"Begin!" the disciple ordered, and the two recruits inside the ring snapped to attention.
Han Yu observed them closely. Two boys, around fourteen and thirteen, stood across from each other. Their eyes were locked in a tense stare, their faces serious—except for the fact that their knees were knocking together like a pair of castanets in a street performance.
'They're not my competition,' Han Yu dismissed them imdiately.
He had already identified the real threats among the recruits, and these two were about as threatening as a pair of wet noodles. While their clothes were noticeably better than his, their physiques betrayed their inexperience. Their stances were off, their breathing erratic, and the sheer terror in their eyes made it clear—they had never been in a real fight before.
'Who knew the ghostly man's beatings would actually co in handy?' Han Yu chuckled to himself, a thought that only deepened his opponent's growing unease.
The ghostly man had corrected him rcilessly whenever he stepped out of line, drilling techniques into him with all the tenderness of a boulder rolling downhill. Although he had only been teaching the Bolt God Fist, he had snuck in countless lessons on combat fundantals. Han Yu had no formal training, but compared to these two? He might as well have been a grandmaster.
He didn't even need to wait for the fight to start—he already knew the outco.
"HAH!" The thirteen-year-old boy made the first move, throwing a punch so slow and telegraphed that Han Yu had ti to blink, yawn, and ntally compose a grocery list before the fist even got close.
"Weak," Han Yu muttered.
The fourteen-year-old barely managed to dodge and threw a return punch of his own.
CRACK!
"AAAAAAAAAAA!"
The thirteen-year-old took the hit square to the nose and imdiately collapsed, blood gushing from his nostrils and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I wanna go ho! I don't wanna fight anymore!" he wailed, clutching his face.
"Enough!" the disciple barked, clearly unimpressed. He turned to the standing boy and pointed. "You win."
On the dais, Elder Nie Jing sighed, rubbing his temples in disappointnt. "Not even worthy of being a servant," he muttered.
The two boys were swiftly moved out, and before Han Yu knew it, he was stepping into the ring.
"Be careful," Xu Qing said as he passed.
"I will," Han Yu replied, montarily taken aback by her concern. 'Huh, so she can be nice.'
His opponent was already waiting, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
A sinister grin spread across Han Yu's face. He t the boy's gaze and cracked his knuckles loudly. "Ready to eat dirt?"
"You..." the boy stamred, already regretting his life choices.
"FIGHT!"
THWACK!
Before the boy could even think about his next move, Han Yu's fist slamd into his gut.
His opponent let out a strangled wheeze as his eyes bulged. He staggered, then folded over like an old man with back problems.
"Ow..." he groaned, curling up into a ball on the ground. "Ow, ow, ow..."
The disciple overseeing the match raised an eyebrow before shrugging. "You win."
Han Yu smirked and dusted off his hands. "Too easy."
He sauntered out of the ring, expecting so praise from Xu Qing, but she just looked at him with the sa unreadable expression.
'Tch.' Han Yu clicked his tongue. 'Co on, at least pretend to be impressed.'
What he didn't realize was that Xu Qing had already expected this. After all, if he could withstand her beatings and still stand, taking down a few recruits was practically child's play. His endurance and instincts were already leagues ahead of these rookies.
"Senior Sister, you picked a good one," a nearby disciple comnted, stepping up to Xu Qing. "Is he a special recruit?"
"He is," she replied simply.
"Ah! No wonder." The disciple nodded knowingly. "I can see the talent. If he was personally picked by Senior Sister, he'll definitely make it to the top three at least!"
Xu Qing, unimpressed by flattery, gave no response. The disciple awkwardly turned back to the fights.
anwhile, Han Yu found himself growing bored. He watched a few more matches, but none of them held his attention. Most of these kids barely knew how to throw a punch.
His eyes drifted a few rings away to a particular match—one actually worth watching.
The boy with the sword was facing his opponent, completely calm and composed.
"Haah! HAAH! HAAH!" His opponent was already panting, drenched in sweat from throwing an endless barrage of punches and kicks.
But the boy with the sword? He hadn't even broken a sweat. He simply stepped aside, dodging each attack with minimal effort.
"You... how are you so fast?!" his opponent gasped.
The boy with the sword gave a small smirk. "You're just slow."
Then, without warning, he moved.
WHAM!
A sharp spin kick caught his opponent clean in the ribs, sending him flying nearly a ter before he crashed onto the ground, completely unconscious.
The spectators erupted in murmurs.
"WHOA!"
"He's so strong!"
"He must be from a cultivation clan, right?"
"Yeah, he is! I know who he is too!" one of the kids blurted out excitedly.
"Who is he? Tell us quick!" The other children asked with intense curiosity.
"He's Murong Xie of the Murong Clan of Yellow Turtle City. My neighbor," The child said. "And I live eighteen streets away from him!" he added proudly.
"Eighteen streets away?"
"Huh... Isn't that basically another district?" so of the children said with raised brows.
"How's that a neighbor? You're practically strangers." One of the girls snarked, making the boy pout.
Han Yu chuckled hearing their banter, finding it amusing it as well. But he still didn't take Murong Xie lightly.
'Now that is soone worth fighting.' Han Yu smirked. 'Murong Xie, I'll rember you.'
He turned his attention back to the other matches, patiently waiting for his turn to climb the ranks. The real challenge was still ahead, and he had every intention of coming out on top.
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