Chapter Nineteen: Weapons

The thoughts and considerations of two familiar individuals on the sidelines remained unknown to Chen Yu, who stood on the field, retracting his fist and fixing his gaze ahead. Just as Daoist Jiang had observed, he employed a soft force—not for any particular reason, but because this exchange had sparked new ideas within him. Wishing to test them, he put them into practice.

Among the spectators, many sharp-eyed martial artists noticed his technique and understood that the Daoist before them had achieved a moderate mastery of internal force. Judging by his age, he was not much older than the Azure-robed Swordsman.

If he were merely a practitioner of moderate internal force, it would not be remarkable; after all, most of Guangyong's top fighters had gathered here, with experts from every Daoist school present. Soft force was commonplace, and those who had crossed the threshold of Dragon and Tiger, traversed the body's channels, and attained transformative force were plentiful. Third-rate practitioners of internal force were hardly considered formidable in such a crowd.

Yet the audience still marveled, for he was so young. It was widely known that martial arts training should not begin too early; forcing development before the bones and sinews had matured could lead to lasting injuries and future ailments. Thus, most martial artists only began training around fourteen. Before this age, they focused on learning to read, memorizing and understanding martial arts formulas.

This principle was even stricter among the established sects. Both Daoist Jiang and Qian Xuanzhong, for instance, began external training only in their mid-teens.

The foundation of training is physical conditioning; mastering internal force begins with mastering strength. Thorough comprehension of martial formulas is crucial. Every word must be dissected and committed to heart, lest a misstep lead to inner turmoil, reversed energy, or even madness.

Under the influence of Daoist schools, most martial arts manuals were dense and obscure, filled with terminology. Even with diligent instruction from elders, young disciples, prone to mischief, rarely found the patience to study earnestly. Moreover, after memorizing the formulas, one had to train externally: pile-driving and stance-holding were the basics—easy to start, difficult to master.

In this real world, there were no divine physiques or immortal bodies. Exceptional talent existed, but all began on the same starting line; advancement depended entirely on perseverance and commitment.

Typically, it took several years for a novice to reach the threshold where internal force manifested. Crossing into internal mastery and achieving moderate force was another hurdle. Each stage was a mountain to climb; fail, and the chasm remained impassable. Succeed, and the chasm transformed into a thoroughfare.

"To reach moderate internal force by the age of majority..."

"While not guaranteed to become a top master, at least within ten years, he might hope to attain transformative force."

Someone sighed. The three realms of internal force, each a barrier, had trapped countless martial artists with the challenge of turning hard force into soft force, leaving them forever stuck.

In the martial world, those who called themselves martial artists were as numerous as fish in the river, but only about thirty percent ever achieved internal force and its manifestation. Of these, eighty percent were blocked at the gates, unable to advance.

As the years passed, vitality waned, the body slackened, and even the activation of internal force became difficult—let alone breaking through to a higher realm. By then, one's days and nights were plagued by hidden injuries and lingering ailments.

Long gone was the heart and strength for further progress.

On the field, Chen Yu displayed moderate internal force. This time, there was a brief lull; unlike before, challengers did not line up one after another. Clearly, after several rounds, the spectators had gauged his ability and no longer blindly believed they could defeat him.

"That scoundrel Xu San Gui talks nothing but nonsense!"

A recently defeated martial artist, supported by his friend, rubbed his aching ribs and cursed bitterly. Having believed the burly man's claims—and confident in his own agility—he had stepped forward to impress the crowd, only to be knocked down by two punches, suffering cracked ribs. Even with herbal medicine applied, the pain lingered.

"That fellow's always been a troublemaker. Brother, don't take it so seriously," someone advised nearby. Judging by the results, Xu San Gui was no slouch; although he had not mastered soft force, he was a competent internal force practitioner. The man beside him might not have been able to teach him a lesson after all.

While these whispered discussions went on, Chen Yu waited patiently.

At last, a robust man strode forward, carrying a staff as tall as his brow.

"Flowing Cloud Staff, Liu Jiangfei."

The Liu-named martial artist was clearly no unknown; at least in Pingcheng, many recognized him. His appearance stirred a wave of voices and much debate in the crowd.

Chen Yu rose and responded simply, listening to the clamor around him. For someone with his strong spirit, the noise was no distraction; his senses were sharp and clear.

After a moment, he gleaned his opponent's background. This man was an instructor at a martial arts academy in Pingcheng, and like Chen Yu, had mastered soft force—though several years earlier. Compared to the previous challengers, his experience and strength were markedly greater.

Nodding in acknowledgment, the two moved to engage.

A crisp snap echoed, mingling with the uproar of voices swirling through the arena.

"Layman Qian, what do you think of their chances?"

Nearby, Daoist Jiang and Qian Xuanzhong, having come closer, watched the match together.

Qian Xuanzhong paused, his gaze tracking the two darting figures.

"About thirty-seven in favor. The Flowing Cloud Staff has the advantage of a weapon, and entered internal mastery years earlier. His experience in prolonged combat far surpasses that of Daoist Chen."

Daoist Jiang smiled at the reply but said nothing further. In truth, he thought Chen Yu's odds were even lower: despite his talent, the lack of a weapon put him at a great disadvantage.

Indeed, the match was fraught with peril, just as they had predicted. Chen Yu dodged and maneuvered, but could not escape the reach of the staff, which whistled through the air. He dared not meet it head-on with his bare hands.

He needed to train with weapons.

Though the situation was unfavorable, he was unconcerned, even distracted enough to ponder other matters. The Cloud Crane Method included weapon training; he'd practiced it several times atop the mountain, especially in the last few days, focusing on various weapons. Unfortunately, the temple had none at hand; the closest thing to a weapon was the spiked mace he'd taken from the White Fruit bandits.

Covered in jagged stones and iron spikes, it was deadly but unwieldy—certainly unsuitable for today's friendly competition. One swing of that weapon, and a head would split like a watermelon.

Bang!

He blocked with his arms; his opponent had clearly held back, for if full force had been applied, his arms would have been ruined.

Chen Yu borrowed the momentum to retreat several steps and looked ahead.

He was not concerned about the rules; martial arts bouts had no restrictions, and the use of weapons was entirely up to the individual. If his opponent could use one, so could he—if only he had one.

"Excellent skills, Daoist! Take this sword!"

The shout rang out, and Chen Yu paused, only to see a longsword, its scabbard still attached, fall before him.

He instinctively reached out and caught it. Opposite him, the Flowing Cloud Staff did not object, but grinned and gripped his staff even tighter.

Previously, the young Daoist had no weapon; as a martial artist, Liu Jiangfei did not wish to take undue advantage, so he had held back throughout. As for abandoning the staff—his skills were rooted in it; without it, he would not be a match for the Daoist.

Now, with the playing field leveled, he felt relieved; unburdened, he could finally display his true abilities.

At the side, Chen Yu could only smile wryly. What could he say? That he never intended to use a weapon?

No matter—it was now in his hand, so he might as well use it.

But now, would his opponent be able to force him to reveal his Internal Transformation Technique?

He had come so close—just a moment ago, he was about to unleash it.