The Grand Elder's decree spread through the Muay Thai Sect like wildfire. Wang Chen, the former elephant boy, along with three mysterious outsiders, were to be the sect's champions. The news was met with a mixture of outrage, disbelief, and intense curiosity.
They were relocated from their previous quarters to a secluded courtyard within the inner sect, a place reserved for the most esteemed core disciples. The air here was thick with spiritual energy, and resources they had only ever dreamed of—spirit stones, rare herbs, and access to advanced training grounds—were made available to them.
It was a gilded cage. Every move they made was watched. Disciples they had never met before would "coincidentally" pass by their courtyard, their eyes filled with a complex brew of envy and suspicion.
The first test came not from a rival, but from within the sect's own power structure.
Three days after their summons, a tall, arrogant young man flanked by two attendants appeared at their courtyard gate. He was Zhang Wei, the publicly acknowledged top core disciple and the one everyone had assumed would lead the tournament team.
"I've come to see this so-called 'Adaptable Core' for myself," Zhang Wei announced, his voice dripping with condescension. He completely ignored Li, Kael, and Jian, his gaze fixed on Wang Chen, who was meditating under a ancient bodhi tree. "The Grand Elder's favor is not easily won, disciple. It must be earned. Show me what you have that I do not."
Wang Chen opened his eyes. The confrontation was inevitable. He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and unnervingly calm. "My worth is not for your validation, Senior Brother Zhang."
Zhang Wei's eyes narrowed. "You will show me respect!" Without warning, he struck. His fist, wreathed in the sharp, aggressive Qi of the Tiger's Claw technique, shot toward Wang Chen's chest. It was a technique meant to humiliate and injure, delivered with the full force of a Peak Qi Adept.
Wang Chen did not block. He did not dodge.
He simply adapted.
The shifting sphere materialized in his hand in the blink of an eye, not as a shield, but as a fluid, viscous surface. When Zhang Wei's fist connected, it wasn't met with resistance, but with absorption. The sphere deformed, wrapping around the fist, and the powerful, aggressive Qi was not repelled, but siphoned, dissipated, and neutralized into harmless ambient energy.
Zhang Wei stared, his fist trapped in the shimmering, formless substance, his powerful attack having vanished without a sound or a shockwave. It was as if he had punched a bottomless, silent pond.
"What... what is this?" he stammered, pulling his hand back. The sphere returned to its round form, utterly unmarked.
"It is a different path," Wang Chen said simply. "The Grand Elder did not choose me over you. He chose a different tool for a different purpose."
The arrogance in Zhang Wei's eyes had been replaced by a stunned, calculating caution. He had not been defeated in a clash of power; he had been rendered irrelevant by a principle he didn't understand. He left without another word, his pride deeply wounded.
From the porch of their quarters, Li let out a low whistle. "Neat trick. You didn't even have to hit him."
"It is not a trick," Kael rumbled, his eyes thoughtful. "It is a new form of combat. One they are not prepared for."
Jian, who had been sharpening her invisible blade with a whetstone of pure will, finally spoke. "They will adapt. Or they will break. The tournament will be the crucible."
Wang Chen looked down at his sphere. She was right. Zhang Wei was just the first. The sect, and the world beyond, would not accept them quietly. The Inter-Sect Tournament would not just be a competition; it would be a declaration of war against the established order.
And he, the boy once deemed useless, was now the standard-bearer for that war.
(To be continued...)