Two days later Jason stood without pain for the first time since the fight in the woods. The deep bruises had faded to faint shadows, the swollen eye had opened cleanly, and the fifth-layer hardness in his skin and bones had settled into something that felt natural rather than new. While his body healed he had not been idle. Every quiet hour inside the tent had been spent circulating Heaven's Law, drawing the thin ambient spiritual energy of the camp into himself in slow, steady threads. In the evenings, when Clara and Hannah slept, he entered the bracelet's training space and drilled the Phantom Kick and Invisible Iron Fist until the luminous figures' movements lived in his muscles.
He still could not sense the earth energy the method demanded.
"Even after two full days of Heaven's Law I haven't felt a trace of it," he muttered one afternoon, rolling his shoulders.
*You're still progressing,* the bracelet answered. *At this rate another breakthrough will arrive soon enough.*
Jason exhaled a short laugh. "True. I'm not complaining about free gains."
*The tournament is almost here. You need more than passive cultivation.*
"I know. The Phantom Kick still isn't clean enough. I need time on real ground."
*Then go to the woods,* the bracelet said. *Or better—go into the beast territory. With your current strength you should be able to survive the outer edges.*
Jason snorted. "I know you enjoy the idea of me dying for your entertainment, but I'm not that eager to feed the local wildlife." He stepped out of the tent before the spirit could reply.
He greeted Clara with a proper bow, spent a few minutes letting Hannah climb on his back and declare him her personal mountain, then left for the familiar training clearing. There he spent the remaining daylight refining the sequential kicks, coating his fists, and forcing the two techniques to work together without one disrupting the other. When the light failed he returned home, shared the thin evening meal, and resumed Heaven's Law until sleep took him. The pattern repeated the next day, and the next, until the morning of the tournament arrived.
---
The market square had been transformed. A wide raised platform of packed earth and wooden barriers formed the arena. A few rows of simple chairs lined one side for the Fox family elders and important branch members. The rest of the space was already filling with outer-camp residents, family servants, and curious disciples who had no stake in the matches but wanted to see blood and ambition on display. The air buzzed with voices and the smell of fried dough from the stalls that had moved to the edges for the day.
Andrew stood near the reserved seats with Dennis at his shoulder, watching the final preparations.
"Were you able to get your half-brother to agree?" Andrew asked without looking away from the arena.
Dennis nodded. "He agreed immediately. Said if they meet in the ring he'll do everything he can to cripple the outsider. And he made it clear he's not doing it because we asked. He already wanted the boy gone."
Andrew's mouth curved. "I don't care about his reasons. Only the result."
"Exactly, boss. His loss for refusing the money and still doing the work for free."
Andrew gave a low, satisfied laugh and took a seat. "Let's see how far the brat climbs when someone with real intent is waiting for him."
---
Inside the small tent Jason sat cross-legged on his mat, eyes closed, Heaven's Law circulating in its usual quiet rhythm. The pull of ambient energy had grown stronger over the past days; he could feel the sixth layer of the tempered body approaching like a wave that had not yet broken. Hannah watched him from the side of the tent, worry plain on her face.
"Mother… do you think big brother will be all right out there?"
Clara's hand rested lightly on her daughter's hair. "I don't know. But we have to believe in him." She looked toward Jason. "When do you plan to go to the square and collect your tag?"
Jason drew a final deep breath, opened his eyes, and rose. He stretched the stiffness from his shoulders and offered both of them a wide, confident smile.
"I'm leaving now. I hope to see you both there."
He stepped out into the morning light. The bracelet's voice arrived at once.
*Time to show them what you've been building, kid.*
Jason's grin sharpened. "I can't wait to see their faces when I reach the finals—and when I win."
*Good. Remember: strike first whenever you can. Don't give an opponent time to set their rhythm.*
He nodded once and walked toward the market square.
The crowd was larger than he had expected. Bodies packed the edges of the arena, voices rising and falling in a constant wave. Jason paused at the outer fringe, taking in the scale of it, until a familiar gaze cut across the distance and locked with his. Andrew sat among the better seats, expression unreadable. For a long second neither looked away. Then Jason simply turned and continued toward the registration table.
He collected the wooden tag that would determine his first match, stepped back, and waited.
An elder of the Fox family finally climbed onto the arena platform. The crowd noise dropped to a restless murmur.
"Welcome to the Fox family's annual outer tournament," the elder announced, voice carrying cleanly. "Thirteen combatants will draw lots. One lot is a free pass to the next round. The rest are numbered; matching numbers fight. The rules are simple: any fighter knocked from the ring, or who yields, is eliminated. We will not delay further. Combatants—step forward."
Jason and the other twelve moved into a loose line at the edge of the platform. A ripple of surprise moved through the spectators. Most of the fighters were young—some barely older than Jason, a few clearly still in their mid-teens. Only one stood noticeably apart: a young man four or five years older than the rest, broader in the shoulders, with the calm, watchful posture of someone who had already seen real fights. Dennis's half-brother.
Jason felt the weight of the wooden tag in his palm and the quiet density of the fifth layer in his bones. Somewhere in the seats Andrew was watching. Somewhere in the draw a free pass or a first opponent waited. He rolled his shoulders once, settled his breathing, and waited for the lots to be drawn.