Combat

Chen Chong stepped into Pine Roost Hall once again.

Inside the hall was still that same portrait, those same three sticks of incense, and that same gray-robed deacon standing by the door. Yet when Chen Chong produced Old Yang's token—entirely pitch-black, carved with pine trees and the character for "inner"—the deacon's gaze changed.

The deacon took the token, examined it back and forth twice, and then returned it with both hands. He bowed a little lower, his tone growing much more polite than a moment ago.

"Please follow me."

The deacon led him through Pine Roost Hall and out the back door. Beyond the back door was a narrow stone path that wound forward, hugging the mountain wall. After walking for about the time it took to burn a stick of incense and rounding a mountain ridge, a towering peak came into view.

Chen Chong's mind inevitably stirred.

This peak was taller and steeper than the main peak, rising straight up from among the mountains like a sword pulled from its sheath. Everything above the midpoint of the mountain was shrouded in clouds and mist, making the summit invisible. At the foot of the mountain was a stone gate, narrower than the mountain gate at the front, with no characters carved upon it.

This peak actually lacked any guards whatsoever. The space before the gate was completely empty, and not a single figure could be seen inside the entrance.

Yet as Chen Chong stepped further inside, more and more formidable auras manifested from time to time. One, two, three.

Some were like glowing charcoal, scorching and oppressive; some were like deep pools, calm and without a ripple; some were like razor-sharp blades, fierce and piercing to the bone. Every single aura was at the Bone Tempering Realm or above, and a few made Chen Chong feel that they were unfathomable.

Chen Chong stepped into a somewhat massive circular building ahead.

It turned out to be a large arena-like place. The circular dome was several zhang high, embedded with a ring of skylights through which daylight poured down, illuminating the entire hall brightly. The ground was made of a special material.

It was grayish-blue with fine patterns, feeling slightly soft underfoot, much like a certain kind of rubber or animal hide. Right in the center stood a huge arena, raised three feet above the ground, several zhang square, with iron pillars erected at the four corners and runes carved upon the pillars.

A groove ran along the edge of the arena, with dark brown stains accumulated within the channel.

Chen Chong walked across this huge arena.

Beyond it were individual smaller arenas, lined up along both sides of a central corridor. The corridor was not long, about a hundred paces, with four or five rooms on either side.

The specifications of each arena differed: some were only a zhang square, while others were two zhang square; some grounds were soft, while others were hard; some had iron pillars at the four corners, while others did not. Every space featured a different sort of arena, crafted from unknown special materials that looked extraordinary at a glance.

The further he went, the more different facilities appeared. There were various kinds of strange rooms, some standing open where training equipment could be seen.

Wooden dummy posts stood in some rooms, but the posts were cast from iron with meridian pathways carved onto their bodies; sandbags hung in other rooms, but the bags were stitched from cowhide and filled with what seemed to be iron sand; rows of bronze rings were arranged in still other rooms, varying in size from as small as a finger ring to as large as a cart wheel; and yet another room held a bronze tripod, which possessed three legs with rings upon them, as if meant for lifting and gripping.

Chen Chong clicked his tongue in wonder at the sight. In Dingyuan County, one mostly saw wooden posts and stone locks, but the various equipment designed here was far more targeted.

The iron-cast wooden dummy posts were meant for practicing moves, the cowhide iron-sand bags for practicing force, the bronze rings for training grip strength, and the bronze tripod for practicing lifting power. Every single item served a specific purpose and was not placed at random.

A room at the very end had its door half-closed.

Chen Chong pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was not large; the four walls were plain white, and the floor of dark hardwood was polished to a shine. In the center sat a straw mat, upon which an old man sat with his eyes closed, conserving his energy.

Around sixty years of age, he possessed a lean physique and wore a grayish-white Daoist robe, his grayish-white hair secured with a wooden hairpin. His face was plain, his facial features unremarkable, yet his aura was as calm as an abyss.

Quiet—exceedingly quiet, like a bottomless pool of water whose surface remained completely motionless, concealing unknown depths below.

It was a display of profound inner stillness. Chen Chong waited for a moment.

The old man finished his exercise and opened his eyes. His gaze was very flat, devoid of emotion, and when he looked over, it was as though he were looking at a tree or a stone. Chen Chong took out his token and stated the purpose of his visit.

Glancing at the token, the old man's hand reached out neither heavily nor lightly. His withered, slender fingers rested upon Chen Chong's wrist, and a special sort of internal force wandered through Chen Chong's body.

Chen Chong's Profound Abyss Dragon-Tiger True Canon operated on its own, his skin tightening and his qi and blood surging, yet that internal force offered no resistance; it merely circled gently once before withdrawing.

"Hm, the cultivation method is good." The old man nodded, withdrew his hand, and stepped back two paces. "Come, let's try a few moves."

Seeing such a straightforward old man, Chen Chong drew his saber. The blade left its scabbard, the pitch-black plain scabbard dropping beside his feet, and the Hundred-Forged Saber's blade cast a layer of cold white light in the daylight.

The old man spoke. "I will only use the strength of the Bone-Forging Stage."

After uttering these words, the old man's momentum began to fluctuate. An invisible force diffused outward from around his body, rippling in circles like water waves. His figure remained unchanged, still maintaining that lean appearance, but the feeling of standing there had transformed, turning him into a mountain.

Chen Chong did not hold back. He stepped forward and swung his saber. The saber intent of Ravine-Returning Profound Severance condensed on the blade, and he slashed out with the momentum of a collapsing mountain. The saber wind whistled, kicking up dust across the arena.

The old man sidestepped. He merely shifted half a pace, just enough to let the blade edge pass by. It was light and airy, like a leaf deflected by the wind.

Chen Chong's saber momentum had not yet faded; he slashed horizontally, swept diagonally, and thrust upward.

Three strikes came in rapid succession, flowing as smoothly as moving clouds and flowing water. Yet the old man dodged every single slash, neither more nor less, missing by precisely an inch. He always moved away just as Chen Chong's saber momentum was reaching its limit, causing every blow to strike empty air and every strike to fall short of its full force.

Chen Chong changed his approach. His Dragonwalk footwork unfolded, his figure revolving around the old man, darting left and right, front and back. The sonic boom of the Tiger Roar exploded from deep within his throat, condensing into a stream of qi that rushed straight for the old man's face.

The old man merely tilted his head slightly, and the force of the Tiger Roar brushed past his ear, stirring a few strands of white hair.

Chen Chong's saber grew faster and his moves fiercer. Ravine-Returning Profound Severance combined with Myriad Ravines Return to the Edge, strike following strike, layering the momentum of the mountains one upon another. Yet the old man remained utterly weightless.

His figure seemed to float across the arena, his feet barely touching the ground, while his palms occasionally reached out to tap and press against Chen Chong's blade, deflecting his momentum away.

After a good while, the old man batted Chen Chong's saber aside. The blade vibrated, sending a numbness through the web of Chen Chong's thumb and forefinger, and he retreated two steps.

"Alright, that's enough."

The old man looked at Chen Chong with a faint smile. That smile held a measure of satisfaction as well as a trace of scrutiny.

"The cultivation method is good, but you don't know how to use it." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his tone plain. "Combat is a comprehensive thing. Saber techniques, body movement, footwork, eyesight, judgment, timing. You have only practiced saber techniques. Every single strike of yours was anticipated by me ahead of time. Why? Because before your shoulders moved, your feet moved first; before your feet moved, your breathing changed first. There are far too many signals on your body."

Chen Chong sheathed his saber, stood in place, and ruminated over these words. He truly had never considered such matters. Back in Dingshan County, the people he killed were either inferior in strength or victims of his sneak attacks.

The only true head-on combat he had experienced was that single encounter with Yang He, and he had won due to the endurance of his cultivation method and the explosive power of Ravine-Returning Profound Severance. But what if his opponent had been stronger than him? What if his opponent had seen through his signals?

"Still, welcome to the Pine Roost Sect."

Chen Chong sheathed his saber, brought his hands together, and bowed. "Thank you for the senior's guidance."