Practical Combat Class

The afternoon sun blazed over the Martial Training Ground behind the Dao Academy, bathing it in glaring light.

Unlike the smooth, carefully maintained spell practice field, its ground was paved with hard black rock, scored with scratches and charred marks—the medals left by countless battles.

Stone pillars carved with runes stood all around it, forming the foundations of a protective array.

A faint air of killing intent hung over the place.

"Stand at attention, all of you!"

A thunderous roar exploded above the Martial Training Ground.

The thirty students of Class Three fell silent as cicadas in winter and hurried into formation.

On the platform stood a burly man built like an iron tower, arms folded across his chest as he swept a blazing gaze over them. His arms were bare, his muscles knotted, and his bronze skin seemed to have arcs of electricity coursing beneath it. This was Class Three's practical combat instructor, Lei Lie.

Beside Lei Lie stood a young man in a dark blue Daoist robe.

He looked relaxed, a booklet in hand and the hint of a smile on his lips. He regarded the new students with the faintly superior air of a senior.

"I'm your practical combat instructor, Lei Lie!"

Lei Lie's booming voice left everyone's ears ringing. "This is Zhang Shan, a second-year senior. I dragged him here to be my assistant today and record your results."

Zhang Shan cupped his hands lazily. "Hello, juniors. Do your best in a moment. If you make a sorry showing, my pen won't be merciful."

Lei Lie ignored Zhang Shan's teasing. His expression hardened. "Remember! Cultivation isn't a dinner party, and it isn't embroidery! Once you step onto this stage, whoever stands across from you is your enemy!"

"Don't talk to me about bonds between classmates. Will