In the early morning on the northern foothills, the cold mist had yet to disperse.
Li Fan arrived at the circular arena ten minutes earlier than usual.
The moss was at its slickest at this hour.
He walked a full circle around the grounds, etching every subtle detail of the terrain into his mind.
With all environmental coordinates anchored in place, he walked to the center of the ring and came to a halt.
Hawksbill had long been waiting.
The thick-handed instructor still gripped the familiar disk, but on the stone platform beside his feet lay two additional items, one large and one small.
The large one had a diameter of nearly sixty centimeters and weighed more than twice as much as the medium disk.
The small one was only the size of an adult’s fist, but the densely set sawteeth along its rim gleamed with a chilling, glinting edge.
The instructor announced no rules.
He roughly scooped up the three disks one by one, weighed them in his grip, and locked his gaze on Li Fan.
“Call out when you’re ready.” Li Fan nodded expressionlessly.
At the edge of the arena, Firas stood with his arms crossed in an observant posture.
Ailong stood beside Firas, his feet planted firmly on the slick moss like a silent ancient tree.
No countdown, no warning.
All three lethal disks flew from Hawksbill’s hands almost simultaneously!
His iron wrists unleashed three entirely different throwing trajectories in a single instant.
The heaviest, largest disk skimmed forward along a flat, low trajectory; the fist-sized disk was flung in a high, arcing lob; and the medium-sized disk hissed in from the left like a snake slithering across the ground, flying barely at knee height!
Faced with this three-dimensional death trap, Li Fan did not make a single move to retreat or dodge.
He moved.
His right arm shot straight out like a dragon surging from its cave, boldly meeting the heavy disk hurtling head-on!
With vicious precision, the crook of his hand clamped onto the exact center axis on the smooth side.
The moment the violent rotational kinetic energy flared, he smoothly flipped his wrist downward, seamlessly channeling into the ground a force powerful enough to rip an arm off.
The heavy disk came to an instant standstill in his right hand.
At the same time, his left leg swept out along the ground like a rigid steel whip!
The instep of his combat boot struck the rim of the descending small disk on the right with effortless precision, deflecting sheer momentum with minimal effort!
The small disk’s trajectory warped instantly.
Whistling with a piercing buzz, it veered off-course out of the ring, tumbled twice across the moss, and was stripped entirely of its threat.
As for the final medium disk skimming low across the dirt, Li Fan did not pull back his extended left leg.
Instead, he drove off the ground and vaulted into the air like a hunting leopard!
Mid-flight, he forced his landing point around with his core muscles.
Both feet slammed downward with brutal force right onto the top of the spinning disk!
*Thud!* Following a dull impact, the disk vibrated violently under his boots, letting out a desperate hum before wedging deep into the mossy mud, coming to a dead stop.
In the blink of an eye, all three disks were subdued.
Li Fan stood steadily in the center of the arena, still in his gray clothes, without a single new scratch on him.
In the vast circular arena, everyone forgot to breathe for a moment.
Only after several seconds did someone let out a long, heavy exhale.
Firas was the first to break the silence, his voice dry with disbelief.
“Just now…
you stepped directly onto that high-speed spinning saw disk.
With blades that dense, even military boots would have their soles shredded in an instant.” “My boot soles are three layers of specially laminated leather.
Sandwiched inside the innermost layer is a sheet of forged iron,” Li Fan interrupted plainly.
Firas froze.
“I modified them myself.” Li Fan drew back his leg and kicked the disk out from beneath his foot.
Firas stared at those dusty-looking combat boots.
From the outside, aside from appearing slightly thicker, they looked no different from standard-issue military boots.
“You…
modified your boots in advance.” “The instructor said last night that he’d use three disks today.
I had to leave myself a way out,” Li Fan said, casually tossing the large disk in his hand toward the stone platform.
Firas pressed his lips tightly together.
He looked down at his own standard-issue military boots; he had never once considered making adjustments to suit the battle.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled his eyes away from Li Fan.
Without uttering another word, he turned silently to retrieve his longbow.
Hawksbill walked expressionlessly to the center of the ring, picked up the scattered iron disks one by one, and inspected them closely.
On the heaviest large disk, a very shallow fresh scratch was left along the rim of the central axis, its curve matching the crook of a hand perfectly—and located on the smooth side, without a single drop of blood.
On the smooth face of the small disk was a long, diagonal scuff mark from a boot upper.
And on the surface of the medium disk, two deep combat-boot imprints were left symmetrically, pressed with a force as uniform as a die stamp.
The instructor turned the medium disk over and over, studying it for a long time.
Then, carrying the three disks, he walked over to the storage rack and hung them up in order.
Morning training was over.
Ailong called out to Li Fan, and the two walked side by side toward the eastern corridor of the camp.
They walked in silence all the way to the far end of the walkway.
The veteran stopped and pointed a rough finger at the ground.
It was a broad bluestone slab, a shade darker than the surrounding stone—a deep luster of history accumulated from being trodden and rubbed over countless years by generations of rangers.
The slab was covered in densely carved marks, the most primitive of symbols.
Skulls of prey, scars of tragic battles, and the personal marks carved by every member who had ever belonged to the Shadowwing Squad along the edges of the stone.
Ailong pointed to the far right edge of the slab, an empty spot deliberately left open amidst the surrounding cluster of symbols.
“Your spot is here,” Ailong said, his voice low and solemn.
“When you’ve completely figured out what symbol you want to represent yourself, come carve it.” Li Fan slowly crouched down.
His profound gaze swept from left to right across the stone that bore countless lives and deaths.
Those varied symbols—some bold, some understated.
He looked slowly, taking in the shape of every mark.
Behind each crude symbol once stood a living soul.
That was their way of leaving themselves behind on the northern foothills forever.
He slowly reached out his right hand, pressing his fingertips firmly against the blank, cold stone surface.
The stone was cold, rough enough to bite into the skin—a roughness untouched yet by anyone’s blood or glory.
He simply squatted there in silence for a long time.