? This concerns the Xing Clan as well, you know. We'll settle this later."
Xing Tian fell silent, his face pale.
On the platform, Xing Jue pressed his advantage, driving his palm forward with a final burst of strength. Lü Zhan, his face contorted with effort, could only watch in despair as defeat loomed.
"Lü Zhan, yield," Xing Jue said, his voice strained but clear. He didn't want to humiliate Lü Zhan, didn't want to hurt him any more than he had to.
"Yield?" Lü Zhan gasped, his pride rebellion even as his body screamed in protest. "I don't… I don't… yield."
Xing Jue sighed. There was a certain stubbornness, a fierce determination in Lü Zhan that he couldn't help but admire. It reminded him of himself, once.
"Very well, then," Xing Jue said, and poured everything he had left into his attack.
But before his palm could connect, a thunderous roar shook the entire arena.
Xing Jue's world exploded in pain as he was sent flying backwards. He crashed heavily to the ground, a scream trapped in his throat as blood sprayed from his lips.
Standing in his place, his face a mask of cold fury, was Elder Feng Jizi.
"Master?" Lü Zhan stared at his teacher in confusion. "What?"
"Silence," Elder Feng Jizi snapped, his voice razor-sharp.
Lü Zhan fell silent, his face pale. The entire arena was dead silent, stunned into silence by the sudden, brutal turn of events. What had just happened?
Xing Jue slowly got to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. He was injured, badly injured, but his gaze, fixed on Elder Feng Jizi, was steady, unwavering.
"You…" he said, his voice hoarse but filled with icy rage. "You attacked me… from behind? Why?" He had been prepared to lose, to accept defeat… but a cowardly attack, a betrayal like this…?
"You dare question me, boy?" Elder Feng Jizi boomed, his voice echoing through the silent arena. "I'll ask you again, and this time, choose your words carefully. Who. Taught you the Wind Devouring Palm? Tell me… or face the consequences."
The Xing Clan Instructor turned to his Patriarch, his face pale. "Patriarch, we can't… we can't just stand here and let this… "
Xing Tian shook his head, his face a mask of helplessness. "What can we do, Instructor? He is an Elder of the Yu Feng Pavilion! And a High-Rank Martial Ancestor… he could destroy our entire clan with a wave of his hand. " He looked at Xing Jue, his expression a mixture of pity and resignation. "The boy should never have stolen from them. He brought this on himself."
Xing Jue laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, and spat blood onto the ground. So that was it; the truth finally revealed. He had been a fool.
"You want to know who taught me?" he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You want to know his name? You don't deserve to utter it!"
Elder Feng Jizi froze, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"You… you insolent brat! You dare defy me?"
"What are you waiting for?" Xing Jue said, tilting his chin up, a challenge in his eyes. "Kill me. But I'll never tell you a thing!"
"So be it!" Elder Feng Jizi roared.
He raised his hand, and a wave of pure, unadulterated killing intent washed over the arena, smothering every sound, every breath.
Xing Jue closed his eyes. It was over.
And then… nothing.
He opened his eyes.
The killing intent was gone.
Elder Feng Jizi stood frozen, his hand still raised, his face contorted with… fear?
A voice, old and powerful, echoed through the sudden silence, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a voice that sent shivers down their spines and made their hearts pound in their chests.
"You will not touch him."
The arena held its breath.
"He is my disciple, old friend."
And with those words, a figure materialized in front of Xing Jue, bathed in light.