Thick like jelly; round like snowball, was Grisla’s first thought. The boy straddled over to him in a speed that, Grisla could only say, was slow. Even for a martial artist. Upon meeting, only one of them held eye contact. The other stared into the distance for a period of which Grisla could only describe as: “Eternity.” He knew who this was though.

With a light bow, fist in palm, “Nice to see you, Han.”

Han blinked back to reality and offered him a light grin. “I can smell it.”

  “I’m sorry?”

“Come on, don’t tell me you can’t. It’s obvious look that way.” Han pointed to a direction, which, to Grisla’s understanding was the same wall he stared into before.

In confusion mixed with his cordial nature, he did as asked. Trying to imitate the same seriousness Han carried. But… “I’m lost.” Grisla said.

“Not only are you Untalented,” He rolled his eyes, “but dense as well? That’s a double-whammy I didn’t expect. Focus yourself, young one. You’re not just staring at that wall. You’re staring through it. To the pavilion behind it, and the bridge behind that, over the hill and to where my quarters is.”

  Was that Han or the Elder who had just spoke?

He stared—with intensity. Long enough that he figured if it didn’t work before, surely it wouldn’t work now. Another idea worked though, “Ahh, I see it now.”

Han’s eyes widened. “You do, don’t you? Yep, that’s exactly how I looked. Even better… can you smell it?”

  Huh?

“My smell isn’t as good as yours brother Han. I’m taking a tickle but missing the whole.”

Han shook his head. “Ah, how pitiful. What a sad creature you were born as. It makes me want to cry, to rage against your fate brother Grisla. I will enlighten you,” Han said. “You see a bed,”

  Grisla nodded strangely.

  “You see a drape.”

  Grisla nodded.

  “You see the incense burner.”

Still unsure of where this was going, he nodded.

 “And now… with a fresh shipment of Everbloom, the newest burn on the sticks produces a fragrance only the divine could compare with. Lulling you into a dream that’ll restore your strength and bring about a true paradise on earth! Anything you desire, fulfilled. And it has been calling me, young one.” Han’s grim face turned. “It has been calling. Every second I waste here is hours of it in there. Understand? I appreciate my luck, to be paired up against the Untalented means it’s an express ticket back to my wonderland! My pillows and grapes will wait no longer! Prepare yourself, Untalented! For my martial prowess sits in whispers and myth, feel honored at your dog’s luck finally bearing some fruit.” He winked at Grisla.

  Tch! This guy is something else.

As they squared off, Grisla knew despite his boasting—Han did have some capital. Although spiritual strength and cultivation were not to be shown during this exercise, it was a spar of technique, not of raw power, however experience still trumped at the end of the day. Han, with his cultivation sitting at the sixth cycle had made it so he had a better return on his practice from Heaven shatters; Earth quakes.

The two got into their stances, one who was firm in it, the other who mirrored but lackadaisical. The Elder hadn’t given the order to start and yet, Grisha’s heart felt as if it supported the world.

  This’ll be the second time my fist art is tested…

His father’s words still hadn’t washed off him, he noticed.

Elder Jinshi stood at his platform equivalent to an eagle’s perch. When he was satisfied by the stillness, he shouted:

  “Begin.”

---

A stab of pain shot from his side as Grisla rolled across the dirt. He couldn’t begin to pick himself up before a fleshy hammer descended on him. After he had dodged the second, he used the moment to catch his breath. He felt as if he were in a fight with the dirt more than Han himself.

Arms crossed; Han said, “Hoh ho. Not bad, young one.”

Grisla frowned.

  He’s faster than his shape gives credit for.

Cultivation also carries over into bodily improvement. More flexible muscles, better reactions, stronger and faster attacks and movement. It was clear—even without any Juva powering him, he could quite easily kill Grisla. And the same for everyone else here. If Elder Jinshi permitted handicaps, he could last a longer second in an assault if he summoned up his scant Juva for assistance.

In observation, this friendly spar between the youth means nothing. But nobody would be stupid enough to believe that. Especially since Elder Jinshi watched with curiosity between certain pairings. Sometimes a brow would lower or raise. Other times an imperceptible nod would pass. A hint of approval would mean the chances of being chosen as a disciple went from being a fantastical dream, to being more like a fuzzy picture. Better resources and teachers to access, increasing your strength and increasing the clan’s.

Talent was all.

He had that pounded in with two more punches on him—gut and chin, respectively. When Han came close to unleash another wave, Grisla ducked and dodged and came close for a counterattack. He missed, by a large margin. Han smiled as he created the distance.

  “Brother Grisla, could you do me a favor and stay down on my next pass? I can almost taste the wine.” Han said.

  “I cannot.”

  Han, moderately exasperated, said, “Stop wasting our time with this piddling dance! If I were to go all out, you’d fold like a cracker! Do this brother a solid and take a fall for me, mmkay? It would be beneath me to injure someone such as you.”

  Grisla shook his head. “To concede before it is time is a tragedy. I am not your match, I know that. But what do I care? This practice will assist in my training, and I will take the opportunity.”

  “Profoundness’s worth squat if you have no backing. Fine, have it your way.” Han’s smile dropped. “We’ll both be taught a lesson today.”

Although his aura was restrained, Grisla felt a rising ferocity within the bubble of lard. A martial artist’s will is more than just the spiritual power Han emitted. The stance—the stare—a resolve to win, to end Grisla. The reasons for fighting vary between every artist and vary by fight. He knew there was no way to take a decisive victory over Han, it was impossible, lest he did something unbecoming of himself. But… as he reassumed his stance, there were decisive victories, and then there were small victories.

Grisla only needed one.

Han took the initiative again and this time there was no doubt about his effort—every blow seemed to come from one direction and then it’s opposite. Dirt and lonely blades of grass were pulled up in their melee. A blow struck Grisla’s shoulder and threw his aim wide, forcing him to retreat unless he desired to be knocked unconscious. Han denied this attempt, cutting him off in a display of speed. Grisla’s world was rolling as he did; headfirst and blurred delayed his defense on Han’s pursuit.

He had thoughts about the rest of his limbs, if his fist art was this powerful, how good was it when combined with his legs? Did he even combine the two or did he specialize in their clan’s fist art only? He formulated the second question after being punched for pondering the first.

Grisla’s retaliation wasn’t too shabby—for a first cycle. Among those of his own cultivation even he had the confidence to stand blows or triumph. But who would he find at the age of fifteen at the same level as him? His equivalent opponent would be a child sitting at eleven at best, eight at worst. The only card laid before him was to not shame himself to death beating up on children was to get beat up on by his peers. The latter of which felt as if it was the former choice versus him.

Shaking off a blow, in a jut of fury he threw his retaliatory strikes: blocked, blocked, dodged and parried with a return punch to his open chest. To say that breathing was a struggle would be an understatement, every strike was like an elephant had slapped him. Which was why he was keeping himself on the defensive, if he opened himself up it would only take Han a moment to end him. His earlier mistakes were layering up on one another, and the pain reverberated through his bones, begging him to concede.

“Forfeit!” Han said as he struck Grisla, this time it wasn’t just a glancing blow but a landed hit that sent Grisla reeling. “Otherwise… don’t blame me!”

Han came in with double the speed he had before, reminding Grisla he still had restraint after all. Grisla supposed Han wanted to end it in one strike. Good, because they shared the same line of thinking.

Grisla watched Han nearly vanish before him. His speed was beyond his cultivation level to track, so catching him was effectively impossible at this point. Grisla’s body knew the danger before he did, with every alert a human had going at full blast inside. If he didn’t escape this—he would be the one in bed longer than Han would be.

  All faith that this works…

Earth shatters; Heaven quakes, is a technique most suited for martial arts beginners and those lacking in any sort of fist art. However from what most clan members knew, it was not a technique most advanced martial artists used exclusively past a certain point, a fact that was grossly true as even their own teacher and Elder, Jinshi had once used and learned the technique, but when he was done he had passed it to the side for other techniques.

Reason being was blatantly clear: the strikes were powerful, but wide. Energetic, but careless. Elder Jinshi in a lecture a week prior had noted this drawback of the technique, stating that it offered clear fundamentals of how to throw a fist and fight with it, but the art had never delved into the nuance of finesse. Empowered by Juva it made for an art that compensated in its lackluster points with enormous power. But, without Juva…

Grisla grinned, then threw his whole torso to the side. As he leaned his foot stuck out wide like a thorn. And all he had to do, was let Han do it to himself.

Han’s crippling strike was an unmerciful thing thrown. However it struck nothing but air, and with that momentum he carried brought him to Grisla’s boot like a fly to skin. A pathetic tumble and whine came out, and everyone stopped what they were doing to turn.

  “Marvelous,” Grisla whispered to himself.

When the students turned, saw Han picking himself out of a mess of filth he landed to, and Grisla with an innocent-but-not face, they couldn’t help but think they were needing an eye check and Elder Jinshi looked on with confusion, something said that he desired to speak, but there was nothing pressing for it.

With Han picking himself up, Grisla prepared himself for another round. Until—

  “You! How dare you! I asked nicely!” Han said.

  “Huh? Oh, apologies. Lowly Grisla wanted to test his simple might against one such as yourself, but…” He smiled awkwardly, “I had no idea you would take a fall for me, how thoughtful of you.”

Han looked at the crowd looking at him, each pair of eyes having a fair share of amusement poured in. With his cultivation he could hear every word spoken even if they tried to whisper; before long, their perplexity had folded over into boisterous laughter.

Grisla’s sense of foreboding had screamed at him. As he watched Han stare death at him, he knew of what’s to come next. Regret would be an understatement. “Brother Han…” He said.

“Brother your sister! Thank your good fortune, Grisla! Seems like you’ll be sleeping long before I do!” A sleeping beast had awoken. Han’s aura flared like the meeting of lava and water. His cultivation of a sixth cycle at the Juva Solidification stage threw its weight over Grisla. Fast, fast he is, faster than Grisla expected as he crossed a distance, which took him ten seconds to do was done in four. Barreling out with a fist which showed his true power with the Earth shatters; Heaven quakes.

  This is bad!

Grisla knew as well as anyone: if he took an unrestrained hit it would be his blessing to not be crippled afterwards. The chasm was too large to wield a confident defense. A trick he had earlier wouldn’t be enough. It would be holding a shield to a cyclone and anything pulled, if it worked, would just convince Han to kill him for real.

Honor be damned—there’s no meaning if he’s dead, Grisla thought. Backpedaling to the outer ring had him be shoved towards his danger, not away. There was no escaping, he surmised. He drew from the well and forced his Juva to shield as much of the incoming damage as it could for an attempt is better than none.

  “Prepare yourself!” Han said he threw a fist, and—

  “Prepare nothing, you fool.” Elder Jinshi said underneath the crack of a fist meeting a solid wall of a palm.

Leaving Grisla, even with his dried fortune, to figure at least something still lurked at the bottom.