The Realm Arises from the Heart

This kick came with extreme ferocity, but Zhang Tie, having been prepared, dodged even faster. His body tilted in an instant, and the little brat's kick landed on empty air. Before Zhang Tie could feel smug, however, the brat's fist was already striking toward his chest. Intending to test the kid's strength, Zhang Tie blocked with his arm. The fist slammed into his padded forearm with a dull thud. Zhang Tie felt a massive force surge through his arm, numbing the entire limb and forcing him to take a step back. He was secretly shocked; he hadn't expected this kid, who was two or three years younger than him, to be so fierce. The power behind that punch was almost on par with one of his own full-force blows. From this single strike, Zhang Tie judged the brat's strength to be a notch above his own—only slightly below Baghdad in the Airplane Brotherhood.

With this level of strength, if it were a true one-on-one duel, Zhang Tie wouldn't be intimidated. After all, he was a few years older than the brat and held the advantage in height and weight. If they really fought, it wouldn't be impossible for him to retaliate; a draw was entirely possible. But if he were reduced to a human punching bag who could only take hits without fighting back, the outcome would be easy to determine.

Wearing thick protective gear helped reduce the damage from his opponent, but it undeniably hindered Zhang Tie's agility. After holding out for a few more moves, his reaction slowed by a fraction. The brat seized the opportunity, kicked Zhang Tie in the chest, and sent him flying to crash heavily onto the ground.

This fall left Zhang Tie dizzy and disoriented. Combined with the suffocating sensation from the impact on his chest, it took him a long time to scramble up while gasping for air. As soon as he rose, he saw that dead woman Mary looking at the brat with a doting expression, wiping his sweat with a towel and kissing his face twice. The brat still wore a cocky expression, drinking water while glancing at him with utter disdain.

"I thought you were actually strong. Turns out you're just a piece of trash who can't even last a few rounds!"

Zhang Tie felt it was beneath him to argue with such an arrogant brat. Should I tell you that every blow you land on me is helping my Iron Fetus Body-Tempering Fruit ripen? That you're actually working for me? Ha, how wonderful...

Manjusaka Karma Myriad Fruit Tree, I love you! Zhang Tie shouted in his heart.

A mocking smile appeared on Zhang Tie's face behind his mask. Once his mindset relaxed, he didn't take this defeat to heart at all. After standing back up, he loosened his limbs and took two deep breaths. Feeling that he was mostly fine aside from the dull ache in his chest, he beckoned to the brat again.

"Kaman, despicable!"

The anger on the brat's face flashed and vanished. He put down his water bottle and charged again. Only seven or eight minutes later, Zhang Tie was sent flying by a sweeping leg and crashed to the ground, taking half a minute to crawl back up.

By this time, the brat was already panting.

"Kaman, despicable!"

Twenty minutes later, with his center guard broken, Zhang Tie was caught by the brat, who landed four or five rapid-fire punches to his chest. Each punch forced Zhang Tie back a step. After he retreated five steps, the brat let out a roar. Before Zhang Tie could react, a lunging elbow strike slammed into his lower abdomen. This blow made Zhang Tie feel as if the veins in his neck were bulging with pain, and a string of golden stars danced before his eyes.

His abdomen was soft, so Zhang Tie wasn't sent flying. Instead, his left leg inexplicably gave way, as if stepping on cotton, and he dropped to one knee. The moment his knee hit the ground, he felt a gust of wind by his ear. Without thinking, he subconsciously executed the move Arno had taught him: he lowered his head and shielded it with his arms.

With a dull "thud," his arms blocked the fierce kick, but the force was transmitted to his body nonetheless. Zhang Tie was knocked over, rolling several times until he stopped two meters away, lying motionless.

The brat, who had knocked Zhang Tie down again, stood in place, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. His eyes were locked on the figure lying on the ground. In the Iron Thorn Combat Hall, it was rare for a sparring partner to act purely as a human punching bag like Zhang Tie. A sparring partner's role was usually to help members improve their combat techniques through communication and wisdom, not just by taking hits. A high-level sparring partner was like a master teacher who could identify an opponent's mistakes, flaws, and rhythmic issues, helping them reach a higher level. Such "gold-medal" sparring partners were the most valuable assets of a combat hall. Zhang Tie was a newcomer with a low status, unable to reach such heights. Today's trouble was caused by a woman, and since the opponent was here specifically to beat him up, he naturally wouldn't hold back, making today's session particularly grueling.

If anyone else of Zhang Tie's age faced such a beating, they might have collapsed. Even if they didn't, being repeatedly humiliated by a brat would likely fill them with frustration and defeat, crushing their spirit.

Yet, as Zhang Tie lay on the ground, he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about the brat's last kick. In hindsight, he realized he shouldn't have used his hands to protect his head. He should have used the method Arno mentioned: using the most durable part of his body—his shoulders and back—to "welcome" the kick. The result would have been better, and the damage less. When facing unavoidable attacks, the choice between passive defense and active endurance was the difference between a novice and a master. However, evasion and defense were human instincts; overcoming them with a calm mind in the face of life and death was impossible without rigorous tempering.

Having realized this, Zhang Tie struggled to his feet. This brat's hits should have pushed the progress bar of the Iron Fetus Fruit in the Castle of Black Iron a little further, right? Ha, I'm looking forward to it! Let these brats hit me even harder! You're working for me, and I'm not paying you a cent. Just don't accuse me of child labor abuse, ha... ha...

Different perspectives on the same event lead to different feelings, different attitudes, and different results. These results accumulate to form one's destiny. Zhang Tie didn't know this philosophy, but because of that little tree, he was facing the beatings that everyone else feared with a perspective that transcended them all.

Zhang Tie felt he was starting to find joy in this seemingly miserable, inhuman work. This joy was like finding the legendary Fountain of Youth in a desert of suffering; it didn't make him negative or depressed, but rather filled him with vitality.

While recovering his strength, Zhang Tie slowly climbed up. Under the stunned gazes of the brat and Mary, he twisted his neck and body to adjust, then beckoned to the brat again.

"Kaman, despicable!"

A few minutes later, Zhang Tie was knocked down again, only to stand back up with an optimistic, indifferent attitude...

"Kaman, despicable!"

"Kaman, despicable!"

Outside the ring, watching Zhang Tie—who was repeatedly knocked down yet stood up each time with indifference, as if he couldn't get enough of the beating—Mary felt a flicker of fear she couldn't understand. In her eyes, the mask Zhang Tie wore was becoming increasingly ferocious and formidable.

He didn't know how many times it had been. When Zhang Tie struggled to rise again, his entire body ached from head to toe, as if his two hundred-plus bones had been dismantled. Finally, he found he couldn't stand and had to sit on the floor, gasping for air.

The sweat made his clothes stick to his skin, and it seeped into his eyes, causing a stinging blur. Zhang Tie tried to undo the damn mask that felt like it was crushing his neck to wipe his sweat, but after clawing at his head in vain, he realized he couldn't even lift his arms.

A bottle of water rolled to his feet. Zhang Tie forced his eyes open to see the brat also slumped on the floor, his face pale and his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his head. The kid was gulping down water, and the look he gave Zhang Tie no longer held arrogant disdain, but a strange, undefinable emotion. Mary, that dead woman, was squatting behind the brat, giving him a recovery massage, not even glancing at Zhang Tie.

Zhang Tie didn't stand on ceremony. He grabbed the glass bottle, opened it, and was about to take a sip when he remembered the mask. With only a few air holes near his mouth, he didn't want to reveal that he was too weak to even take off his mask, so he coolly capped the bottle again.

The two of them sat there, panting and staring at each other. After a while, the brat stood up, swaying slightly, his cocky expression returning. "Remember my name. I'm Beneta, Andrew Beneta. Next time, I'll definitely beat you until you can't crawl! You have to apologize to Mary, or it's not over!"

Too lazy to bicker with such a brat, Zhang Tie only said, "I'll be waiting for you here the day after tomorrow..."

As the brat and Mary left the room, Zhang Tie couldn't help but tease Mary's retreating back, "Sister Mary, remember our promise for this life!"

Mary's back swayed, as if she were about to fall...

Does one sentence of mine have that much power? Zhang Tie scratched his head in confusion, only to feel a layer of thick leather. Damn it, who invented such a hard-to-remove mask...