The Neutral Slate Plateau sat atop a windswept, barren ridge halfway between Stonebrook and Mistbrook. A vast, flat expanse of gray stone shaped and polished by centuries of harsh mountain weather, it served as the traditional, neutral arena where regional families settled their bloody disputes without drawing the destructive wrath of the higher provincial sects.
By the time the first rays of dawn broke over the eastern peaks, the plateau was sharply divided down the middle by an unwritten line of hostility.
On the northern side stood the Lin Clan contingent: Patriarch Lin Feng, Second Elder Lin Shan, a dozen core martial guards, and Lin Chen gripping her bamboo basket with tense, nervous energy. Opposite them, lining the southern perimeter, was the massive force of the Iron-Bear Clan. Patriarch Xiong stood tall and imposing, his broad chest wrapped in heavy, scarred bear-hide leather, flanked by his surviving elders and a crowd of fierce, bloodthirsty mercenaries.
In the dead center of the plateau sat three carved stone ring markers, designating the arenas of combat. New chapters come out on g.com first.
"Three rounds, single combat to submission or incapacitation," Patriarch Xiong’s booming, gravelly voice echoed across the open stone, carrying a deep, taunting edge that bounced off the canyon walls. "The loser yields the mining rights to Shaft No. 4 for five full years. Send out your first fighter, Lin Feng. Let's see if your arrogant ten-year-old prodigy actually has the spine to step onto real stone!"
Without waiting for an elder to prompt him, Lin Xuan stepped forward from the Lin Clan ranks.
He wore clean, unadorned white-and-gray robes, his dark hair neatly tied back with a simple leather cord. Standing at just ten years old against opponents nearly half a foot taller and twice his physical bulk, his presence remained entirely serene, untouched by the heavy tension suffocating the adults around him.
"Xuan'er, do not underestimate them," Second Elder Lin Shan murmured, his warm, heavy hand resting firmly on his son's small shoulder. "Xiong Ba has spent four grueling years tempering his physical vessel with Earth-Pith tonic. His defensive density is formidable."
"Density without velocity is simply a heavier target, Father," Lin Xuan replied smoothly, offering a reassuring nod.
He walked unhurriedly toward the first ring marker, his breath cycle already locked into a steady, high-efficiency rhythmic flow that maximized his internal oxygen and Qi distribution.
Waiting for him inside the opposing stone ring was Xiong Ba. Fourteen years old, heavily muscled, and standing firmly at Qi Gathering, Level 1, Sub-Level 6, Xiong Ba cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound echoing like breaking dry timber across the plateau. His bare skin rippled with a dull, earthy brown sheen—the unmistakable hallmark of the Iron-Bear Clan’s signature body-hardening art, designed to absorb blunt trauma like solid rock. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
"So you're the arrogant little rat who broke my younger brother's knee in Mistbrook," Xiong Ba growled, his eyes narrowing into cold, murderous slits as he glared down at the child standing before him. "Today, I'm going to shatter your ribs into white powder and teach you how respect is actually calculated in this province."
Lin Xuan did not draw a weapon. He simply raised his right hand, curling his fingers into a relaxed, open-palm strike posture, his dark, calculating eyes locked directly onto Xiong Ba's center of gravity.
"Your stance is forward-heavy by three centimeters, your breathing is irregular due to anger, and your lower dantian is leaking thermal energy through your left shoulder joint," Lin Xuan stated, his voice ringing clearly and calmly across the quiet plateau. "You are running at less than forty-five percent functional efficiency. Shall we begin?"