“And the next bout will be between… XIE MO AND CHANG HENG! Give them a round of applause!” the referee-announcer began.

  “On one side, we have Xie Mo, descendant of Elder Xie San and the brightest star of the Black Fist Sect! He is the only participant in the young age of twelve, a natural talent for Cultivation with just two months of training on his back, a talent only surpassed by the unrivalled mastery he has shown of the [Black Fist] Technique, an incredibly powerful weapon that only the greatest forces of our city can rival!”

  The boy he called had no eyes for the announcer, instead looking at his grandmother, as if waiting for instructions.

  “On the other side of the Colosseo and ready for the challenge, you can see Chang Heng, the newest Cultivator of the renowned Chang Clan! He may be the oldest member of today’s fights, at sixteen years of age, but he has already proved that he has quite the hunger for a win! If this wasn’t enough, rumours say he has been trained by the great Chang Jian! Will he show us the same level of skill his cousin possesses?”

  Why is it always about him?!

  If the crowd at first seemed doubtful of him, by the end of the speech they looked at Chang Heng with expectation, as if he had some secret weapon to unleash. Which, he could honestly say, he didn’t have. Not that he’d share it publicly, as the possibility of him having one could be leveraged to the same level as actually having one. At least his cousin said so, he had no proof that it wasn’t all some kind of scheme of his.

  The two boys reached the fighting grounds of the arena. The referee waited there, and after they saluted him- once again, the redhead bowing in an incredibly improper way- he gave them a start and rushed away to give space.

  Chang Heng had the first chance to finally take a good look at Xie Mo.

  The boy, or more appropriately, kid, was shorter than him, but it wasn’t clear if he was naturally small or had yet to develop; his head was shaved to the point he looked bald, and his face was… soft, in a sense. With big eyes, a small nose, and puffy cheeks, he seemed even younger than he actually was, while his expression carried a pressure that only those older usually wore.

  As the match started, both of them acted the same way as in their previous matches, one taking a defensive stance, the other rushing aggressively to attack, confident in his offensive power.

  After crossing half the distance, the bald boy accelerated in an instant, reaching absurd speeds. Once again, his first, simple hit easily reached his opponent's face.

  It was the same exact set of movements the kid did during his first match. Chang Heng couldn’t say that he predicted it, but seeing that instant acceleration gave him a clear idea of what was going to happen, and the response was the most effective he could think of: Take a small step back. His teacher had made it clear, dodging was superior to parrying the vast majority of the time, and to taking a hit to the face all the time.

  In its simplicity, all he ended up receiving was a gentle touch on his chin.

  Xie Mo seemed stiff for a moment, as if surprised by his reaction, then resumed moving, almost mechanically. He closed the distance again, and again tried for a simple straight, the redhead stepping back the same way. And again and again, as if theirs was not a fight but a game of tag instead.

  It could only keep going for so long before the kid's expression grew annoyed, his shaved eyebrows twitching, and he stopped his relentless attacks.

  He spat on the side, Chang Heng not noticing the reddish colour of it, before reading his right fist by his side. His expression switched into one of focus, and energies started to move. The redhead could barely see them flowing in his body, the blood vessels of his arm getting slightly darker the closer they were to the hand, and when they reached it, the air around it seemed to lose some of its colours.

  It was the [Black Fist] Technique, the one that worried him so much.

  The process took a bit over a second of stillness, which showed why the kid was so annoyed at not landing that stunning hit first: even between mortals, a whole second of waiting meant the opponent had all the time they needed to get out of the way, or even strike first.

  This specific opponent, instead, used those free couple of seconds to gather Qi from the air, not absorbing it, but instead keeping it concentrated, under control, and ready to be used when his own was consumed.

  When those seconds ended, the boys stared at each other. Both of them could see the determination in the other’s eyes, and the desperation that hid under it. But despite their understanding, the fight resumed once again.

  Xie Mo closed the distance, left arm on the offensive, right by his side, waiting and ready to destroy, but it was forced to keep waiting more and more instead of acting. As Chang Heng kept dodging and backing away, the blackened veins slowly grew in number, as did the ominous aura around the fist.

  He is fast, the speed granted by his Movement Technique is absurd, but it’s not made for shorter, precise moves, only to get in range! For as long as I keep my timing right and step back at the end of it, he can’t reach me!

  “Stop… running away! Just fight like you should!”

  Chang Heng, despite the danger he was in, felt a smile tug at his lips. It was one he had lots of experience with, one made just to provoke a certain reaction from a certain someone.

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  This kid… in the end, he is not even two years older than my little Xia.

  “Make me, kiddo! I’m not listening if a dumb shortie tells me what to do! I could dance around you like a monkey, and you still wouldn’t catch me, ‘cause you are one!”

  The bald kid stopped once again. This time, his face was at first weirded out, looking his opponent up and down. But then something seemed to just click inside of him.

  “That’s actually a good idea. Thanks for the tip, broth- I mean, Senior!”

  Even as he blushed at his slip, he accelerated again, his hand moving forward, this time open. The redhead was ready for a palm strike, like the many he had received in the last fight, but instead, as it came close to his chest, it closed and stopped.

  It was holding his clothes tight.

  As soon as he noticed it, the smug expression withered away into one of shock and fear. He tried to go as far back as possible, rip them if needed, but they were… too high quality. They didn’t tear. As the punch finally advanced, certain to hit, all he could do was cross his arms in front of himself, like the many times he did during his training.

  [Black Fist]!

  [Three Layers Defence]!

  His block slowed down the incoming attack, sure, but it wasn’t enough, far from it, as he felt more than saw it pushing his arms back into his chest with enough strength to throw him in the air. And just like the many times he did during his training, he slammed on the ground one, two times before sliding a couple more feet.

  His chest hurt. His arms hurt. His back, his side, even his face hurt.

  But he had experienced such pains many times over in the last two weeks, and even more simply from being alive. Pushed by his worry for a follow-up more than will, he instantly forced himself to rise on his feet, standing straight, ready for Xie Mo to press the attack.

  Chang Heng was hurt, but his opponent looked to be in almost the same level of pain. His right knuckles were reddened, but he wasn’t focusing on them, holding a hand on his side instead.

  It doesn’t make any sense. Why his side? Neither I nor his previous opponent hit him there, so why is he hurting?

  No answer came to his mind, so he used the time he had to better understand his situation.

  The bouncing and rolling didn’t cause much damage, but my ribs and forearms won’t be able to take too many hits like this and not ending up broken. Even now, my arms feel so damn sore! He tried opening and closing his hands, finding them stiff. How many more can I take if I use even more energy for my defence?

  In one day, he could use the technique just about ten times, but that was if he didn’t expend Stamina on anything else; in just these two fights, he had had to run enough to shave off a couple of uses already, maybe more. And he had to keep part of his Stamina safe for the incoming fights.

  Three. I can use a fully-powered [Three Layers Defence] three more times against this Heavens-blessed kid. I get that he had a good offensive technique, but he hits harder than someone in the middle of our stage, not like a beginner at all!

  Despite being distracted by the pain, Xie Mo still managed to get his weapon ready, fist closed by his side one more time.

  Their game of tag began for the third time, even faster than before, the kid rushing without restraint, certain of his opponent’s fear, who abandoned any semblance of pride to keep himself out of reach, out of the way, out of danger, consuming his Qi to evade with terrified dashes. Any mistake could cost him the fight, and even if he still managed to secure a victory, the damage from a straight hit would cost him the next. He couldn’t risk it.

  So he dodged, dashed away, rolled like a playing child, sidestepped with desperation and fled unlike any proper warrior; pride had no point there, not with everything at stake.

  The minutes passed, the kid’s hand and forearm slowly growing darker and darker, the air around it losing bits upon bits of colour, his brows furrowing. But the more aggressive he grew, the more the redhead evaded him. He accelerated, changed his pace, recklessly dashed in, but nothing he did awarded him with a clear hit.

  Ten minutes. Chang Heng was getting a hold of the rhythm.

  Fifteen minutes. Xie Mo started sweating.

  Twenty-five minutes. Xie Mo stopped using his movement technique, and Chang Heng slipped into a deeper state of focus.

  Thirty-three minutes, his movements started switching from the chaos of a terrified prey to the controlled evasion of a human fighter.

  Step back, then to the side. Remove your arm from his reach. Now your chest. Increase the distance by a foot, no, two. Duck. He stumbled, dash back. He used his movement technique! Move to the right, faster with Qi, roll, get back up with a feint…

  It didn’t matter if his opponent changed tactics, suddenly used a different technique, or abandoned any plans for defending himself, he still managed to always slip out of reach, be one, small step ahead, barely enough, but always enough.

  His plan, this time, was working, pushing his opponent to his resistance’s limits. At that point, he was ready to start attacking back. There were no more tricks to see, he had taken the time to understand his opponent’s skills and habits, and his Stamina was holding nicely despite his lowering reserves of Qi.

  He was finally putting in practice Chang Jian’s obsessive teachings. He was starting to understand his enemy.

  His eyes were bloodshot, open for far too long, looking for the perfect opportunity.

  At the forty-two minutes mark, he found it, as Xie Mo had overextended his left arm trying to catch his sleeve, leaving that side exposed.

  NOW! GO FOR-

  A random pain in his leg flared. It was no different from those he had felt and ignored his whole life, but in that moment, it was enough to completely break him out of focus. Instead of exchanging their roles of attacker and defender, he just… stumbled, and stood rooted in place.

  His mind went blank.

  The kid looked just as surprised, but he didn’t hesitate, not even for an instant, before throwing his most powerful [Black Fist] ever.

  The hit connected.