The training yard baked under noon’s glare, stone tiles radiating stored sunlight like griddle plates. Lin Hao’s guide cane tapped out the rhythm of approaching footsteps—leather soles scuffing grit, knuckles popping in anticipation. Four Treasures’ talons flexed against his shoulder, cataloguing the musky tang of overconfident sweat from the buzzcut challenger.

  Instructor Wu’s voice cut through the heat haze. “Weapons permitted. No lethal strikes.”

  The buzzcut warrior cracked his neck, flames licking across brass knuckles. “Blind boy first.” His smirk reeked of charred pork from breakfast’s overzealous barbecue.

  Lin Hao’s cane twirled—a silver blur etching fractal patterns in the air. “After you.”

  The attack came swift as a scorpion strike. Fire-wreathed fists arced toward Lin Hao’s temples, heat distortion warping the air. Four Treabytes’ shared vision painted trajectories in cold blue—elbow angles 47 degrees, weight distribution 62% forward bias, Achilles’ heel glowing crimson at the left ankle.

  Lin Hao’s pivot flowed like water escaping flame. His cane hooked behind the aggressor’s knee, yanking with precision that turned momentum against itself. The warrior crashed chin-first into flagstones, teeth imprinting limestone.

  “First lesson.” Lin Hao’s voice carried winter stream clarity. “Arrogance smells like burnt hair.”

  ——

  The courtyard exhaled—a hundred stunned breaths misting in sudden silence. Instructor Wu’s scarred fingers stroked his beard, suppressing approval. Ancient stones remembered other prodigies—their ghosts whispering through Lin Hao’s tapping cane.

  The challenger rose spitting blood and pride. “Lucky shot!” Brass knuckles flared brighter, molten drips scarring stone. “Real warriors use steel!”

  A blade materialized—serrated edge drinking sunlight. Four Treabytes’ threat assessment spiked: Tempered helliron. Soulbound. Caution—

  Lin Hao’s laughter froze the gathering sweat on bystanders’ necks. “You’ll regret that choice.”

  The greatsword’s first swing carved singing fire. Lin Hao’s backward leap left singe marks on his tunic hem. Four Treasures launched skyward, wings fanning the flames higher—a feathered pyromancer orchestrating disaster.

  “Second lesson.” Lin Hao’s cane traced defensive arcs through smoke. “True sight needs no eyes.”

  ——

  Molten metal droplets rained as blades clashed. The challenger’s breathing grew ragged—a bellows pumping too fast. Lin Hao’s enhanced hearing mapped cardiovascular collapse: heartbeat 187 bpm, capillary rupture in left eye, lactic acid tsunami flooding muscle tissue.

  The killing stroke came disguised as retreat. Lin Hao’s feigned stumble lured the blade into overextension. His counterstrike channeled centuries of ancestral wisdom—cane tip finding the precise pressure point where helliron met hilt.

  Crack.

  The shattered blade’s death wail echoed across training grounds. Lin Hao’s follow-through knee strike lifted the warrior airborne—a comet trailing spit and disbelief—before gravity reclaimed its due with stone-cracking finality.

  “Third lesson.” Lin Hao’s cane tip rested against the victor’s pulsing jugular. “Anger makes terrible armor.”

  ——

  Instructor Wu’s applause broke the spell. “Well struck!” His boots ground broken blade shards to glittering dust. “Anyone else care to test theories?”

  The crowd shuffled—boots scraping retreat patterns. Only Mo Xu remained leaning against sun-warmed columns, shadow tendrils nibbling stolen melon seeds. “Boring,” he yawned. “Should’ve aimed for the groin.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Lin Hao’s cane located the challenger’s trembling hand. “Your grip’s too tight on recovery strikes.” He pressed a healing pellet into burnt fingers. “Loosen before the fifth feint next time.”

  The gesture drew puzzled murmurs. Four Treabytes analyzed social dynamics: 38% confusion, 29% fear, 33% dawning respect.

  ——

  Dusk found Lin Hao practicing alone, cane dancing with memories of the duel. The Wolf Spider’s venom glands purred approval at each strike—rhythmic poison dripping into muscle memory. Kung Fu Fly projected combat analytics: opponent weak points shimmering like fireflies in the gathering dark.

  Mo Xu’s shadow stretched across the yard, bearing roasted chestnuts in tendril baskets. “For the victor.” His grin flashed moon-pale in twilight.

  Lin Hao accepted the offering, crunching sweetness with tactical analysis: Honey-glazed. No detectable poison. 89% probability genuine.

  “Why teach your enemy?” The question carried midnight chill.

  Lin Hao’s cane etched the answer in stone dust—a single character glowing faintly before the night breeze stole it away.

  Balance.

  The Blind Custodian

  The training yard simmered with metallic anticipation. Lin Hao’s sword gleamed cold under the midday sun, its edge singing faintly as thermal currents danced along the steel. The buzzcut challenger’s blade shivered in sweat-slick palms, its serrated teeth catching sunlight like a hungry grin. Four Treasures’ talons flexed, cataloguing the ozone tang of nervous perspiration and the burnt sugar aroma of overclocked adrenaline.

  “Begin!”

  Instructor Wu’s command split the air. The challenger lunged, helliron blade carving molten arcs through space. Lin Hao’s cane-sword met the assault with glacial precision—nine luminous sigils blooming along its length like frost flowers on a midnight pond.

  Clang-shiiiing!

  The collision birthed a miniature supernova. Molten metal shrapnel rained down, sizzling against stone tiles. Four Treabytes’ thermal vision tracked a spinning fragment’s trajectory—3.7 seconds until it would sear through a spectator’s boot. Lin Hao’s wind affinity stirred, diverting the projectile into a drainage grate with a hiss of indignation.

  The challenger stared at his ruined hilt, face blanching parchment-white. “Impossible…”

  Lin Hao’s sword tip kissed the man’s Adam’s apple. “Yield.”

  ——

  The walk to the Martial Archives reeked of humiliated pride and lotus blossoms. The stone bridge spanning the blackwater lake groaned underfoot, its weathered carvings depicting forgotten warriors mid-strike. Lin Hao’s cane mapped fissures in the ancient masonry—centuries of foot traffic worn smooth as dragon scales.

  The Blind Custodian’s broom whispered across flagstones ahead. His milky eyes tracked unseen currents as dried leaves crackled to powder beneath his touch. Four Treabytes’ spectroanalysis revealed impossible data—the man’s skeletal structure shimmering like quartz under X-ray, his shadow stretching three meters despite the noon sun.

  “Elder Mo.” Instructor Wu bowed deeper than protocol demanded.

  The old man’s chuckle carried the weight of tectonic plates shifting. “New blood stirs the pond.” His blind gaze settled on Lin Hao, igniting phantom flames along the youth’s meridians. “Carries old debts in fresh bones.”

  Lin Hao’s sword hand twitched. Nine luminous sigils flared unbidden—ancient defenses reacting to older threats.

  ——

  The Martial Archives exhaled mildew and ambition. Rows of jade slips glowed faintly in wall niches, their trapped knowledge humming at frequencies that made teeth ache. Lin Hao’s enhanced hearing parsed the cacophony—battle cries from war manuals, whispered poetry of cultivation techniques, the sobs of forbidden demonic arts sealed behind leaden doors.

  “Choose wisely.” Instructor Wu’s armor plates clanked with uncharacteristic reverence. “The Archives test as much as teach.”

  A slip marked “Shadowstep Ascension” pulsed invitingly. Lin Hao’s fingers brushed its surface—

  —and the world dissolved into screaming void.

  He stood on a battlefield where stars fell like rain. A figure cloaked in event horizons danced through meteoric bombardment, each step bending spacetime into impossible angles. The technique’s essence seared itself into Lin Hao’s neurons—a gift and warning from some long-dead master.

  Four Treabytes’ alarm klaxons yanked him back. The slip lay cracked in his palm, its energy drained.

  “First lesson’s free.” The Blind Custodian’s voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. His broom continued its endless dance, sweeping up jade dust that glittered like crushed galaxies.

  ——

  Dusk found Lin Hao practicing on the blackwater lake’s shore. His footfalls traced alien geometries across wet sand, each step leaving brief afterimages that drank the moonlight. The Wolf Spider’s venom glands purred approval—toxins adapting to enhance neural plasticity with every shadowstep.

  Mo Xu materialized from a pool of darkness, nibbling sugared hawthorns. “Elder Mo’s eyes see past flesh.” He spat a seed that skipped seven times across the lake. “Yours interest him.”

  Lin Hao’s next step fractured a boulder into perfect cubes. “Why?”

  The shadow-drunk youth’s grin showed too many teeth. “Dead men walking always do.”

  Far across the water, the Blind Custodian’s broom paused mid-sweep. His milky eyes reflected constellations not visible in this epoch.