Following the decisive victory at Mine Shaft No. 4, the Lin Clan's morale reached an unprecedented high. Within the sprawling estate, Lin Xuan’s word carried nearly as much weight as a governing elder's decree. His rigorous tactical breakdown of the quarry battle had been meticulously copied onto scrolls by the estate scribes and distributed to the private guards as standard defensive doctrine. Every guard, servant, and collateral family member looked upon the ten-year-old prodigy not merely as a gifted scion, but as an infallible pillar of the clan’s future security.
However, Lin Xuan harbored no illusions that the conflict was over. He understood the fundamental mathematics of regional power dynamics far better than the elders around him.
"They lost thirty men and their Fourth Elder was forced into a humiliating retreat," Lin Xuan explained calmly to Lin Chen as they walked through the clan's central armory, inspecting the newly polished racks of iron spears. "Patriarch Xiong is a brute, but he understands arithmetic. He knows that in a direct kinetic engagement along the rough terrain of the eastern border, his forces are structurally inefficient."
Lin Chen, adjusting a pair of light iron bracers on her forearms that her cousin had custom-designed for her, frowned slightly. "So they will simply accept their losses and stop pushing our boundaries?"
"No," Lin Xuan said, a faint, cold smirk touching the corner of his lips. "When a system fails to break a barrier through brute force, it alters the parameters of the game. They will try to change the rules of engagement."
His calculation proved correct by mid-afternoon.
A messenger from the Iron-Bear Clan arrived at the outer gates under a white flag of truce, escorted by two heavily armored riders. The messenger delivered a formal, heavy parchment document stamped with Patriarch Xiong’s official, blood-red wax seal. The Iron-Bear Clan was formally calling for a Sanctioned Skirmish at the Neutral Slate Plateau—a traditional, legally binding border duel utilized by regional families to settle territorial disputes without escalating into a full-scale clan war that would draw the predatory gaze of provincial sects. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
The rules outlined in the scroll were deceptively simple: each clan would send three young representatives under fifteen years old to compete in single combat. The winning family would take sole, undisputed ownership of Mine Shaft No. 4 and all surrounding mineral-rich veins for a period of five years.
Inside the grand Ancestral Hall, First Elder Lin Zhen held the missive with a tight, pale expression, his knuckles whitening against the parchment.
"It's an obvious trap," Lin Zhen declared, looking up sharply toward Patriarch Lin Feng. "Their young master, Xiong Wei, may have suffered a shattered knee at Mistbrook, but they have a far more dangerous card to play. They have Xiong Ba—his elder brother. Xiong Ba is fourteen years old and has successfully reached Qi Gathering, Level 1, Sub-Level 6. He is renowned across the ridge for his oppressive Earth-Pith body refining technique, which grants him near-impenetrable defensive density."
Second Elder Lin Shan stepped forward, his broad face etched with heavy concern as he looked at his son. "Xuan'er is only ten years old and currently stands at Qi Gathering, Level 1, Sub-Level 3. Even if his dual-root efficiency and internal circulation speed are unmatched, Xiong Ba stands firmly ahead in raw energy volume and has undergone years of brutal, heavy physical conditioning."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. The elders recognized that while Lin Xuan was a once-in-a-generation genius, a three-sub-level gap at such a young age was a massive physical hurdle.
Lin Xuan stepped forward from the shadows near the back of the hall, his posture entirely relaxed, his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves.
"Xiong Ba’s cultivation baseline is completely irrelevant, Father," Lin Xuan said smoothly, his dark eyes sweeping over the worried faces of the governing elders. "Earth-Pith body refining relies on dense structural accumulation, but it inherently sacrifices lateral speed, joint flexibility, and thermal dissipation. His internal circulation operates at less than fifty percent efficiency. To a properly calibrated strike, his dense armor is merely a heavier target."
Patriarch Lin Feng leaned forward in his high seat, his deep, weathered gaze resting intently upon his grandson. "You wish to accept this duel, Xuan'er? You understand the weight of what is at stake?"
"It is the single most efficient resolution," Lin Xuan replied, his voice filled with quiet, unshakeable absolute confidence. "By defeating their prized young genius on neutral ground, we completely shatter their clan’s tactical morale and secure five years of exclusive mining rights with zero military expenditure. I will enter the arena myself."
The elders exchanged stunned, breathless glances, but no one voiced an objection. Lin Xuan’s track record of prediction and execution was absolute. He had predicted every enemy movement, optimized every alchemy batch, and crushed every obstacle set before him with terrifying precision.
Lin Xuan left the Ancestral Hall with a light, unhurried step, his mind already running through complex calculations of Xiong Ba’s known martial forms, mass distribution, and potential force thresholds. In his eyes, the upcoming duel on the Slate Plateau was not a dangerous trial of life and death—it was merely the next logical step in proving that his superior analytical mind stood infinitely above the crude, backwoods cultivators of this world.