“You wish to test him?” Elder Fa asked.

  “That’s correct. Against one of your third-year junior disciples.”

  The sound of yells and grunts echoed through the vast Martial Hall, accompanied by the familiar stench of sweat and wood oil. Disciples of various ages practiced different forms and sparred against each other throughout the main chamber, their bodies moving in quick, disciplined motions. Most were between the ages of ten and fourteen.

  “I see.” Elder Fa internally pondered the request. Normally, he would have dismissed such a suggestion out of concern for the safety of an ill-prepared combatant, but this time the request had come from someone with greater standing than his own. His eyes drifted away from the cushioned floor of the Martial Hall to the woman who had made the request.

  Ro Akira was a strikingly beautiful, fair-skinned woman with a lithe figure and dark brown hair tied back into a tail that reached her mid-back. She wore green and silver robes, the colors of the Daihu Tribe. Though she appeared to be in her late twenties, Elder Fa knew better. It was her eyes—uniquely grey and hardened from years of battle—that betrayed her true age and experience. One could not meet those eyes without the word “fierce” coming to mind.

  In contrast, Elder Fa bore a full white beard and the wrinkled skin expected of a man in his seventh decade. He wore the same green and silver robes, but with a purple obi around his waist to denote his station as Master of the Martial Hall. Though his presence remained formidable, it was clear he was physically past his prime. Despite their shared realm of cultivation, Akira's strength was greater.

  Elder Fa turned his attention to the youth standing beside her. The boy was only nine, and a quick glance using his third eye confirmed that the child had yet to form his first chakra, as expected. Otherwise, he appeared normal—a shaggy head of dark hair, a soft round face, and robes in the same color as his mother’s. Curiously, the boy’s grey eyes met Elder Fa’s directly, unbothered by standing before one of the tribe’s highest elders.

  “What is his name?”

  “Ro Ishin.” Akira nudged her son forward. “I’ve been training him for the past year myself.”

  Elder Fa arched a brow. “A year of training from the tribe’s First Warrior. Now I am eager to see his ability.” He then asked the boy directly, “Young Master Ishin, do you have any reservations about facing one of my third-year disciples?”

  Ishin shrugged a shoulder. “I have no objections.”

  Ro Akira swiftly smacked the back of her son’s head, eliciting a surprised cry.

  “You’ll address the Elder by title and bow when speaking to him.”

  Ishin rubbed at the back of his head and glared briefly at his mother. Her sharp gaze cut that attitude short.

  “Yes, Mother.” Straightening his posture, he pressed both fists together and bowed. “My apologies, Elder, for not showing the proper respect. I believe myself capable of sparring with one of your disciples.”

  He’s more arrogant than his mother, Elder Fa thought. Despite being the tribe’s strongest warrior, Akira had always shown great respect for tribal customs and the elders since her arrival eight years ago, carrying a newborn in her arms. Like most others, Elder Fa had assumed she behaved so respectfully to be accepted into the tribe. Even after her promotion to Head Warrior, she had remained dutiful and deferential. Her son, however—born and raised among the tribe—seemed to carry himself differently.

  “Very well,” Elder Fa said. He turned to the many disciples practicing across the training hall. “Junior Disciple Jun Wu, step forward!”

  The room fell silent. Disciples paused mid-form, turning their attention toward the far end of the hall. A tall, fit youth of twelve stepped forward, wearing the same robes as Ishin, with the addition of a white obi that marked him as a junior disciple. He bowed respectfully.

  “How may I assist, Elder?”

  Disciple Jun Wu was one of Elder Fa’s most talented students. Over three years of training, he had shown skill in both hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship. Normally, Elder Fa would have selected a less advanced student for a simple assessment—but this was the First Warrior’s son.

  “You will spar against Ro Ishin in a practice match.”

  Jun Wu gave a brief glance toward Ishin, then toward Akira. He clearly understood the significance of Ishin’s parentage.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  “Understood, Elder.”

  “Has he had any weapons training?” Elder Fa asked Akira.

  “He can handle a spear and is competent in unarmed combat.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised, Elder Fa thought. No doubt he’ll join the Falling Star Lodge like his mother.

  “You’ll both wield practice weapons, then. Instructor Ko, fetch a wooden sword and spear.”

  A burly, middle-aged instructor strode to the weapon rack, retrieving two practice weapons. Each had the weight and shape of a real weapon, designed to properly test a disciple’s form and skill. He presented the sword to Jun Wu and the spear to Ishin.

  “The fight will continue until one of you either surrenders or is unable to continue. Permanently injuring your opponent is strictly forbidden.”

  Since neither had formed a chakra, the risk of severe harm was low—but caution was always wise.

  “Understood?”

  “Yes, Elder,” both boys responded.

  “Good. Move ten paces apart and wait for my signal.”

  The two youths took their positions. Jun Wu made two swift practice swings with his sword, his eyes locked on Ishin. In contrast, Ishin lifted and lowered the wooden spear once before stilling his stance. Elder Fa and Akira stepped to the rear of the room, standing at a vantage point between both combatants. Around them, instructors and disciples formed a loose horseshoe, eager to witness the match.

  Elder Fa raised his hand.

  Jun Wu assumed an aggressive stance, sword held level with his eyes and pointed toward Ishin’s chest.

  Ishin held his spear with one hand at the shaft’s midpoint, its tip angled low.

  Elder Fa’s hand dropped.

  “Begin!”

  Jun Wu charged forward with impressive speed. Ishin remained still. When Jun Wu came within striking distance, he lunged, thrusting the wooden sword straight for Ishin’s chest. It was fast—far faster than what most first-time disciples could react to.

  But Ishin had already planned for it.

  He snapped his spear up and struck the incoming blade with its tip, knocking it wide. Elder Fa sighed inwardly. Jun Wu had failed to account for Ishin’s grip at the center of the shaft, which allowed for quicker redirection in close quarters.

  Off-balance from the deflection, Jun Wu stumbled. Ishin immediately stepped forward, gripping the rear of the spear with his free hand. Using the momentum, he drove the butt of the spear into Jun Wu’s forehead. The older boy tumbled backward, his wooden sword flying from his hand as he rolled across the padded mat.

  To his credit, Jun Wu pulled himself to his knees after a few seconds, even with a trickle of blood sliding down his brow. But it was already over—

  Ishin had closed the distance, the spear tip now resting gently against Jun Wu’s chin.

  “Yield,” Ishin commanded.

  Jun Wu clenched his jaw. “I surrender.”

  “The winner is Ro Ishin,” Elder Fa announced.

  A wave of applause and murmurs rippled through the Martial Hall.

  Ishin lowered his weapon and extended a hand toward Jun Wu. The older boy ignored it and stood up on his own. Ishin stepped back and bowed respectfully.

  “Thank you for the match.”

  Jun Wu hesitated, noting the others watching him. Reluctantly, he returned the bow.

  “Thank you for the match.”

  Without another word, he disappeared into the crowd, brushing off any disciples who tried to speak to him.

  “You performed well,” Elder Fa said as he and Akira approached.

  Ishin turned and gave another bow.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Elder.”

  “How soon until he turns ten?” Elder Fa asked Akira.

  “Three weeks. I wanted you to see his ability beforehand to prepare an appropriate training plan.”

  Elder Fa rubbed his beard.

  “I should have something ready by the time he joins.” He looked to Ishin. “Tell me, Young Master—what is your goal?”

  Ishin glanced at his mother, then straightened.

  “I want to become the tribe’s next First Warrior, like my mother.”

  “An honest answer. And one that will serve the tribe in the future.” Elder Fa’s eyes crinkled with delight.

  “I look forward to you joining us—and to see how you walk the Immortal Path of cultivation.”

  “Come, son,” Akira said. “Let us leave the Elder to his hall. You’ll return before long.”

  Ishin gave a final bow, then followed his mother out. As they walked through the winding paths of the Daihu Tribe back to their home, Ishin looked up.

  “Mother, how long until I can begin cultivating?”

  Akira smiled.

  “Most children naturally form their first chakra during early adolescence—typically between twelve and fifteen.”

  Ishin nodded. That’s so long.

  “It’ll come before you know it. Until then, we’ll continue sharpening your martial skills.”

  Ishin would wait years for that first chakra to form.

  But the Heavens had different plans.

  And not even the most talented could defy the Heavens.