The sound that left Muata’s mouth was like a balloon slowly deflating.

“Ha…?” He said.

“It was all thanks to senior’s guidance!” said Dorian, eyes glistening.

“It… was?” said Muata. His mouth was a dazed O. By the expression on his face, it seemed like someone had swapped his brain for a fish’s.

Meanwhile, Tocho’s facial features were doing a gymnastics routine. “Like hells it was!” He snarled. Marching over, he uncrossed his arms and waved Muata off.

He leaned in close, so close Dorian could smell the tangy herbs on his breath, and studied Dorian’s face like it was a treasure map written in a language he didn’t understand.

“I’ll ask again. This your first time studying any qi-technique? Don’t lie to me, I’ll know!”

Dorian nodded fast, blinking faster.

Tocho heaved a slow breath, then grunted. “Hmph. So you say…” He paused. “That last technique, [Ray]. You picked it up, did you? Just like that?”

“I dunno,” said Dorian with big doe-eyes, swallowing. “I saw you do it, Master, and tried it…it felt right.”

“Hmph,” said Tocho again. He squinted. “Hmph! Alright, alright. Then…”

By now the rest of the boys had gathered around in a loose circle.

“Watch this!”

His arms tensed, the veins on his neck bulged, and his body jerked out in a spastic motion—the opposite of the flow of the first form. Qi circulated through his body in twisting, complex patterns; he roared, thrusting out with one palm, and a shocking mass of fiery qi burst out. The roar this time was deep, like a bellow; the blast, which flew in the vague shape of a palm, evaporated after a few feet.

“The second form of the [Fist of the Rising Sun], [Flash Palm]!” He thundered. “You get that, boy?”

“I… think?” Dorian bit his lip. Internally he held the move in his mind, dissecting the qi-flows. Already he saw the basic workings of the technique, its key points, its weaknesses…

“Try it,” said Tocho. With narrowed eyes, he picked up his stick. “[Flash Palm]. Go!”

Dorian pretended to hesitate. “But Master, you’ve only shown it once…”

Tocho raised his stick; his entire arm was trembling. “GO!!”

After a pretend-tremble, Dorian complied. He started shaky at first, but the qi flowed fast and true. It was like someone had run Tocho’s [Palm] through a blurry mirror; smaller, less refined, but that burst of heat, that palm-shape. Unmistakable.

[Level-up!]

[Flash Palm] Lv. 1

[Level-up!]

[Flash Palm] Lv. 2

[Level-up!]

[Flash Palm] Lv. 3

“By the gods…” breathed Tocho. His bramble bush beard quivered. “It’s true! H-heaven grade!”

He stared at Dorian’s face like it was a treasure map he could now understand. Nobody moved. They all stared at him as though he were a god descended. Which he was, of course, but they didn’t know that.

Dorian broke the awkward silence. “What’s going on?” he asked, blinking innocently. “Was it right?”

Tocho swallowed, nodded once. More a jerk of the head than a nod.

“But… master, senior, I thought you said it’d be hard?” said Dorian, scratching his head. “I thought it was supposed to take years? What was it you said—erm, reforge my skin, or something? It sounded really cool!”

“Urk!” said Tocho.

“Urk!” said Muata.

Tocho swallowed again, and this time it seemed to clear whatever lump stopped him from forming a sentence. He swept his eyes across the rest of the assembled students.

“Change of plans!” he roared as his eyes flitted back to Dorian. “Yocta, Che, Muata, Achak—to me! Now! Everyone else—out of the ring!”

As the students shuffled forward and back, still in a daze, Tocho pointed to Dorian.

“Kid,” he said, breathing heavy, “You may very well have Martial Talent.”

“What’s that?”

“The dream of all warriors,” said Tocho. His face was still white. “To be blessed by the Heavens for combat. To pick up skills at double, or triple, or ten-times the rate of normal folk. In our tribe, the number of hunters with Martial Talent can be counted on one hand. But even among Talents there are grades.” His hands gripped his staff with white knuckles. “If I’m right…only the Chief and his son have the same grade as you.”

Dorian brightened up. “R-really?”

Of course, this body had no such inborn talent. But it was very easy to fake talent with a hundred lifetimes’ worth of martial insights.

“Only one test remains,” said Tocho, his face was grave. “Merely learning skills does not a martial artist make.”

He spoke not only to Dorian, but to the entire gathered crowd. “The other half of Martial Talent is combat. For the blessed, fighting with qi is as easy as breathing!”

“If you truly possess Heaven-grade talent, prove it…in a four-man kumite of my most senior students!" He swept his arm across the four he’d gathered. All were fierce, big, and imposing. Dorian had met three of them already. They looked like statues baked hard under the sun.

All were also pale as bone.

“Yocta, first up!” shouted Tocho.

The tallest among them stepped forward—bald, scarred boy, the sort who looked twice his true age. He sized Dorian up the way a hunter sized up a Megapede.

“First to drop loses,” said Tocho, crossing his arms.

Yocta gave a curt bow. “I never heard of you,” he said, his voice like grating gravel. His fists clenched into two massive boulders of flesh. “Talent, eh? We’ll see about that.”

“Master!” said Dorian, his head swiveling around like an owl’s. “W-wait. We’re meant to fight? It’s my first day! And he’s three times my size—“

“Commence!”

Dorian exaggerated a gulp. “Senior, please go easy—“

With a bull’s roar, Yocta charged. With a puppy’s squeal, Dorian ran.

Two brute-force [Ray]s made geysers of sand to either side of him. Low-level as it was, Dorian’s current frame could barely support his running; and the poison in him halved the smidgeon of cardio his body was capable of.

He skittered, dashed, yelped, and scrambled in a circle, just barely dodging another [Ray] that would’ve turned his insides into outsides. He grimaced. Despite the skill disparity, with his body, he couldn’t let this drag on very long…

Just a little more. Ten steps, long enough for the panic to believably wear off….

“Fight, damn you!” yelled Tocho. With his reddened bald head, he looked like a very angry thumb.

As though on cue, Dorian wheeled around, still screaming, and loosed two wild attacks. It looked reflexive, a beginner lashing out.

The first was a [Ray] which took Yocta straight in the chest, halting his momentum and burning a fierce, bloody line across his pecs. He looked down, surprised.

Then a [Flash Palm] swatted him off his feet in a blast of sheer light and heat. The crowd gasped loudly.

The big man looked up at him, dazed. To the side, Tocho was breathing so fast he seemed about to have a heart attack.

At last he gathered himself enough to say, “Winner, Io!”

Dorian looked down at his hands in fake-wonder, as though he were thinking did I just do that? What he was really thinking was, Wow. This body sucks worse than I thought. A fifth of my qi drained for two techniques? To top it off, that little bit of running had his lungs rattling hard. Which was just sad.

But his audience was still staring at him, so he dropped back into character.

“Woah,” he gasped, blinking fast. A slow, dumb smile came over his face, like he was only now processing the last few seconds. “Did…did I just do that?”

He gasped like a sudden realization overcame him. “I’m awesome!”

Finally Yocta stumbled up, his face still steaming, and bowed shakily. “Thank you for the pointers,” he croaked, and wobbled off.

Tocho swallowed at the sight. “Che!” He said, his voice cracking. “You’re up!”

It was Spokes-boy, whose face still hadn’t regained much color. His eyes still lingered on Yocta, then made a slow pilgrimage to settle on Dorian.

“Io, was it?” he said with a warbling, oily smile. “That little, ah, tizzy when we first met—that was all a little joke, just a joke! All in good fun. You understand, don’t you? We’re all good buddies…”

“Of course, senior!” said Dorian, nodding. “I barely even remember it.”

“Really?” Che smile’s smile grew wider, realer.

“I only remember that you said something about my sister…” he frowned, and Che’s face froze. “What was it again? Could you remind me, senior?” he said sweetly.

“…”

“…”

“Commence!” yelled Tocho.

Now, it wasn’t like Dorian harbored any great affection for Io’s sister or any great enmity for this Che. But what good was eternal life without a little fun?

What followed was a little like a slow, elderly fly being swatted by the world’s biggest flyswatter. Che threw out a quick, jittery [Ray]. Dorian responded with a simple [Flash Palm] infused with a tenth of his qi. The two collided the way tissue paper collided with a freight train; the [Flash Palm] broke past the [Ray] and landed like a miniature sun on Che’s face.

Pa!

“YEOW!”

A [Ray] sliced into Che’s abdomen half a second later, doubling him over, knocking the wind from him. Another [Flash Palm]—a love tap of a move, done at half-power, had the lanky boy keeling over.

“I give! I give!” he wailed, stumbling off.

Dorian glanced to Tocho. The man was looking faint; both fists were clenched tight around his stick, bending it so hard it groaned.

“Achak,” he whispered. Dorian suppressed an eyebrow raise.

The lumpy boy shuffled up, looking uncertain. He opened his mouth, as though to say an apology or a plea, saw Dorian’s grin, and swallowed his words.

“Commence!”

An instant after Tocho’s word, Achak opened his mouth.

“I surrend—“

An instant after Achak opened his mouth, a [Flash Palm] swatted him head-over-heels into the sand. Two dozen mouths gaped in unison.

“Ooh! What do you think? Is this enough proof, Master?” said Dorian, batting his eyelashes.

“You…” Tocho looked a stiff wind away from spitting blood. He nodded stiffly. But it seemed he was a stickler to the rules of the kumite. “One more. Go, Muata,” he said hoarsely.

Muata’s trudge up to the field was almost guilty. “Forgive me! I have eyes, but I can’t see the Sinkhole’s depths.” he said. His bow was low and long. “Please give me pointers!”

Dorian bowed back, giggling. “Of course, brother Muata.” For the crime of being a minor annoyance, I sentence you to a hearty smack.

A few underpowered [Ray]s and a sneaky [Palm] from behind did the trick; with a few light yowls, Muata was left panting on his knees. “My thanks…. senior….”

Dorian surveyed his audience, a sea of wide eyes, lolling tongues. After today, this performance would circulate all over Rust Tribe. The Tribe would know there was a new prodigy born. Just like he wished.

“Dismissed!” Tocho’s loud voice, which had regained much of its authority, pulled him back to the present. “Everyone is dismissed! Off with you!" He roared. As the boys dispersed, whispering among themselves and casting furtive glances at Dorian, Tocho marched and clamped a hand on his wrist. “Come,” he said, and Dorian was dragged along with a yelp.

“Wah! Where are we going?”

“The Tribal Chief’s tent,” was Tocho’s curt reply. Now he looked at Dorian with a mix of awe and a hint of fear, like he was handling a legendary weapon. “He will decide what to do with you.”

***

Minutes later, they stopped outside a tent unlike all others.

Whereas Dorian’s tent was made from soft, waterproof hide, the Chief’s were studded with scales that burned in the sunlight. Drake's scale. They cast a proud red glow, like a beacon of might. A strange coldness radiated from them, matting Dorian’s skin in cool, invisible sheets. A pressure. A wreath of tusks jutted up from the tent’s tops, and over the entrance the severed head of an Endspider peered out, its hundreds of marble eyes unfocused, two yellow-red mandibles hanging loose.

Dorian had seen his fair share of severed heads, but to hang one over the door? That spoke to either terrible taste in architecture or psychopathy, and Dorian honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.

Then another realization hit him as Tocho dragged him up to the entrance.

That pressure didn’t come from the scales, nor the horns. It didn’t even come from that severed spider-head. It came from within the tent.

This wasn’t just a matter of a degree of power. This was a whole other realm entirely. Dorian hummed, eyebrows raised. A [Vigor] Realm cultivator, in this barren hellhole? Huh. Someone interesting appears…

Shrugging, he followed Tocho across the threshold.

Time elapsed: 13 hours