The atmosphere in the South District Combat Gym had curdled from mockery into something far more volatile. Lance Sharp, the once-arrogant "Lightning Sword," looked as if he were about to physically disintegrate into tears. There was no trace left of the overbearing, sharp-tongued roommate who had spent weeks belittling Alex Silvester.
Ever since that single, bone-shattering punch had reduced him to this pathetic state, his true nature—one of fragility and cowardice—had been laid bare for the entire class to see. The spectacle drew a collective wave of disgust from his peers. In a world where power was everything, weakness was a social sin, but whining was even worse.
Instructor Marcus Thorne stepped onto the blood-stained mat, his shadow looming over the sobbing Lance. He checked the boy's injuries with a clinical, detached efficiency.
"Lance, shut up," Thorne said, his voice dropping like an iron shutter. "Your injuries are minor—a broken nose and a bruised ego fall well within the range of normal training incidents. You aren't dying." He looked toward the bleachers and pointed at two students. "You two. Take him to the infirmary before he floods the gym with snot."
But Lance was beyond reason. He clutched his face, his voice muffled and hysterical. "Teacher, he didn't hold back! You saw it! Alex Silvester used this to settle a grudge! He's a thug, a monster! This matter cannot just end like this! Look at my face!"
Thorne's face darkened with displeasure. It was the first day of the semester, and he was already dealing with a student who lacked the basic "Martial Heart" required to survive the Professional path. He took a slow, deep breath. "Lance, what exactly do you want me to do?"
Lance's eyes glinted with a pathetic, venomous hope. "Expel him! Strip him of his status! A Martial Artist who attacks his classmates like this has no right to be in a university!"
The gym went silent. Even the students who hated Alex looked at Lance as if he had lost his mind. To ask for expulsion over a training spar was more than just petty; it was a sign of a broken spirit. Thorne's gaze turned cold. "Lance, if you insist on making a scene and wasting my class time with this drivel, do not blame me for being impolite."
The Two-Headed Serpent
As the orderlies dragged the wailing Lance toward the exit, a new tension began to vibrate in the air. Leo Miller and Gavin Cole exchanged a sharp, predatory look. Gavin, the "Long-Range Shot" specialist, adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses to hide his eyes.
"Go together?" Gavin whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
Leo Miller, the massive "Hercules," nodded his head, his neck muscles bulging like coiled snakes. "The teacher is clearly biased toward the fossil. If Thorne won't discipline him, we will."
Without waiting for permission, the two of them vaulted onto the platform simultaneously. The wood groaned under their combined weight. Below the stage, Wang Hou let out a cry of frantic alarm.
"Leo! Gavin! What are you doing?" Wang Hou's voice cracked. "Two of you fighting Alex alone? Have you no shame? Alex, hang on! I'm coming to help!"
Wang Hou made a move to rush the stage, but a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, pinning him to the spot. "Shut up, kid," a student from the bleachers hissed. "Just sit back and watch the show. The trash needs to be taken out."
On the platform, Alex Silvester didn't move. He stood with his hands at his sides, his expression as calm as a still lake. Gavin Cole stood to his left, light on his feet, while Leo Miller stood to his right, a mountain of brute force.
"Alex," Gavin began, his tone dripping with a faux-intellectual condescension. "You got lucky with a sneak attack on Lance. But if you think these little tricks will serve you in a real battle, you're mistaken. You're teaching yourself bad habits that will get you killed in a Rift. We're here to give you a reality check."
Leo Miller added a layer of cold sarcasm. "Trash is trash, Silvester. If you don't dare to fight head-on, you resort to crooked schemes. A Martial Artist is just a commoner who hits things; you're destined to never amount to anything."
Alex smiled—a thin, dangerous line. "Did you two climb up here just to recite a script? If so, save your breath. Don't bother looking for excuses for a two-on-one. Just come at me."
The students below the stage gasped. The audacity was staggering. This was an E-rank student—a "fossil"—challenging two students of the Second Professional Realm (Bone Tempering). On paper, they crushed him by an entire major Realm of power.
Alex tilted his head, his eyes locking onto Leo. "Leo, Gavin... don't say I'm bullying you. I'll give you three moves. You strike first, and I won't even fight back."
The insult was total. The gym was so quiet that the dripping of a leaky faucet in the locker room sounded like a drumbeat.
"You arrogant little brat!" Leo roared, his face turning a dark, mottled purple. "I'll break every bone in your body!"
The Impact of the Mud Embryo
CRACK-POP.
Leo and Gavin began to crack their joints, their spiritual auras flaring. Leo was the first to ignite his power.
"STRONGMAN!" he bellowed.
It was the signature burst of the [ Hercules ] class. Before everyone's eyes, Leo's physique expanded. His training tunic strained against his shoulders, the seams popping, and his skin took on a dull, metallic sheen. His aura surged, the air around him shimmering with the heat of his mana.
"My god!" a student shouted. "Leo's burst is reaching the Third Realm of combat power! Alex is dead! He's actually going to be beaten into a pulp!"
Instructor Thorne's fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He was prepared to jump in the millisecond a killing blow was launched. But he stayed his hand. He needed to know where Alex's bottomless confidence came from. Was it madness? Or was it something else?
"Alex Silvester, don't you dare dodge!" Leo charged. He moved like a freight train, his boots cracking the wooden floorboards of the stage. He wasn't just punching; he was throwing his entire three-hundred-pound frame into a collision.
Alex smiled. He didn't move back. He didn't even shift his center of gravity. He simply bent his legs slightly, grounded himself into the earth, and gathered every ounce of the Mud Embryo 22nd Stage density into his right fist.
The air around Alex's fist seemed to warp. It wasn't mana; it was pure, condensed kinetic potential.
BOOM!
The collision sounded like a cannon firing in a tunnel. Alex's fist met Leo's charging chest with a violent, sonic boom that rattled the windows of the entire third floor.
"Alex, you're shameless!" Leo managed to roar mid-impact. "You said you'd give us three moves!"
"Naive," Alex's voice was a cold rasp through the shockwave. "All is fair in war."
The Shrimp and the Dragon
The explosion was so loud that students from Ordinary Classes 10 through 12 abandoned their lessons and crowded the doorways of Class 9.
"What happened?"
"Is that a gas leak? An explosion?"
"No... look! Class 9 is having a death-match!"
On the stage, the dust settled. Alex Silvester was standing in the exact same spot. His right hand was slightly red, and a faint numbness traveled up his arm. "That actually hurt a bit," he muttered, shaking his hand out. He looked genuinely annoyed by the slight discomfort.
The crowd looked at the floor.
Leo Miller—the C-rank Hercules, the "King" of the second realm—was lying three meters away. He was curled up on the boards like a boiled shrimp, his entire body trembling. His "Strongman" aura had been snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane.
Blergh!
Leo coughed, and a large mouthful of bile and stomach acid splashed onto the mat. He couldn't even draw enough breath to scream.
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. The students were frozen, their minds unable to process the data. A Second-Realm Bone Tempering professional had been knocked flat by a First-Realm "trash" class. A Martial Artist's fist had beaten the stomach acid out of a Hercules.
Alex looked at his reddened fist, then at the terrified Gavin Cole, who was still standing on the left side of the stage.
"That was one move," Alex said, his eyes turning toward Gavin. "You're next."