Wastelands of the ten peaks.

Ten giant mountains of brown underneath the desolate sand-like sky.

Near them, a flat land of arid earth and sparse sand was being walked upon by two people. One old and one young.

Shielding the sunlight from the opposing party, a man of long white hair and a long white beard. Trimmed properly, even amidst the faint and silent sandstorm.

Dust prickled his wrinkly skin, pale blue eyes still vivid.

Facing him, a young man of short blonde hair and purple eyes. His poor brown clothing did not compare to the old man's exquisite robes of warm colors.

A genius against a monster.

The godly fist versus the peerless blade.

The youth named Ari only briefly met with the old man's. Ari never thought of one day crossing paths with the sword god. And so did Emon.

But the path of martial arts did not care about reason. It only cared about ambition. However, was it truly the case?

"Old man, as a junior, I will let you make the first move." Ari spoke tenderly. He did not hate the man facing him. But life was life.

"Oh? Quite confident, huh?" Taking out a long yet elegantly thin blade from his large sleeve, Emon smiled.

"But your confidence might not be deserved. Are you still sure?"

"Hahaha! Old man! If you don't take the first move, will I? If I do, won't you become the confident one?"

"..." Shaking his head, Emon smiled even more. Kindness fondly embracing the future generations even from thousands of kilometers away.

"Then this old man will accept your offer with gratitude." A single step forward, the slightly stormy weather disappeared. The arid ground cracked open, a slithering glint lashing ahead.

Raising his left fist, Ari leisurely punched forward.

Testing the waters with simple tricks. Yet even this self courtesy caused chaos. The impact forcing the already damaged earth further into instability. A ravine forming beneath, just in front of Ari's heavy feet.

"Senior sure is capable. This junior is impressed." Cupping his fists without a care in the world, Ari's hearing met with firm rebuttal.

"As a senior, I am ashamed of my shortcomings. But as a martial artist..."

Vanishing alongside the slow wind, Emon reappeared in front of Ari, his sword ready to pierce his chest.

"...I am appalled by your lack of respect."

A blade's tip meeting a knuckle, vibrations rang out. The sword began to bend while the fist bled.

"Then, this junior will meet senior's expectations!" An orange glow covering Ari's right fist, he punched forward, his stance imposingly stable. Like a mountain.

"Ha!" Scoffing, Emon retracted his blade, spinning around with high momentum. Like a vortex of water.

The right arm fully extended, its fist met with a sharp yet gentle blade of a blue hue.

Without sound, another ravine showed itself, much deeper this time. A gorge. An abyss of the world.

Their clash also imposed on the sky. The mist of sand and dust clearing away, the sparse clouds above them parted.

It was with a smile that both pushed further into the other's territory.

"[Mountain Fist]!"

"[Flowing Blade]!"

A left fist this time, its orange glow caused the air to shiver, the earth to rumble. To meet this move, a blade flowed freely with the world, suddenly slashing from above.

An urge to go faster immediately took root inside their hearts. Heated from the peak of their lives.

Two wide smiles betraying a former misconception.

Two blows crumbling the land.

"[Titan's Work]!"

"[Seven Colored Lotus]!"

As if following courtesy, they, once again, attacked in unison.

Two orange fists smashing ahead at the same time.

A radiance of seven colors blessing the tip of a blade pointed at the sky, a rainbow lotus of ethereal light shaping its glory from above its sharpness.

A pure shockwave of might collapsing the bodies, a beautiful flower captivating the minds. A crushed sternum facing a torn vessel.

Panting, their duel paused for a brief moment. A youth slashed all over, wounds gushed out blood from everywhere visible. An old man almost vomiting blood, his chest caved in grotesquely.

"Ari. Why must you humiliate this old man?" Even through a smile, Emon sounded sad. His voice echoed with humiliation.

"It wasn't my intention." His head hung low, Ari's feet however stayed firmly planted into the cracked ground.

"Then we should stop wasting time. I am old. But I am still alive."

"Even though I should leave my place to you, as a martial artist... I feel reluctant. If I have to go down... instead of being upon a lousy bed, why not be where my soles belong? Where my flesh was torn? Where my heart always laid?"

A gaze firm, Emon gently moved his blade in front of him. One arm behind his back, ready to face his greatest nemesis.

Death.

"My fall must either be on the battlefield or nowhere at all!"

Even without moving, even without much of a loud voice, Emon still appeared as a giant. A blue hue covering him, a blanket of energy shielding him from fear.

"Nephew is here. Uncle, if it really is your wish, then I won't hold it any longer!"

"Emon Vamon facing the storm! Bless the Vamon Family!"

"Ari Vamon facing the storm! Bless the Vamon Family!"

Kicking the ground, all masks were thrown away. His feet sunk the earth and his flying body split the wind. A beam of light suddenly colliding with a thin sword. Pushed away were both sides.

An amber light exploded outward, contending with a concentrated mass of azure.

"Ari! How many times have I told you to stop wasting your energy with flashy moves?!" Still scolding his own blood, Emon looked sternly at a young man floating above.

Taking a single step forward, his leg soon bruised from the orange domain alone, a blue light aiming at the sky sliced said domain apart.

A large gushing wound attempting to sever Ari in half, Emon chuckled.

"Ha~"

"How good it is to be young..." His blue aura slowly receding, the orange domain reformed, crushing his body from all sides.

'Elder brother's technique truly shines from your hands...'

Ari's body seeping blood, he could not care less. A tear slowly fell down the corner of his eye, another left emotionlessly rigid.

The memories of his childhood resurfaced.

To think he would be chosen. It was a request from the dying one himself. Yet, he still felt sour.

Surrounded by the shrill cries of the severed mountains, upon a land of death cleared from the clouds, a man stood standing while another slept his sorrows away.

A territory nothing more than a tombstone for the worthy.