The moon hung low over East Sea Academy, veiled in gauzy clouds that dimmed its light but not its presence. Beneath its pale gaze, the outer training arena stood empty and silent—save for three figures lined up at one end, and one man standing still at the center.
Wu Zhangkong stood like a statue carved from cold marble, robes white as frost, hair trailing down his back like strands of snow. He hadn't said a word since bringing them here.
Qiang Ming, Tang Wulin, and Xie Xie stood at attention, all still winded from the earlier incident in the cafeteria. Their training uniforms clung to them slightly with leftover sweat, their expressions ranging from wariness to resignation.
Xie Xie leaned in slightly toward Wulin and whispered, "Okay, I know he said this is training, but it smells like punishment."
Wu Zhangkong turned.
The silver-blue glow of the moon hit his face, casting shadows under his sharp cheekbones. His gaze was unreadable.
"This is training," he said.
A pause.
"But if you feel it's punishment, that means it's working."
Xie Xie let out a soft groan. "Why does everything with him feel like a test?"
Tang Wulin didn't answer. He was staring at the cold tiles beneath his feet.
Qiang Ming remained silent, but his shoulders were tight, already anticipating what would come next.
Wu Zhangkong stepped into the sparring ring, his presence like a shift in gravity.
"I will not be using my Martial Soul," he said plainly. "Nor any technique beyond body movement."
He raised one hand, showing an empty palm.
"No rings."
The boys blinked.
"I am suppressing my cultivation to Rank 10," he continued, his voice sharp. "Three on one. You may fight with your full power, full rings, full soul skills. If you defeat me, you're dismissed early."
Xie Xie muttered, "Oh, that's fair..."
Wu Zhangkong's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Begin."
They didn't move at first.
Then Xie Xie flickered, vanishing in a burst of speed, his Light Dragon Dagger gleaming as he launched a fast diagonal strike from the teacher's right flank.
Wulin stepped in with him, flanking from the opposite side, sending Blue Silver Grass vines toward Wu Zhangkong's legs.
Qiang Ming remained behind them both, circling wide with his Blackstone Abyss Hammer manifesting behind him in a ripple of violet mist. He timed his steps, looking for an opening.
The coordination was solid.
The result?
Disaster.
Wu Zhangkong moved like a whisper of cold air.
He didn't summon his spirit rings. He didn't glow with soul power. He just stepped.
Whump.
Xie Xie was redirected with a flick of the wrist, the teacher's hand catching his elbow mid-attack and spinning him into the air like a toy.
Wu Zhangkong pivoted, heel tapping down on one of Wulin's vines with surgical precision. The strand snapped instantly. Then he slid forward and tapped Wulin on the chest with his knuckles.
The boy gasped and fell backward, breath gone from his lungs.
Qiang Ming came in last, hammer raised high.
He swung.
Wu Zhangkong shifted, ducked under the arc, and struck upward—not with a punch, but with a palm to Qiang Ming's sternum.
The impact was small.
But the power behind it made the hammer vanish as Qiang Ming staggered back, knees bending to absorb the force.
Wu Zhangkong straightened, adjusting his sleeves.
"Again."
And so they did.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It was never a contest.
Every time Xie Xie tried a feint or high-speed dash, Wu Zhangkong read it like a picture book.
Every time Wulin relied on vines to restrict or defend, Wu Zhangkong cut through them before they formed.
Every time Qiang Ming attempted to out-time or pressure him with the hammer, Wu Zhangkong shifted angles and targeted the boy's balance, not his weapon.
He never used a single soul ring.
Not one.
And yet, he was untouchable.
By the second hour, they were bleeding sweat. Limbs shaking. Spirits dimming.
"Why…" Wulin gasped, laying flat on his back, "do I feel… like I've been hit by… a Soul King…"
Xie Xie groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "Because he moves like one… even at Rank 10…"
Only Qiang Ming was still standing—barely. A thin cut ran down the side of his jaw, and his breathing was ragged. His hammer pulsed faintly behind him, flickering, its edge trailing pale mist.
He raised it one last time.
Wu Zhangkong gave him a nod.
Then moved.
A single forward step.
A low sweep of the foot.
Qiang Ming's knees buckled.
He hit the ground hard.
The three of them lay there, backs against cold stone, staring up at the night sky.
Breathing.
Thinking.
Hurting.
Wu Zhangkong stood above them, arms crossed.
His voice came low, but without harshness.
"What you did today in the cafeteria was excessive."
The words were simple.
The meaning was not.
"But it was also righteous."
They blinked, surprised.
"You stood up for a classmate. You didn't hesitate. You used power not for pride, but for justice."
He let that sink in.
Then added:
"But power must not flare. It must burn. Steady. Hot. Controlled."
He looked at Qiang Ming.
"You are strong. You are decisive. But you lack restraint. You act as though your anger is justified just because your cause is. That won't save you in real battles."
He turned to Xie Xie.
"You're fast. But you're reckless. Speed without clarity is suicide."
Then to Wulin.
"You adapt well. But you rely on safety nets. Growth comes when you abandon them."
He straightened.
"Strength is not for punishing the weak. Nor for rewarding the righteous. It's for protecting those who cannot protect themselves."
He stepped back.
"The Class Challenge is in two months."
His voice turned distant again.
"Decide who will fight."
He vanished into the shadows, his robes like smoke in the wind.
They didn't speak for minutes.
Then:
Xie Xie groaned. "Did we… actually learn something?"
Tang Wulin coughed a weak laugh. "I think he trained the air out of my lungs."
Qiang Ming sat up slowly, rubbing his ribs.
He looked at the ground where Wu Zhangkong had stood.
He suppressed his cultivation—and still wiped us.
Then he smirked faintly.
"I want to beat him one day."
"Same," Xie Xie said.
Tang Wulin nodded. "Let's start with beating Class 4 first."
They sat in silence again.
Then, in unspoken agreement, they stood.
Their steps were slow.
But their hearts were steady.