Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: The First Rule of Survival

The armored man stepped through the trees. His sword was already drawn. The firelight from the burning village flickered off the blade.Wen Dao pushed the children behind him. His body was shaking. Not from fear — from the simple fact that this body had no strength. He could feel it. Muscles like wet rope. Bones like dry wood.'Run,' he told the children quietly. 'Deeper into the forest. Don't come back.'The girl grabbed his wrist. 'I'm not—''Run.'She ran. She took the small boy with her.The armored man stopped ten feet away. He looked at Wen Dao with flat eyes.'The old master wants survivors questioned. You'll do.'He lunged.Wen Dao dove sideways. The sword cut air where his chest had been. He hit the ground hard, rolled across roots and stones, and scrambled upright.The man was already turning. Casual. Unhurried. This was not a fight to him.Wen Dao's eyes moved fast. Sword. Armor. Size. The man was three times his weight. Full plate. No openings.'Tell me,' Wen Dao said, backing up, keeping distance, 'does your master pay you to kill children, or is that personal pleasure?'The man paused. Just for a second. The question was unexpected.That second was enough.Wen Dao turned and ran into the trees. He ran fast. Faster than this thin body should have managed. Fear was a better fuel than training.Behind him, heavy footsteps. The armored man was slow but relentless.Wen Dao cut left. Right. Ducked under low branches. Jumped a root. His lungs screamed.Then his foot caught a buried root. He went down hard. His face hit the ground. He tasted blood.He rolled over. The armored man was close. Twenty feet. Sword raised.Wen Dao's hand touched something. A rock. Heavy. Smooth.He threw it.It hit the man's visor. Not hard. Not damaging. But it clanged loud off the metal, and for one moment the man flinched.Wen Dao was already moving. He dove behind a wide tree trunk.The sword came down. It bit deep into the wood — two inches to Wen Dao's right.He ran again. Deeper. Darker. The trees pressed close. The armored man's footsteps grew distant. The armor was too heavy. The roots were too uneven.Finally, silence.Wen Dao collapsed against a large stone. He sat there for a long time, breathing.His hands were cut. His knees were bleeding. His body was useless. An absolute joke of a physical form.He looked at them.'What am I working with,' he muttered.He needed to be honest. He was weak. He had no training. He had no qi, whatever that was — the memories of this body hinted at it. He had no weapons. He had no money.He had questions. That was all.Something caught his eye. Thirty feet away. A hollow in the base of an ancient dead tree, half-covered by hanging moss.He didn't know why he moved toward it.He pushed the moss aside.Inside the hollow: a metal cylinder, small, black, sealed with wax. Old. The seal showed two hands pressed together with a flame between them.He picked it up.The wax was dry. He broke it easily.Inside was a rolled cloth. He unrolled it.Handwritten characters. Dense and neat. He read the title:'IRON BODY SCRIPTURE — Nine Paths of the Tempered Flesh.'His heart stopped for a moment.Then he heard voices. Two of them. Somewhere behind him in the forest.More soldiers.