"If you really want to know how strong you've become," the bracelet said, "why don't you go pick a fight with him?"
Jason's mouth curved. "Don't worry. I will. I still don't have a clear measure of my current power. Andrew will make a convenient testing stone—and if I can teach him a lesson at the same time, even better."
*A practical attitude,* the bracelet approved. *Just remember that testing and recklessness are not the same thing.*
Training for the night was finished. Jason left the quiet clearing in good spirits and made his way home under the thinning stars. When he slipped back into the tent, both Clara and Hannah were already deep in sleep. He moved without sound, settled onto his own mat, and closed his eyes, the residual warmth of spiritual energy still circulating gently through his limbs.
---
The next morning Clara asked him to fetch a short list of herbs from the outer market. Jason accepted the two spirit stones, promised to return quickly, and set out. He had not gone far along the main path when four familiar figures stepped into view.
One of Andrew's followers spotted him first. "Look who it is, boys."
Andrew's gaze lit with lazy recognition. "I can't believe we keep running into you. Fate must really like the two of us."
Jason stopped and offered a mild smile. "I was thinking the same thing, Andrew."
Andrew's expression cooled. "Looks like you still haven't learned your lesson."
"Oh, I learned it," Jason answered. "That's why I'm here—hoping you'll give me another lecture."
A muscle jumped in Andrew's jaw. "You're seeking death, kid."
Jason's smile widened a fraction. "Am I? I don't particularly feel like you're capable of killing me."
The words landed exactly as intended. Andrew's shoulders tensed and he started forward, but one of his companions—Dennis, the shortest of the four—stepped in front of him.
"No need for you to dirty your hands on this punk, boss. Let me handle the lecture."
Andrew studied Jason for a long second, then gave a short nod. "Fine. Since you're so eager for education, we'll find a quieter classroom. Somewhere no one will interrupt the lesson."
"Suits me," Jason said. "I don't want interruptions either."
They left the edge of the market and walked into the woods that bordered the outer camps. The deeper trees soon swallowed the last sounds of human activity. When Andrew finally stopped in a small clearing, Jason adjusted the herb pouch at his belt and spoke first.
"Let's keep this brief. I still need to deliver these to my mother."
Dennis cracked his knuckles. "Don't worry. It'll be quick."
Jason raised one hand and made a small inviting gesture. "Whenever you're ready."
Dennis snarled and charged, right fist already cocked for a heavy straight to the midsection. Jason watched the telegraphing shoulder, shifted half a step to the left, and let the punch cut empty air. Dennis stumbled past him, eyes wide.
"Where—?"
"Behind you," one of the others shouted.
Dennis spun with surprising speed and threw another punch. Again he struck nothing. Jason was already at his side. A single, clean kick slammed into the side of Dennis's knee. The joint buckled; Dennis dropped to one knee with a pained grunt.
"I thought this lecture was supposed to be quick," Jason said mildly. "Five minutes and I still haven't learned anything useful."
Dennis roared and lunged upward, swinging wildly. Jason parried the blow outward with his forearm, stepped in, and drove a short, energy-coated fist into the boy's solar plexus. The Invisible Iron Fist coating flashed once—visible only as a faint distortion—and Dennis folded. He hit the ground hard and did not rise.
Jason shook out his hand as though he had merely brushed dust from his knuckles, then turned to face Andrew.
"I didn't expect a fourth-layer tempered-body cultivator to fold that easily," he remarked. "Is he really the weakest of your group?"
Andrew's face had gone flat and cold. "You deserve a small reward for beating our weakest member. Michael."
The taller, leaner boy at Andrew's right stepped forward at once. The remaining follower called out, "Beat him until he can't stand, Michael!"
Michael only nodded and walked forward at an unhurried pace. He stopped three strides away and settled into a low, balanced stance, waiting. Jason mirrored him, weight light, hands loose.
"What's the matter?" Michael asked with a thin smile. "Scared already?"
"Why would I be scared of someone I can handle?" Jason answered, matching the smile.
Michael chuckled once—then vanished.
Instinct alone saved Jason. He dropped his weight and twisted; a kick scythed through the air where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier. The speed was real. Michael was noticeably faster than Dennis, faster than any previous opponent Jason had faced at this layer.
"You're quick," Jason admitted, already sliding backward to open distance.
Michael pressed at once, a flurry of punches and low kicks that forced Jason to keep giving ground. Each attack came from a slightly different angle, testing reaction and footwork. Jason did not yet counter. He simply moved—sidestep, slip, short retreat—letting his newly refined body and sharper senses do the work of survival while he read the rhythm of Michael's assault.
The clearing filled with the soft thud of feet on earth and the occasional sharp crack of a missed strike against empty air. Andrew and the remaining follower watched in silence, the earlier mockery gone from their faces. Jason continued to give ground in controlled increments, eyes narrowed, cataloguing every pattern, every tell, waiting for the moment the test would end and the real exchange would begin.