As the duel concluded, Robert turned and returned to where the Osborn clan was gathered. His steps were steady, though each one carried the weight of the battle. His arms ached, the cuts on his ribs stung beneath his robes, and his breathing came slow and controlled—rhythmic, focused.
Without a word, Robert sat cross-legged upon the mat laid out by his elders. Someone handed him two small pills—one for healing, the other for restoring qi. He took them both without hesitation and closed his eyes. The sounds of the celebrating crowd faded behind the steady hum of energy spreading through his body. A wash of warmth traveled up his spine and down into his limbs as internal wounds began knitting together. Bruises softened. Muscles loosened.
He let his mind clear, falling into a light meditation. The cheers were not just for him—they echoed in celebration of what his clan had achieved.
It was to recover quickly. There was still work to be done.
