Dominic did not touch the monster core again that day.
He could feel it through the pack like a dull weight pressing against his spine. Not calling. Not resisting. Just present. The restraint took effort, but he welcomed that. Control mattered more than speed.
They moved through the city's outer districts as the afternoon dragged on. These streets were wider, cleaner. Stone replaced mud. People wore better clothes and carried themselves with a kind of practiced arrogance.
Cultivators.
Dominic recognized them immediately.
They walked differently. Their posture was loose, confident. Their breathing steady. Even when idle, they radiated a quiet pressure that made others give way without thinking.
Lysa noticed his attention. "Do not stare," she murmured.
"I am learning," Dominic replied.
They reached a small open square surrounded by low buildings. A crowd had gathered. Not shouting. Not panicking. Watching.
Dominic slowed.
In the center of the square, two men faced each other.
One wore simple gray robes, sleeves tied back. The other was broader, armored lightly, a short blade in his hand. Both carried themselves with easy familiarity.
A duel.
Not for honor. Not for justice.
For demonstration.
The armored man lunged first, blade flashing toward the robed man's throat.
The robed man stepped aside.
Not fast.
Precise.
The blade missed by a finger's width. The robed man's hand struck the armored man's elbow, not hard, but at the right angle. The arm jerked. The blade clattered to the ground.
The crowd murmured.
The armored man roared and charged barehanded.
The robed man moved again. A step. A turn. A strike to the ribs. Another to the knee. Each blow landed cleanly. Each blow sounded dull, final.
The armored man collapsed, gasping.
The robed man stepped back and bowed slightly to the crowd.
No one applauded.
They had seen this before.
Dominic felt something click into place.
It was not strength.
It was structure.
He replayed the movements in his mind. The spacing. The timing. The way the robed man never overextended. Never wasted motion.
Technique.
The robed man had not used visible cultivation energy. No flashes. No pressure waves. Just bone and muscle guided by understanding.
Dominic exhaled slowly.
This was what he needed.
Lysa tugged his sleeve. "We should go. Watching too closely draws attention."
"Yes," Dominic said. "But one more moment."
The robed man turned, scanning the crowd. His eyes passed over Dominic and paused.
Just for a breath.
Dominic met his gaze and did not look away.
The robed man's expression did not change. He turned and walked off.
The crowd dispersed soon after.
They moved on.
Dominic's mind worked continuously, reconstructing what he had seen. He mimicked the movements in his head, adjusting for his injured body. He noted where pain would interfere and where it could be used instead.
Pain taught limits.
Limits taught efficiency.
They reached a quiet alley and stopped. Dominic braced himself against a wall and tested a slow movement with his arm. A shallow strike. Controlled.
It hurt.
But it worked.
Behind his eyes, the system presence surfaced faintly.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Combat observation logged
Technique assimilation: Conceptual
Physical execution: Limited
Limited was acceptable.
"Do you know him," Lysa asked.
"No."
"Then why did he look at you."
"Because I was not watching to be entertained," Dominic replied. "I was watching to understand."
She frowned. "You think that matters."
"Yes."
They found shelter for the night in a partially collapsed storage building near the square. Dominic chose the location deliberately. Close enough to cultivators to observe. Far enough to avoid notice.
As darkness settled, Dominic practiced quietly.
Not strikes.
Positions.
Angles.
Balance.
He shifted his weight, adjusted his footing, tested how far he could rotate his torso before pain spiked. He memorized the threshold and stayed just inside it.
Lysa watched him for a while, then looked away. "You are planning to fight Iron Fang."
"Yes."
"With that body."
"Yes."
She shook her head. "You will die."
"Not if I learn faster than they expect."
He sat down heavily after an hour, breath shallow but controlled. Sweat dampened his skin despite the cool air.
He had not grown stronger.
But he had grown sharper.
The system presence returned again, slightly clearer.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Skill acquisition pathway identified
Method: Observation based learning
Efficiency modifier: Low
Long term viability: High
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
Low efficiency meant slow progress.
High viability meant survival.
He preferred that trade.
As the city quieted, distant sounds of conflict echoed faintly. Shouts. Metal striking metal. A scream cut short.
Iron Fang still worked.
Dominic lay back against the stone and stared at the ceiling.
He thought of the boy taken in the courtyard. Of the man dragged away. Of the way the robed cultivator had ended the fight without rage or hesitation.
Power was not loud.
It was precise.
And it was built on bones, not promises.
When he finally slept, his dreams were not of victory.
They were of movement.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
Again.
He would not waste another lesson this world offered.
Because the next time he fought, it would not be to survive.
It would be to win.