Chapter 13 Trials and Tribulations

[Sails like white gulls, boats like shuttles; how many people have come and gone since ancient times.]

[Third Year of High School (Second Semester), January: The Blood and Sand of Ningzhou]

[Carrying a new alloy combat saber on your back, you set out on a journey of wandering.]

[Taking a ferry, you arrived at your destination along the Changhe waterway.]

[Your first stop was the trading hub of Jiangnan Province—Ningzhou. It was a place of mixed characters, and behind the bustling port lay the province's largest underground black market boxing arena—the "Asura Cage."]

[Using the alias "Lone Wolf," you stepped into that iron cage filled with the smell of blood and the sound of roars.]

[The First Battle]

[Your opponent was a Qi and Blood Seventh Stage Martial Artist nicknamed "The Ripper."]

[He specialized in Eagle Claw Kung Fu, wearing clawed gloves made of refined steel, his eyes cruel and frenzied.]

["Kid, are you weaned yet?" The Ripper licked his claws, trying to provoke you.]

[You said nothing, only silently drawing your saber.]

[The moment the battle began, The Ripper pounced like a mad dog.]

[His speed was incredibly fast, his claws tearing through the air, aimed straight for your throat.]

[But in your eyes, he was full of openings.]

["Too slow."]

[You sidestepped, and that claw brushed past the tip of your nose.]

[Then, without using any fancy Moves, you simply struck out with the back of your blade in an unadorned manner.]

[Strength surged forth.]

["Crack!" Accompanied by the crisp sound of bone fracturing, The Ripper's wrist twisted at a bizarre angle.]

[Before he could even scream, the side of your blade slapped against his temple, knocking him unconscious on the spot.]

[The entire arena fell silent for a second, followed by an overwhelming eruption of cheers and insults.]

[However, standing in the center of the ring, you shook your head.]

[An opponent who relied solely on brute force and ruthlessness couldn't give you any pressure at all, let alone temper your saber techniques.]

[You raised your saber, pointing it at the person in charge high up in the stands, your voice hoarse: "Next. I want someone stronger."]

[The Second Battle]

[Perhaps your arrogance had provoked the organizers, for ten minutes later, the cage door opened again.]

[This time, a middle-aged man who wasn't very tall—even somewhat hunched—walked in.]

[He wore an old, faded training uniform and carried a strangely styled hooked reverse-grip saber.]

[Upon seeing this man, the previously noisy audience suddenly fell silent, and some even gasped in shock.]

["It's 'Ghost Blade' Old Seven! He's a real killer; they say he once killed three mercenaries of the same rank in the wilderness just to snatch a herb!"]

["This kid is finished. Old Seven's saber techniques are all underhanded tricks, specifically targeting the lower body."]

[Ghost Blade Old Seven entered the cage, his murky triangular eyes sizing you up before he suddenly sneered: "Looks like a greenhorn. Even with the mask, that scholarly air and righteous scent of yours can be smelled from ten meters away."]

["A student from a prestigious school, I bet? What, do you think this place is a playground for you to pad your resume?"]

[You didn't retort, merely lowering your center of gravity slightly, your combat saber pointing diagonally at the ground. You felt an unprecedented sense of threat from this man—a coldness like being stared at by a venomous snake.]

["Since you're here, leave something behind." Old Seven stopped wasting words, gripping his saber in a reverse hold and darting forward close to the ground like a ghost.]

[Too fast! And the angle was incredibly tricky!]

[He didn't charge straight for your vitals like "The Ripper." Instead, he used a bizarre footwork, constantly shifting positions as he moved. Just when you thought he was attacking from the left, his blade, like a venomous fang, slashed up toward your thigh from the bottom right without warning.]

["Clang!"]

[Relying on the instincts of your Great Accomplishment Saber Technique, you narrowly managed to block with a vertical saber.]

[However, the moment the blades collided, a sinister curve formed at the corners of Old Seven's mouth.]

[A change in Move!]

[His reverse-grip saber actually used the reaction force from the collision to spin half a circle in his palm like a windmill. The blade that had been blocked instantly bypassed your defense and stabbed straight into your ribs!]

["Not good!"]

[Your pupils constricted.]

[Unavoidable!]

["Since I can't dodge, I'll trade injury for injury!"]

[At that moment, the ruthlessness granted by "Hardworking and Enduring" exploded. Instead of panicking, you advanced rather than retreated, allowing that reverse-grip saber to pierce your left ribs!]

["Puchi!" Blood splattered.]

[Old Seven clearly hadn't expected you to be so ruthless; in that split second of daze, his movement showed a microscopic pause.]

[Ignoring the intense pain, your right-hand combat saber slashed upward.]

[With a sudden jerk of your wrist, the saber's light traced a grim semi-circle, heading straight for his throat.]

[Old Seven turned pale with fright and tried to pull back his saber to defend.]

[But it was already too late.]

["Shua!"]

[A fine head soared into the sky.]

[Three Moves decided life and death.]

[Old Seven's headless corpse swayed twice before collapsing at your feet, blood geysering out.]

[And you, clutching the wound in your ribs, knelt on one knee, gasping for air.]

[After a brief moment of dead silence, the arena erupted in a roar loud enough to lift the roof.]

[Though the exchange lasted only three Moves, every second had been a dance on the line between life and death.]

[If you had hesitated for even a moment, it would be you lying on the ground now.]

[You shook off the blood droplets from your blade and slowly sheathed your combat saber.]

[Ignoring those crazed gamblers, you clutched your bleeding wound and staggered out of the iron cage.]

[In the dim and damp fighters' lounge, only a rusty fan creaked.]

[Sitting on a cold, hard bench, you gritted your teeth and tore open the clothes around your wound.]

[You cleaned the mangled flesh with alcohol.]

[The intense pain stimulated your nerves but also made your mind clearer than ever before.]

[Closing your eyes, the scene of that life-and-death moment replayed continuously in your mind.]

[The so-called martial combat was essentially that simple—gambit, probing, and counter-attacking.]

[It was like playing a game of chess against someone.]

[Everything you did was merely maintaining absolute rationality amidst high-intensity confrontation.]

[Using the minimum cost to test for errors, patiently waiting for the opponent to reveal a flaw.]

[Or using bait to actively create an opening for the opponent to make a mistake.]

[Once a flaw was detected, there was no hesitation—just a single decisive strike to win.]

[To put it bluntly, it was nothing more than a combination of physical attributes, muscle memory, and combat experience.]

[Having realized this,]

[You no longer obsessed over the "form" and "intent" of Moves; you only pursued three metrics: faster, more precise, and more efficient.]

[The days of wandering were very monotonous.]

[During this time, Wu Changhe would call your communicator every month without fail.]

[On the other end, Old Wu's voice would always shift from angry roars to helpless sighs.]

["You stubborn mule, you're not dead yet, are you? If not, come back soon..."]

[You would always listen calmly, give a brief report of your safety, and then hang up.]

[You resumed your old habit, swinging ten thousand times a day, seeking only to carve the saber Moves into your body until they became instinct.]

[To enhance your understanding of the human body, you bought a medical mannequin and a thick stack of "Human Anatomy Atlases."]

[By day, like a butcher, you studied the texture of muscles, the gaps between bones, and the paths of major arteries.]

[Until you could locate the thirty-six fatal acupoints and fragile joint connections on a human body even with your eyes closed.]

[By night, the tedious saber swings began again.]

[But this time, you weren't swinging to familiarize yourself with Move routines.]

[Every strike was a mental simulation of the angle needed to slit an enemy's throat.]

[Simulating how to most quickly withdraw the blade after it got stuck in a bone gap.]

[You carved "slaughter" into your body, making it your instinct.]

[As time passed, your saber skills continued to improve.]

[At this point, beneath your blade, there were no more Moves, only life and death.]