For all the fear that had built up around the Class Promotion Tournament, the first fight was a joke.
Wu Zhangkong stood at the edge of the arena, arms folded, white robes fluttering in the breeze. Across the ring, the Class 4 instructor smirked arrogantly, arms crossed.
"We'll keep it simple," he said. "Three versus three."
Wu Zhangkong nodded once.
Behind him, the four members of Class 5 stood quietly.
Xie Xie cracked his knuckles.
Gu Yue spun her staff once and calmly waited.
Tang Wulin adjusted his collar.
Qiang Ming?
He slung his hammer across his shoulder, turned to Wu Zhangkong, and received a single look.
"You're sitting this one out."
No explanation. Just command.
Qiang Ming nodded, stepping back from the line with calm detachment.
But in truth, he was watching everything.
The match started, and the Class 4 students leapt into the ring with smug grins—an agility-type dagger user, a control-type with vine-based suppression, and a stocky brawler-type with a low-level martial soul enhancement.
Competent, Qiang Ming thought. But unrefined.
Xie Xie moved like lightning, his Light Dragon Dagger flashing in and out of vision. He circled the agility-type opponent, weaving around them until the dagger struck with a spark of golden light—disabling the enemy in the first ten seconds.
Gu Yue was even more methodical. Her control was so precise that the vine-user's attacks never reached their target. She used wind to push her foe into his own attacks, used fire to corner him, and used water to knock him unconscious without ever stepping forward.
Tang Wulin took a hit—but used the moment to grab the brawler by the arm and launch him into the air using brute strength.
In under a minute, all three opponents were down.
The match was over.
That evening, still basking in the afterglow of victory, Xie Xie insisted on celebrating.
"We crushed them! We deserve meat," he declared. "I know a place. Trust me. Best noodles in the city."
And so, with Qiang Ming reluctantly following, the four made their way into the heart of East Sea City.
Uncle Li's Kitchen
It was small. Unassuming.
A street stall tucked into the edge of the merchant district, with a creaky awning, a long wooden counter, and a boiling wok that never stopped hissing. Behind it stood Uncle Li—a plump, balding man with a white apron and a permanent scowl of affection.
"Li! We live again!" Xie Xie said dramatically, hopping onto a stool.
Uncle Li turned, narrowed his eyes—and then beamed.
"You brat. I thought you were too good for us now."
Xie Xie grinned. "Never."
Gu Yue, Tang Wulin, and Qiang Ming took their seats more quietly.
As bowls of steaming noodles were passed around, Uncle Li leaned on the counter and gave them a once-over.
"These your classmates?"
Xie Xie nodded. "My teammates."
Uncle Li huffed. "Poor them."
That drew a snort from Gu Yue.
"You know," Uncle Li continued, "this brat used to cry every time he lost a spar. Came here one day all bruised up, refused to talk. Sat and ate two bowls without saying a word."
"I was 7!" Xie Xie protested.
"You were a whiner, is what you were."
Wulin smiled quietly. Qiang Ming ate without comment, but his pace slowed slightly.
Uncle Li's kitchen became a warm bubble—laughter, teasing, rich broth and soft noodles shared in a space far removed from sparring fields and hammers.
They paid, thanked the old man, and wandered the marketplace together, feeding Wulin sweets from every stall and arguing over which of Gu Yue's elemental combinations made for the best cooking.
It felt like peace.
Until it didn't.
They returned an hour later—by coincidence or fate—and froze.
Uncle Li's stall was smashed.
The counter split in half. The awning torn and flapping in the wind. Inside, the clatter of furniture and shouts echoed.
They didn't wait.
Xie Xie was the first through the broken door, rage etched into every line of his face.
Inside, three men loomed over Uncle Li—one holding a pipe, another with brass knuckles, and the third—a larger man, muscular, sneering—held Uncle Li by the collar.
"Where's the money, old man?! You think your whining about a sick wife means anything? You pay. Or you bleed."
Xie Xie's dagger was at his throat in a blink.
"Let. Him. Go."
The man didn't flinch. His body began to shimmer with soul energy.
His Martial Soul activated.
Armoured Dragon.
His skin turned to plated scales, thick and bronze. His muscles bulged, and a pair of soul rings lit under him—yellow and yellow.
A dangerous power.
But before he could swing—
"Don't."
A shadow fell across the room.
And then a hammer came through the front window like a meteor.
The leader turned—
And was blasted out of the building in a violent crash of force, blood, and broken glass.
Qiang Ming stepped inside, catching his reappearing hammer and glancing at his team.
"Take care of the other two," he said. "I'll handle that one."
He stepped back outside.
The gangster groaned, blood pooling beneath his jaw.
His eyes flickered open and found Qiang Ming standing above him.
Two yellow soul rings now glowed under Qiang Ming's feet.
"You little brat…" Guang Long hissed, wiping blood from his chin. "You want to die—?"
He roared, activating both rings. The Armoured Dragon returned in full, muscles expanded, a sheen of steel-hard scale forming around his chest and shoulders.
He charged, teeth bared.
Qiang Ming's first ring lit.
SoulQuake Blow.
The hammer filled with raw energy, crackling violet mist rushing into the head.
Qiang Ming twisted his hips and launched an upward strike—
The hammer met the gangster's sternum with a sound like thunder shattering stone.
CRACK.
Guang Long didn't fly. He just... stopped.
Mid-leap.
Frozen.
Then he crumpled to the ground, coughing blood.
His sternum was gone.
His eyes fluttered in agony.
"Why… didn't my scales… protect me?"
Qiang Ming exhaled.
"Be honored."
His second ring lit up, the glow subtle—but deep.
"You're the first to experience my second ring skill: Piercing Abyss."
He dissolved the hammer.
The man fell like a sack of broken bone.
Behind him, two bodies crashed out of the building—Gu Yue and Tang Wulin having taken care of the others without much issue.
Xie Xie helped Uncle Li to his feet, rage still simmering under his skin.
Qiang Ming handed Uncle Li a small slip of paper.
A number.
"My father. Call. Say I gave it to you. It'll help with… everything."
Uncle Li stared at the paper, then at Qiang Ming.
"…You're a good kid."
"No," Qiang Ming said quietly. "Just a hammer. That swings the right way."
The four walked back in silence.
Not of fear or shame.
But of calm.
Together.
One team.
And beneath the stars of East Sea City, their path felt clearer than ever.