Under the cold moonlight, the Martial Training Grounds glimmered as if coated in mercury.
Several figures stood on the rooftop of the Martial Hall.
Yang Dongxiong stood at the forefront, gazing at the furious young man below.
The youth gritted his teeth, his face twisted in anger, yet Yang did not stop this spectacle.
Nearby, an apprentice was dragged along to explain the backstory, his forehead drenched in sweat, trembling with fear.
"I'm going over!"
Liang Qu abruptly broke free from the hold of two others and returned to the center of the grounds at the call of his name.
The moonlight cast sharp shadows on his face, creating a play of light and darkness.
His high nose bridge cast a shadow over one eye, leaving the other tranquil and expressionless.
Ten steps apart, two groups stood in opposition.
On one side, Liang Qu stood alone, against a group of seven.
The moon and lantern light pierced the night, illuminating their confrontation.
Liang Qu stood tall, like a drawn sword, capturing everyone's attention.
“That pretentious guy, such a show-off,” Lu Tingcai’s anger boiled over, especially as he noticed the admiring gazes of nearby female apprentices.
Furious, he grabbed a wooden stick from the nearby weapon rack.
The Martial Hall allowed sparring and had a rack of weapons, but only wooden sticks were available to prevent any real harm among the hot-blooded youths.
Lu Tingcai turned, “A newcomer? I’ll handle him myself. Let’s teach him some respect.”
The group nodded in agreement; it seemed reasonable to them.
After all, seven pitted against one would be humiliating.
Lu Tingcai spun the stick in his hand, snickered coldly, and stepped forward menacingly, like a looming mountain.
Standing nearly six feet tall, he towered over the yet-to-fully-develop Liang Qu.
His size added to his intimidating aura as he closed the distance.
Behind Liang Qu, Li Libo and Chen Jiechang swallowed their fear, helpless as Liang Qu ignored their calls.
Lu Tingcai strolled closer, every step echoing in the tense air.
At three paces, he sneered, stomping the ground, launching himself like an arrow.
Power surged from the ground as Lu Tingcai muscle-tightened, his entire being coiled like a spring, transferring force from his left foot to his right hand and finally to the thick stick.
He raised the wooden club high, aiming for Liang Qu's head, the stick whistling ominously through the air.
Impatient to see blood and triumph, driven by rage, this attack was beyond his usual capability, surpassing his expectations.
Watching his foe frozen like a log, he felt the rush of brutal thrill.
Liang Qu remained calm until the dark shadow of the stick neared.
Then, he took a step forward, snatching Lu Tingcai’s wrist, twisting it down.
With significant strength, he effortlessly disarmed Lu Tingcai, following with a swift slap that sent him sprawling to the ground.
Silence descended, so profound that even the distant wind could be heard.
In the blink of an eye, the duel ended.
Too quick, too ruthless — no one saw Liang Qu’s move.
Behind him, Li Libo and Chen Jiechang’s jaws dropped, as though something lodged in their throats.
Crickets resumed their call.
Moonlight fell on Lu Tingcai, pale under its icy chill.
His wrist throbbed, face in disbelief, still unclear on what had just happened.
"What just happened? Was that really a slap I felt?"
In an instant, veins pulsed on Lu Tingcai’s forehead, bulging furiously as he sprung up, fists swinging.
Liang Qu’s stick struck his forearm, diverting the punch, followed by a crisp slap.
The spectators finally comprehended, stunned in silence.
Sitting dazed on the ground, Lu Tingcai was overwhelmed by a shame he couldn’t express, panting like a wounded beast, still intent on attacking.
Liang Qu, however, denied him any chance.
Stepping forward, he swung the stick across, catching Lu Tingcai on the cheek.
Blood spurted as he rolled over, face numbed, uncertain if he’d lost a row of teeth.
Liang Qu glanced down at the scattered teeth, stepping forward.
“Don’t come closer!” Lu Tingcai shrieked, holding his face in terror. “Quick, get him!”
At that moment, the dazed six finally acted, rushing forward.
Liang Qu raised his stick again, ready to exact the same measure on the opposing group.
However, shouted threats echoed, forcing him to pivot, leveraging his left knee to power the swing, the stick slicing through the air in a deadly arc.
Xue Dingyi took the blow to his chin, coughed blood, and collapsed, face contorted.
Others around him hurriedly retreated, wary of the aggressive onslaught.
From another direction, a stout, short brute growled, swinging his stick toward Liang Qu’s shoulder, but was gripped by an overpowering dread that disrupted his rhythm.
Liang Qu stepped forward, deflecting the assault with his stick before feeling a violent force reverberate through his arm.
Resisting the upheaval, he withdrew, switched the stick's angle, striking the assailant’s core.
Winded and wobbling, his opponent stumbled to the ground.
The remaining trio howled their charge, sticks raining down.
Too many, too rapid.
Liang Qu deflected two, while a third cracked against his head.
His skull throbbed like a struck bell, blood trickling from nose and mouth.
Recovering briefly, he pivoted, booting away an adversary and swinging again; the blow landed squarely, shattering ribs.
The number of foes was overwhelming, those fallen rejoined the fray, brandishing sticks anew.
The training grounds devolved into chaos, catching everyone off guard, leaving all who watched dumbstruck.
Bloodied sticks, grimaces, taut muscles, and the shining moon, the flicker of candlelight, the cold determined gaze, and stars twinkling in the night sky.
One by one, figures lunged forward; the stick struck Liang Qu repeatedly, but he seemed numb to the pain, driving bodily to thrash his opponents aside.
Lu Tingcai and his comrades grew slower, their attacks less forceful as Liang Qu’s wrath burned.
His stick swung to split them in two.
Blood-soaked expression twisting in the chill night into something horrific.
Someone tossed the stick, hefting a bluestone instead, only to be caught mid-attempt and flung aside, shattered by sheer force.
The stick splintered; Liang Qu lunged, clutching someone’s waist, smashing them into the earth, blood spraying from their face on impact.
The crumbling stick struck his back.
Ignoring the hurt, he spun, grasping another stick, slamming it with such force that the opponent’s ribs snapped.
The momentum stopped abruptly; no one else stood upright.
Lowering his gaze, Liang Qu saw nothing but a ground littered with blood and broken teeth.
Blood dripped from the stick’s end.
Half-kneeling, surrounded by moaning youths, Liang Qu worked his jaw, coughed blood, and cleared his throat, finally able to breathe freely.
"Sigh."
Taking a deep breath, Liang Qu leaned on the stick to steady himself, wavering but standing proudly in the middle of the field.
Li Libo and Chen Jiechang were speechless, awestruck.
The apprentices on the sidelines fell into an eerie silence.
Gently exhaling, Liang Qu’s fatigue and pain couldn’t be masked.
Seven against one was too taxing.
Moreover...
Raising his head, Liang Qu spotted the figures under the moonlit roof.
With his Fusion Rate nearing fifty, he could manipulate blood, but lacked finesse for subtle manipulation.
He’d only reversed blood flow once, on a stout brute, wary of being watched from above.
“Lu Tingcai, Xue Dingyi, Yu Weilong, Xiang Quji, you seven won't need to come to the Martial Hall anymore!”
With the dust settled, several figures leaped down from the rooftop, their resounding voice filling the grounds.
The leading old man approached Liang Qu, his tone unreadable.
“Your name’s Liang Qu, right?”
“Yes.”
Leaning his head, Liang Qu smiled wearily.
“Would you like to be my apprentice?”
(End of Chapter)