The training ground fell silent. Blood trickled down Zhenya's arm, each drop striking the stage with an echoing splash that seemed to grow louder in the suffocating quiet. The gathered children held their breath, their eyes fixed on the bizarre scene before them—a young man standing perfectly still with a blade through his arm, his face showing no trace of pain.
Xinyi's grip on his sword hilt tightened, uncertainty creeping into his expression. He had expected screams, tears, or at least a flinch. But this? This eerie calm unsettled him more than any reaction could have.
So he pulled out his sword and put some distance between himself and Zhenya; he kept his eyes peeled on Zhenya, but even after he had put some distance between them,. He just stood there, not moving an inch, as the blood kept trickling down his arm.
Xinyi just scoffed, "What was I scared off? He's just acting tough. Like what's the point of doing all this when you've basically already lost?" he muttered.
The people in the crowd found that it made sense, especially the ones of the main family; they knew that Xinyi was talented and a hard worker. It was already impressive for Zhenya to last this long.
Xinyi turned toward the crowd; seeing them getting rowdier made him feel good. "It won't take much longer; I'll finish it with my next move," he declared, a grin appearing on his face.
All the children in the crowd started cheering loudly, most in support of Xinyi's declaration but some also trying to get Zhenya to wake up or just do anything.
The little boy's fingers dug into his palms, knuckles white and trembling. "Wake up, Zhenya!" he screamed, his voice cracking. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he blinked them back fiercely.
Beside him, his friends huddled close, their shoulders pressed together. Jin, the tallest among them, unconsciously reached out and gripped the smaller boy's shoulder. His own hands shook slightly, betraying the fear he was trying to hide behind a mask of determination.
They remembered the winter five years ago when they had shared their bread with Zhenya after his parents died. How he'd sat quietly in the corner of their home, grief etched into his face, yet still finding the strength to keep going. The memory flickered in their minds like a fragile flame.
Now, seeing him stand motionless with a bloody wound on his arm, they felt a raw, helpless ache. This was their friend. Their brother in all but blood. And they could do nothing but watch and scream.
Xinyi had already turned around and taken an offensive stance again; crouching a little and gripping his sword tightly, he stared at Zhenya, who was still just standing there with his eyes closed.
A sharp shake of his head was enough to clear away the stray thoughts; forcing his attention back to Zhenya, he charged straight at Zhenya, aiming his sword at Zhenya's right leg.
Then Zhenya finally opened his eyes, and with a blank expression on his face, he easily evaded Xinyi's strike; his movements were erratic and unpredictable.
The crowd collectively inhaled as Zhenya moved, if "moved" was even the right word. His movements were so random it looked as if he was drunk and just stumbling around, but he kept dodging Xinyi's attacks with ease.
His sword cleaved through empty air where Zhenya had just been, his momentum carrying forward with an uncontrollable stumble.
A murmur rippled through the gathered children. Something had changed. The Zhenya who had been standing motionless, impaled and bleeding moments ago, now moved with an almost liquid grace that defied explanation. His eyes, previously shut tight, now looked forward blankly as if it wasn't Zhenya that was controlling his body but some ancient deity.
Xinyi recovered quickly, spinning on his heel with the practiced precision of someone who had trained since childhood. But each time he lunged, Zhenya was already gone, sliding just beyond reach with movements that seemed to defy the normal laws of motion.
The sword wound on his arm? Forgotten. The blood? No longer trickling. Zhenya had transformed from a seemingly beaten opponent to something else entirely, something that made even the most confident spectators fall silent.
Xinyi stood opposite Zhenya, exhausted, huffing and puffing. "What is happening!" he shouted, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Jia Fu also looked at Zhenya, intrigued; he could sense Zhenya had gained some kind of enlightenment, but he had no idea what kind or even who taught him that.
What he did have were some suspicions. "Should be from the tomb, but to grasp it this fast is still impressive. Even if he loses this, I'll just send him to the Azure Cloud Sect immediately after. I don't want to risk anything happening to him," he mumbled as his eyes shifted from the sparring arena to a VIP seat where the supreme elder sat.
Meeting Jia Fu's gaze, he smiled, then turned his eyes back to the duel. Jia Fu could only sigh, "If only he was not so hell-bent on having Xinyi become patriarch, the clan could have flourished with so much young talent." muttering that Jia Fu also refocused his attention on the duel, he could not let any accidents happen.
Zhenya stood at the edge of the platform and Xinyi in the middle, still trying to catch his breath after his previous attack.
"Zhenya! Answer me!" He shouted, "What the hell is happening with you?"
But Zhenya just stood there on the edge, quietly, his eyes blank, a stoic expression on his face. But then something unexpected happened: Zhenya had stepped off the sparring platform.
The whole crowd fell silent, confusion spreading throughout.
"What? Why did he just leave?" a child shouted.
"He must have been afraid of Xinyi," another child declared.
The whole crowd became louder and louder, people everywhere shouting their own theories. The most common one, however, was that Zhenya felt like he couldn't win and decided to just give up.
Xinyi, however, was both baffled and relieved. 'What was that movement technique, and why did he not attack?' shaking his head, he expelled his thoughts and turned around to look at his grandfather.
A big smile appearing on his face, he had done it.