When Rookies Clashed

Besides, he was no longer a beggar. With the Stats Panel's existence, the path ahead of him would be one of corpses strewn everywhere and rivers of blood.

His confidence had to be cultivated starting now!

If he did not even dare to try a small failure, how would he face greater challenges in the future?

"Your body may be weak, but your courage is decent. You're stronger than them. Put your clothes away for now."

While Fang Ling searched for a suitable bed, Wang Sheng pointed at his own.

"You didn't bring any bedding, so you can put it on my bed for now. There's no dust on it, so it'll be cleaner."

"Okay." Fang Ling's heart warmed slightly, and he answered with a smile.

Wang Sheng spoke with barbs, deliberately poking at people's sore spots and giving them nicknames as soon as he opened his mouth. He always acted as though he were superior, but he did not seem like a bad person.

Considering that he had always stood up for the Work-Study Students, taken beatings for them, and accepted responsibility, wanting the corresponding authority was simply a normal person's way of thinking.

However, being willing to build a good relationship with them was one thing. Revealing his strength so that he would not be bullied later was another.

Studying the Stats Panel was his top priority. Fang Ling had things of his own to do and a path of his own to walk.

He absolutely could not let it bind him!

After placing his clothes on the bed Wang Sheng had pointed out, he raised the scythe again.

Its bright silver blade looked as though it had just been sharpened.

Wang Sheng saw the glint and grew solemn.

Then, on the open ground created after his classmates helped push away the surrounding beds, he assumed a stance.

This time, it was different from an ordinary brawl.

Although his opponent was a Little Cripple with little strength, he wielded a sharp weapon.

A scythe was not a Tool Martial Soul suited for battle, and the scythe in Fang Ling's hand was merely an ordinary farming implement.

But judging by how brightly its edge gleamed, getting cut by it would definitely draw blood and leave an open wound.

Even if the academy's Healing Spirit Master could treat it, it would still hurt.

His Soul Power was as high as Level Eight, and his Martial Soul was the Battle Tiger, the king of beasts. He was already the strongest among the Work-Study Students.

Yet he was not a Spirit Scholar in the end. Could he really catch a blade with his bare hands?

So he had to be extremely careful.

"Wang Sheng, Martial Soul: Battle Tiger, Level Eight Soul Power."

"Fang Ling, Martial Soul: Scythe, Level One Soul Power."

Since this was only a spar, both sides announced their cultivation as usual. Fang Ling also did not put his left hand into the lime bag.

Against a Spirit Scholar protected by Soul Power, this little trick would not have much effect.

Wang Sheng's heart settled when he heard Fang Ling announce his cultivation.

At the Spirit Scholar stage, the difference in Soul Power Level provided an absolute boost to strength.

He was at Level Eight, while Fang Ling was only at Level One—and he was even missing half of his Left Calf. No matter how one looked at it, Wang Sheng had the overwhelming advantage, right?

Because he held the advantage, and so Fang Ling would not feel burdened psychologically—or die inexplicably in a spar—

Wang Sheng took a deep breath before reminding him, "There's a Healing Spirit Master at the academy. As long as you don't chop at my neck or vital points, your injuries will heal quickly."

After saying that, he took the initiative and moved toward Fang Ling.

He was only at Level Eight and had no Soul Ring or long-range Spirit Skill. Close combat was his only means of attack.

He approached slowly, his eyes fixed firmly on the scythe in Fang Ling's hand as he moved.

Wang Sheng was already eleven years old and had spent five years at the academy.

His combat skills could not be called poor, but they could not be considered good either.

Although he often stood up for others, he had always been on the receiving end of beatings. The bruises on his face had not even faded yet.

Still, his long career of being beaten had allowed him to figure out a few things.

He had developed his own method for dealing with Tool Martial Soul masters who wielded weapons. The most important point was never to let the weapon leave his sight.

That was what he was doing now—looking for an opportunity.

Wang Sheng moved slowly, and his fighting was hesitant. Fang Ling did not want to wait.

He was definitely going to strike first.

"Stop stalling. Let's finish this quickly!"

With a cold snort, he forcefully stamped his Wooden Prosthetic Leg, stripped of its cotton padding, onto the stone floor.

It gave off a muffled thump.

Tilting the scythe slightly, Fang Ling tightened his grip on the wooden handle. Borrowing the momentum of his charge, he swung his arm sharply upward at an angle.

The sharp Scythe Blade cut straight toward Wang Sheng's abdomen.

Wang Sheng focused intently and caught Fang Ling's movement.

He wanted to rely on his longer reach and greater speed to strike the side of the blade and slap it away.

Fang Ling attacked with his right hand, while Wang Sheng used his left. The strike came from the outside inward, in a downward-pressing motion.

As long as he hit the blade, Wang Sheng was certain that, with his strong body, victory would be his.

To be cautious and avoid being cut by the scythe, he let out a low growl and activated his Martial Soul.

A faint yellow glow immediately surfaced over his body, and his speed and strength suddenly increased by a substantial amount.

This is the Battle Tiger's strength!

He's using his Martial Soul already?

Fang Ling's heart sank. He had originally thought Wang Sheng would become arrogant because of his lame leg and short stature.

He had not expected Wang Sheng to use his Martial Soul from the very beginning.

This is going to be tough.

Fang Ling urgently exerted himself and adjusted his position.

He could not let Wang Sheng strike the side of the scythe.

Otherwise, the force would be too great, and his entire body would be dragged along. He would definitely lose.

He gritted his teeth and gave it everything he had.

But how could the physical advantage of being five years older and the enhancement provided by a powerful Beast Martial Soul be taken lightly? How could this last-minute reaction possibly be fast enough?

Seeing that Wang Sheng's strike was about to land, Fang Ling had a sudden flash of inspiration.

A faint gleam fluttered, and the Scythe Martial Soul vanished in an instant.

Wang Sheng struck empty air.

The force behind the strike was not great, but missing still affected him considerably.

His hand passed over Fang Ling's arm at incredible speed, leaving him with nowhere to apply his strength.

Even his body was tilted slightly by the momentum.

Wang Sheng's eyes widened, and his heart cried out in alarm.

Damn it, this is bad!

How did I forget again that Tool Martial Souls can disappear?

Fang Ling was still charging forward. After Wang Sheng's arm passed by, he put force into his Left Foot and turned his body slightly. The Scythe Martial Soul appeared in his left hand at just the right moment.

This time, he held it in reverse grip and exerted his greatest strength.

But he did not use the blade. He used the back of the blade instead.

Even with Soul Power protecting him, how strong could a Spirit Scholar be?

One strike would definitely draw blood!

If this attack failed to win, it would only enrage Wang Sheng and make him burst out with even greater strength.

That did not align with Fang Ling's purpose.

He only needed to make Wang Sheng and the other students understand that he was not someone to provoke.

He was fighting so they would not force him to listen to Wang Sheng, not to offend anyone.

In the next instant, the back of the blade struck Wang Sheng in the stomach.

Fang Ling was small, and the scythe was not heavy, but the force of his charge was far from weak.

The only thing worth praising about someone who had carved his own prosthetic leg from scrap wood was the strength of his arms.

Struck forcefully by a sheet of iron in the softest part of his stomach, Wang Sheng let out an involuntary cry of pain.

His stomach churned, and he staggered several steps before managing to stand firm.

But inwardly, he truly breathed a sigh of relief.

Wang Sheng asked in astonishment, "Little Cripple—no, Fang Ling, what was that?"

It was strange that Fang Ling had not pursued the advantage.

Having stayed at a Soul Master Academy for five years, how could Wang Sheng fail to see that his opponent had held back?

Fang Ling smiled and explained, "I only have Level One Soul Power. I can't beat you."