His titan form might pack one hell of a punch, but Noah really found the reduced intelligence bit tiring. Turns out, Titan’s aren’t much of swimmers, which makes sense considering they weigh God knows how many tons. He had to thank his survival instinct from kicking in at the last moment and cancelling the transformation; otherwise, he’d be swinging a hammer underwater and wondering why the water didn’t ‘die’.

Sanaya handed him a towel that he wrapped around his wet hair, along with some whitish blend of hard liquor that burned his throat a bit but enveloped his body in a warm sensation, as if he were huddled around a fire in the middle of a winter storm, for which he thankfully nodded towards her.

Opposing him sat Bulai and the azure robed man, who stared at Noah with markedly lesser hostility and a whole lot more fear. Sanaya walked up to the man with an empty basket, and with a grimace started disrobing; depositing the wet robes in the basket. He was still wearing a complete set of armor underneath, which came as no surprise to Noah. Finally, he removed the covering that hid his face, revealing a young boy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, with light blond hair and facial features that were suspiciously similar to those of Bulai’s; Noah couldn’t help but mentally facepalm, of course it had to be the Sect Leader’s son.

“You fought well,” Noah praised with a nod, tired of constantly maintaining the condescending act.

“I don’t need your pity. I couldn’t even touch you once we transformed,” The teenager replied with a slightly morose grunt.

“If you were not worthy, I wouldn’t extend my praise. Ask your father if you want, I am not one to give compliments to the undeserving,” Noah said with a cheerful tone, a marked difference from his previous behavior.

The teenager locked eyes with Noah, as if trying to determine any falsehoods or mockery within. After a few moments, Noah could only assume that he found none, as he gave him an acknowledging nod.

“I have heard of the San Sect, but none of the information we have indicated that their disciples had access to such a mystical transformation,” Bulai intoned in a professional manner, offering neither praise nor rebuke.

“As you can see, my identity within the Sect is rather special. Dispatching me alone might seem as if the San Sect is conducting this matter with frivolity, but to the contrary it is precisely because of the seriousness of the matter that I have been dispatched,” he nodded to Bulai’s words and gave him a proper response, as if he wasn’t spouting complete and utter nonsense.

“I see.”

“Anyway, may I know whether it would be possible to borrow your son for more sparring sessions? I feel that this session could be far more productive if I were not to rely on my transformation,” Noah asked, without trying to be overtly rude or demeaning.

“You wish to fight without primordial spirits?” The son asked, his curiosity piqued.

“No, to the contrary, I wish to spar with you while you have assumed the form of that…”

“Bladed Lizardman”

“Ah yes, that, while I remain in my normal form.”

“You’re… you underestimate me,” The son snapped with obvious displeasure in his voice, after all, he was the real young master here.

“I assure you, uh…”

“Samain”

“Yes, I assure you, Samain, that I have no intention of demeaning you. Your Grand Uncle has entrusted me with a very important task, to both your sect and mine, and this would be the ideal training method for me, if you would lend me your assistance.”

Bulai nudged his son, and he started nodding, first slowly, and then with a smile on his face.

“As you request, Noah, I would be glad to offer my assistance,” Samain said with a grin that bordered on sadistic, and he really wondered if this was a good idea.

--

The Bladed Lizardman charged at Noah with a flash of speed; One moment he was standing ten meters away from Noah and the next instant he was next to him, thrusting his left blade into his sternum. He barely pushed away the first blade with his gladius, only for the right blade to aim for his unguarded throat. Noah caught it by the edge of his Assassin’s dagger, metal screeching against metal for an instant, until he kicked the lizardman in the chest to create distance.

The Lizardman only stumbled back a few steps, charging at him again with a flurry of punches that amounted to stabs, slashes and the occasional parry. Noah had to parry one strike after the other, relentlessly, the superior stamina of the lizardman resulting in a punishing beatdown.

Fast. Ridiculously fast.

The power behind each blow didn’t amount to much, but the problem was that no matter how many times Noah parried, a second strike was along the way. Cheap martial arts movies used to talk about reaching a state where the weapon was an extension of the body, but in this case, it literally fucking was.

Finally, Noah had no option but to rely on Myriad Illusions.

One phantom, slashing from the left. The second phantom, piercing from the front. Third, leaping from the right with the dagger held in a reverse grip, ready to impale the target. And finally Noah, hidden behind the first and second phantom, ready to make the target yield after being bedazzled by his clones.

The Lizardman just smirked, and it took Noah a while to process what happened. Three strikes from three different directions, and all the Lizardman did was take two steps forward in opposing directions. The three phantoms collided to meet nothing but air, and the target was too far away for Noah to reach after the repositioning.

Noah felt something solid make contact with his ribs, and the next thing he knew he was sent careening away into the training chamber’s walls.

In all his confidence in the technique, Noah had forgotten that myriad illusions was essentially useless if the target was fast enough to evade all his attacks.