I rose to my feet in the dim canvas tent, barely illuminated under the camp's fire. It had been a couple of uneventful days, from what I could gather my captors were now waiting for their slave trader.
It wasn't just me they intended to sell, there was a group of other captives held in another tent. They had kept me separated from the others due to the worth of a foreigner.
The brittle ache in my joints flared as I moved, a stark reminder that I was still unfamiliar with my current state, and that I hadn't fully recovered from being sealed away. Each movement felt like drawing a broken blade from a rusted scabbard, this was more than just battle rust. I was damaged goods.
But the best medicine is a good fight. And I had finally gathered enough energy to wipe these imbeciles off of the face of the earth. I might no longer be the apex predator, every breath and movement required effort. I was more than ready to leave this wretched campsite behind.
I had sharpened my senses as much as possible since I was released, but the best way to sharpen this broken body would be through brutal body tempering.
Putting those senses to use, I spread my awareness out like a spider's web. Twelve qi signatures in total. Their internal energy flickered dull and minute like the embers of an extinguished flame. Blissfully ignorant of the storm they were about to be engulfed in.
I slipped through the tent flap, crouching low into the shadows.
Very unbefitting of my royal stature, but if I wanted to regain my former strength and dominate over this new world I would have to put my ego aside.
I slowed my breathing, timing my breath between heartbeats as I began my prowl through the sleeping camp and approached the nearest guard. Slumped over a barrel in a drunken stupor, snoring softly and stinking as if he hadn't discovered running water.
Pathetic.
I struck.
An open palm to the jugular - silent, precise. I could feel his vein pop and his cartilage crush under the satisfying pressure of my palm. His body spasmed at once, twitching violently before it stilled. I eased him down to the ground, gently like an autumn leaf.
One.
I stalked into the main body of the camp.
The air shimmered with the heat from the central campfire. The dried logs crackled as they fueled the flames, which glowed vibrantly against the dark surroundings. Two more bandits sat near the fire, gnawing on scraps that had been enthusiastically charred. Their weapons lay at their sides, forgotten.
Fools.
I moved in for the kill.
The first man barely had time to turn as I reached him, my fingers pointed flat as they buried into the base of his skull. His body jerked before folding, slumping face first into the dirt. His companion gawked, fumbling for his axe lying at his feet. Too slow. My foot drove into the side of his temple with a bone shattering crack, forcing him out of his seat as he spun into the fire. His flesh hissed and blistered as he let out a piercing scream, writhing like a snake on coals before falling still.
Three.
The sluggish but familiar warmth of qi stirred in my dantian. Clumsy, incomplete. But obedient.
The next group was a trio that stirred at the sound of the last man's cries, squabbling over loot as they walked around a broken down supply cart. They noticed too late. I darted forward, my technique practiced but my body was a liability. I barely made it in time, but it took three steps instead of two. My hand slashed outwards, three fingers extended like the talons of a bird.
Osprey's Talon Strike.
Their throats split open, spraying arcs of crimson into the dirt. The trio collapsed, gurgling and clutching the remnants of their necklines. One of them attempted to cry out for help, but his vocal chords had been frayed and only a wet wheeze escaped his lips.
Six.
Thud!
A weight crashed into my side.
I gasped and staggered, caught off guard as my knees buckled under the impact. I pivoted on my backfoot, instinct and reflex took over due to my body's shortcomings.
A brutish man with a thick neck and a wide jaw grinned, revealing the gaps in his teeth as he raised his club to swing again. His confidence faltered as my hand snapped forward, seizing his wrist. A twist. A crunch. Bone fractured and sheared. His scream rose, strangled, as I pulled him forward into a choke and crushed his windpipe with my elbow.
Seven.
Something whistled past my ear, slicing the top of my lobe. Pain ran down my side in response. Another bandit, knife in hand, eyes wide with shock.
Too slow.
I sidestepped, gritting my teeth at the stiffness in my hip. My palm thrust under his ribcage.
Collapsing Palm.
His lung compressed, his diaphragm folded like paper. He fell gasping for air, blood frothing from his lips.
Eight.
Footsteps behind me, ramping up into a charging sprint. A spear jabbed past me as I weaved to the side, grazing my rib cage. I caught the shaft of the spear under my arm, twisting to wrench it free. Snapping the spear, splintered wood fell into the ground.
I drove the jagged spear haft through his eye socket.
Nine.
Two more rushed together, one swinging a crude blade and the other a poorly put together axe. Their weapons gleaming dully in the light of the campfire. The sight of the two of them vaguely reminded me of my youth as the young lord of the Heavenly Demon cult, slaughtering the stubborn fools of Shaolin on the battlefield.
I ducked under the axe, letting it sail over my shoulder. The sword followed, slashing toward my chest.
I caught the blade between my palms, reinforcing them with qi as my skin was too soft to resist iron.
The bandit looked at me in shock and terror. My grip tightened, bones creaking, and the poor craftsmanship tore the hilt of the blade from its tang. I drove the exposed tang of the blade into his mouth, letting him taste the metal before pushing it through to the back of his neck.
He choked and gargled, crumpling to the floor in agony, revealing the whites of his eyes.
Ten.
The axe-wielder was frozen in horror. I lunged at the opportunity, elbow slamming into his jaw. His teeth shattered, and he fell into the dirt to join his friend.
Eleven.
The camp fell silent, save for the ambient sound of the fire and the heavy tread of boots behind me.
Their leader.
I turned to face him. He stood taller than the others, broad shouldered beneath mismatched armour. His dull blade gleamed with a faint green shimmer, Aura. I felt its pressure, thin and impure, like dirty water mimicking wine.
So this is how martial arts has evolved?
Fascinating.
His aura came from his stomach, but he wasn't circulating it like a martial artist. Nor was he empowering his meridians. His aura was sluggish and crude, locked to his weapon rather than flowing freely through his body.
I smiled.
"Still standing, old man?" He sneered. "Good. I like my slaves spirited."
His aura flared, releasing a clumsy but heavy wave of pressure. In my prime his mere existence would have been laughable. But now I could see it in explicit detail, I could feel my limbs quivering for a moment.
He charged, his blade held high.
I moved sideways, my body was starting to feel fatigued. The blade tore past me, slicing shallowly into my arm. I could feel the blood warming my skin. How long had it been since I felt myself bleed in battle?
If this pathetic excuse for a man's aura, despite being crude and imperfect, could make me bleed. What would a true power in this era feel like? I couldn't afford to lose here by being curious of this new technique, I could learn after gathering more strength.
His eyes narrowed like a mad dog catching a scent, I overstepped into his guard and drove my palm into his chest.
Collapsing Palm.
A technique of subtlety and precision, not overwhelming strength.
His internal energy altered causing his aura to fluctuate briefly. I pressed the attack.
A sweep of the leg. He stumbled, losing his balance.
I struck again in combination. Temple, throat, liver, solar plexus. Every blow measured, the routine ingrained even after all these years. My body twitched in pain, but my mind overpowered my senses and drove my muscles forward.
His aura became noticeably more unstable.
A desperate swing of his blade. I ducked under it, feeling the air shift above me. I didn't want to find out just how lethal this crude imitation of external arts was, now before I had recovered more of my strength. My elbow snapped into his jaw, cracking his jaw. His head twisted in a daze.
I was never going to win this battle with brute force, but his technique was sloppy and desperate, a far cry from the martial artists of old.
I seized his wrist, forcing him to drop his blade.
My foot drove into his knee. Snap.
He crumpled.
"What the hell did we find in that tomb?" He asked, spitting blood into the dirt.
I loomed over him as he gasped, broken and defeated.
I reached for his ring. The jade trinket that pulsed faintly with qi. Imperfect and dulled, a crude excuse for a cultivation tool. But it was better than nothing.
With a twist, I tore his finger with the ring from his hand.
His face twisted in agony.
I discarded his finger and wore the ring, I could already feel it amplifying my ability to draw qi from my surroundings.
I turned back to face him, this pathetic king of vermin and shit.
"You are… Unworthy, " I croaked in a whisper.
My foot crushed his throat, snuffing out the last flicker of life after any remaining hope had left his eyes.
Twelve.
The camp was silent now. The dead sprawled out around the centre of the camp like broken dolls. The fire flickered lowly, casting a faint light on the ruins I had wrought.
I stood amongst the dead, my breath slow and steady.
My body trembling from exertion, aching as old muscles came back to life. But I was alive.
More than that though.
Now I was free.
Really free.
I turned my gaze to the tent the other slaves were being held in, if I was going to make it in this new world - I would need information.
Sooner rather than later.