Nyx’Sol had retrieved a knife, not for self-defense against the still unconscious girl lying on the floor next to him, but rather to fiddle a single strand of thread out from his clothes. He had been trying to wedge a Xilix strand out of the cloth for a couple of minutes already, painfully aware that his accuracy was atrocious.

  Either that, or Xilix was far more difficult to work with than he had expected. Four times he had managed to get a few centimeters of loose thread—freed through painstakingly cutting the other fibers around it—but had been unable to loosen a longer one.

  As for what he intended with the strand of thread: he wanted to bind it to the girl's arm while he cultivated next to her. In the event of her waking up, she would move and alert him to it, so he could knock her unconscious again or talk her into staying passive for the remaining duration of the ‘argument.’

  Sol was curious how long the respective challenges to housing were allowed to last. So, he would sit one out as long as possible. If he lost his sleeping spot, he could always find an alternative or return to a dirt hole. It did not bother him too much, but fights like these and strategizing around them were part of growing as a cultivator. He was under no illusion that continuous fights would not just lead to his loss. He did not like losing.

  The homes allowed for two hours of protected time, each could not be set less than five hours apart from one another, and six hours of protected sleeping time. Sol was not quite sure at what time it began, as he did not possess a device telling him the time of day, but when he “inquired” about it through his connection to the house, it gave him a very accurate feeling: it would take another three hours and forty-one minutes for the home to lock itself for safety.

  Sol watched the girl stir in her slumber with a groan. She was clearly feeling the pain on her face. It had been necessary. Had she not denied his efforts to talk for longer, he would not have minded knocking her down instead of out.

  It depended entirely on her, and it depended entirely on how long each ‘argument’ was allowed to last if he had to do it to more people.

  Finally, he had wedged a long enough thread out from his clothes, tying her wrist to his finger. Even if she woke gently and recognized the thread, it would require quite some skill to get herself in a position that allowed for a quick attack without moving it at all.

  It had been roughly half an hour since she had entered, maybe more, and Sol used his newfound time to improve on his new Qi circulation technique. Whatever his focus skill was, he could only imagine it being a skill way beyond his capabilities of control—one that he would not have been able to access without his acquired memory.

  He was, in both parts, suspicious of it as well as grateful. The technique felt natural to him, the circulation made logical sense, and it did not focus on a very specific aspect. Instead, it just followed his natural pathways and distributed his energy evenly into his skin. He would have to adjust this later on. Muscle Refining and Bone Tempering would both require different energy flows. It was very obvious that his current flow was avoiding both bones and muscles entirely, and Sol could not even feel his meridians yet, much less judge how to supply them with energy without disrupting the complex technique.

  So he focused on observing. He mapped out every pathway in his mind, slowly following along, quickly realizing that it was not one single pathway that worked in unison, but rather hundreds of smaller ones that moved around certain voids in his Qi system. Maybe those were meridian spots? And the pathways circulated near them in anticipation? It was incredible how quickly his focus skill had set up knowledge that he did not have access to.

  Or maybe he did? If his focus skill heightened his awareness, maybe he was aware of this circulation because of the memory? And the mere subconscious application allowed him to apply it? Maybe—

  The girl stirred again, moving her wrist and pulling Sol out of his cultivation process.

  He checked the time again—three hours and 17 minutes remaining. Almost an hour had passed. Would it allow for two hours of ‘argumentation’? Maybe it did so in order to allow for cultivators to meet for prolonged periods of time with a high level of privacy rather than expecting hour-long fights?

  Just when Sol was about to accept his luck, he received clear information from his connection again. Two minutes remaining. Failure to end the fight results in disqualification of both.

  Hurriedly, he untied her wrist, stored his thread away, and gently slapped her face, but she remained still. Then he twisted the skin on top of her hand painfully. Immediately, she gritted her teeth. She was faking it.

  “You are obviously awake. Leave immediately, or I will hit you again and drag you outside myself. You have thirty seconds to leave.” He stood and poked her side with his foot. “Now.”

  The girl rolled away from him, quickly getting to her feet and flexing her claws defensively. She wanted to buy time, clearly seeking to evict him through that, but Nyx had already anticipated something like this. He was already next to her; the rolling and a likely headache made her sluggish to respond. Just as she realized that he had moved as well, his knee was already buried heavily into her chest.

  She collapsed to one knee, Sol using the opportunity to shove her toward the door with a forceful stomp to her shoulder. Still well above a minute remaining. She breathed heavily, stumbling as she got up again. Sol merely waited a second for her to stand so he could tackle her with his shoulder.

  His visitor stumbled through the door. Immediately, the leader of the small group entered. Nyx had not expected him to enter that quickly, and it had completely slipped his mind to ambush whoever appeared rather than allowing them to set the pace of the fight.

  Sol quietly moved away from the door, slowly pacing to get an idea of what he would fight like. Meanwhile, he flexed his claws backward to his knuckles again. He had relaxed them subconsciously during his cultivation. His body felt surprisingly light, and he realized through his elevated heartbeat that he was looking forward to this fight. A confident opponent. Someone he could learn from.

  His heart beat loudly in his chest as he slowly paced around the room. His bruises from his fight with Rax’Rathos had healed quite a bit over the past two days. Sol could still feel them ache whenever he touched the areas, but it was worlds apart from how he had felt back then. He would be able to give it his all here.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “My name is Azrx’Ibahros. I am a son of Spear Saint Mountain.” The young demon with pitch-black hair and dark blue skin let his spear crash into the floor to emphasize his point. “Your weapon of choice? Bare fists?”

  Nyx’Sol was taken aback by the formality. Were they not trying to reestablish their dominance over their possessions at all costs? Fine, then. “I am Nyx’Sol. I chose this place to sleep. I do not have a weapon of choice. I use whatever I feel like.” And he truly meant it. If he, over the course of their fight, felt that strangling his opponent with string or beating him with a wooden bowl would be effective, then he would use those methods too.

  The only thing resembling a weapon he had in his possession was his sword… scabbard. One could count the tiny pocket knife as well, but his bone knuckles would do more damage.

  His opponent grabbed his spear and drove the sharpened tip upward into a wooden support beam that held most of the roof in place. He casually stepped forward with his hands held high in a fighting position. “I shall feel like using fists as well, then.”

  Nyx shrugged off the sentiment of fairness as he eyed the spear that was now ready for the taking. Something to keep in mind. Then he kept his eyes peeled on Ibahros. The confident demon had his hands raised high alongside his head, his body moving rhythmically up and down, step by step closing the distance.

  He could not have been more different than Rax’Rathos. Instead of a wild, dashing approach that threw heavy punches loaded with the promise of pain, Ibahros showed a methodical, clean, and emotionless approach.

  Without the quick-paced, reactive nature of a wild fight, Sol felt out of place. While his opponent closed the gap with carefully placed sliding steps, his punches made sure that he had nowhere to run but back—which he could not do forever.

  Soon the jabs landed on his guard as Nyx attempted to dodge them, which did not work and pushed him off balance. His counter punches tried to connect his bone-covered knuckles with the jabs of the blue-skinned demon. Quickly, he realized that the skill difference was staggering. He was better than Rax’Rathos with his punches!

  They were light and did not carry a lot of weight, but again and again, jab after jab, they piled on damage to his upper body and arms. Whenever Sol attempted to strike back, a quick step in delivered a hook or uppercut to his face—again, pretty light but accurate—and saw his opponent retreating before he could even catch his bearings.

  An odd form of martial arts that he had never seen before. This, he liked. The quick, precise movement and fast delivery would deliver a devastating amount of force with his bone knuckles. Nyx immediately adjusted his stance to try and mimic his opponent. He punched a few light strikes against his foe and frowned. How did he make these so snappy and quick?

  “Your stance is too tall. Your center of gravity needs to be lower; otherwise, you get knocked off balance easily,” Ibahros commented after a quick analytical glance. Then he stepped in with a snap, delivering more force than before while retaining the speed of his punches.

  Immediately, the consistent step-ins forced Sol to slide back, realizing he was already near the wall.

  “Beware of your surroundings,” Ibahros said, delivering a light and quick jab to Sol’s face. Then he delivered four heavier gut punches in quick succession from his hip and returned to the center of the room. “And raising your hands to avoid strikes to the face leaves you open. Lower your center of gravity, foot forward. Arms not too high, nor too low. Then react to what is coming.”

  Nyx realized that he was being tested, rather than fought seriously. But this was interesting. “How do you deliver such quick punches? They also look light but are powerful,” he frowned.

  Azrx’Ibahros smiled. “You relax your fist and arm. Keep it slightly open and close it right before impact.” He showcased it briefly before jabbing the air again. “Always retract your punch afterward, and never swing widely; you will get tired far quicker.”

  Adjusting his stance again, Sol did as he was told, and even though he could not imagine how exactly the rotation came into play, his punches immediately felt quicker. Interesting.

  “How did you make those fists?” Ibahros curiously inquired. “What material is that? Bones?”

  Nyx shook his head. “No, shapeshifting. I always knew how to retract my claws backward, and with a bit of practice, I managed these.” He flexed the claws in his right hand, then showcased how they shifted back up toward his fist.

  “Oh, good to know. Since I am a shapeshifter too, I will look into this. However, your control seems monstrous. I am barely able to make my claws sharper, though I never tried to retract them entirely,” Ibahros mused. “Be that as it may, I am not here to give you a lesson—curiosity aside. I will do my duty and punish you for going against the Spear Saint Mountain and then attempt my breakthrough in a few days. If you wish to have a rematch or simple sparring, find me again.”

  “Shifting hair colors or length is good practice if you are struggling with it,” Sol said. His heart was once again pounding with excitement. Ever since he had felt that Ibahros was not taking the fight seriously, he had felt disappointment. He had caught a glimpse of a stronger opponent. Now he wanted to beat his head in! To punch him as he retaliated—an exchange of blows and technique, trading pain and hurt. “I am ready.”

  “You are not. Be that as it may… keep in mind that variety is everything when attacking. I will show you. I will punch with my right at first, then add my left. Then I will add rhythms and variety in pace.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your opponent gets used to it. They cannot help it unless they are either well-trained or have a higher cultivation. Ready?” Ibahros smiled briefly before returning to his signature cocky demeanor.

  Sol nodded and was quickly able to discern what the blue-skinned demon had meant. Right-handed jab after jab either connected with his guard or was consistently denied and pushed away, which made him entirely oblivious to the hook that followed with force that reverberated through his spine. Then Ibahros started mixing left-handed strikes into the mix, and the time it took Nyx to recognize the type of attack slowed down his defenses.

  Quickly, the tide turned, and Sol found himself outclassed in skill. As more and more damage piled up, he no longer tried to avoid anything. Instead, he just mercilessly drilled either of his fists into his opponent, letting his heavy fists crash into him.

  It had the opposite effect. Instead of backing off and shifting his stance and rhythms, Ibahros merely retaliated with powerful strikes. A tradeoff. Blow for blow.

  Of course, Sol managed far fewer hits compared to his opponent, and the tide of battle inevitably brought the final outcome closer: a battered, bruised, and exhausted Sol lying on the wooden floor and Ibahros leaving through the front door.

  Sol felt precisely as he had felt after the Rax’Rathos fight two days ago. But he had learned a lot of new things. He thought back to the green-haired girl. He had underestimated her strength before she had thrown him into the lake just as much as he had now judged Azrx’Ibahros wrong. There were a lot of talented demons gathered here to learn and study. And Sol imagined that there would be even more past the Skin Tempering stage. Judging them by their cover would be something that he ought to avoid.

  This punch-focused fighting style was something Nyx really wanted to add to his skill set. He would have to find Ibahros later for some sparring.

  Apparently, the Spear Saint Mountain group maintained an iron grip on certain cultivation spots and housing in general for a reason. They were well-organized and defended what they owned.

  Sol was just about to crawl to bed to sleep off his beating when his next opponent stepped through the door.